or his father. However, the old man certainly
was at times the most intolerable creature in the world. In the first
place he was dreadfully inquisitive; in the second, by his chatter and
questions he interfered with his son's occupations; and lastly, he
sometimes presented himself in a state of intoxication. The son broke
the father, in a degree, of his faults,--of his inquisitiveness and
his chattering; and ultimately brought about such a condition of
affairs that the latter listened to all he said as to an oracle, and
dared not open his mouth without his permission.

There were no bounds to the old man's admiration of and delight in his
Petinka, as he called his son. When he came to visit him he almost
always wore a rather anxious, timid expression, probably on account of
his uncertainty as to how his son would receive him, and generally
could not make up his mind for a long time to go in; and if I happened
to be present, he would question me for twenty minutes: How was
Petinka? Was he well? In what mood was he, and was not he occupied in
something important? What, precisely, was he doing? Was he writing, or
engaged in meditation? When I had sufficiently encouraged and soothed
him, the old man would at last make up his mind to enter, and would
open the door very, very softly, very, very cautiously, and stick his
head in first; and if he saw that his son was not angry, and nodded to
him, he would step gently into the room, take off his little coat, and
his hat, which was always crumpled, full of holes and with broken
rims, and hang them on a hook, doing everything very softly, and
inaudibly. Then he would seat himself cautiously on a chair and never
take his eyes from his son, but would watch his every movement in his
desire to divine the state of his Petinka's temper. If the son was not
exactly in the right mood, and the old man detected it, he instantly
rose from his seat and explained, "I only ran in for a minute,
Petinka. I have been walking a good ways, and happened to be passing
by, so I came in to rest myself." And then silently he took his poor
little coat and his wretched little hat, opened the door again very
softly, and went away, forcing a smile in order to suppress the grief
which was seething up in his soul, and not betray it to his son.

But when the son received his father well, the old man was beside
himself with joy. His satisfaction shone forth in his face, in his
gestures, in his movements. If his