Thaddeus was seized with a severe illness, when Ivan attended on him with fraternal care, ministering to all his wants, and scarcely ever leaving his side.
From that period was to be dated their firm friendship, which, though warm and sincere, could not thaw the reserve with which Ivan always guarded the subject of his family and connexions; and when any sought to question him, he would turn away with a haughty and angry air, so that even Thaddeus remained nearly as ignorant as before of his friend’s history. Every day, however, seemed more closely to cement the friendship of the two young men, until they were constantly together, supporting each other on every occasion of need. On one point, however, they were dissimilar in taste; while Thaddeus’s love of gaiety caused him to seek society, Ivan, on all occasions, shunned it, devoting himself with so much perseverance and energy to his studies and military exercises, that he was qualified to quit college at the same period with his friend.
Ivan Galetzoff was generally supposed at college to be the son of the Baron Galetzoff; but as the young man never spoke of him as his father, and indeed avoided, as much as possible, mentioning his name, there were some doubts entertained on the subject; and his proud and retiring manners were, therefore, considered to result from the galling feelings caused by a supposed stigma on his birth. The château of the Baron Galetzoff lay a short distance from Moscow; and in the neighbourhood of that city was also the residence of the generous noble who had been the protector of Thaddeus’s father; but there was no intercourse between the two families, the Baron living entirely secluded from the world.
The Baron Galetzoff was in truth, a fierce unpolished soldier, who had frequently distinguished himself in the wars of Russia against the Turks and the inhabitants of the Caucasus, as much by his unexampled cruelty, as by his bravery and military talents.
To his own soldiers he was overbearing and tyrannical, and he seemed to enjoy inflicting barbarities on the miserable foes who fell into his power; while to his dependants and the serfs on his estates, he was morose and hard-hearted; so that none could love, and all feared and hated him. His compeers disliked and shunned him, while he, on his part, seemed equally to disregard their censure or applause.
He had now retired for some time past from military command, and had since then immured himself in his own château, within which the stranger never obtained admittance.
When on several occasions Ivan had been tempted by Thaddeus to leave its sombre halls, and to mix in society, nothing could ever be gleaned from him respecting the internal arrangements of the family, notwithstanding all the attempts which were made to discover the secrets of the mansion.
Some of the more charitably disposed neighbours concluded that the Baron’s temper had been soured by domestic affliction, as it was reported that he had lost by sudden death a beautiful wife, whom he tenderly loved, and her child, which had mysteriously disappeared; others however declared, that his brow had always been clouded by the same dark lines.
In spite of these various rumours, all concurred in the opinion, that the generous qualities of the young Ivan almost made amends for the Baron’s defects; but they deplored his fate in being obliged to live with a person of so opposite a character. The serfs on the estate loved him almost to adoration, every one of whom was ready to lay down his life in his service.
Ivan had ever regarded the Baron more with fear and awe, than with those feelings of affection and respect, which a son owes to a parent.
There was however, one inmate of the château, on whom he lavished all the warmth and tenderness of a fond and affectionate heart. She was the one bright star pure and lustrous, towards which he gazed through the cloudy atmosphere of his existence. From his earliest days he had remembered that lovely countenance bending over him with a soft and enraptured gaze. Those bright eyes which looked lustreless on others, on him always shed a benign and soothing light. He had long ceased to call her mother, for he had once done so in his childish days, when with a deep drawn sigh, and a gush of tears, she pressed him closer to her bosom, and bade him never again to use that name: the child could not however be taught to call her by any other, and he would therefore avoid all mention of her to any one.
She had moreover succeeded in teaching him to refrain from paying her any attention or notice when, by chance, they appeared together in the Baron’s presence, and the lady’s greatest care seemed to be to appear equally regardless of the child.
How delightful was it, as a reward for this apparent estrangement, to commune during the Baron’s absence, with her, when he would listen to every word she uttered, and hear with delight the soft music of her voice. Then would she teach him a strange language, which none other around them spoke, and they would converse in it for hours together secure from interruption, until the child spoke it as fluently as Russian. He had never inquired, in what country the language he had learned was spoken, it was sufficient for him to know, that it was given to him by the being he most revered and loved, and he cherished his knowledge as a sacred gift which it would be profanation to impart to any other mortal. He always thought in that language, and in it he always poured forth his soul to the great Dispenser of good, for he looked upon it as the language of adoration; and as it had become his medium of communication with her he loved most on earth, he felt it as the most fit to adore Him who reigns in Heaven.
Upon her he looked as upon a being with an existence separate from and above all the rest of the world. In her presence, his thoughts became more holy, his aspirations loftier; his breast would swell proudly, as she oft described to him the noble deeds of gallant warriors fighting for the liberty of their country, until he ardently longed to emulate their actions; and thus were early implanted in his breast a sincere love of liberty, and a hatred of despotism, with a contempt of every danger which might beset him in the pursuit of the fame he thirsted after.
These sentiments had lain almost dormant within him, during the uneventful life which he had hitherto led, and it was only, when at college, he was witness to any tyrannical act of his own companions over their inferiors, that they burst forth; on such occasions he would always step forward in aid of the weakest and injured party.
He had so early been taught to conceal his feelings and opinions within his own bosom, that none of his companions were aware of their force or tendency, and had the officers of the college become acquainted with them, a decisive check would have been given to his advancement.
As far back as his memory could carry him, no event of importance had occurred to him: ere he was sent to college his education had been placed under the direction of a very worthy but most unintellectual priest, who did not attempt to give him more than the first general rudiments of knowledge; so that from an early age he was accustomed to depend much on his own powers to attain what he sought after.
At times the Baron seemed to take an interest in his welfare, and in the progress of his studies, but he was very uncertain and variable in his behaviour towards the boy; sometimes treating him with the greatest severity, at others, with indulgence; but never with that kindness or justice which wins the love and respect of youth.
He would frequently summon him to attend at the usual field sports of the country, in which he soon learnt to excel; but when the boy could make his escape, he would prefer wandering by himself in the woods with his gun, far more occupied with his own contemplations, than in the pursuit of game; or at other times he would urge his light skiff over the surface of a neighbouring lake, then resting on his oars, would sit gazing on the waters, his thoughts wandering to regions far away.
When safe from the Baron’s detection, he would hasten to a rendezvous with his beautiful guardian and friend, and spend hours of delightful intercourse in her society.
Reclining at her feet, his recollection would revert faintly and indistinctly to scenes of a far distant, undefinable period, when he fancied he could recall to memory a picture of the bright and sunny mountains of a soft and genial clime – a cottage on the green hill’s side, in front
