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Benevolensky.... But before we proceed with the rest of the story, gentle reader, let us introduce you to this new personage. Mr.
She did not, though, feel any very warm affection for him; Andryusha's fawning ways were not quite to her taste. Meanwhile, Andryusha was growing up; Tatyana Borissovna began to be anxious about his future. An unexpected incident solved the difficulty to her. One day eight years ago she received a visit from a certain Mr. Benevolensky, Piotr Mihalitch, a college councillor with a decoration. Mr.
Benevolensky had at one time held an official post in the nearest district town, and had been assiduous in his visits to Tatyana Borissovna; then he had moved to Petersburg, got into the ministry, and attained a rather important position, and on one of the numerous journeys he took in the discharge of his official duties, he remembered his old friend, and came back to see her, with the intention of taking a rest for two days from his official labours 'in the bosom of the peace of nature. Tatyana Borissovna greeted him with her usual cordiality, and Mr.
I can't get him a teacher here. To have one from the town is a great expense; our neighbours, the Artamonovs, have a drawing-master, and they say an excellent one, but his mistress forbids his giving lessons to outsiders. 'Hm, pronounced Mr. Benevolensky; he pondered and looked askance at Andryusha. 'Well, we will talk it over, he added suddenly, rubbing his hands.
Andryusha, blushing and smiling, brought the visitor his sketch-book. Mr. Benevolensky began turning it over with the air of a connoisseur. 'Good, young man, he pronounced at last; 'good, very good. And he patted Andryusha on the head. Andryusha intercepted his hand and kissed it 'Fancy, now, a talent like that!... I congratulate you, Tatyana Borissovna. 'But what am I to do, Piotr Mihalitch?
Do you feel yourself consecrated to the holy service of Art? 'I want to be an artist, Piotr Mihalitch, Andryusha declared in a trembling voice. 'I am delighted, if so it be. It will, of course, continued Mr. Benevolensky,'be hard for you to part from your revered aunt; you must feel the liveliest gratitude to her. 'I adore my auntie, Andryusha interrupted, blinking.
During the first three years of Andryusha's absence he wrote pretty often, sometimes enclosing drawings in his letters. From time to time Mr. Benevolensky added a few words, for the most part of approbation; then the letters began to be less and less frequent, and at last ceased altogether.
The same day he begged Tatyana Borissovna's permission for an interview with her alone. They shut themselves up together. In half-an-hour they called Andryusha Andryusha went in. Mr. Benevolensky was standing at the window with a slight flush on his face and a beaming expression. Tatyana Borissovna was sitting in a corner wiping her eyes.
'Come, Andryusha, she said at last, 'you must thank Piotr Mihalitch; he will take you under his protection; he will take you to Petersburg. Andryusha almost fainted on the spot. 'Tell me candidly, began Mr. Benevolensky, in a voice filled with dignity and patronising indulgence; 'do you want to be an artist, young man?
Benevolensky was a stoutish man, of middle height and mild appearance, with little short legs and little fat hands; he wore a roomy and excessively spruce frock-coat, a high broad cravat, snow-white linen, a gold chain on his silk waistcoat, a gem-ring on his forefinger, and a white wig on his head; he spoke softly and persuasively, trod noiselessly, and had an amiable smile, an amiable look in his eyes, and an amiable way of settling his chin in his cravat; he was, in fact, an amiable person altogether.
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