When he learned from Kovrin that not only had a romance resulted, but
that a wedding was to follow, Yegor Semiónovitch walked from corner
to corner, and tried to conceal his agitation. His hands shook, his
neck seemed swollen and purple; he ordered the horses to be put into
his racing droschky, and drove away. Tánya, seeing how he whipped the
horses and how he pushed his cap down over his ears, understood his
mood, locked herself into her room, and cried all day.
In the orangery the peaches and plums were already ripe. The packing
and despatch to Moscow of such a delicate load required much
attention, trouble, and bustle. Owing to the heat of the summer
every tree had to be watered; the process was costly in time and
working-power; and many caterpillars appeared, which the workmen, and
even Yegor Semiónovitch and Tánya, crushed with their fingers, to
the great disgust of Kovrin. The autumn orders for fruit and trees
had to be attended to, and a vast correspondence carried on. And at
the very busiest time, when it seemed no one had a free moment, work
began in the fields and deprived the garden of half its workers. Yegor
Semiónovitch, very sunburnt, very irritated, and very worried, galloped
about, now to the garden, now to the fields; and all the time shouted
that they were tearing him to bits, and that he would put a bullet
through his brain.
On top of all came the bustle over Tánya's trousseau, to which the
Pesótskys attributed infinite significance. With the eternal snipping
of scissors, rattle of sewing-machines, smell of flat-irons, and the
caprices of the nervous and touchy dressmaker, the whole house seemed
to spin round. And, to make matters worse, visitors arrived every day,
and these visitors had to be amused, fed, and lodged for the night.
Yet work and worry passed unnoticed in a mist of joy. Tánya felt as if
love and happiness had suddenly burst upon her, although ever since her
fourteenth year she had been certain that Kovrin would marry nobody
but herself. She was eternally in a state of astonishment, doubt,
and disbelief in herself. At one moment she was seized by such great
joy that she felt she must fly away to the clouds and pray to God;
but a moment later she remembered that when August came she would
have to leave the home of her childhood and forsake her father; and
she was frightened by the thought--God knows whence it came--that she
was trivial, insignificant, and unworthy of a great man like Kovrin.
When such thoughts came she would run up to her room, lock herself in,
and cry bitterly for hours. But when visitors were present, it broke
in upon her that Kovrin was a singularly handsome man, that all the
women loved him and envied her; and in these moments her heart was as
full of rapture and pride as if she had conquered the whole world.
When he dared to smile on any other woman she trembled with jealousy,
went to her room, and again--tears. These new feelings possessed her
altogether; she helped her father mechanically, noticing neither pears
nor caterpillars, nor workmen, nor how swiftly time was passing by.
Yegor Semiónovitch was in much the same state of mind. He still worked
from morning to night, Hew about the gardens, and lost his temper;
but all the while he was wrapped in a magic reverie. In his sturdy
body contended two men, one the real Yegor Semiónovitch, who, when he
listened to the gardener, Ivan Karlovitch's report of some mistake or
disorder, went mad with excitement, and tore his hair; and the other
the unreal Yegor Semiónovitch--a half-intoxicated old man, who broke
off an important conversation in the middle of a word, seized the
gardener by the shoulder, and stammered:
"You may say what you like, but blood is thicker than water. His
mother was an astonishing, a most noble, a most brilliant woman. It
was a pleasure to see her good, pure, open, angel face. She painted
beautifully, wrote poetry, spoke five foreign languages, and sang....
Poor thing, Heaven rest her soul, she died of consumption!"
The unreal Yegor Semiónovitch sighed, and after a moment's silence
continued:
"When he was a boy growing up to manhood in my house he had just such
an angel face, open and good. His looks, his movements, his words were
as gentle and graceful as his mother's. And his intellect It is not
for nothing he has the degree of Magister. But you just wait, Ivan
Karlovitch; you'll see what he'll be in ten years' time. Why, he'll be
out of sight!" But here the real Yegor Semiónovitch remembered himself,
seized his head and roared:
"Devils! Frost-bitten! Ruined, destroyed! The garden is ruined; the
garden is destroyed!" Kovrin worked with all his former ardour, and
hardly noticed the bustle about him. Love only poured oil on the
flames. After every meeting with Tánya, he returned to his rooms in
rapture and happiness, and set to work with his books and manuscripts
with the same passion with which he had kissed her and sworn his love.
What the Black Monk had told him of his election by God, of eternal
truth, and of the glorious future of humanity, gave to all his work a
peculiar, unusual significance. Once or twice every week, either in
the park or in the house, he met the monk, and talked with him for
hours; but this did not frighten, but on the contrary delighted him,
for he was now assured that such apparitions visit only the elect and
exceptional who dedicate themselves to the ministry of ideas.
Assumption passed unobserved. Then came the wedding, celebrated by the
determined wish of Yegor Semiónovitch with what was called _éclat_,
that is, with meaningless festivities which lasted for two days. Three
thousand roubles were consumed in food and drink; but what with the
vile music, the noisy toasts, the fussing servants, the clamour, and
the closeness of the atmosphere, no one appreciated the expensive wines
or the astonishing _hors d'oeuvres_ specially ordered from Moscow.