ir intercourse with the noblest and most exclusive
society of Germany and France, acquire that external adroitness and
social refinement, that brilliant graceful polish, which so well
conceals the innate barbarism and cunning of the natural character of
the Russian.

He was a bright companion, sufficiently conversant with arts and
sciences to talk on every subject, without committing himself. He knew
how to converse on all topics fluently enough, without betraying the
superficial character of his knowledge and his studies. Educated at
the court of the Empress Elizabeth, life had appeared to him in all
its voluptuousness and fullness, but at the same time had soon been
stripped of all its fancies and illusions. For him there existed no
ideals and no innocence, no faith, not even a doubt which in itself
implies a glimmer of faith; for him there was nothing but the plain,
naked, undeceivable disenchantment, and pleasure was the only thing in
which he still believed.

This pleasure he pursued with all the energy of his originally noble
and powerful character; and as all his divinities had been destroyed,
all holy ideals had dissolved into myths and hollow phantoms, he
wished to secure one divinity, at least, to whom he could raise an
altar, whom he could worship: this divinity was Pleasure.

Pleasure he sought everywhere, in all countries; and the more ardently
and eagerly he sought it, the less was he able to find it. Pleasure
was the first modest, coy woman who cruelly shunned him, and the more
he pursued her, the more coldly did she seem to fly him.

And now he converted his whole life into an adventure, a kind of
quixotic pursuit of the lost loved one, Pleasure. In the mean time,
his heart was dead to all the better and nobler feelings. But, at one
time, it seemed as if a higher and more serious inclination promised
permanently to enchain this dreaded rival of all husbands and lovers.

Feodor von Brenda, the most _blase_, witty, insolent cavalier at the
court of his empress, became suddenly serious and silent. On his proud
countenance was seen, for the first time, the light of a soft and
gentle feeling, and when he approached his beautiful bride, the
Countess Lodoiska von Sandomir, there beamed from his dark eyes a glow
holier and purer than the fire of sensuality. Could he have fled with
her into some desert, could he have withdrawn into the stillness of
his mountain castle, he would have been saved; but life held