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Captain Yanovski became enamored with the beautiful daughter of Baranof, and if you search the old records of the Cathedral of St. Michaels at Sitka you will find the entry as made of the marriage of Simeon Ivanof Yanovski "with the late head governor of the Russian American possessions, Collegiate Adviser and Cavalier Baranof's daughter Irina, one of Creoles."
At first Irina resolutely refused to go, and Litvinov was called in by the prince to use his persuasion. "Very well, then, I will go," she said, when she had listened to his arguments; "only remember, it is you yourself who desired it." She spoke so strangely that he feared he had offended her. "Irina, darling, you seem to be angry." Irina laughed. "Oh, no! I am not angry.
I have been listening to his story as told by a man my friend. But I wish also to hear it from you, who know it all. How was it that you met? And what has become of his real work: of his talent?" Irina did not immediately reply.
Her words were gospel to him; and her frequent invisibility seemed only to whet his appetite for to-morrow. Meantime Joseph, perfectly ignorant of his road, careless of the future, enamoured of each passing hour, left Irina absolutely free so far as her course was concerned. He himself, however, was neglecting his professional duties.
Irina has gone away. Having brought me to this, I disgust her! Go thou, then, clean body, clean hands, clean heart! Ach! I hate hate hate! "And there sits my devil clothed in the scarlet. Look on her! Look! Look, for the last time, before I pay her her wage of destruction! So! There! And there! And there!" It was the canvas containing his first portrait of Irina.
Here, at once, Mademoiselle Irina, I will give you five thousand roubles in notes, with which you can discharge your obligations to Brodsky, and repay me at your leisure." The ensuing five minutes proved even more distressing than Ivan, anticipating them, had feared. The young lady was of a temperament both emotional and dramatic.
Ivan, vindictively acknowledging that, for the present, his ideal was quite beyond him, became, to a certain extent, interested in another woman, whose future career was destined, indeed, to touch his at points many and strange. This young person was called Irina Petrovna; and she was a recent graduate of the Government School of Singing. Her father was one of the violins in the opera orchestra.
Irina appeared upon the threshold of Joseph's modest studio clad from top to toe in a billow of flaming scarlet: tulle and velvet and poppies cunningly mingled, and well foiled by the solemn black of her escort's formal garb.
Pickwick addicted to punch, and Sam Weller to lying; Bazarof actually a Nihilist, and Irina ! Levin and Anna, Pierre and Natasha, all of them stormy and unsatisfactory at times. "Un Coeur Simple" nothing but a servant, and an old maid at that; "Saint Julien l'Hospitalier" a sheer fanatic. Colonel Newcome too irritable and too simple altogether. Don Quixote certified insane.
As he waited impatiently in the hotel hall, a letter was brought him. It was a letter from Irina in French. "My dear one," she wrote, "I cannot run away with you. I have not the strength to do it. I cannot leave this life; I see the poison has gone too deeply into me.
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