IV.
ALL three of the Miss Epanchins were fine, healthy girls, well-
grown, with good shoulders and busts, and strong--almost
masculine--hands; and, of course, with all the above attributes,
they enjoyed capital appetites, of which they were not in the
least ashamed.
Elizabetha Prokofievna sometimes informed the girls that they
were a little too candid in this matter, but in spite of their
outward deference to their mother these three young women, in
solemn conclave, had long agreed to modify the unquestioning
obedience which they had been in the habit of according to her;
and Mrs. General Epanchin had judged it better to say nothing
about it, though, of course, she was well aware of the fact.
It is true that her nature sometimes rebelled against these
dictates of reason, and that she grew yearly more capricious and
impatient; but having a respectful and well-disciplined husband
under her thumb at all times, she found it possible, as a rule,
to empty any little accumulations of spleen upon his head, and
therefore the harmony of the family was kept duly balanced, and
things went as smoothly as family matters can.
Mrs. Epanchin had a fair appetite herself, and generally took her
share of the capital mid-day lunch which was always served for
the girls, and which was nearly as good as a dinner. The young
ladies used to have a cup of coffee each before this meal, at ten
o'clock, while still in bed. This was a favourite and unalterable
arrangement with them. At half-past twelve, the table was laid in
the small dining-room, and occasionally the general himself
appeared at the family gathering, if he had time.
Besides tea and coffee, cheese, honey, butter, pan-cakes of
various kinds (the lady of the house loved these best), cutlets,
and so on, there was generally strong beef soup, and other
substantial delicacies.
On the particular morning on which our story has opened, the
family had assembled in the dining-room, and were waiting the
general's appearance, the latter having promised to come this
day. If he had been one moment late, he would have been sent for
at once; but he turned up punctually.
As he came forward to wish his wife good-morning and kiss her
hands, as his custom was, he observed something in her look which
boded ill. He thought he knew the reason, and had expected it,
but still, he was not altogether comfortable. His daughters
advanced to kiss him, too, and though they did not look exactly
angry, there was something strange in their expression as well.
The general was, owing to certain circumstances, a little
inclined to be too suspicious at home, and needlessly nervous;
but, as an experienced father and husband, he judged it better to
take measures at once to protect himself from any dangers there
might be in the air.
However, I hope I shall not interfere with the proper sequence of
my narrative too much, if I diverge for a moment at this point,
in order to explain the mutual relations between General
Epanchin's family and others acting a part in this history, at
the time when we take up the thread of their destiny. I have
already stated that the general, though he was a man of lowly
origin, and of poor education, was, for all that, an experienced
and talented husband and father. Among other things, he
considered it undesirable to hurry his daughters to the
matrimonial altar and to worry them too much with assurances of
his paternal wishes for their happiness, as is the custom among
parents of many grown-up daughters. He even succeeded in ranging
his wife on his side on this question, though he found the feat
very difficult to accomplish, because unnatural; but the
general's arguments were conclusive, and founded upon obvious
facts. The general considered that the girls' taste and good
sense should be allowed to develop and mature deliberately, and
that the parents' duty should merely be to keep watch, in order
that no strange or undesirable choice be made; but that the
selection once effected, both father and mother were bound from
that moment to enter heart and soul into the cause, and to see
that the matter progressed without hindrance until the altar
should be happily reached.
Besides this, it was clear that the Epanchins' position gained
each year, with geometrical accuracy, both as to financial
solidity and social weight; and, therefore, the longer the girls
waited, the better was their chance of making a brilliant match.
But again, amidst the incontrovertible facts just recorded, one
more, equally significant, rose up to confront the family; and
this was, that the eldest daughter, Alexandra, had imperceptibly
arrived at her twenty-fifth birthday. Almost at the same moment,
Afanasy Ivanovitch Totski, a man of immense wealth, high
connections, and good standing, announced his intention of
marrying. Afanasy Ivanovitch was a gentleman of fifty-five years
of age, artistically gifted, and of most refined tastes. He
wished to marry well, and, moreover, he was a keen admirer and
judge of beauty.
Now, since Totski had, of late, been upon terms of great
cordiality with Epanchin, which excellent relations were
intensified by the fact that they were, so to speak, partners in
several financial enterprises, it so happened that the former now
put in a friendly request to the general for counsel with regard
to the important step he meditated. Might he suggest, for
instance, such a thing as a marriage between himself and one of
the general's daughters?
Evidently the quiet, pleasant current of the family life of the
Epanchins was about to undergo a change.
The undoubted beauty of the family, par excellence, was the
youngest, Aglaya, as aforesaid. But Totski himself, though an
egotist of the extremest type, realized that he had no chance
there; Aglaya was clearly not for such as he.
Perhaps the sisterly love and friendship of the three girls had
more or less exaggerated Aglaya's chances of happiness. In their
opinion, the latter's destiny was not merely to be very happy;
she was to live in a heaven on earth. Aglaya's husband was to be
a compendium of all the virtues, and of all success, not to speak
of fabulous wealth. The two elder sisters had agreed that all was
to be sacrificed by them, if need be, for Aglaya's sake; her
dowry was to be colossal and unprecedented.
The general and his wife were aware of this agreement, and,
therefore, when Totski suggested himself for one of the sisters,
the parents made no doubt that one of the two elder girls would
probably accept the offer, since Totski would certainly make no
difficulty as to dowry. The general valued the proposal very
highly. He knew life, and realized what such an offer was worth.
The answer of the sisters to the communication was, if not
conclusive, at least consoling and hopeful. It made known that
the eldest, Alexandra, would very likely be disposed to listen to
a proposal.
Alexandra was a good-natured girl, though she had a will of her
own. She was intelligent and kind-hearted, and, if she were to
marry Totski, she would make him a good wife. She did not care
for a brilliant marriage; she was eminently a woman calculated to
soothe and sweeten the life of any man; decidedly pretty, if not
absolutely handsome. What better could Totski wish?
So the matter crept slowly forward. The general and Totski had
agreed to avoid any hasty and irrevocable step. Alexandra's
parents had not even begun to talk to their daughters freely upon
the subject, when suddenly, as it were, a dissonant chord was
struck amid the harmony of the proceedings. Mrs. Epanchin began
to show signs of discontent, and that was a serious matter. A
certain circumstance had crept in, a disagreeable and troublesome
factor, which threatened to overturn the whole business.
This circumstance had come into existence eighteen years before.
Close to an estate of Totski's, in one of the central provinces
of Russia, there lived, at that time, a poor gentleman whose
estate was of the wretchedest description. This gentleman was
noted in the district for his persistent ill-fortune; his name
was Barashkoff, and, as regards family and descent, he was vastly
superior to Totski, but his estate was mortgaged to the last
acre. One day, when he had ridden over to the town to see a
creditor, the chief peasant of his village followed him shortly
after, with the news that his house had been burnt down, and that
his wife had perished with it, but his children were safe.
Even Barashkoff, inured to the storms of evil fortune as he was,
could not stand this last stroke. He went mad and died shortly
after in the town hospital. His estate was sold for the
creditors; and the little girls--two of them, of seven and eight
years of age respectively,--were adopted by Totski, who undertook
their maintenance and education in the kindness of his heart.
They were brought up together with the children of his German
bailiff. Very soon, however, there was only one of them left-
Nastasia Philipovna--for the other little one died of whooping-
cough. Totski, who was living abroad at this time, very soon
forgot all about the child; but five years after, returning to
Russia, it struck him that he would like to look over his estate
and see how matters were going there, and, arrived at his
bailiff's house, he was not long in discovering that among the
children of the latter there now dwelt a most lovely little girl
of twelve, sweet and intelligent, and bright, and promising to
develop beauty of most unusual quality-as to which last Totski
was an undoubted authority.
He only stayed at his country scat a few days on this occasion,
but he had time to make his arrangements. Great changes took
place in the child's education; a good governess was engaged, a
Swiss lady of experience and culture. For four years this lady
resided in the house with little Nastia, and then the education
was considered complete. The governess took her departure, and
another lady came down to fetch Nastia, by Totski's instructions.
The child was now transported to another of Totski's estates in a
distant part of the country. Here she found a delightful little
house, just built, and prepared for her reception with great care
and taste; and here she took up her abode together with the lady
who had accompanied her from her old home. In the house there
were two experienced maids, musical instruments of all sorts, a
charming "young lady's library," pictures, paint-boxes, a lap-
dog, and everything to make life agreeable. Within a fortnight
Totski himself arrived, and from that time he appeared to have
taken a great fancy to this part of the world and came down each
summer, staying two and three months at a time. So passed four
years peacefully and happily, in charming surroundings.
At the end of that time, and about four months after Totski's
last visit (he had stayed but a fortnight on this occasion), a
report reached Nastasia Philipovna that he was about to be
married in St. Petersburg, to a rich, eminent, and lovely woman.
The report was only partially true, the marriage project being
only in an embryo condition; but a great change now came over
Nastasia Philipovna. She suddenly displayed unusual decision of
character; and without wasting time in thought, she left her
country home and came up to St. Petersburg, straight to Totski's
house, all alone.
The latter, amazed at her conduct, began to express his
displeasure; but he very soon became aware that he must change
his voice, style, and everything else, with this young lady; the
good old times were gone. An entirely new and different woman sat
before him, between whom and the girl he had left in the country
last July there seemed nothing in common.
In the first place, this new woman understood a good deal more
than was usual for young people of her age; so much indeed, that
Totski could not help wondering where she had picked up her
knowledge. Surely not from her "young lady's library"? It even
embraced legal matters, and the "world" in general, to a
considerable extent.
Her character was absolutely changed. No more of the girlish
alternations of timidity and petulance, the adorable naivete, the
reveries, the tears, the playfulness... It was an entirely new and
hitherto unknown being who now sat and laughed at him, and
informed him to his face that she had never had the faintest
feeling for him of any kind, except loathing and contempt--
contempt which had followed closely upon her sensations of
surprise and bewilderment after her first acquaintance with him.
This new woman gave him further to understand that though it was
absolutely the same to her whom he married, yet she had decided
to prevent this marriage--for no particular reason, but that she
chose to do so, and because she wished to amuse herself at his
expense for that it was "quite her turn to laugh a little now!"
Such were her words--very likely she did not give her real
reason for this eccentric conduct; but, at all events, that was
all the explanation she deigned to offer.
Meanwhile, Totski thought the matter over as well as his
scattered ideas would permit. His meditations lasted a fortnight,
however, and at the end of that time his resolution was taken.
The fact was, Totski was at that time a man of fifty years of
age; his position was solid and respectable; his place in society
had long been firmly fixed upon safe foundations; he loved
himself, his personal comforts, and his position better than all
the world, as every respectable gentleman should!
At the same time his grasp of things in general soon showed
Totski that he now had to deal with a being who was outside the
pale of the ordinary rules of traditional behaviour, and who
would not only threaten mischief but would undoubtedly carry it
out, and stop for no one.
There was evidently, he concluded, something at work here; some
storm of the mind, some paroxysm of romantic anger, goodness
knows against whom or what, some insatiable contempt--in a word,
something altogether absurd and impossible, but at the same time
most dangerous to be met with by any respectable person with a
position in society to keep up.
For a man of Totski's wealth and standing, it would, of course,
have been the simplest possible matter to take steps which would
rid him at once from all annoyance; while it was obviously
impossible for Nastasia Philipovna to harm him in any way, either
legally or by stirring up a scandal, for, in case of the latter
danger, he could so easily remove her to a sphere of safety.
However, these arguments would only hold good in case of Nastasia
acting as others might in such an emergency. She was much more
likely to overstep the bounds of reasonable conduct by some
extraordinary eccentricity.
Here the sound judgment of Totski stood him in good stead. He
realized that Nastasia Philipovna must be well aware that she
could do nothing by legal means to injure him, and that her
flashing eyes betrayed some entirely different intention.
Nastasia Philipovna was quite capable of ruining herself, and
even of perpetrating something which would send her to Siberia,
for the mere pleasure of injuring a man for whom she had
developed so inhuman a sense of loathing and contempt. He had
sufficient insight to understand that she valued nothing in the
world--herself least of all--and he made no attempt to conceal
the fact that he was a coward in some respects. For instance, if
he had been told that he would be stabbed at the altar, or
publicly insulted, he would undoubtedly have been frightened; but
not so much at the idea of being murdered, or wounded, or
insulted, as at the thought that if such things were to happen he
would be made to look ridiculous in the eyes of society.
He knew well that Nastasia thoroughly understood him and where to
wound him and how, and therefore, as the marriage was still only
in embryo, Totski decided to conciliate her by giving it up. His
decision was strengthened by the fact that Nastasia Philipovna
had curiously altered of late. It would be difficult to conceive
how different she was physically, at the present time, to the
girl of a few years ago. She was pretty then . . . but now! . . .
Totski laughed angrily when he thought how short-sighted he had
been. In days gone by he remembered how he had looked at her
beautiful eyes, how even then he had marvelled at their dark
mysterious depths, and at their wondering gaze which seemed to
seek an answer to some unknown riddle. Her complexion also had
altered. She was now exceedingly pale, but, curiously, this
change only made her more beautiful. Like most men of the world,
Totski had rather despised such a cheaply-bought conquest, but of
late years he had begun to think differently about it. It had
struck him as long ago as last spring that he ought to be finding
a good match for Nastasia; for instance, some respectable and
reasonable young fellow serving in a government office in another
part of the country. How maliciously Nastasia laughed at the idea
of such a thing, now!
However, it appeared to Totski that he might make use of her in
another way; and he determined to establish her in St.
Petersburg, surrounding her with all the comforts and luxuries
that his wealth could command. In this way he might gain glory in
certain circles.
Five years of this Petersburg life went by, and, of course,
during that time a great deal happened. Totski's position was
very uncomfortable; having "funked" once, he could not totally
regain his ease. He was afraid, he did not know why, but he was
simply afraid of Nastasia Philipovna. For the first two years or
so he had suspected that she wished to marry him herself, and
that only her vanity prevented her telling him so. He thought
that she wanted him to approach her with a humble proposal from
his own side, But to his great, and not entirely pleasurable
amazement, he discovered that this was by no means the case, and
that were he to offer himself he would be refused. He could not
understand such a state of things, and was obliged to conclude
that it was pride, the pride of an injured and imaginative woman,
which had gone to such lengths that it preferred to sit and nurse
its contempt and hatred in solitude rather than mount to heights
of hitherto unattainable splendour. To make matters worse, she
was quite impervious to mercenary considerations, and could not
be bribed in any way.
Finally, Totski took cunning means to try to break his chains and
be free. He tried to tempt her in various ways to lose her heart;
he invited princes, hussars, secretaries of embassies, poets,
novelists, even Socialists, to see her; but not one of them all
made the faintest impression upon Nastasia. It was as though she
had a pebble in place of a heart, as though her feelings and
affections were dried up and withered for ever.
She lived almost entirely alone; she read, she studied, she loved
music. Her principal acquaintances were poor women of various
grades, a couple of actresses, and the family of a poor
schoolteacher. Among these people she was much beloved.
She received four or five friends sometimes, of an evening.
Totski often came. Lately, too, General Epanchin had been enabled
with great difficulty to introduce himself into her circle. Gania
made her acquaintance also, and others were Ferdishenko, an ill-
bred, and would-be witty, young clerk, and Ptitsin, a money-
lender of modest and polished manners, who had risen from
poverty. In fact, Nastasia Philipovna's beauty became a thing
known to all the town; but not a single man could boast of
anything more than his own admiration for her; and this
reputation of hers, and her wit and culture and grace, all
confirmed Totski in the plan he had now prepared.
And it was at this moment that General Epanchin began to play so
large and important a part in the story.
When Totski had approached the general with his request for
friendly counsel as to a marriage with one of his daughters, he
had made a full and candid confession. He had said that he
intended to stop at no means to obtain his freedom; even if
Nastasia were to promise to leave him entirely alone in future,
he would not (he said) believe and trust her; words were not
enough for him; he must have solid guarantees of some sort. So he
and the general determined to try what an attempt to appeal to
her heart would effect. Having arrived at Nastasia's house one
day, with Epanchin, Totski immediately began to speak of the
intolerable torment of his position. He admitted that he was to
blame for all, but candidly confessed that he could not bring
himself to feel any remorse for his original guilt towards
herself, because he was a man of sensual passions which were
inborn and ineradicable, and that he had no power over himself in
this respect; but that he wished, seriously, to marry at last,
and that the whole fate of the most desirable social union which
he contemplated, was in her hands; in a word, he confided his all
to her generosity of heart.
General Epanchin took up his part and spoke in the character of
father of a family; he spoke sensibly, and without wasting words
over any attempt at sentimentality, he merely recorded his full
admission of her right to be the arbiter of Totski's destiny at
this moment. He then pointed out that the fate of his daughter,
and very likely of both his other daughters, now hung upon her
reply.
To Nastasia's question as to what they wished her to do, Totski
confessed that he had been so frightened by her, five years ago,
that he could never now be entirely comfortable until she herself
married. He immediately added that such a suggestion from him
would, of course, be absurd, unless accompanied by remarks of a
more pointed nature. He very well knew, he said, that a certain
young gentleman of good family, namely, Gavrila Ardalionovitch
Ivolgin, with whom she was acquainted, and whom she received at
her house, had long loved her passionately, and would give his
life for some response from her. The young fellow had confessed
this love of his to him (Totski) and had also admitted it in the
hearing of his benefactor, General Epanchin. Lastly, he could not
help being of opinion that Nastasia must be aware of Gania's love
for her, and if he (Totski) mistook not, she had looked with some
favour upon it, being often lonely, and rather tired of her
present life. Having remarked how difficult it was for him, of
all people, to speak to her of these matters, Totski concluded by
saying that he trusted Nastasia Philipovna would not look with
contempt upon him if he now expressed his sincere desire to
guarantee her future by a gift of seventy-five thousand roubles.
He added that the sum would have been left her all the same in
his will, and that therefore she must not consider the gift as in
any way an indemnification to her for anything, but that there
was no reason, after all, why a man should not be allowed to
entertain a natural desire to lighten his conscience, etc., etc.;
in fact, all that would naturally be said under the circumstances.
Totski was very eloquent all through, and, in conclusion, just
touched on the fact that not a soul in the world, not even
General Epanchin, had ever heard a word about the above
seventy-five thousand roubles, and that this was the first
time he had ever given expression to his intentions in respect
to them.
Nastasia Philipovna's reply to this long rigmarole astonished
both the friends considerably.
Not only was there no trace of her former irony, of her old
hatred and enmity, and of that dreadful laughter, the very
recollection of which sent a cold chill down Totski's back to
this very day; but she seemed charmed and really glad to have the
opportunity of talking seriously with him for once in a way. She
confessed that she had long wished to have a frank and free
conversation and to ask for friendly advice, but that pride had
hitherto prevented her; now, however, that the ice was broken,
nothing could be more welcome to her than this opportunity.
First, with a sad smile, and then with a twinkle of merriment in
her eyes, she admitted that such a storm as that of five years
ago was now quite out of the question. She said that she had long
since changed her views of things, and recognized that facts must
be taken into consideration in spite of the feelings of the
heart. What was done was done and ended, and she could not
understand why Totski should still feel alarmed.
She next turned to General Epanchin and observed, most
courteously, that she had long since known of his daughters, and
that she had heard none but good report; that she had learned to
think of them with deep and sincere respect. The idea alone that
she could in any way serve them, would be to her both a pride and
a source of real happiness.
It was true that she was lonely in her present life; Totski had
judged her thoughts aright. She longed to rise, if not to love,
at least to family life and new hopes and objects, but as to
Gavrila Ardalionovitch, she could not as yet say much. She
thought it must be the case that he loved her; she felt that she
too might learn to love him, if she could be sure of the firmness
of his attachment to herself; but he was very young, and it was a
difficult question to decide. What she specially liked about him
was that he worked, and supported his family by his toil.
She had heard that he was proud and ambitious; she had heard much
that was interesting of his mother and sister, she had heard of
them from Mr. Ptitsin, and would much like to make their
acquaintance, but--another question!--would they like to receive
her into their house? At all events, though she did not reject
the idea of this marriage, she desired not to be hurried. As for
the seventy-five thousand roubles, Mr. Totski need not have found
any difficulty or awkwardness about the matter; she quite
understood the value of money, and would, of course, accept the
gift. She thanked him for his delicacy, however, but saw no
reason why Gavrila Ardalionovitch should not know about it.
She would not marry the latter, she said, until she felt
persuaded that neither on his part nor on the part of his family
did there exist any sort of concealed suspicions as to herself.
She did not intend to ask forgiveness for anything in the past,
which fact she desired to be known. She did not consider herself
to blame for anything that had happened in former years, and she
thought that Gavrila Ardalionovitch should be informed as to the
relations which had existed between herself and Totski during the
last five years. If she accepted this money it was not to be
considered as indemnification for her misfortune as a young girl,
which had not been in any degree her own fault, but merely as
compensation for her ruined life.
She became so excited and agitated during all these explanations
and confessions that General Epanchin was highly gratified, and
considered the matter satisfactorily arranged once for all. But
the once bitten Totski was twice shy, and looked for hidden
snakes among the flowers. However, the special point to which the
two friends particularly trusted to bring about their object
(namely, Gania's attractiveness for Nastasia Philipovna), stood
out more and more prominently; the pourparlers had commenced, and
gradually even Totski began to believe in the possibility of
success.
Before long Nastasia and Gania had talked the matter over. Very
little was said--her modesty seemed to suffer under the infliction
of discussing such a question. But she recognized his love, on
the understanding that she bound herself to nothing whatever, and
that she reserved the right to say "no" up to the very hour of
the marriage ceremony. Gania was to have the same right of
refusal at the last moment.
It soon became clear to Gania, after scenes of wrath and
quarrellings at the domestic hearth, that his family were
seriously opposed to the match, and that Nastasia was aware of
this fact was equally evident. She said nothing about it, though
he daily expected her to do so.
There were several rumours afloat, before long, which upset
Totski's equanimity a good deal, but we will not now stop to
describe them; merely mentioning an instance or two. One was that
Nastasia had entered into close and secret relations with the
Epanchin girls--a most unlikely rumour; another was that Nastasia
had long satisfied herself of the fact that Gania was merely
marrying her for money, and that his nature was gloomy and
greedy, impatient and selfish, to an extraordinary degree; and
that although he had been keen enough in his desire to achieve a
conquest before, yet since the two friends had agreed to exploit
his passion for their own purposes, it was clear enough that he
had begun to consider the whole thing a nuisance and a nightmare.
In his heart passion and hate seemed to hold divided sway, and
although he had at last given his consent to marry the woman (as
he said), under the stress of circumstances, yet he promised
himself that he would "take it out of her," after marriage.
Nastasia seemed to Totski to have divined all this, and to be
preparing something on her own account, which frightened him to
such an extent that he did not dare communicate his views even to
the general. But at times he would pluck up his courage and be
full of hope and good spirits again, acting, in fact, as weak men
do act in such circumstances.
However, both the friends felt that the thing looked rosy indeed
when one day Nastasia informed them that she would give her final
answer on the evening of her birthday, which anniversary was due
in a very short time.
A strange rumour began to circulate, meanwhile; no less than that
the respectable and highly respected General Epanchin was himself
so fascinated by Nastasia Philipovna that his feeling for her
amounted almost to passion. What he thought to gain by Gania's
marriage to the girl it was difficult to imagine. Possibly he
counted on Gania's complaisance; for Totski had long suspected
that there existed some secret understanding between the general
and his secretary. At all events the fact was known that he had
prepared a magnificent present of pearls for Nastasia's birthday,
and that he was looking forward to the occasion when he should
present his gift with the greatest excitement and impatience. The
day before her birthday he was in a fever of agitation.
Mrs. Epanchin, long accustomed to her husband's infidelities, had
heard of the pearls, and the rumour excited her liveliest
curiosity and interest. The general remarked her suspicions, and
felt that a grand explanation must shortly take place--which fact
alarmed him much.
This is the reason why he was so unwilling to take lunch (on the
morning upon which we took up this narrative) with the rest of
his family. Before the prince's arrival he had made up his mind
to plead business, and "cut" the meal; which simply meant running
away.
He was particularly anxious that this one day should be passed--
especially the evening--without unpleasantness between himself
and his family; and just at the right moment the prince turned
up--"as though Heaven had sent him on purpose," said the general
to himself, as he left the study to seek out the wife of his
bosom.
