He came out with 250 roubles less, but was dressed badly, in fact so badly that his apparel two days later pa.s.sed over into Vasili's possession and always remained a disagreeable memory for Serezha.

At home he went down-stairs, seated himself in the large hall, looking now and then into the sanctum, and ordered a breakfast of such strange dishes that the servant in the kitchen had to laugh. Then he asked for a periodical, and pretended to be reading. When the servant, encouraged by the inexperience of the young man, addressed some questions to him, Serezha said, "Go to your place!" and blushed. But he said this so proudly that the servant obeyed. Mother, father, and daughter, upon returning home, found his clothes excellent.

Do you remember that joyous sensation of childhood, when you were dressed up for your name-day and taken to ma.s.s, and when, upon returning with a holiday expression in your clothes, upon your countenance, and in your soul, you found toys and guests at home? You knew that on that day there would be no cla.s.ses, that even the grown-ups celebrated on that day, and that that was a day of exceptions and pleasures for the whole house; you knew that you alone were the cause of that holiday, and that you would be forgiven, no matter what you might do, and you were surprised to see that the people in the streets did not celebrate along with your home folk, and the sounds were more audible, and the colours brighter,--in short, a name-day sensation. It was a sensation of that kind that Peter Ivanovich experienced on his return from church.

Pakhtin's solicitude of the evening before did not pa.s.s in vain: instead of toys Peter Ivanovich found at home several visiting-cards of distinguished Muscovites, who, in the year '56, regarded it as their peremptory duty to show every attention possible to a famous exile, whom they would under no consideration have wished to see three years before.

In the eyes of Chevalier, the porter, and the servants of the hotel, the appearance of carriages asking for Peter Ivanovich, on that one morning increased their respect and subserviency tenfold.

All those were name-day toys for Peter Ivanovich. No matter how much tried in life, how clever a man may be, the expression of respect from people respected by a large number of men is always agreeable. Peter Ivanovich felt light of heart when Chevalier, bowing, offered to change his apartments and asked him to order anything he might need, and a.s.sured him that he regarded Peter Ivanovich's visit as a piece of luck, and when, examining the visiting-cards and throwing them into a vase, he called out the names of Count S----, Prince D----, and so forth.

Natalya Nikolaevna said that she would not receive anybody and that she would go at once to the house of Marya Ivanovna, to which Peter Ivanovich consented, though he wished very much to talk to some of the visitors.

Only one visitor managed to get through before the refusal to meet him.

That was Pakhtin. If this man had been asked why he went away from the Prechistenka to go to Gazette Lane, he would have been unable to give any excuse, except that he was fond of everything new and remarkable, and so had come to see Peter Ivanovich, as something rare. One would think that, coming to see a stranger for no other reason than that, he would have been embarra.s.sed. But the contrary was true. Peter Ivanovich and his son and Sonya Petrovna became embarra.s.sed. Natalya Nikolaevna was too much of a _grande dame_ to become embarra.s.sed for any reason whatever. The weary glance of her beautiful black eyes was calmly lowered on Pakhtin. But Pakhtin was refreshing, self-contented, and gaily amiable, as always. He was a friend of Marya Ivanovna's.

"Ah!" said Natalya Nikolaevna.

"Not a friend,--the difference of our years,--but she has always been kind to me."

Pakhtin was an old admirer of Peter Ivanovich's,--he knew his companions. He hoped that he could be useful to the newcomers. He would have appeared the previous evening, but could not find the time, and begged to be excused, and sat down and talked for a long time.

"Yes, I must tell you, I have found many changes in Russia since then,"

Peter Ivanovich said, in reply to a question.

The moment Peter Ivanovich began to speak, you ought to have seen with what respectful attention Pakhtin received every word that flew out of the mouth of the distinguished old man, and how after each sentence, at times after a word, Pakhtin with a nod, a smile, or a motion of his eyes gave him to understand that he had received and accepted the memorable sentence or word.

The weary glance approved of that manoeuvre. Sergyey Petrovich seemed to be afraid lest his father's conversation should not be weighty enough, corresponding to the attention of the hearer. Sonya Petrovna, on the contrary, smiled that imperceptible self-satisfied smile which people smile who have caught a man's ridiculous side. It seemed to her that nothing was to be got from him, that he was a "shyushka," as she and her brother nicknamed a certain cla.s.s of people.

Peter Ivanovich declared that during his journey he had seen enormous changes, which gave him pleasure.

"There is no comparison, the ma.s.ses--the peasants--stand so much higher now, have so much greater consciousness of their dignity," he said, as though repeating some old phrases. "I must say that the ma.s.ses have always interested me most. I am of the opinion that the strength of Russia does not lie in us, but in the ma.s.ses," and so forth.

Peter Ivanovich with characteristic zeal evolved his more or less original ideas in regard to many important subjects. We shall hear more of them in fuller form. Pakhtin was melting for joy, and fully agreed with him in everything.

"You must by all means meet the Aksatovs. Will you permit me to introduce them to you, prince? You know they have permitted him to publish his periodical. To-morrow, they say, the first number will appear. I have also read his remarkable article on the consistency of the theory of science in the abstract. Remarkably interesting. Another article, the history of Servia in the eleventh century, of that famous general Karbovanets, is also very interesting. Altogether an enormous step."

"Indeed," said Peter Ivanovich. But he was apparently not interested in all these bits of information; he did not even know the names and merits of all those men whom Pakhtin quoted as universally known.

But Natalya Nikolaevna, without denying the necessity of knowing all these men and conditions, remarked in justification of her husband that Pierre received his periodicals very late. He read entirely too much.

"Papa, shall we not go to aunty?" asked Sonya, upon coming in.

"We shall, but we must have our breakfast. Won't you have anything?"

Pakhtin naturally declined, but Peter Ivanovich, with the hospitality characteristic of every Russian and of him in particular, insisted that Pakhtin should eat and drink something. He himself emptied a wine-gla.s.s of vodka and a tumbler of Bordeaux. Pakhtin noticed that as he was filling his gla.s.s, Natalya accidentally turned away from it, and the son cast a peculiar glance on his father's hands.

After the wine, Peter Ivanovich, in response to Pakhtin's questions about what his opinion was in respect to the new literature, the new tendency, the war, the peace (Pakhtin had a knack of uniting the most diversified subjects into one senseless but smooth conversation), in response to these questions Peter Ivanovich at once replied with one general _profession de foi_, and either under the influence of the wine, or of the subject of the conversation, he became so excited that tears appeared in his eyes, and Pakhtin, too, was in ecstasy, and himself became tearful, and without embarra.s.sment expressed his conviction that Peter Ivanovich was now in advance of all the foremost men and should become the head of all the parties. Peter Ivanovich's eyes became inflamed,--he believed what Pakhtin was telling him,--and he would have continued talking for a long time, if Sonya Petrovna had not schemed to get Natalya Nikolaevna to put on her mantilla, and had not come herself to raise Peter Ivanovich from his seat. He poured out the rest of the wine into a gla.s.s, but Sonya Petrovna drank it.

"What is this?"

"I have not had any yet, papa, pardon."

He smiled.

"Well, let us go to Marya Ivanovna's. You will excuse us, Monsieur Pakhtin."

And Peter Ivanovich left the room, carrying his head high. In the vestibule he met a general, who had come to call on his old acquaintance. They had not seen each other for thirty-five years. The general was toothless and bald.

"How fresh you still are!" he said. "Evidently Siberia is better than St. Petersburg. These are your family,--introduce me to them! What a fine fellow your son is! So to dinner to-morrow?"

"Yes, yes, by all means."

On the porch they met the famous Chikhaev, another old acquaintance.

"How did you find out that I had arrived?"

"It would be a shame for Moscow if it did not know it. It is a shame that you were not met at the barrier. Where do you dine? No doubt with your sister, Marya Ivanovna. Very well, I shall be there myself."

Peter Ivanovich always had the aspect of a proud man for one who could not through that exterior make out the expression of unspeakable goodness and impressionableness; but just then even Marya Nikolaevna was delighted to see his unwonted dignity, and Sonya Petrovna smiled with her eyes, as she looked at him. They arrived at the house of Marya Ivanovna. Marya Ivanovna was Peter Ivanovich's G.o.dmother and ten years his senior. She was an old maid.

Her history, why she did not get married, and how she had pa.s.sed her youth, I will tell some time later.

She had lived uninterruptedly for forty years in Moscow. She had neither much intelligence, nor great wealth, and she did not think much of connections,--on the contrary; and there was not a man who did not respect her. She was so convinced that everybody ought to respect her that everybody actually respected her. There were some young liberals from the university who did not recognize her power, but these gentlemen made a bold front only in her absence. She needed only to enter the drawing-room with her royal gait, to say something in her calm manner, to smile her kindly smile, and they were vanquished. Her society consisted of everybody. She looked upon all of Moscow as her home folk, and treated them as such. She had friends mostly among the young people and clever men, but women she did not like. She had also dependents, whom our literature has for some reason included with the Hungarian woman and with generals in one common cla.s.s for contempt; but Marya Ivanovna considered it better for Skopin, who had been ruined in cards, and Madame Byeshev, whom her husband had driven away, to be living with her than in misery, and so she kept them.

But the two great pa.s.sions in Marya Ivanovna's present life were her two brothers. Peter Ivanovich was her idol. Prince Ivan was hateful to her.

She had not known that Peter Ivanovich had arrived; she had attended ma.s.s, and was just finishing her coffee.

At the table sat the vicar of Moscow, Madame Byeshev, and Skopin. Marya Ivanovna was telling them about young Count V----, the son of P---- Z----, who had returned from Sevastopol, and with whom she was in love.

(She had some pa.s.sion all the time.) He was to dine with her on that day. The vicar got up and bowed himself out. Marya Ivanovna did not keep him,--she was a freethinker in this respect: she was pious, but had no use for monks and laughed at the ladies that ran after them, and boldly a.s.serted that in her opinion monks were just such men as we sinful people, and that it was better to find salvation in the world than in a monastery.

"Give the order not to receive anybody, my dear," she said, "I will write to Pierre. I cannot understand why he is not coming. No doubt, Natalya Nikolaevna is ill."

Marya Ivanovna was of the opinion that Natalya Nikolaevna did not like her and was her enemy. She could not forgive her because it was not she, his sister, who had given up her property and had followed him to Siberia, but Natalya Nikolaevna, and because her brother had definitely declined her offer when she got ready to go with him. After thirty-five years she was beginning to believe that Natalya Nikolaevna was the best woman in the world and his guardian angel; but she was envious, and it seemed all the time to her that she was not a good woman.

She got up, took a few steps in the parlour, and was on the point of entering the cabinet when the door opened, and Madame Byeshev's wrinkled, grayish face, expressing joyous terror, was thrust through the door.

"Marya Ivanovna, prepare yourself," she said.

"A letter?"

"No, something better--"

But before she had a chance to finish, a man's loud voice was heard in the antechamber:

"Where is she? Go, Natasha."

"He!" muttered Marya Ivanovna, walking with long, firm steps toward her brother. She met them all as though she had last seen them the day before.