sy to bear; it had none of the peace which comes with death. Lisa
still lived somewhere, hidden and afar; he thought of her as of the
living, but he did not recognize the girl he had once loved in that dim
pale shadow, cloaked in a nun's dress and encircled in misty clouds
of incense. Lavretsky would not have recognized himself, could he have
looked at himself, as mentally he looked at Lisa. In the course of these
eight years he had passed that turning-point in life, which many never
pass, but without which no one can be a good man to the end; he had
really ceased to think of his own happiness, of his personal aims. He
had grown calm, and--why hide the truth?--he had grown old not only in
face and in body, he had grown old in heart; to keep a young heart up to
old age, as some say, is not only difficult, but almost ridiculous;
he may well be content who has not lost his belief in goodness, his
steadfast will, and his zeal for work. Lavretsky had good reason to
be content; he had become actually an excellent farmer, he had really
learnt to cultivate the land, and his labours were not only for himself;
he had, to the best of his powers, secured on a firm basis the welfare
of his peasants.

Lavretsky went out of the house into the garden, and sat down on the
familiar garden seat. And on this loved spot, facing the house where for
the last time he had vainly stretched out his hand for the enchanted
cup which frothed and sparkled with the golden wine of delight, he, a
solitary homeless wanderer, looked back upon his life, while the joyous
shouts of the younger generation who were already filling his place
floated across the garden to him. His heart was sad, but not weighed
down, nor bitter; much there was to regret, nothing to be ashamed of.

"Play away, be gay, grow strong, vigorous youth!" he thought, and there
was no bitterness in his meditations; "your life is before you, and for
you life will be easier; you have not, as we had, to find out a path for
yourselves, to struggle, to fall, and to rise again in the dark; we had
enough to do to last out--and how many of us did not last out?--but you
need only do your duty, work away, and the blessing of an old man be
with you. For me, after to-day, after these emotions, there remains to
take my leave at last,--and though sadly, without envy, without any dark
feelings, to say, in sight of the end, in sight of God who awaits me:
'Welcome, lonely old age! burn out, useless life!'"