Learning from Kovrin that not only a romance had been got up, but that
there would even be a wedding, Yegor Semyonitch spent a long time in
pacing from one corner of the room to the other, trying to conceal his
agitation. His hands began trembling, his neck swelled and turned
purple, he ordered his racing droshky and drove off somewhere. Tanya,
seeing how he lashed the horse, and seeing how he pulled his cap over
his ears, understood what he was feeling, shut herself up in her room,
and cried the whole day.
In the hot-houses the peaches and plums were already ripe; the packing
and sending off of these tender and fragile goods to Moscow took a great
deal of care, work, and trouble. Owing to the fact that the summer was
very hot and dry, it was necessary to water every tree, and a great deal
of time and labour was spent on doing it. Numbers of caterpillars made
their appearance, which, to Kovrin's disgust, the labourers and even
Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya squashed with their fingers. In spite of all
that, they had already to book autumn orders for fruit and trees, and to
carry on a great deal of correspondence. And at the very busiest time,
when no one seemed to have a free moment, the work of the fields carried
off more than half their labourers from the garden. Yegor Semyonitch,
sunburnt, exhausted, ill-humoured, galloped from the fields to the
garden and back again; cried that he was being torn to pieces, and that
he should put a bullet through his brains.
Then came the fuss and worry of the trousseau, to which the Pesotskys
attached a good deal of importance. Every one's head was in a whirl from
the snipping of the scissors, the rattle of the sewing-machine, the
smell of hot irons, and the caprices of the dressmaker, a huffy and
nervous lady. And, as ill-luck would have it, visitors came every day,
who had to be entertained, fed, and even put up for the night. But all
this hard labour passed unnoticed as though in a fog. Tanya felt that
love and happiness had taken her unawares, though she had, since she was
fourteen, for some reason been convinced that Kovrin would marry her and
no one else. She was bewildered, could not grasp it, could not believe
herself.... At one minute such joy would swoop down upon her that she
longed to fly away to the clouds and there pray to God, at another
moment she would remember that in August she would have to part from her
home and leave her father; or, goodness knows why, the idea would occur
to her that she was worthless--insignificant and unworthy of a great man
like Kovrin--and she would go to her room, lock herself in, and cry
bitterly for several hours. When there were visitors, she would suddenly
fancy that Kovrin looked extraordinarily handsome, and that all the
women were in love with him and envying her, and her soul was filled
with pride and rapture, as though she had vanquished the whole world;
but he had only to smile politely at any young lady for her to be
trembling with jealousy, to retreat to her room--and tears again. These
new sensations mastered her completely; she helped her father
mechanically, without noticing peaches, caterpillars or labourers, or
how rapidly the time was passing.
It was almost the same with Yegor Semyonitch. He worked from morning
till night, was always in a hurry, was irritable, and flew into rages,
but all of this was in a sort of spellbound dream. It seemed as though
there were two men in him: one was the real Yegor Semyonitch, who was
moved to indignation, and clutched his head in despair when he heard of
some irregularity from Ivan Karlovitch the gardener; and another--not
the real one--who seemed as though he were half drunk, would interrupt a
business conversation at half a word, touch the gardener on the
shoulder, and begin muttering:
"Say what you like, there is a great deal in blood. His mother was a
wonderful woman, most high-minded and intelligent. It was a pleasure to
look at her good, candid, pure face; it was like the face of an angel.
She drew splendidly, wrote verses, spoke five foreign languages,
sang.... Poor thing! she died of consumption. The Kingdom of Heaven be
hers."
The unreal Yegor Semyonitch sighed, and after a pause went on:
"When he was a boy and growing up in my house, he had the same angelic
face, good and candid. The way he looks and talks and moves is as soft
and elegant as his mother's. And his intellect! We were always struck
with his intelligence. To be sure, it's not for nothing he's a Master of
Arts! It's not for nothing! And wait a bit, Ivan Karlovitch, what will
he be in ten years' time? He will be far above us!"
But at this point the real Yegor Semyonitch, suddenly coming to himself,
would make a terrible face, would clutch his head and cry:
"The devils! They have spoilt everything! They have ruined everything!
They have spoilt everything! The garden's done for, the garden's
ruined!"
Kovrin, meanwhile, worked with the same ardour as before, and did not
notice the general commotion. Love only added fuel to the flames. After
every talk with Tanya he went to his room, happy and triumphant, took up
his book or his manuscript with the same passion with which he had just
kissed Tanya and told her of his love. What the black monk had told him
of the chosen of God, of eternal truth, of the brilliant future of
mankind and so on, gave peculiar and extraordinary significance to his
work, and filled his soul with pride and the consciousness of his own
exalted consequence. Once or twice a week, in the park or in the house,
he met the black monk and had long conversations with him, but this did
not alarm him, but, on the contrary, delighted him, as he was now firmly
persuaded that such apparitions only visited the elect few who rise up
above their fellows and devote themselves to the service of the idea.
One day the monk appeared at dinner-time and sat in the dining-room
window. Kovrin was delighted, and very adroitly began a conversation
with Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya of what might be of interest to the
monk; the black-robed visitor listened and nodded his head graciously,
and Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya listened, too, and smiled gaily without
suspecting that Kovrin was not talking to them but to his hallucination.
Imperceptibly the fast of the Assumption was approaching, and soon after
came the wedding, which, at Yegor Semyonitch's urgent desire, was
celebrated with "a flourish"--that is, with senseless festivities that
lasted for two whole days and nights. Three thousand roubles' worth of
food and drink was consumed, but the music of the wretched hired band,
the noisy toasts, the scurrying to and fro of the footmen, the uproar
and crowding, prevented them from appreciating the taste of the
expensive wines and wonderful delicacies ordered from Moscow.