Having breakfasted, Nekhludoff went to the cabinet to see for what
hour he was summoned to appear at court, and to answer the Princess'
note. In the work-room stood an easel with a half-finished painting
turned face downward, and on the wall hung studies in drawing. On
seeing that painting, on which he had worked two years, and those
drawings, he called to mind the feeling of impotence, which he
experienced of late with greatest force, to make further advance in
the art. He explained this feeling by the development of a fine
aesthetic taste, and yet this consciousness caused him unpleasant
sensations.
Seven years before he had retired from active service he decided that
his true vocation in life was painting, and from the height of his
artistic activity he looked down upon all other occupations. And now
it appeared that he had no right to do so, and every recollection of
it was disagreeable to him. He looked on all the luxurious
appointments of the work-room with heavy heart, and walked into the
cabinet in ill humor. The cabinet was a high room, profusely
ornamented, and containing every imaginable device of comfort and
necessity.
He produced from one of the drawers of a large table the summons, and,
ascertaining that he must appear at eleven o'clock, he sat down and
wrote to the Princess, thanking her for the invitation, and saying
that he should try to call for dinner. The tone of the note seemed to
him too intimate, and he tore it up; he wrote another, but that was
too formal, almost offensive. Again he tore it up, and touched a
button on the wall. A servant, morose, with flowing side-whiskers and
in a gray apron, entered.
"Please send for a carriage."
"Yes, sir."
"And tell the Korchagins' maid that I thank them; I will try to call."
"Yes, sir."
"It is impolite, but I cannot write. But I will see her to-day,"
thought Nekhludoff, and started to dress himself.
When he emerged from the house a carriage with rubber tires awaited
him.
"You had scarcely left Prince Korchagin's house yesterday when I
called for you," said the driver, half-turning his stout, sun-burned
neck in the white collar of his shirt, "and the footman said that you
had just gone."
"Even the drivers know of my relations to the Korchagins," thought
Nekhludoff, and the unsolved question which continually occupied his
mind of late--whether or not he ought to marry Princess
Korchagin--again occurred to him, and, like most questions that he was
called upon to decide at that time, it remained unsolved.
He had many reasons for, and as many against, marriage. There was the
pleasure of domestic life, which made it possible to lead a moral
life, as he called married life; then, and principally, the family and
children would infuse his present aimless life with a purpose. This
was for marriage generally. On the other hand there was, first, the
loss of freedom which all elderly bachelors fear so much; and, second,
an unconscious awe of that mysterious creature, woman.
However, in favor of marrying Missy in particular (Korchagin's name
was Maria, but, as usual in families of the higher classes, she
received a nickname) there was, first, the fact that she came of good
stock, and was in everything, from her dress to her manner of
speaking, walking and laughing, distinguished not by any exceptional
qualities, but by "good breeding"--he knew no other expression for the
quality which he prized very highly. Second, she valued him above all
other men, hence, he thought she understood him. And this appreciation
of him, that is, acknowledging his high qualities, was proof to
Nekhludoff of her intelligence and correct judgment. Finally, against
marrying Missy in particular, was, first, the extreme probability of
his finding a girl of much better qualities than Missy, and,
consequently, more worthy of him; and, second, Missy was twenty-seven
years old and had probably loved other men before him. This thought
tormented him. His pride could not reconcile itself to the thought
that she could love some one else, even in the past. Of course, she
could not be expected to know that she would meet him, but the very
thought that she could have loved some one else before offended him.
So that there were as many reasons for as there were against marriage
in general and marrying Missy in particular. At all events the
arguments were equally strong on both sides, and Nekhludoff laughed as
he compared himself to the ass in the fable who, while deciding which
of the two bales of hay before him he should have his meal from,
starved himself.
"However, until I have heard from Maria Vasilieona, the wife of the
commander, and have done with her for good, I can do nothing," he said
to himself.
And the consciousness that he could and must defer his decision
pleased him.
"Ah, but I will consider it all later," he said to himself, as his
cabriolet silently approached the asphalt pavement of the court-house.
"And now I must do my duty to the community conscientiously, as I
always do, and think it one's duty to do. Besides, it is often
interesting," he said, and went past the door-keeper into the
vestibule of the court.