The countess’s health was much better, and Pakhtin was very glad of it.
“Did you know that Labazof got back to-day, and is staying at Chevalier’s?”
“What is that you say? Why, we are old friends. How glad I am. He has grown old, poor fellow. His wife wrote my wife….”
But Seviernikof did not cite what she wrote. His partner, who was playing without trumps, made some mistake. While talking with Ivan Pavlovitch, he kept his eye on them, but now suddenly he threw his whole body on the table, and, pounding on it with his hands, proved that he ought to have played a seven.
Ivan Pavlovitch got up and went to another table, joined the conversation there, and communicated to another important man his news, again got up and did the same thing at a third table. All these men of dis-tinction were very glad to hear of Labazof’s return, so that when Ivan Pavlovitch came back to the billiard-room again he no longer doubted, as he had at first, whether it was the proper thing to be glad of Labazof’s return, and no longer employed any periphrasis about the ball, or the article in the Viestnik, or any one’s health, or the weather, but broke his news at once with an enthusi-astic account of the happy return of the famous Deka-brist. The little old man, who was still making vain attempts to hit the white ball with his cue, was, in Pakhtin’s opinion, most likely to be rejoiced by the news. He went to him.
“You play remarkably well, your highness,” said Pakhtin, just as the little old man struck his cue full in the marker’s red waistcoat, signifying by this that he wished it chalked.
The title of address 1 was not spoken at all as you would suppose, with any servility, oh, no, that would have been impossible in 1856. Ivan Pavlovitch called this old man simply by his given name and patronymic, and the title was given partly as a joke on those who did use it, and partly to let it be known that “we know with whom we are speaking, and yet we like to have a bit of sport and that is a fact; “at any rate, it was very subtile.
“I have just heard that Piotr Labazof has got back. He has arrived to-day from Siberia with his whole family.”
Pakhtin uttered these words at the instant that the
1 Vashe vuisokoprevaskhadityelstvo.
little old man was aiming at his ball again this was his misfortune.
“If he has come back such a hare-brained fellow as he was when he was sent off, there is nothing to be rejoiced over,” said the little old man, gruffly, provoked at his incomprehensible lack of success.
This reply disconcerted Ivan Pavlovitch; once more he did not know whether it was the proper thing to be glad of Labazof’s return, and in order definitely to settle his doubts he directed his steps to the room where the men of intellect collected to talk, the men who knew the significance and object of everything, who knew every-thing, in one word. Ivan Pavlovitch had the same pleasant relations with the habitues of the “intellectual room “as he had with the gilded youth and the dignita-ries.
To tell the truth, he was out of his place in the “intellectual room,” but no one was surprised when he entered and sat down on a divan. The talk was turn-ing on the question in what year and on what subject a quarrel had occurred between two Russian journals. Taking advantage of a moment’s silence, Ivan Pavlo-vitch communicated his tidings, not at all as a matter to rejoice over, nor as a matter of little account, but as if it were connected with the conversation. But immedi-ately, by the way the “intellectuals “I employ this word to signify the habitats of the “intellectual room “received the tidings and began to discuss it, immedi-ately Ivan Pavlovitch understood that here at least this tidings was investigated, and that here only it would take such a form as he could safely carry it further, and “savoir a quoi s* en, tenir”
“Labazof was the only one left,” said one of the “in-tellectuals.”“Now all of the Dekabrists who are alive have returned to Russia.”
“He was one of the band of famous ….” said Pakhtin, in a still experimental tone of voice, ready to make this quotation either comic or serious.
“Undoubtedly Labazof was one of the most impor-tant men of that time,” began one of the “intellectuals.” “In 1819 he was ensign of the Semyonovsky regiment and was sent abroad with despatches for Duke Z / . Then he came back, and in 1824 was admitted to the first Masonic lodge. All the Masons of that time met at D ‘s and at his house. You see, he was very rich;
Prince Z , Feodore D , Ivan P , those were
his most intimate friends. And so his uncle, Prince Vis-sarion, in order to remove the young man from their society, brought him to Moscow.”
“Excuse me, Nikola? Stepanovitch,” interrupted an-other of the “intellectuals.”“It seems to me that that was in 1823, because Vissarion Labazof was appointed commander of the third Corpus in 1824 and was in War-saw. He took him on his own staff as aide, and after his dismissal brought him here. However, excuse me, I interrupted you.” ….
“Oh, no, you finish the story.”
“No, I beg of you.”
“No, you finish; you ought to know about it better than I do, and besides, your memory and knowledge have been satisfactorily shown here.”
“Well, in Moscow he resigned, contrary to his uncle’s wishes,” proceeded the one whose “memory and knowl-edge had been satisfactorily shown.”“And here around him formed another society of which he was the head and heart, if one may so express oneself. He was rich, had a good intellect, was cultivated. They say he was remarkably lovable. My aunt used to say that she never knew a man more charming. And here, just be-fore the conspiracy, he married one of the Krinskys.” ….
“The daughter of Nikolai” Krinsky, the one who be-fore Borodino…. oh, yes, the famous one,” interrupted some one.
“Oh, yes. Her enormous property is his now, but his own estate, which he inherited, went to his younger brother, Prince Ivan, who is now Ober-hoff-kafermeis-ter that is what he called it and was minister. Best of all was his behavior toward his brother,” contin-ued the narrator. “When he was arrested the only thing that he had time to destroy was his brother’s letters and papers.”
“Was his brother implicated?”
The narrator did not reply “yes,” but compressed his lips and closed his eyes significantly.
“Then to all questions Piotr Labazof inflexibly denied everything that would reflect on his brother, and for this reason he was punished more severely than the others. But what is best of all is that Prince Ivan got possession of his whole property, and never sent a grosh to him.”
“They say that Piotr Labazof himself renounced it,” remarked one of the listeners.
“Yes, but he renounced it simply because Prince Ivan, just before the coronation, wrote him that if he did not take it they would confiscate the property, and that he had children and obligations, and that now he was not in a condition to restore anything. Piotr replied in two lines : * Neither I nor my heirs have or wish to have any claim to the estate assigned to you by law.’ And nothing further. Why should he? And Prince Ivan swallowed it down, and with rapture locked this docu-ment and various bonds into his strong-box and showed it to no one.” ….
One of the peculiarities of the “intellectual” room consisted in the fact that its habituts knew, when they wanted to know, everything that was done in the world, however much of a secret it was.
“Nevertheless it is a question,” said a new speaker, “whether it would be fair to take from Prince Ivan’s children the property which they have had ever since they were young, and which they supposed they had a right to.”
The conversation thus took an abstract turn which did not interest Pakhtin.
He felt the necessity of finding fresh persons to com-municate his tidings to, and he got up and made his way leisurely through the rooms, stopping here and there to talk. One of his fellow-members delayed him to tell him the news of the Labazofs’ return.
“Who doesn’t know it?” replied Ivan Pavlovitch, smiling calmly as he started for the front door. The news had gone entirely round the circle and was coming back to him again. There was nothing left for him to do at the club, so he went to a reception. It was not a formal reception, but a “salon,” where every evening callers were received. There were present eight ladies and one old colonel, and all of them were awfully bored. Pakhtin’s assurance of bearing and his smiling face had the effect of immediately cheering up the ladies and girls. The tidings was all the more apropos from the fact that there was present the old Countess Fuchs with her daughter. When Pakhtin repeated almost word for word all he had heard in the “intellectual” room, Ma-dame Fuchs, shaking her head and amazed to think how old she was, began to recall how she had once ridden horse-back with Natasha Krinsky before she
