On another occasion, as Lavretsky was sitting in the
drawing-room, listening to the insinuating tones of
Gedeonovsky’s wearisome verbiage, he suddenly
turned round, he knew not why, and caught the deep,
attentive, inquiring look of Liza’s eyes.
That enigmatical look was directed towards him.
The whole night long Lavretsky thought of it.
His love was not like that of a boy, nor was it consistent
with his age to sigh and to torment himself; and indeed
it was not with a feeling of a merely passionate nature
that Liza had inspired him. But love has its
sufferings for every age—and he became perfectly
acquainted with them.
XXXI.
One day Lavretsky was as usual at the Kalitines’.
An overpoweringly hot afternoon had been followed
by such a beautiful evening that Madame Kalitine,
notwithstanding her usual aversion to a draught, ordered
all the windows and the doors leading into the garden
to be opened. Moreover, she announced that she
was not going to play cards, that it would be a sin
to do so in such lovely weather, and that it was a
duty to enjoy the beauties of nature.
Panshine was the only stranger present. Influenced
by the evening, and feeling a flow of artistic emotion,
but not wishing to sing in Lavretsky’s presence,
he threw himself into poetry He read—and
read well, only with too much consciousness, and with
needlessly subtle distinctions—some of
Lermontof’s poems (Pushkin had not then succeeded
in getting back into fashion). Suddenly, as if
ashamed of his emotion, he began in reference to the
well-known Duma,[A] to blame and attack the
new generation, not losing the opportunity which the
subject afforded him of setting forth how, if the power
lay in his hands, he would alter everything his own
way.
[Footnote A: For the poem, so-called, see note
at end of chapter.]
“Russia,” he said, “has lagged behind
Europe, and must be driven up alongside of it.
We are told that ours is a young country. That
is all nonsense. Besides, we have no inventive
power. Khomakof[A] himself admits that we have
never invented so much as a mousetrap. Consequently
we are obliged to imitate others, whether we like it
or no.”
[Footnote A: A poet, who was one of the leaders
of the Slavophile party.]
“‘We are ill,’ says Lermontof, and
I agree with him. But we are ill because we have
only half become Europeans. With that which has
wounded us we must be cured.” ("Le cadastre”
thought Lavretsky.) “Among us,” he continued,
“the best heads, les meilleures tetes,
have long been convinced of this. In reality,
all peoples are alike; only introduce good institutions,
and the affair is settled. To be sure, one may
make some allowance for the existing life of the nation;
that is our business, the business of the people who
are” (he all but said “statesmen”)
“in the public service; but if need arises, don’t
be uneasy. Those institutions will modify that
life itself.”
