XXII. PAPA
Papa had been in a particularly good humour ever since Woloda had
passed into the University, and came much oftener to dine with
Grandmamma. However, I knew from Nicola that he had won a great
deal lately. Occasionally, he would come and sit with us in the
evening before going to the club. He used to sit down to the
piano and bid us group ourselves around him, after which he would
beat time with his thin boots (he detested heels, and never wore
them), and make us sing gipsy songs. At such times you should
have seen the quaint enthusiasm of his beloved Lubotshka, who
adored him!
Sometimes, again, he would come to the schoolroom and listen with
a grave face as I said my lessons; yet by the few words which he
would let drop when correcting me, I could see that he knew even
less about the subject than I did. Not infrequently, too, he
would wink at us and make secret signs when Grandmamma was
beginning to scold us and find fault with us all round. "So much
for us children!" he would say. On the whole, however, the
impossible pinnacle upon which my childish imagination had placed
him had undergone a certain abasement. I still kissed his large
white hand with a certain feeling of love and respect, but I also
allowed myself to think about him and to criticise his behaviour
until involuntarily thoughts occurred to me which alarmed me by
their presence. Never shall I forget one incident in particular
which awakened thoughts of this kind, and caused me intense
astonishment. Late one evening, he entered the drawing-room in
his black dress-coat and white waistcoat, to take Woloda (who was
still dressing in his bedroom) to a ball. Grandmamma was also in
her bedroom, but had given orders that, before setting out,
Woloda was to come and say goodbye to her (it was her invariable
custom to inspect him before he went to a ball, and to bless him
and direct him as to his behaviour). The room where we were was
lighted by a solitary lamp. Mimi and Katenka were walking up and
down, and Lubotshka was playing Field's Second Concerto (Mamma's
favourite piece) at the piano. Never was there such a family
likeness as between Mamma and my sister--not so much in the face
or the stature as in the hands, the walk, the voice, the
favourite expressions, and, above all, the way of playing the
piano and the whole demeanour at the instrument. Lubotshka always
arranged her dress when sitting down just as Mamma had done, as
well as turned the leaves like her, tapped her fingers angrily
and said "Dear me!" whenever a difficult passage did not go
smoothly, and, in particular, played with the delicacy and
exquisite purity of touch which in those days caused the
execution of Field's music to be known characteristically as "jeu
perle" and to lie beyond comparison with the humbug of our modern
virtuosi.
Papa entered the room with short, soft steps, and approached
Lubotshka. On seeing him she stopped playing.
"No, go on, Luba, go on," he said as he forced her to sit down
again. She went on playing, while Papa, his head on his hand, sat
near her for a while. Then suddenly he gave his shoulders a
shrug, and, rising, began to pace the room. Every time that he
approached the piano he halted for a moment and looked fixedly at
Lubotshka. By his walk and his every movement, I could see that
he was greatly agitated. Once, when he stopped behind Lubotshka,
he kissed her black hair, and then, wheeling quickly round,
resumed his pacing. The piece finished, Lubotshka went up to him
and said, "Was it well played?" whereupon, without answering, he
took her head in his two hands, and kissed her forehead and eyes
with such tenderness as I had never before seen him display.
"Why, you are crying!" cried Lubotshka suddenly as she ceased to
toy with his watch-chain and stared at him with her great black
eyes. "Pardon me, darling Papa! I had quite forgotten that it was
dear Mamma's piece which I was playing."
"No, no, my love; play it often," he said in a voice trembling
with emotion. "Ah, if you only knew how much good it does me to
share your tears!"
He kissed her again, and then, mastering his feelings and
shrugging his shoulders, went to the door leading to the corridor
which ran past Woloda's room.
"Waldemar, shall you be ready soon?" he cried, halting in the
middle of the passage. Just then Masha came along.
"Why, you look prettier every day," he said to her. She blushed
and passed on.
"Waldemar, shall you be ready soon?" he cried again, with a cough
and a shake of his shoulders, just as Masha slipped away and he
first caught sight of me.
I loved Papa, but the intellect is independent of the heart, and
often gives birth to thoughts which offend and are harsh and
incomprehensible to the feelings. And it was thoughts of this
kind that, for all I strove to put them away, arose at that
moment in my mind.
