inctly dissatisfied with his
explanations.

Stepan Trofimovitch's view of the general movement was supercilious in
the extreme. In his eyes all it amounted to was that he was forgotten
and of no use. At last his name was mentioned, at first in periodicals
published abroad as that of an exiled martyr, and immediately afterwards
in Petersburg as that of a former star in a celebrated constellation.
He was even for some reason compared with Radishtchev. Then some one
printed the statement that he was dead and promised an obituary notice
of him. Stepan Trofimovitch instantly perked up and assumed an air of
immense dignity. All his disdain for his contemporaries evaporated and
he began to cherish the dream of joining the movement and showing his
powers. Varvara Petrovna's faith in everything instantly revived and she
was thrown into a violent ferment. It was decided to go to Petersburg
without a moment's delay, to find out everything on the spot, to go into
everything personally, and, if possible, to throw themselves heart and
soul into the new movement. Among other things she announced that she
was prepared to found a magazine of her own, and henceforward to devote
her whole life to it. Seeing what it had come to, Stepan Trofimovitch
became more condescending than ever, and on the journey began to behave
almost patronisingly to Varvara Petrovna--which she at once laid up in
her heart against him. She had, however, another very important reason
for the trip, which was to renew her connections in higher spheres.
It was necessary, as far as she could, to remind the world of her
existence, or at any rate to make an attempt to do so. The ostensible
object of the journey was to see her only son, who was just finishing
his studies at a Petersburg lyceum.

VI

They spent almost the whole winter season in Petersburg. But by Lent
everything burst like a rainbow-coloured soap-bubble.

Their dreams were dissipated, and the muddle, far from being cleared
up, had become even more revoltingly incomprehensible. To begin with,
connections with the higher spheres were not established, or only on a
microscopic scale, and by humiliating exertions. In her mortification
Varvara Petrovna threw herself heart and soul into the "new ideas," and
began giving evening receptions. She invited literary people, and they
were brought to her at once in multitudes. Afterwards they came of
themselves without invitation, one brought another. Never had she