Do not laugh, reader! Irene was not stupid; she was only young and inexperienced, knew little or nothing of life, and sincerely believed in her fantastic dream hero. Most pathetic of all was the fact that she set about looking for him among the relations and friends of her late mother, who had belonged by birth to the higher government circles—i.e., the most unromantic circles of Russian society. The proximity of the court, the glitter of wealth and social position, transforms almost every young Petrograd official into a mere hunter after honours, money, decorations, caring for nothing but his career and the chance of some brilliant appointment. The distance that separates Petrograd from the rest of Russia destroys in these young people what should be the fundamental idea at the root of all conscientious government service—the good of the country. Their service becomes simply a ladder by which they can mount upwards towards the making of a career, and any means seems justifiable to attain this end. Already in childhood these young people are familiar with conversations about promotions and honours, and their souls early imbibe the poison that makes worldlings and cynics. Their wives also cannot influence them for good, since they, too, in the majority of cases grow up in the same official circles, and see nothing blameworthy in career-hunting. On the contrary, they intrigue and help and encourage their husbands in the rush for advantageous appointments.
To a fresh young soul, such as Irene’s the cynicism of “officialdom’s” conversations and ideals could not but stand out in all its true ugliness, causing her to turn away, sick with disillusionment and disgust. She regarded this whole spirit of self-advancement-at-any-price with the profoundest contempt, and considered it low and vulgar and worthy only of menials. Her father, holding his noble birth in high honour, had instilled into his daughter the assurance that her aristocratic antecedents placed her on a level with all the de Rohans and de Montmorencys in the world. She regarded decorations and titles and social honours with contempt, and could not understand how anybody could attach importance to such toys. Her means were sufficient to ensure lifelong freedom from care; luxury, however, did not attract her, for Irene was an idealist, who looked upon love, pure, sanctified love, as the greatest happiness life could offer.
Had she been English or American, this lonely girl would not have been content with her limited circle of acquaintances, and would have gone in search of her hero through the length and breadth not only of Russia, but of all Europe.
Irene, however, was Russian, and therefore placid and unenterprising! So she not only did not travel, but had not the energy, even at home in Petrograd, to look round and make sure that her hero was not concealed somewhere in the social circles of the capital. She profoundly despised the pitiful types she met in society, and though sick at heart, waited patiently and untiringly for the one man before whom she was destined some day to bow her head. Her own individual faith was largely responsible for this patient, confident expectation. Already in her early childhood, Irene had worked out for herself her own personal credo, in the place of which, without understanding it in the least, most people unthinkingly accept the religion officially adopted by the State. Her faith, of course, rested upon a Christian basis—but her Christianity was of the kind that shapes itself according to the varying idiosyncrasies of every individual believer’s soul and mind.
Irene firmly believed that in spite of the perpetual struggle between good and evil, good is incomparably the stronger of the two, and must always triumph. Therefore, people desirous of attaining happiness, must as a first step be just and honourable, and never offend nor hurt anyone. Then, and then only, can God send them peace and success in all their undertakings, and then only can they be happy without the smallest struggle or effort to attain this natural happiness. Irene believed in this so firmly and deeply, that it always amazed her to see people winning success and worldly goods by means of intrigue and dishonesty.
“The madmen!”—she thought to herself—“how can they not realize that they are building up their well-being on sand, and that each dishonest action may turn out to be the one rotten beam through which the whole edifice will fall to pieces?”
Irene often endeavoured to explain her theory to other people, and was always astonished at their lack of trust in God’s help, and their incomparably greater faith in their own “smartness” and roguery. How did these blind mules manage not to see what was, to her, clear as day? And Irene profoundly regretted that she was not endowed with oratorical gifts, by means of which she might have helped to save these people from needlessly wasting and misdirecting their energies.
The silent, dreamy girl carefully observed the lives of her acquaintances, and every time that any of them achieved some success, or suffered some misfortune, she tried to account for this circumstance by one or other of their preceding actions. I am afraid that in her eagerness to prove, even to herself, the justice of her theory, she often deceived herself, and dragged in irrelevant facts. She was sincerely happy at the sight of virtue rewarded, and, though naturally anything but cruel or revengeful, she nevertheless rejoiced triumphantly when wickedness was laid low! It is true that occasionally, under the influence of scientific books, which, as the years passed, held an ever-increasing attraction for Irene, she said to herself that people were wicked owing to the particular construction of their skulls or spinal cords, and were as innocent of their own vice as the tiger is innocent of his carnivorous nature. In the same way, it followed that it was not only natural and easy for good people to be good, but that it would be exceedingly difficult for them to act dishonestly, or in any way contrary to their natures. There was, indeed, according to this theory, no such thing as the eternal struggle between good and evil—there were only on the one side healthy and therefore honest natures, and on the other, morally diseased and, therefore, cruel or vicious ones. But when Irene began to meditate on these ideas, there arose in her poor head such a confused chaos of tangled thoughts, that she hastily banished all scientific propositions, and returned to her old faith, in which everything was clear and simple.