The landowners of the South of Russia are very keen on giving balls,
inviting officers to their houses, and marrying off their daughters.
About seven miles from the village of Kirilovo lived just such a country
gentleman, a Mr. Perekatov, the owner of four hundred souls, and a
fairly spacious house. He had a daughter of eighteen, Mashenka, and a
wife, Nenila Makarievna. Mr. Perekatov had once been an officer in the
cavalry, but from love of a country life and from indolence he had
retired and had begun to live peaceably and quietly, as landowners of
the middling sort do live. Nenila Makarievna owed her existence in a not
perfectly legitimate manner to a distinguished gentleman of Moscow.
Her protector had educated his little Nenila very carefully, as it is
called, in his own house, but got her off his hands rather hurriedly, at
the first offer, as a not very marketable article. Nenila Makarievna was
ugly; the distinguished gentleman was giving her no more than ten
thousand as dowry; she snatched eagerly at Mr. Perekatov. To Mr.
Perekatov it seemed extremely gratifying to marry a highly educated,
intellectual young lady... who was, after all, so closely related to so
illustrious a personage. This illustrious personage extended his
patronage to the young people even after the marriage, that is to say,
he accepted presents of salted quails from them and called Perekatov 'my
dear boy,' and sometimes simply, 'boy.' Nenila Makarievna took complete
possession of her husband, managed everything, and looked after the
whole property--very sensibly, indeed; far better, any way, than Mr.
Perekatov could have done. She did not hamper her partner's liberty too
much; but she kept him well in hand, ordered his clothes herself, and
dressed him in the English style, as is fitting and proper for a country
gentleman. By her instructions, Mr. Perekatov grew a little Napoleonic
beard on his chin, to cover a large wart, which looked like an over-ripe
raspberry. Nenila Makarievna, for her part, used to inform visitors that
her husband played the flute, and that all flute-players always let the
beard grow under the lower lip; they could hold their instrument more
comfortably. Mr. Perekatov always, even in the early morning, wore a
high, clean stock, and was well combed and washed. He was, moreover,
well content with his lot; he dined very well, did as he liked, and
slept all he could. Nenila Makarievna had introduced into her household
'foreign ways,' as the neighbours used to say; she kept few servants,
and had them neatly dressed. She was fretted by ambition; she wanted at
least to be the wife of the marshal of the nobility of the district; but
the gentry of the district, though they dined at her house to their
hearts' content, did not choose her husband, but first the retired
premier-major Burkolts, and then the retired second major Burundukov.
Mr. Perekatov seemed to them too extreme a product of the capital.
Mr. Perekatov's daughter, Mashenka, was in face like her father. Nenila
Makarievna had taken the greatest pains with her education. She spoke
French well, and played the piano fairly. She was of medium height,
rather plump and white; her rather full face was lighted up by a kindly
and merry smile; her flaxen, not over-abundant hair, her hazel eyes, her
pleasant voice--everything about her was gently pleasing, and that was
all. On the other hand the absence of all affectation and
conventionality, an amount of culture exceptional in a country girl, the
freedom of her expressions, the quiet simplicity of her words and looks
could not but be striking in her. She had developed at her own free
will; Nenila Makarievna did not keep her in restraint.
One morning at twelve o'clock the whole family of the Perekatovs were in
the drawing-room. The husband in a round green coat, a high check
cravat, and pea-green trousers with straps, was standing at the window,
very busily engaged in catching flies. The daughter was sitting at her
embroidery frame; her small dimpled little hand rose and fell slowly and
gracefully over the canvas. Nenila Makarievna was sitting on the sofa,
gazing in silence at the floor.
'Did you send an invitation to the regiment at Kirilovo, Sergei
Sergeitch?' she asked her husband.
'For this evening? To be sure I did, ma chère.' (He was under the
strictest orders not to call her 'little mother.') 'To be sure!'
'There are positively no gentlemen,' pursued Nenila Makarievna. 'Nobody
for the girls to dance with.'
Her husband sighed, as though crushed by the absence of partners.
'Mamma,' Masha began all at once, 'is Monsieur Lutchkov asked?'
'What Lutchkov?'
'He's an officer too. They say he's a very interesting person.'
'How's that?'
'Oh, he's not good-looking and he's not young, but every one's afraid of
him. He's a dreadful duellist.' (Mamma frowned a little.) 'I should so
like to see him.'
Sergei Sergeitch interrupted his daughter.
'What is there to see in him, my darling? Do you suppose he must look
like Lord Byron?' (At that time we were only just beginning to talk
about Lord Byron.) 'Nonsense! Why, I declare, my dear, there was a time
when I had a terrible character as a fighting man.'
Masha looked wonderingly at her parent, laughed, then jumped up and
kissed him on the cheek. His wife smiled a little, too... but Sergei
Sergeitch had spoken the truth.
'I don't know if that gentleman is coming,' observed Nenila Makarievna.
'Possibly he may come too.'
The daughter sighed.
'Mind you don't go and fall in love with him,' remarked Sergei
Sergeitch. 'I know you girls are all like that nowadays--so--what shall
I say?--romantic...'
'No,' Masha responded simply.
Nenila Makarievna looked coldly at her husband. Sergei Sergeitch played
with his watch-chain in some embarrassment, then took his wide-brimmed,
English hat from the table, and set off to see after things on the
estate.
His dog timidly and meekly followed him. As an intelligent animal, she
was well aware that her master was not a person of very great authority in
the house, and behaved herself accordingly with modesty and circumspection.
Nenila Makarievna went up to her daughter, gently raised her head, and
looked affectionately into her eyes. 'Will you tell me when you fall in
love?' she asked.
Masha kissed her mother's hand, smiling, and nodded her head several
times in the affirmative.
'Mind you do,' observed Nenila Makarievna, stroking her cheek, and she
went out after her husband. Masha leaned back in her chair, dropped her
head on her bosom, interlaced her fingers, and looked long out of
window, screwing up her eyes... A slight flush passed over her fresh
cheeks; with a sigh she drew herself up, was setting to work again, but
dropped her needle, leaned her face on her hand, and biting the tips of
her nails, fell to dreaming... then glanced at her own shoulder, at her
outstretched hand, got up, went to the window, laughed, put on her hat
and went out into the garden.
That evening at eight o'clock, the guests began to arrive. Madame
Perekatov with great affability received and 'entertained' the ladies,
Mashenka the girls; Sergei Sergeitch talked about the crops with the
gentlemen and continually glanced towards his wife. Soon there arrived
the young dandies, the officers, intentionally a little late; at last
the colonel himself, accompanied by his adjutants, Kister and Lutchkov.
He presented them to the lady of the house. Lutchkov bowed without
speaking, Kister muttered the customary 'extremely delighted'... Mr.
Perekatov went up to the colonel, pressed his hand warmly and looked him
in the face with great cordiality. The colonel promptly looked
forbidding. The dancing began. Kister asked Mashenka for a dance. At
that time the _Ecossaise_ was still flourishing.
'Do tell me, please,' Masha said to him, when, after galloping twenty
times to the end of the room, they stood at last, the first couple, 'why
isn't your friend dancing?'
'Which friend?'
Masha pointed with the tip of her fan at Lutchkov.
'He never dances,' answered Kister.
'Why did he come then?'