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v
MY UNCLE, PIÖTR VASILIEVITCH
THIS conviction—that my family loved me less
than the other children—pained me very deeply,
the more so as the craving for a strong and exclusive
affection was very early developed in me. The result
of this was that no sooner did one of my relatives, or
one of the friends of the family, show me the slightest
attention, for any reason whatever, above the
attention shown to my brother or sister, than I, on my
side, immediately began to feel for that person a
sentiment which bordered on adoration.
I remember two particularly strong attachments of
my childhood — for my two uncles. One of them
was my father’s oldest brother, Piötr Yasilievitch
Korvin-Krukovsky. He was an extremely
picturesque old man, of lofty stature, with a massive head
entirely framed in thick, white curls. His face, with
regular, severe profile, with thick, bushy eyebrows,
and a deep, vertical furrow cutting through his high
forehead, almost from top to bottom, might have
seemed stern, almost harsh, in effect, had it not been
lighted up by such kind, ingenuous eyes, such as
belong only to Newfoundland dogs and to small
children.
This uncle of mine was, in the fullest sense of the
word, a man who was not of this world. Although
he was the elder by birth, and should have repre-
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