THE SORT OF MAN MY FATHER WAS
Papa was a gentleman of the last century, with all the chivalrous
character, self-reliance, and gallantry of the youth of that
time. Upon the men of the present day he looked with a contempt
arising partly from inborn pride and partly from a secret feeling
of vexation that, in this age of ours, he could no longer enjoy
the influence and success which had been his in his youth. His
two principal failings were gambling and gallantry, and he had
won or lost, in the course of his career, several millions of
roubles.
Tall and of imposing figure, he walked with a curiously quick,
mincing gait, as well as had a habit of hitching one of his
shoulders. His eyes were small and perpetually twinkling, his
nose large and aquiline, his lips irregular and rather oddly
(though pleasantly) compressed, his articulation slightly
defective and lisping, and his head quite bald. Such was my
father's exterior from the days of my earliest recollection. It
was an exterior which not only brought him success and made him a
man a bonnes fortunes but one which pleased people of all ranks
and stations. Especially did it please those whom he desired to
please.
At all junctures he knew how to take the lead, for, though not
deriving from the highest circles of society, he had always mixed
with them, and knew how to win their respect. He possessed in the
highest degree that measure of pride and self-confidence which,
without giving offence, maintains a man in the opinion of the
world. He had much originality, as well as the ability to use it
in such a way that it benefited him as much as actual worldly
position or fortune could have done. Nothing in the universe
could surprise him, and though not of eminent attainments in
life, he seemed born to have acquired them. He understood so
perfectly how to make both himself and others forget and keep at
a distance the seamy side of life, with all its petty troubles
and vicissitudes, that it was impossible not to envy him. He was
a connoisseur in everything which could give ease and pleasure,
as well as knew how to make use of such knowledge. Likewise he
prided himself on the brilliant connections which he had formed
through my mother's family or through friends of his youth, and
was secretly jealous of any one of a higher rank than himself--any
one, that is to say, of a rank higher than a retired lieutenant
of the Guards. Moreover, like all ex-officers, he refused to
dress himself in the prevailing fashion, though he attired
himself both originally and artistically--his invariable wear
being light, loose-fitting suits, very fine shirts, and large
collars and cuffs. Everything seemed to suit his upright figure
and quiet, assured air. He was sensitive to the pitch of
sentimentality, and, when reading a pathetic passage, his voice
would begin to tremble and the tears to come into his eyes, until
he had to lay the book aside. Likewise he was fond of music, and
could accompany himself on the piano as he sang the love songs of
his friend A- or gipsy songs or themes from operas; but he had no
love for serious music, and would frankly flout received opinion
by declaring that, whereas Beethoven's sonatas wearied him and
sent him to sleep, his ideal of beauty was "Do not wake me,
youth" as Semenoff sang it, or "Not one" as the gipsy Taninsha
rendered that ditty. His nature was essentially one of those
which follow public opinion concerning what is good, and consider
only that good which the public declares to be so. [It may be
noted that the author has said earlier in the chapter that his
father possessed "much originality."] God only knows whether he
had any moral convictions. His life was so full of amusement that
probably he never had time to form any, and was too successful
ever to feel the lack of them.
As he grew to old age he looked at things always from a fixed
point of view, and cultivated fixed rules--but only so long as
that point or those rules coincided with expediency, The mode of
life which offered some passing degree of interest--that, in his
opinion, was the right one and the only one that men ought to
affect. He had great fluency of argument; and this, I think,
increased the adaptability of his morals and enabled him to speak
of one and the same act, now as good, and now, with abuse, as
abominable.
