Raisky saw Tushin's glance of devotion and modest reserve, he heard his
words, so quietly and modestly spoken, and thought the letter written on
the blue paper could be from no one else. He looked at Vera to see if
she were moved or would relapse into a stony silence, but she showed no
sign. Vera appeared to him in a new light. In her manner and her words
to Tushin he saw simplicity, trust, gentleness and affection such as she
showed to no one else, not even to her aunt or to Marfinka.
"She is on her guard with her Grandmother," he thought, "and takes no
heed of Marfinka. But when she looks at Tushin, speaks to him, or gives
her hand it is plain to see that they are friends."
The Forester, who had business to do in the town, stayed for three days
with Tatiana Markovna, and for three days Raisky sought for the key to
this new character and to his place in Vera's heart.
They called Ivan Ivanovich the "Forester," because he lived on his
estate in the midst of the forest. He loved the forest, growing new
timber on the one hand and on the other allowing it to be cut down and
loaded up on the Volga for sale. The several thousand _dessiatins_
of surrounding forest were exceedingly well managed, and nothing was
lacking; there was even a steam saw. He attended to everything himself,
and in his spare time hunted and fished and amused himself with his
bachelor neighbours. From time to time he sought a change of scene, and
then arranged with his friends to drive in a three-horse carriage, drawn
by fresh horses, forty versts away to the seat of a landed proprietor,
where for three days the fun was fast enough. Then they returned, put up
with Tushin, or waked the sleepy town. In these festivals all class
distinctions were lost.
After this dissipation he would again remain lost to the world for three
months in his forest home, see after the wood cutting, and go hunting
with two servants, and occasionally have to lie up with a wounded arm.
The life suited him. He read works on agriculture and forestry, took
counsel with his German assistant, an experienced forester, who was
nevertheless not allowed to be the master. All orders must come from
Tushin himself, and were carried out by the help of two foremen and a
gang of hired labourers. In his spare time he liked to read French
novels, the only distraction that he permitted himself. There was
nothing extraordinary in a retired life like this in the wide district
in which he lived.
Raisky learnt that Tushin saw Vera at the pope's house, that he went
there expressly when he heard that Vera was a visitor. Vera herself told
him so. She and Natalie Ivanovna, too, visited Tushin's property, known
as "Smoke," because far away from the hills could be seen the smoke
rising from the chimneys of the house in the depth of the forest.
Tushin lived with his spinster sister, Anna Ivanovna, to whom Tatiana
Markovna was much attached. Tatiana Markovna was delighted when she came
to town. There was no one with whom she liked more to drink coffee, no
one to whom she gave her confidence in the same degree; they shared the
same liking for household management, the same deep-rooted self-esteem
and the same respect for family tradition.
Of Tushin himself there was little more to say than was revealed on a
first occasion; his character lay bare to the daylight, with no secret,
no romantic side. He possessed more than plain good sense, for his
understanding did not derive from the brain alone, but from the heart
and will. Men of his type, especially when they care nothing for the
superfluous things of life, but keep their eyes fixed undeviatingly on
the necessary, do not make themselves noticed in the crowd and rarely
reach the front of the world's stage.
Raisky noticed in the Forester's behaviour towards Vera a constant
adoration expressed by his glance and his voice, and sometimes by his
timidity; on her side an equally constant confidence, frankness and
affection, nothing more. He did not surprise in her a single sign or
gesture, a single word or glance that might have betrayed her. Tushin
showed pure esteem and a consistent readiness to serve her as her bear,
and no more. Surely he was not the man who wrote the letter on the blue
paper.
After the Forester had taken his leave, the household fell back into its
regular routine. Vera seemed untroubled and in possession of a quiet
happiness, and showed herself kind and affectionate to her aunt and
Marfinka. Yet there were days when unrest suddenly came upon her, when
she went hastily to her room in the old house, or descended the
precipice into the park, and displayed a gloomy resentment if Raisky or
Marfinka ventured to disturb her solitude. After a short interval she
resumed an even, sympathetic temper, helped in the household, looked
over her aunt's accounts, and even paid visits to the ladies in the town.
She discussed literary questions with Raisky, who realised from the
opinions she expressed that her reading was wide and enticed her into
thorough-going discussions. They read together, though not regularly.
Sometimes a wild intoxication flared up in her, but it was a
disconcerting merriment. One evening, when she suddenly left the room,
Tatiana Markovna and Raisky exchanged a long questioning glance.
"What do you think of Vera?" she began. "She seems to have recovered
from her malady of the soul."
"I think it is more serious than before."
"What is the matter with you, Borushka? You can see how gay and friendly
she has become."
"Is she like the Vera you have known. I fear that this is not gladness,
but rather agitation, even intoxication."
"You are right. She is changed."
"Don't you notice that she is ecstatic?"
"Ecstatic?" repeated Tatiana Markovna anxiously. "Why do you say that,
especially just at night? I shan't sleep. The ecstasy of a young girl
spells disaster."
CHAPTER XVI
Not only Raisky, but Tatiana Markovna gave up her attitude of
acquiescence, and secretly began to watch Vera narrowly. Tatiana
Markovna became thoughtful, she even neglected the affairs of the house
and farm, left the keys lying on the table, did not speak to Savili,
kept no accounts, and did not drive out into the fields. She grew
melancholy as she sought in vain how she might seek from Vera a frank
avowal, or find means to avert misfortune.
Vera in love, in an ecstasy! It seemed to her more than small-pox or
measles, worse even than brain fever. And with whom was she in love? God
grant that it were Ivan Ivanovich. If Vera were married to him, she
herself would die in peace. But her feminine instinct told her that
whatever deep affection the Forester cherished for Vera, it was
reciprocated by nothing more than friendship.
Who then was the man? Of the neighbouring landowners there was only
Tushin whom she saw and knew anything of. The young men in the town, the
officers and councillors, had long since given up any hope of being
received into her favour.
She looked keenly and suspiciously at Vera when she came to dinner or
tea, and tried to follow her into the garden, but as soon as Vera was
aware of her aunt's presence she quickened her steps and vanished into
the distance.
"Spirited away like a ghost!" said Tatiana Markovna to Raisky. "I wanted
to follow her, but where, with my old limbs? She flits like a bird into
the woods, into the bushes, over the precipice."
Raisky went immediately into the park, where he met Yakob, and asked him
if he had seen the young lady.
"I saw Vera Vassilievna just now by the chapel."
"What was she doing there?"
"Praying."
Raisky went to the chapel, wondering to himself how she had come to take
refuge in prayer. On the left there lay in the meadow between the park
and the road, a lonely, weather-beaten, half-ruined wooden chapel,
adorned with a picture of the Christ, a Byzantine painting in a bronze
frame. The ikon had grown dark with age, the paint had been cracked in
many places, so that the Christ face was hardly recognisable, but the
eyelids were still plainly discernible, and the eyes looked out dreamily
on the worshippers; the folded hands were also preserved.
Raisky advanced noiselessly over the grass. Vera was standing with her
back to him, her face turned towards the ikon, unconscious of his
approach. On the grass by the chapel lay her straw hat and sunshade. Her
hands did not make the sign of the Cross, her lips uttered no prayers,
her whole body appeared motionless, as if she hardly breathed; her whole
being was at prayer.
Involuntarily Raisky too held his breath. Is she begging for happiness,
or is she confiding her sorrow to the Crucified?
Suddenly she awoke from her prayer, turned and started when she caught
sight of Raisky.
"What are you doing here?" she said severely.
"Yakob met me and said you were here; so I came. Grandmother...."
"Since you mention Grandmother, I will point out that she has been
watching me for some time. Do you know the reason?" she asked, looking
straight into his eyes.
"I think she always does."
"No, it was not her idea to watch me. Tell me without concealing
anything, have you communicated to her your suppositions about love and
a letter written on blue paper?"
"I think not of the letter."
"Then of love. I must know what you said?"
"We were speaking of you. Grandmother has her own questionings as to why
you are so serious one moment and so gay the next. I said (it is a long
time ago) that perhaps you were in love."
"And Grandmother?"
"She was terrified."
"Why?"
"Chiefly because of your evident excitement."
"Grandmother's peace of mind is dear to me; dearer, perhaps, than you
think."
"She told me herself that she believed in your boundless love for her."
"Thank God! I am grateful to you for repeating this to me. Go to
Grandmother and destroy this curiosity of hers about my being in love,
in ecstasy. It cannot be difficult for you, and you will fulfil my
wishes if you love me."
"What would I not do to prove it to you. Later in the evening...."
"No, this minute. When I come to dinner her eyes are to look on me as
before, do you understand?"
"Well, I will go!" promised Raisky, but did not stir.
"Make haste!"
"And you?"
For answer she pointed in the direction of the house.
"One word more," she said, detaining him. "You must never, never talk
about me to Grandmother, do you understand?"
"Agreed, sister."
She motioned him to be gone, and when turning into an avenue he looked
round for a moment, she had vanished. She had, as Grandmother said,
disappeared like a ghost. A moment later there was the report of a gun
from the precipice. Raisky wondered who was playing tricks there, and
went towards the house.
Vera appeared punctually at the midday meal. Keenly as he looked at her,
Raisky could observe no change in her. Tatiana Markovna glanced at him
once or twice in inquiry, but was visibly reassured when she saw no
signs of anything unusual. Raisky had executed Vera's commission, and
had alleviated her acutest anxiety, but it was impossible to reassure
her completely.
Tatiana Markovna was saddened and wounded by the lack of confidence
shown her by Vera, her niece, her daughter, her dearest child, entrusted
to her care by her mother. Terror overcame her. She lay awake anxiously
through the night, she questioned Marina, sent Marfinka to find out what
Vera was doing, but without result. Suddenly there occurred to her what
seemed to her a good plan; as she put it to Raisky, she would make use
of allegory. She remembered that she possessed a moral tale which she
had read and wept over in her own youth. Its theme was the disastrous
consequences which followed on passion and disobedience to parents. A
young man and a girl loved one another, and met against the will of
their parents. She stood on the balcony beckoning and talking to him,
and they wrote one another long epistles. Others intervened, the young
girl lost her reputation, and the young man was sent to some vague place
in America by his father.
Like many others Tatiana Markovna pinned her faith to the printed word,
especially when the reading was of an edifying character. So she took
her talisman from the shelf, where it lay hidden under a pile of rubbish,
and laid it on the table near her work basket. At dinner she declared to
the two sisters her desire that they should read aloud to her on
alternate evenings, especially in bad weather, since she could not read
very much on account of her eyes. Generally speaking, she was not an
enthusiastic reader, and only liked to listen when Tiet Nikonich read
aloud to her on agricultural matters or hygiene, or about distressing
occurrences of murder or arson.
Vera said nothing, but Marfinka asked immediately whether the book had a
happy ending.
"What sort of book is it?" inquired Raisky, picking up the book and
glancing at a page here and there. "What old rubbish have you discovered,
Grandmother. I expect you read it when you were in love with Tiet
Nikonich."
"Don't be foolish, Boris Pavlovich. You are not asked to read."
Raisky took his departure, and the room was left to the reading party.
Vera was unendurably bored, but she never refused assent to any
definitely expressed wish of her aunt's. At last, after three or four
evenings, the point was reached where the lovers exchanged their vows.
The tale was faultlessly moral and horribly dull. Vera hardly listened.
At each word of love her aunt looked at her to see whether she was
touched, whether she blushed or turned pale, but Vera merely yawned.
On the last evening when only a few chapters were left, Raisky stayed in
the room when the table was cleared and the reading began. Vikentev, too,
was present. He could not sit quiet, but jumped up from time to time,
ran to Marfinka, and begged to be allowed to take his share in the
reading. When they gave him the book he inserted long tirades of his own
in the novel, or read with a different voice suited to each character.
He made the heroine lisp in a mournful whisper, the hero speak with his
own natural voice, so that Marfinka blushed and looked angrily at him,
and the stern father spoke with the voice of Niel Andreevich. At last
Tatiana Markovna took the book from him with an intimation to him to
behave reasonably, whereupon he continued his studies in
character-mimicry for Marfinka's benefit behind her back. When Marfinka
betrayed him he was requested to go into the garden until supper time
and the reading went on without him. The catastrophe of the tale
approached at last, and when the last word was read and the book shut
there was silence.
"What stupid nonsense," said Raisky at length, and Marfinka wiped away a
tear.
"What do you think, Veroshka?" asked Tatiana Markovna.
Vera made no reply, but Marfinka decided it was a horrid book because
the lovers had suffered so cruelly.
"If they had followed the advice of their parents, things would not have
come to such a pass. What do you think, Veroshka?"
Vera got up to go, but on the threshold she stopped.
"Grandmother," she said, "why have you bothered me for a whole week with
this stupid book?" And without waiting for an answer she glided away,
but Tatiana Markovna called her back.
"Why, Vera, I meant to give you pleasure."
"No, you wanted to punish me for something. In future I would rather be
put for a week on bread and water," and kneeling on the footstool at her
aunt's feet she added, "Good-night, Grandmother."
Tatiana Markovna stooped to kiss her and whispered. "I did not want to
punish you, but to guard you against getting into trouble yourself."
"And if I do," whispered Vera in reply, "will you have me put in a
convent like Cunigunde?"
"Do you think I am a monster like those bad parents? It's wicked, Vera,
to think such things of me."
"I know it would be wicked, Grandmother, and I don't think any such
thing. But why warn me with such a silly book?"
"How should I warn you and guard you, my dear. Tell me and set my mind
at rest."
"Make the sign of the Cross over me," she said after a moment's
hesitation, and when her aunt had made the holy sign, Vera kissed her
hand and left the room.
"A wise book," laughed Raisky. "Well, has the beautiful Cunigunde's
example done any good?"
Tatiana Markovna was grieved and in no mood for joking, and sent for
Pashutka to take the book to the servants' room.
"You have brought Vera up in the right way," said Raisky. "Let Egorka
and Marina read your allegory together, and the household will be
impeccable."
* * * * *
Vikentev called Marfinka into the garden, Raisky went to his room, and
Tatiana Markovna sat for a long time on the divan, absorbed in thought.
She had lost all interest in the book, was herself sickened by its pious
tone, and was really ashamed of having had recourse to so gross a method.
Marina, Yakob and Vassilissa came one after another to say that supper
was ready, but Tatiana Markovna wanted none, Vera declined, and to
Marina's astonishment even Marfinka, who never went supperless to bed,
was not hungry.
Meanwhile Egorka had got wind of the universal loss of appetite. He
helped himself to a considerable slice from the dish with his fingers to
taste, as he told Yakob, whom he invited to share the feast. Yakob shook
his head and crossed himself, but nevertheless did his share, so that
when Marina came to clear the table the fish and the sweets were gone.
The mistress's preparations for rest were made, and quiet reigned in the
house. Tatiana Markovna rose from the divan and looked at the ikon. She
crossed herself, but she was too restless for prayer, and did not kneel
down as usual. Instead she sat down on the bed and began to go over her
passage of arms with Vera. How could she learn what lay on the girl's
heart. She remembered the proverb that wisdom comes with the morning,
and lay down, but not that night to sleep, for there was a light tap on
the door, and she heard Marfinka's voice, "Open the door. Grandmother.
It's me."
"What's the matter, my dear?" she said, as she opened the door. "Have
you come to say good-night. God bless you! Where is Nikolai Andreevich?"
But she was terrified when she saw Marfinka's face.
"Sit down in the armchair," she said, but Marfinka clung to her.
"Lie down, Grandmother, and I will sit on the bed beside you. I will
tell you everything, but please put out the light."
Then Marfinka began to relate how she had gone with Vikentev into the
park to hear the nightingales sing, how she had first objected because
it was so dark.
"Are you afraid?" Vikentev had asked.
"Not with you," and they had gone on hand in hand.
"How dark it is! I won't go any farther. Don't take hold of my hand!"
She went on involuntarily, although Vikentev had loosed her hand, her
heart beating faster and faster. "I am afraid, I won't go a step
farther." She drew closer to him all the same, terrified by the
crackling of the twigs under her feet.
"Here we will wait. Listen!" he whispered.
The nightingale sang, and Marfinka felt herself enveloped in the warm
breath of night. At intervals her hand sought Vikentev's, but when he
touched hers she drew it back.
"How lovely, Marfa Vassilievna! What an enchanted night!"
She nudged him not to disturb the song.
"Marfa Vassilievna," he whispered, "something so good, so wonderful is
happening to me, something I have never felt before. It is as if
everything in me was astir. At this moment," he went on as she remained
silent, "I should like to fling myself on horseback, and ride, ride,
till I had no breathe left, or fling myself into the Volga and swim to
the opposite bank. Do you feel anything like that?"
"Let us go away from here. Grandmother will be angry."
"Just a minute more. How the nightingale does sing! What does he sing?"
"I don't know."
"Just what I should like to say to you, but don't know how to say."
"How do you know what he sings? Can you speak nightingale language?"
"He is singing of love, of my love for you," and startled by his own
words he drew her hand to his lips and covered it with kisses.
She drew it back, and ran at full speed down the avenue towards the
house; on the steps she waited a moment to take breath.
"Not a step farther," she cried breathlessly, clinging to the doorpost
as he overtook her. "Go home."
"Listen, Marfa Vassilievna, my angel," he cried, falling on his knees.
"On my knees I swear...."
"If you speak another word, I go straight to Grandmother."
He rose, and led her by force into the avenue.
"What are you doing? I will call, I won't listen to your nightingale."
"You won't listen to it, but you will to me."
"Let me go. I will tell Grandmother everything."
"You must tell her to-night, Marfa Vassilievna. We have come too near to
one another that if we were suddenly separated.... Should you like that,
Marfa Vassilievna? If you like I will go away for good."
She wept and seized his hand in panic, when he drew back a step.
"You love me, you love me," he cried.
"Does your mother know what you are saying to me?"
"Not yet."
"Ought you to say it then? Is it honourable?"
"I shall tell her to-morrow."
"What if she will not give her blessing?"
"I won't obey."
"But I will. I will take no step without your Mother's and Grandmother's
consent," she said, turning to go.
"As far as I am concerned, I am sure of my Mother's consent. I will
hurry now to Kolchino, and my Mother will send you her consent to-morrow.
Marfa Vassilievna, give me your hand."
"What will Grandmother say? If she does not forgive me I shall die of
shame," she said, and she hurried into the house.
"Heavens, what will Grandmother say?" she wondered, shutting herself up
in her room, and shaking with fever. How should she tell her grandmother,
and should she tell Veroshka first. She decided in favour of her
grandmother, and when the house was quiet slipped to her room like a
mouse.
The two talked low to one another for a long time. Tatiana Markovna made
the sign of the cross over her darling many times, until she fell asleep
on her shoulder. Then she carefully laid the girl's head on the pillow,
rose, and prayed with many tears. But more heartily than for Marfinka's
happiness she prayed for Vera, with her grey head bowed before the cross.
CHAPTER XVII
Vikentev kept his word, and on the very next day brought his mother to
Tatiana Markovna, he himself taking refuge in his office, where he sat
on pins and needles.
His mother, still a young woman, not much over forty, as gay and full of
life as he himself was, had plenty of practical sense. They kept up
between themselves a constant comic war of words; they were for ever
disputing about trifles, but when it came to serious matters, she
proclaimed her authority to him with quite another voice and another
manner. And though he indeed usually began by protesting, he submitted
to her will, if her request was reasonable. An unseen harmony underlay
their visible strife.
That night, after Marfinka had left him, Vikentev had hurried to
Kolchino. He rushed to his mother, threw his arms round her and kissed
her. When, nearly smothered by his embrace, she thrust him from her, he
fell on his knees and said solemnly: "Mother, strike me if you will, but
listen. The supreme moment of my life has arrived. I have...."
"Gone mad," she supplied, looking him up and down.
"I am going to be married," he said, almost inaudibly.
"What? Mavra, Anton, Ivan, Kusma! Come here, quick!"
Mavra alone responded to the call.
"Call everybody. Nikolai Andreevich has gone mad."
"I am not joking, and I must have an answer tomorrow."
"I will have you locked up," she said, seriously disturbed at last.
Far into the night the servants heard heated arguments, the voices of
the disputants now rising almost to a shout, then laughter, then
outbursts of anger from the mistress, a gay retort from him, then dead
silence, the sign of restored tranquillity. Vikentev had won the victory,
which was indeed a foregone conclusion, for while Vikentev and Marfinka
were still uncertain of their feelings, Tatiana Markovna and Marfa
Egorovna had long before realised what was coming, and both, although
they kept their own counsel, had weighed and considered the matter, and
had concluded that the marriage was a suitable one.
"What will Tatiana Markovna say?" cried Marfa Egorovna to her son the
next morning as the horses were being put in. "If she does not agree, I
will never forgive you for the disgrace it will bring on us, do you
hear?"
She herself, in a silk dress and a lace mantle, with yellow gloves and a
coquettish fan, might have been a fiancee. When Tatiana Markovna was
informed of the arrival of Madame Vikentev, she had her shown into the
reception room. Before she herself changed her dress to receive her,
Vassilissa had to peer through the doorway to see what kind of toilette
the guest had made. Then Tatiana Markovna donned a rustling silk dress
with a silver sheen, over which she wore her Turkish shawl; she even
tried to put on a pair of diamond earrings, but gave up the attempt
impatiently, telling herself that the holes in her ears had grown
together. Then she sent word to Vera and Marfinka to change their
dresses. In passing she told Vassilissa to set out the best table linen,
and the old silver and glass for the breakfast and the dinner table. The
cook was ordered to serve chocolate in addition to the usual dishes, and
sweets and champagne were ordered. With folded hands, adorned for the
occasion with old and costly rings, she stepped solemnly into the
reception room. But when she caught sight of her guest's pleasant face
she all but forget the importance of the moment, but pulled herself
together in time, and resumed her serious aspect.
Marfa Egorovna rose in friendly haste to meet her hostess, and began:
"What ideas my mad boy has!" but restrained herself when she saw Madame
Berezhkov's attitude. They exchanged ceremonious greetings. Tatiana
Markovna asked the visitor to sit on the divan, and seated herself
stiffly beside her.
"What is the weather like?" she asked. "Had you a windy crossing over
the Volga?"
"There was no wind."
"Did you come by the ferry?"
"In the boat. The caleche was brought over on the ferry."
"Yakob, Egorovna, Petrushka? Where are you? Why don't you come when you
are called? Take out the horses, give them fodder, and see that the
coachman is well looked after."
The servants, who had rushed in to answer the summons, hurried out. Of
course the horses had been taken out while Tatiana Markovna was dressing,
and the coachman was already sitting in the servants' room, doing full
justice to the beer set before him.
"No, no, Tatiana Markovna," protested the visitor, "I have come for half
an hour on business."
"Do you think you will be allowed to go?" asked Tatiana Markovna in a
voice that permitted no reply. "You have come a long way from over the
Volga. Is this the first year of our acquaintance? Do you want to insult
me?"
"Ah, Tatiana Markovna, I am so grateful to you, so grateful! You are
just like a relative, and how you have spoilt my Nikolai!"
"I feel sometimes as if he were my own son," burst from Tatiana Markovna,
whose dignity could hold out no longer against these friendly advances.
"Yes, you are so kind to him, Tatiana Markovna, that, presuming on your
kindness, he has taken it into his head...."
"Well?"
"He begged me to come over to see you, and he asks for the hand of Marfa
Vassilievna. Marfa Vassilievna agrees; she loves Nikolai."
"Because Marfinka took upon herself to answer his declaration she is now
shut up in her room, in her petticoat, without shoes," lied her aunt.
Then in order to lay full stress on the importance of the moment, she
added: "I have given orders not to admit your son, so that he may not
play with a poor girl's affections."
It was impossible for Marfa Egorovna not to recognise the provocation of
these remarks.
"If I had foreseen this," she said angrily, "I would have given him a
different answer. He assured me--and I was so willing to believe him--of
your affection for him, and for me. Pardon my mission, Tatiana Markovna,
and pray let that poor child out of her room. The blame rests with my
boy only, and he shall be punished. Have the kindness to order my
carriage."
She placed her hand on the bell, but Tatiana Markovna detained her.
"Your horses are taken out. You will stay with me, Marfa Egorovna,
to-day, to-morrow, all the week."
"But since you are so angry with Marfa Vassilievna and my son, who does
indeed deserve to be punished?"
The wrinkles in Tatiana Markovna's face faded, and her eyes gleamed with
joy. She threw her shawl and cap on the divan.
"I can't keep it up any longer!" she exclaimed. "Take off your hat and
mantilla. We are only teasing one another, Marfa Egorovna. I shall have
a grandson, you a daughter. Kiss me, dear! I wanted to keep up the old
customs, but there are cases which they don't fit. We knew what must be
the upshot of this. If we hadn't wished it we should not have allowed
them to go and listen to the nightingales."
"How you frightened me!" cried Marfa Egorovna.
"He had to be frightened. I will read him a lesson."
Mother and aunt had gone a long way into the future, and when they were
about as far as the christening of the third child, Marfa Egorovna
noticed in the garden among the bushes a head which was now hidden, then
again cautiously raised to reconnoitre. She recognised her son, and
pointed him out to Tatiana Markovna. They called him, but when he at
last decided to enter, he hung about in the ante-room, as if he were
making himself presentable.
"You are welcome, Nikolai Andreevich," said Tatiana Markovna pointedly,
while his mother looked at him ironically.
"Good morning, Tatiana Markovna," he stammered at last, and kissed the
old lady's hand. "I have bought tickets for the charity concert, for you
and Mama, for Vera Vassilievna and Marfa Vassilievna and for Boris
Pavlovich. It's a splendid concert ... the first singer in Moscow...."
"Why do we need to go to concerts?" interrupted Tatiana Markovna,
looking at him sideways. "The nightingales sing so finely here. In the
evening we go into the garden, and can hear them for nothing."
Marfa Egorovna bit her lip, but Vikentev stood transfixed.
"Sit down, Nikolai Andreevich," continued the old lady seriously and
reproachfully, "and listen to what I have to say. What does your
conscience tell you? How have you rewarded my confidence?"
"Don't make fun of me ... it's unkind."
"I am not joking. It wasn't right of you, my friend, to speak to
Marfinka, and not to me. Supposing I had not consented?"
"If you had not consented I would have...."
"What?"
"Oh, I would have gone away from here, joined the Hussars, have
contracted debts, and gone to wrack and ruin."
"Now he threatens! You should not be so bent on your own way, young
man."
"Give me Marfa Vassilievna, and I will be more tranquil than water,
humbler than the grass."
"Shall we give him Marfinka, Marfa Egorovna?"
"He hasn't deserved it, Tatiana Markovna. And it is really too early.
Perhaps in two years' time...."
He flew to his mother and shut her mouth with a kiss. Then he received
from Tatiana Markovna the sign of the cross, and a kiss on the forehead.
"Where is Marfa Vassilievna?" he shouted joyfully.
"You must have patience," admonished his grandmother, "we will fetch
her."
Tatiana Markovna and Marfa Egorovna found Marfinka hidden in the corner
behind the curtains of her bed, close by the ikons. She covered her
blushing face in her hands.
Vera received the news from her aunt with quiet pleasure, saying that
she had expected it for a long time.
"God grant that you may follow her example," said Tatiana Markovna.
"If you love me as I love you, Grandmother, you will bestow all your
care and thought on Marfinka. Take no thought for me."
"My heart aches for you, Veroshka."
"I know, and that grieves me. Grandmother," she said with a despairing
note, "it is killing me to think that your heart aches on my account."
"What do you say, Veroshka? open your heart to me. Perhaps I can
comprehend, and if you have grief, help to assuage it."
"If trouble overtakes me, Grandmother, and I cannot conquer it myself, I
will come to you and to none other, God only excepted. But do not make
me suffer any more, or allow yourself to suffer."
"Will it not be too late when trouble has once overtaken you?" whispered
her aunt. Then she added aloud, "I know that you are not like Marfinka,
and I will not disturb you."
A long sigh escaped her as she left the room with quick steps and bent
head. Vera's distress was the only cloud on her horizon, and she prayed
earnestly that it might pass and not gather into a black storm cloud.
Vera sought to calm her own agitation by walking up and down the garden,
but only succeeded gradually. As soon as she caught sight of Marfinka
and Vikentev in the arbour, she hurried to them, looked affectionately
into her sister's face, kissed her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, and
embraced her warmly.
"You must be happy," she said with tears in her eyes.
"How lovely you are Veroshka, and how good! We are not a bit like
sisters. There is nobody in the neighbourhood fit to marry you, is there,
Nikolai Andreevich?"
Vera pressed her hand in silence.
"Nikolai Andreevich, do you know what she is?"
"An angel," answered Vikentev as promptly as a soldier answers his
officer.
"An angel," mimicked Vera laughing, and pointing to a butterfly hovering
over a flower. "There is an angel. But if you even touch him the colour
of his wings will be spoiled, and he will perhaps even lose a wing. You
must spoil her, love and caress her, and God forbid that you ever wound
her. If you ever do," she threatened, smiling, "you will have to reckon
with me."
Within a week of this happy occasion the house was restored to its
ordinary routine. Marfa Egorovna drove back to Kolchino, but Vikentev
became a daily visitor, and almost a member of the family. He and
Marfinka no longer jumped and ran like children, though they
occasionally had a lively dispute, half in jest, half in earnest. They
sang and read together, and the pure, fresh poetry of youth, plain for
all to read, welled up in their frank, unspoiled hearts.
The wedding being fixed for the autumn, preparations for Marfinka's
house-furnishing and trousseau were being gradually pushed forward. From
the cupboards of the house were brought old lace, silver and gold plate,
glass, linen, furs, pearls, diamonds and all sorts of treasures, to be
divided by Tatiana Markovna with Jew-like exactness into two equal
shares, with the aid of jewellers, workers in gold, and others.
"That is yours, Vera, and there is Marfinka's share. You are not to
receive a pearl or on ounce more than the other. See for yourselves."
Vera pushed pearls and diamonds into a heap with a declaration that she
needed very little. This only angered Tatiana Markovna, who began the
work of division all over again. Raisky sent to his former guardian for
the diamonds and silver that had been his mother's portion, and bestowed
these also on the sisters, but his aunt hid the treasure in the depths
of her coffers.
"You will want them yourself." she said, "on the day when you take it
into your head to marry."
The estate with all that belonged to it he had made over in the names of
the sisters, a gift for which each of them thanked him after her fashion.
Tatiana Markovna wrinkled her forehead, and looked askance at him, but
she could not long maintain this attitude, and ended by embracing him.
In various rooms, in Tatiana Markovna's sitting room, in the servants'
room, and even in the reception room, tables were covered with linen.
The marriage bed, with its lace pillow-cases and cover was being
prepared, and every morning there came dressmakers and seamstresses.
Only Raisky and Vera remained untouched by the universal gay activity.
Even when Raisky sought distraction in riding or visiting, there was in
fact no one else in the world for him but Vera. He avoided too frequent
visits to Koslov on account of Juliana Andreevna.
He did not visit Paulina Karpovna, but she came the oftener, and bored
him and Tatiana Markovna by her pose, retiring or audacious, as the case
might be. Tatiana Markovna especially was annoyed by her unasked for
criticisms of the wedding preparations, and by her views on marriage
generally. Marriage, she declared, was the grave of love, elect souls
were bound to meet in spite of all obstacles, even outside the marriage
bond, and so forth. While she expounded these doctrines she cast languishing eyes on Raisky. |
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