Another year elapsed, and
Ivan Petrovitch suddenly grew feeble, weakened, declined, his health
deserted him. A free-thinker--he took to going to church, and to ordering
services of prayer; a European--he began to steam himself at the bath, to
dine at two o'clock, to go to bed at nine, to fall asleep to the chatter
of the aged butler; a statesman--he burned all his plans, all his
correspondence, trembled before the governor, and fidgeted in the
presence of the rural chief of police; a man with a will of iron--he
whimpered and complained when an abscess broke out on him, when he was
served with a plate of cold soup. Glafira Petrovna again reigned over
everything in the house; again clerks, village bailiffs, common peasants,
began to creep through the back entrance to the "ill-tempered old
hag,"--that was what the house-servants called her. The change in Ivan
Petrovitch gave his son a great shock; he was already in his nineteenth
year, and had begun to reason and to free himself from the weight of the
hand which oppressed him. He had noticed, even before this, a discrepancy
between his father's words and deeds, between his broad and liberal
theories and his harsh, petty despotism; but he had not anticipated such
a sudden break. The inveterate egoist suddenly revealed himself at full
length. Young Lavretzky was getting ready to go to Moscow, to prepare
himself for the university,--when an unforeseen, fresh calamity descended
upon the head of Ivan Petrovitch: he became blind, and that hopelessly,
in one day.

Not trusting in the skill of Russian physicians, he began to take
measures to obtain permission to go abroad. It was refused. Then he took
his son with him, and for three whole years he roamed over Russia, from
one doctor to another, incessantly journeying from town to town and
driving the physicians, his son, his servants, to despair by his
pusillanimity and impatience. He returned to Lavriki a perfect rag, a
tearful and capricious child. Bitter days ensued, every one endured much
at his hands. Ivan Petrovitch calmed down only while he was eating his
dinner; he had never eaten so greedily, nor so much; all the rest of the
time he never gave himself or others any peace. He prayed, grumbled at
fate, railed at himself, reviled politics, his system,--reviled
everything which he had made his boast and upon which he had prided
himself, everything which he had held up as an example for his son; he
insisted that he believed in