as well as the ability to use it in such a way that it benefited him as
much as actual worldly position or fortune could have done. Nothing in
the universe could surprise him, and though not of eminent attainments
in life, he seemed born to have acquired them. He understood so
perfectly how to make both himself and others forget and keep at
a distance the seamy side of life, with all its petty troubles
and vicissitudes, that it was impossible not to envy him. He was a
connoisseur in everything which could give ease and pleasure, as well
as knew how to make use of such knowledge. Likewise he prided himself on
the brilliant connections which he had formed through my mother's family
or through friends of his youth, and was secretly jealous of any one of
a higher rank than himself--any one, that is to say, of a rank higher
than a retired lieutenant of the Guards. Moreover, like all ex-officers,
he refused to dress himself in the prevailing fashion, though he attired
himself both originally and artistically--his invariable wear being
light, loose-fitting suits, very fine shirts, and large collars and
cuffs. Everything seemed to suit his upright figure and quiet, assured
air. He was sensitive to the pitch of sentimentality, and, when reading
a pathetic passage, his voice would begin to tremble and the tears to
come into his eyes, until he had to lay the book aside. Likewise he was
fond of music, and could accompany himself on the piano as he sang the
love songs of his friend A-- or gipsy songs or themes from operas;
but he had no love for serious music, and would frankly flout received
opinion by declaring that, whereas Beethoven's sonatas wearied him and
sent him to sleep, his ideal of beauty was 'Do not wake me, youth'
as Semenoff sang it, or 'Not one' as the gipsy Taninsha rendered that
ditty. His nature was essentially one of those which follow public
opinion concerning what is good, and consider only that good which the
public declares to be so. [It may be noted that the author has said
earlier in the chapter that his father possessed 'much originality.']
God only knows whether he had any moral convictions. His life was so
full of amusement that probably he never had time to form any, and was
too successful ever to feel the lack of them.
As he grew to old age he looked at things always from a fixed point
of view, and cultivated fixed rules--but only so long as that point or
those rules coincided with expediency. The mode of life which offered
some passing degree of interest--that, in his opinion, was the right
one and the only one that men ought to affect. He had great fluency of
argument; and this, I think, increased the adaptability of his morals
and enabled him to speak of one and the same act, now as good, and now,
with abuse, as abominable.
XI -- IN THE DRAWING-ROOM AND THE STUDY
Twilight had set in when we reached home. Mamma sat down to the piano,
and we to a table, there to paint and draw in colours and pencil. Though
I had only one cake of colour, and it was blue, I determined to draw a
picture of the hunt. In exceedingly vivid fashion I painted a blue boy
on a blue horse, and--but here I stopped, for I was uncertain whether
it was possible also to paint a blue HARE. I ran to the study to consult
Papa, and as he was busy reading he never lifted his eyes from his book
when I asked, 'Can there be blue hares?' but at once replied, 'There
can, my boy, there can.' Returning to the table I painted in my blue
