" Mamma will be—very grateful to you, uncle; and I too," said Alexandr with a sigh, but this time he did not throw himself on to his uncle's neck.
CHAPTER III
More than two years had passed by. Who would have recognised our provincial in the fashionably-dressed and easy-mannered young man ? He had changed very much, and grown manly. The roundness of the lines of his boyish face, the softness and delicacy of his skin, the down on his
chin had all disappeared. The bashful shyness and graceful awkwardness of his movement had gone. His features had become mature and grown into a physiognomy and the physiognomy showed character. The lilies and roses had disappeared as though under a light covering of sunburn. The down on his face had turned into slight whiskers. His light hesitating step had become a firm even gait. His voice had gained some bass notes. From the roughly outlined sketch had come a finished portrait. The boy had turned into a man. In his eyes was the light of self-reliance and confidence. The ecstatic expression of Alexandr's face in former days was toned down by a slight shade of melancholy : the first sign of doubt having stolen into his heart, and perhaps the only consequence of his uncle's lessons and the merciless analysis to which he exposed everything which presented itself to Alexandras eyes or heart. Alexandr had at last acquired tact, which is the power of adapting oneself to men. He did not throw himself into everybody's arms especially after the man, inclined to sincere outbursts, in spite of his uncle's warnings, had cleared him out at cards on two occasions, and the man of firm character and iron will had borrowed a considerable sum of money from him. Other people too and other incidents worked in the same direction. At one place he noticed how they laughed in their sleeves at his youthful enthusiasm, and nicknamed him the romantic. At another they hardly paid him any attention, because no one could hope to gain or lose anything from him. He did not give dinners, did not keep a carriage, and did not play high. At first Alexandr's heart was sick and sore at these discrepancies between his rose-coloured dreams and the reality. It never entered his head to ask himself: But what have I done that is distinctive, in what am I distinguished from the common herd ? Where are my merits and why ought they to notice me? But meanwhile his vanity suffered
Then he began by degrees to admit the thought that in life clearly all was not roses, but that there were also thorns which sometimes prick a little, but not seriously and not as his uncle made out. And then he began to learn to control himself, he did not so often betray his emotions and impulses and more rarely spoke in a high-flown language, at least before strangers.
But all the same, to the no small regret of Piotr Ivanitch, he was still far from coldly analysing into their first elements all that moves and agitates the heart of man. As for dragging to light all the mysteries and enigmas of the heart, he did not like even to listen to it.
Piotr Ivanitch would give him something of a lesson in the morning: Alexandr would listen, be perplexed or deeply thoughtful, and then he would go out somewhere in the evening and come home a different man. The charm and intoxication of the ball-room, the strains of music, the bare shoulders, the ardent glances, the smiles of rosy lips would not let him sleep all night. Visions floated before him of the waist which he had pressed in his arms, of the prolonged languorous gaze which had been cast on him at parting, of the feverish breath which had ravished him in the waltz, or the conversation at the window whispered under cover of the murmur of the mazurka, when the eyes spoke so sincerely, while the tongue was talking of no matter what. And his heart beat; he clutched at his pillow convulsively and lay tossing for hours in his bed.
u Where is love? Oh, love, I thirst for thee !" he said, " and will love come soon ? when will these divine moments come to me, the delicious torture, the shudder of bliss, tears " and so forth.
The next day he would make his appearance at his uncle's.
" What a party it was, uncle, last night at the Zareysky's!" he said, absorbed in memories of the ball.
" Was it a pleasant one ? "
" Oh, heavenly."
" A pretty good supper ? "
" I did not have any."
" How was that? No supper at your age when you can get it! But I see you have adopted our ways in good earnest, even more than you need to. Was everything successful then ? the dress, the lighting ? "
" Yes."
" Nice people ? *
" Oh, yes ! very nice. Such eyes, such shoulders!"
" Were there many pretty girls ? "
" Yes, indeed ; but it's a pity they are all so much alike. What one does or says in any special circumstances,
you notice the next repeats exactly the same, just as though it were a lesson learnt by heart. There was one—not altogether like the rest .... but otherwise there was no sign of independence nor character. Their movements, their looks—all exactly alike: you hear no original thought or flash of feeling—it is all disguised and covered up under the same external polish. It seems as though nothing would make them open out Is it possible that they will always be locked up and will never come out to any one ? Can it be that they wear stays that will always stifle the sigh of love and the groan of the tortured heart ? Can no liberty be given to emotion ? "
" Everything will come out to their husbands, though if they think like you—at least from what you say—a good many will remain old maids to the end of time. There are some idiotic enough to let what ought to be hidden and stilled come out before it is time—um! they pay for it afterwards in tears; it's a bad bargain !"
" Is it a question of bargains in this too, uncle ? "
" Yes, as in everything, my dear boy; and one who does not reckon the cost of a bargain we call a reckless fool. It is short and clear."
"Oh, but to lock up in your breast the generous impulses of the heart! "
" Oh, I know you will not lock them up; you are ready in the street, in the theatre, anywhere, to throw yourself on your friend's neck and sob."
" And why a reckless fool, uncle ? You should have said only that he is a man of strong passions, that a man who feels so is capable of everything generous and noble, and incapable "
" Incapable of reckoning, that is, reflection. He is a grand figure—your man of strong passions, of titanic emotions! How much of it pray is merely physical temperament? Transports, exultations indeed, the man is below the dignity of a man in all that, and has nothing to pride himself upon. We must ask whether he knows how v to control his feelings; if he knows how to do that, then he I is a man."
"According to you, feeling has to be controlled like steam," observed Alexandr, "now a little let oflf, then suddenly stopped, opening a valve and shutting it."
s
" Yes, nature has given man such a valve—and not for nothing—it is reason, and you don't always make use of it —it's a pity ! but you're a good sort of fellow !"
" No, uncle, it's sad to hear you; better let me go and make acquaintance with that lady who has lately arrived in
town -". V\ c a
"With whom? Madame Lubetsky ? Was she there yesterday ? " -*—*
" Yes, she talked to me a long while about you, asked after some business matter of hers."