the new manner of his life; at first he fell into a fever but soon recovered and began to grow stout and strong.  His father was proud of him and called him in his strange jargon “a child of nature, my creation.”  When Fedya had reached his sixteenth year, Ivan Petrovitch thought it his duty in good time to instil into him a contempt for the female sex; and the young Spartan, with timidity in his heart and the first down on his lip, full of sap and strength and young blood, already tried to seem indifferent, cold, and rude.

Meanwhile time was passing.  Ivan Petrovitch spent the great part of the year in Lavriky (that was the name of the principal estate inherited from his ancestors).  But in the winter he used to go to Moscow alone; there he stayed at a tavern, diligently visited the club, made speeches and developed his plans in drawing-rooms, and in his behaviour was more than ever Anglomaniac, grumbling and political.  But the year 1825 came and brought much sorrow.  Intimate friends and acquaintances of Ivan Petrovitch underwent painful experiences.  Ivan Petrovitch made haste to withdraw into the country and shut himself up in his house.  Another year passed by, and suddenly Ivan Petrovitch grew feeble, and ailing; his health began to break up.  He, the free-thinker, began to go to church and have prayers put up for him; he, the European, began to sit in steam-baths, to dine at two o’clock, to go to bed at nine, and to doze off to the sound of the chatter of the old steward; he, the man of! political ideas, burnt all his schemes, all his correspondence, trembled before the governor, and was uneasy at the sigh of the police-captain; he, the man of iron will, whimpered and complained, when he had a gumboil or when they gave him a plate of cold soup.  Glafira Petrovna again took control of everything in the house; once more the overseers, bailiffs and simple peasants began to come to the back stairs to speak to the “old witch,” as the servants called her.  The change in Ivan Petrovitch produced a powerful impression on his son.  He had now reached his nineteenth year, and had begun to reflect and to emancipate himself from the hand that pressed like a weight upon him.  Even before this time he had observed a little discrepancy between his father’s words and deeds, between his wide liberal theories and his harsh petty despotism; but he had not expected such a complete breakdown.  His confirmed egoism was patent now in everything.  Young Lavretsky was getting ready! to go to Moscow, to prepare for the university, when a new unexpected calamity overtook Ivan Petrovitch; he became blind, and hopelessly blind, in one day.