Three months had not gone by before he received an
appointment on the staff of the Russian embassy in
London, whither he set sail (steamers were not even
talked about then) in the first homeward bound English
vessel he could find. A few months later he received
a letter from Pestof. The kind-hearted gentleman
congratulated him on the birth of a son, who had come
into the world at the village of Pokrovskoe, on the
20th of August, 1807, and had been named Fedor, in
honor of the holy martyr Fedor Stratilates. On
account of her extreme weakness, Malania Sergievna
could add only a few lines. But even those few
astonished Ivan Petrovich; he was not aware that Marfa
Timofeevna had taught his wife to read and write.
It must not be supposed that Ivan Petrovich gave himself
up for any length of time to the sweet emotion caused
by paternal feeling. He was just then paying
court to one of the celebrated Phrynes or Laises of
the day—classical names were still in vogue
at that time. The peace of Tilset was only just
concluded,[A] and every one was hastening to enjoy
himself, every one was being swept round by a giddy
whirlwind. The black eyes of a bold beauty had
helped to turn his head also. He had very little
money, but he played cards luckily, made friends,
joined in all possible diversions—in a word,
he sailed with all sail set.
[Footnote A: In consequence of which the Russian
embassy was withdrawn from London, and Ivan Petrovich
probably went to Paris.]
IX.
For a long time the old Lavretsky could not forgive
his son for his marriage. If, at the end of six
months, Ivan Petrovich had appeared before him with
contrite mien, and had fallen at his feet, the old
man would, perhaps, have pardoned the offender—after
having soundly abused him, and given him a tap with
his crutch by way of frightening him. But Ivan
Petrovich went on living abroad, and, apparently,
troubled himself but little about his father.
“Silence! don’t dare to say another word!”
exclaimed Peter Andreich to his wife, every time she
tried to mollify him. “That puppy ought
to be always praying to God for me, since I have not
laid my curse upon him, the good-for-nothing fellow!
Why, my late father would have killed him with his
own hands, and he would have done well.”
All that Anna Pavlovna could do was to cross herself
stealthily when she heard such terrible words as these.
As to his son’s wife, Peter Andreich would not
so much as hear of her at first; and even when he had
to answer a letter in which his daughter-in-law was
mentioned by Pestof, he ordered a message to be sent
to him to say that he did not know of any one who
could be his daughter-in-law, and that it was contrary
to the law to shelter runaway female serfs, a fact
of which he considered it a duty to warn him.
But afterwards, on learning the birth of his grandson,
his heart softened a little; he gave orders that inquiries
should be secretly made on his behalf about the mother’s
health, and he sent her—but still, not
as if it came from himself—a small sum of
money.
