Novels, Tales, Journeys

“You are mistaken,” he replied. “The ancient Russian nobility, owing to the reasons you have mentioned, fell into obscurity and has formed a sort of third estate. Our aristocratic mob, to which I also belong, considers Rurik and Monomakh its ancestors.6 I say, for instance,” the Russian went on with an air of self-satisfied nonchalance, “that the roots of my nobility are lost in remote antiquity, the names of my forebears are on every page of our history. But if I ever thought of calling myself an aristocrat, many people would probably laugh. But our real aristocrats would have a hard time even naming their grandfathers. Their ancient lineages go back to Peter and Elizabeth.7 Orderlies, choirboys, Ukrainians—those are their family founders. I don’t say it in reproach: merit is always merit, and the benefit of the state calls for its elevation. Only it is funny to see in the worthless grandsons of pastry chefs, orderlies, choirboys, and sextons the haughtiness of the duc de Montmorency, the first baron of Christendom, or Clermont-Tonnerre.8 We’re so matter-of-fact that we go on our knees before the luck, the success of the moment, and…but the charm of antiquity, gratitude towards the past, and respect for moral merits do not exist for us. Karamzin recently told us our history.9 But we hardly paid attention. We’re proud, not of our ancestral glory, but of some uncle’s rank or the balls given by our cousin. Note that disrespect for one’s forebears is the first sign of savagery and immorality.”

*1 began to sulk

*2 “He’ll do nothing of the sort, he’s too happy being able to compromise her.”

*3 ‘When I was in Florence…’

*4 “and then he’s a man of great feelings”

A Novel in Letters

1. LIZA TO SASHA

You were surprised, of course, dear Sashenka, by my unexpected departure for the country. I hasten to explain it all candidly. The dependency of my position has always been a burden to me. Of course, Avdotya Andreevna brought me up on an equal footing with her niece. But all the same I was a ward in her house, and you cannot imagine how many petty trials are bound up with that title. I had to bear with many things, to give way in many things, to overlook many things, while my amour-propre assiduously noticed the slightest tinge of negligence. My very equality with the princess was a burden to me. When we appeared at a ball, dressed identically, I was annoyed to see no pearls around her neck. I sensed that she did not wear them only so as not to differ from me, and that very attentiveness offended me. Can it be, I thought, that people suspect me of envy or any other such childish weakness? Men’s behavior with me, however courteous it might be, constantly wounded my amour-propre. Coolness or affability, it all seemed like disrespect to me. In short, I was a most unhappy creature, and my heart, naturally tender, was becoming more hardened by the hour. Have you noticed that all girls who live as wards, distant relations, demoiselles de compagnie,^*1 and the like, are usually either basely subservient or unbearably whimsical? The latter I respect and forgive from the bottom of my heart.

Exactly three weeks ago I received a letter from my poor grandmother. She complained of her solitude and invited me to her country estate. I decided to make use of this opportunity. I barely managed to get Avdotya Andreevna’s permission to go, and had to promise to come back to Petersburg in the winter, but I have no intention of keeping my word. Grandmother was extremely glad to see me; she never expected me. Her tears moved me beyond words. I’ve come to love her with all my heart. She once belonged to high society and has kept much of the amiability of that time.

Now I am living at home, I am the mistress, and you would not believe what a true delight it is for me. I got used to country life at once, and the absence of luxury is not strange to me in the least. Our estate is very nice. An old house on a hill, a garden, a lake, pine woods around—it’s all a bit dreary in autumn and winter, but in spring and summer it must seem an earthly paradise. We have few neighbors, and I have not yet seen any of them. Solitude actually pleases me, as in the elegies of your Lamartine.1

Write to me, my angel, your letters will be a great comfort to me. How are your balls, how are our mutual acquaintances? Though I have made myself a recluse, I have not renounced the vanity of the world altogether—news of it will interest me.

The Village of Pavlovskoe

2. SASHA’S REPLY

Dear Liza,