Yet all these people - though, of course, they were ‘friends of the family’ and of one another - were, however, far from being such friends either of the family or of one another as the prince took them to be when he had just been presented and introduced to them. Here there were people who would never and on no account acknowledge the Yepanchins as in any way their equals. Here there were even people who hated one another; old Belokonskaya had all her life ‘despised’ the wife of ‘the little old dignitary’, and she, in her turn, was far from being fond of Lizaveta Prokofyevna. This ‘dignitary’, her husband, had for some reason been a patron of the Yepanchins since their youth, and took the presiding place here, too, was such an immensely important person in Ivan Fyodorovich’s eyes that he could feel nothing but reverence and awe in his presence, and would even have sincerely despised himself had he for one moment considered him his equal, and not Olympian Jove. There were people here who had not met one another for several years and felt for one another nothing but indifference, if not repugnance, but who met now as though they had seen one another only the day before in the most friendly and pleasant company. However, the gathering was a small one. Apart from Belokonskaya and the ‘little old dignitary’, really an important person, and apart fr
om his spouse, there was here, in the first place, a certain very solid military general, a baron or count, with a German name - a man of extreme taciturnity, with a reputation for an amazing knowledge of government matters and even almost a reputation for scholarship - one of those Olympian administrators who know everything ‘except perhaps Russia itself’, a man who once in five years made a statement ‘remarkable for its profundity’, but of the kind, however, that at once become proverbs and are learned of in the most exalted circles; one of those high officials who, after exceedingly long service (even to the point of eccentricity), usually die covered with rank and honours, in the best positions, and with large sums of money, though without large achievements and even with a certain hostility to achievements. This general was Ivan Fyodorovich’s immediate superior in the service, and was also regarded by him, because of the ardency of his grateful heart, and even because of a certain vanity, as his benefactor, though the general in no way considered himself Ivan Fyodorovich’s benefactor, and took a perfectly unconcerned attitude towards him, though gladly availed himself of his numerous and varied merits, and would have lost no time in replacing him with another official, had this been required by any considerations, even those that were not exalted at all. Here there was also a certain important, middle-aged
barin,
apparently even a relative of Lizaveta Prokofyevna, though this was decidedly untrue; a man of good rank and calling, a man of wealth and breeding, solidly built and in very good health, a great talker and even possessing the reputation of a man of discontent (though in the most permissible sense of the word), a man of spleen (though in him even this was pleasant), with the ways of an English aristocrat and English tastes (regarding, for example, rare roast beef, horse harness, lackeys, etcetera). He was a great friend of the ‘dignitary’, kept him entertained, and moreover, Lizaveta Prokofyevna for some reason cherished a certain strange notion that this middle-aged gentleman (a man somewhat frivolous and to some extent an admirer of the fair sex) would suddenly take it into his head to make Alexandra happy by his proposal. This highest and most solid stratum of the gathering was followed by a stratum of younger guests, though they also shone with most exquisite qualities. In addition to Prince Shch. and Yevgeny Pavlovich, this stratum also comprised the well-known and charming Prince N., a former seducer and conqueror of female hearts throughout the whole of Europe, now a man of about forty-five, still of handsome appearance, with a wonderful ability as a raconteur, a man with a fortune that was, however, in some disarray, and who, from habit, lived mostly abroad. Here, lastly, there were people who apparently constituted even a third distinct stratum and who did not of themselves belong to the ‘secret circle’ of the company, but who, like the Yepanchins, could for some reason occasionally be encountered in that ‘secret’ circle. Because of a certain tact, which they adopted as a principle, on the rare occasions when they held formal gatherings, the Yepanchins liked to mix the most exalted company with people of a lower
stratum, chosen representatives of ‘the middle sort of people’. The Yepanchins were even praised for this and it was said of them that they knew their place and were people of tact, and the Yepanchins were proud of this opinion of themselves. One of the representatives of this ‘middle sort of people’ that evening was a certain colonel of the engineers, a serious man, very close friend of Prince Shch., who had introduced him to the Yepanchins, a man, however, silent in company and who wore on the large index finger of his right hand a large and conspicuous ring, which had in all probability been awarded to him. There was even, lastly, a literary man and poet, of German origin, but a Russian poet, and, moreover, completely decent, so that he could without misgivings be introduced into good society. He was of fortunate, though for some reason slightly repulsive, appearance, about thirty-eight, always impeccably dressed, belonged to a German family, bourgeois to the highest degree, but in the highest degree respectable; knew how to take advantage of various opportunities, nudge his way into the patronage of exalted people and remain in their good books. Once upon a time he had translated some important work by some important German poet, had known how to dedicate his translation in verse, had been able to boast of his friendship with a certain famous but dead Russian poet (there is an entire stratum of writers who are exceedingly fond of attaching themselves in print to the friendship of great but dead writers) and had been introduced to the Yepanchins very recently by the wife of the ‘little old dignitary’. This lady had the reputation of being a patroness of literary men scholars and she actually even obtained a pension for one or two authors through the mediation of highly placed persons with whom she had influence. For influence of a kind she did possess. She was a lady of about forty-five (thus a very young wife for such a little old man as her husband), a former beauty, who liked even now, because of a mania typical of many ladies of forty-five, to dress rather too extravagantly; she was of inconsiderable intellect, and her knowledge of literature was most dubious. But in her, the patronage of literary men was just as much of a mania as dressing extravagantly. Many works and translations had been dedicated to her; two or three writers, with her permission, had published their own letters, which they had written to her on extremely important subjects ... And it was all this company that the prince took for the very purest coinage, the purest gold, unalloyed. As a matter of fact, all these people were also, as if on purpose, in the happiest of moods that evening, and most content with themselves. Each single one of them knew that they were doing the Yepanchins a great honour by their visit. But, alas, the prince had no inkling of such subtleties. He had no inkling, for example, of the fact that the Yepanchins, cherishing the plan of such an important step as the resolution of their daughter’s destiny, would not have dared not to present him, Prince Lev Nikolayevich, for the inspection of the little old dignitary, the acknowledged patron of their family. As for the little old dignitary, though he would have even endured quite calmly the news of
a dreadful misfortune that might have befallen the Yepanchins, he would certainly have taken offence had the Yepanchins secured their daughter’s betrothal without his counsel and, so to speak, without his leave. Prince N., that charming, that unquestionably witty man, of such lofty sincerity, was in the highest degree convinced that he was something like a sun, rising that night above the Yepanchins’ drawing room. He considered them infinitely inferior to him, and it was precisely this simple and noble thought that engendered in him the very charming familiarity and friendliness with which he treated the Yepanchins. He knew very well that this evening he must be sure to tell some story, for the fascination of the company, and was preparing for this even with a certain amount of inspiration. Prince Lev Nikolayevich, hearing this story later, acknowledged that he had never heard anything like it, this brilliant humour and remarkable gaiety and naivety, which were almost touching on the lips of such a Don Juan as Prince N. And yet, had he known how old and threadbare that same story was; how it was known off by heart and how it had already been done to death and had bored everyone in every drawing room, only at the innocent Yepanchins’ making its appearance again as a novelty, as the sudden, sincere and brilliant recollection of a brilliant and handsome man! Even, at last, the minor German poet, though he had conducted himself with uncommon courtesy and modesty, he too almost considered himself to be doing this house an honour by his visit. But the prince did not notice the reverse side of it all, did not observe any undercurrent. This was a form of trouble Aglaya had not foreseen. She looked extremely pretty that evening. All three young ladies were smartly dressed that evening, though not very extravagantly, and their hair was even done up in a special way. Aglaya sat with Yevgeny Pavlovich, conversing and joking with him in an uncommonly friendly manner. Yevgeny Pavlovich was conducting himself a little more solidly and respectably than at other times, also, perhaps, out of regard for the dignitaries. He had, as a matter of fact, long been well known in society; though a young man, he was already at home there. That evening he arrived at the Yepanchins’ with a crêpe band round his hat, and Belokonskaya had praised him for it: in similar circumstances, perhaps not every worldly nephew might have worn a crêpe band for such an uncle. Lizaveta Prokofyevna was also pleased with this, but on the whole she seemed rather worried. The prince noticed that Aglaya looked at him attentively a couple of times and, it appeared, was pleased with him. Little by little he was becoming terribly happy. His earlier ‘fantastic’ thoughts and misgivings (after his conversation with Lebedev) now seemed to him, in sudden, but frequent recollections, an unrealizable, impossible and even ridiculous dream! (And in any case, his first, though unconscious, desire and inclination, earlier and throughout the whole day had been somehow to contrive it so that he could not believe in that dream!) He spoke little, and then only in response to questions, and, at last, fell altogether silent, sat and listened, though plainly drowning in gratification. Little by li
ttle, there began to take shape within him, too, something akin to inspiration, ready to flare up at the first opportunity ... When he began to talk, it was entirely by chance, also in response to a question and, it seemed, also without any special intention atall...
7
Lost in the pleasurable contemplation of Aglaya gaily talking to Prince N. and Yevgeny Pavlovich, the elderly, gentlemanly, anglophile
barin,
who had been entertaining the ‘dignitary’ in another corner and animatedly telling him about something, uttered the name of Nikolai Andreyevich Pavlishchev. The prince quickly turned in their direction and began to listen.
The matter under discussion was the present-day order of things, and the disorderly state of things on some landowners’ estates in the province of -. The anglophile’s stories must have contained something amusing, as the elderly gentleman began at last to laugh at the storyteller’s bilious ardour. He spoke smoothly, rather peevishly drawing out his words, with gentle emphases on the vowels, about how he had been compelled, precisely by this new order of things, to sell a magnificent estate of his in the province of — and even, though he was not particularly in need of money, at half price, and at the same time to keep an estate that was ruined, unprofitable and the subject of a process at law, and even had to pay extra for it. ‘In order to avoid another lawsuit over Pavlishchev’s estate as well, I ran away from them. I mean, one or two more such inheritances, and I’ll be ruined. As a matter of fact, though, I’d have got three thousand desyatinas
1
of excellent land there!’
‘This ... Ivan Petrovich is a relative of the late Nikolai Andreyevich Pavlishchev, isn’t he ... I mean, you were looking for his relatives, weren’t you?’ Ivan Fyodorovich said to the prince in a low voice, having suddenly turned up beside him, noticing the extreme attention with which he was following the conversation. Until now he had been entertaining his superior, the general, but had long observed Lev Nikolayevich’s extreme isolation, and begun to worry; he wanted to bring him into the conversation to a certain extent and thus for a second time show him off and introduce him to the ‘higher ups’.
‘Lev Nikolayevich was the ward of Nikolai Andreyevich Pavlishchev, after the death of his own parents,’ he interposed, encountering Ivan Petrovich’s gaze.
‘Ve-ry pleased,’ observed the latter, ‘and I even remember you very well. Earlier, when Ivan Fedorych introduced us, I recognized you at once, and even by your face. Truly, you’ve changed little in appearance, though I only saw you when you were a child, you were about ten or eleven. There’s something in your features that reminds me ...’
‘You saw me when I was a child?’ asked the prince, with some surprise.
‘Oh, it was very long ago,’ continued Ivan Petrovich, ‘in Zlatoverkhovo, where you were staying with my cousins at the time. In the old days I used to visit Zlatoverkhovo quite often - don’ t you remember me? I
t’s ve-ry possible that you don’t ... In those days you had ... you had a kind of illness then, so that I was once even astonished by you ...’
‘I don’t remember anything!’ the prince repeated fervently.
After a few more words of explanation, supremely calm on the part of Ivan Petrovich and oddly agitated on the part of the prince, it came to light that the two ladies, elderly spinsters, relatives of the late Pavlishchev, who lived on his Zlatoverkhovo estate and to whom the prince had been entrusted for his upbringing, were, in their turn, cousins of Ivan Petrovich. Like everyone else, Ivan Petrovich was almost unable to think of any reasons why Pavlishchev should have taken such pains over the little prince, his foster child. ‘Why, I even forgot to take any interest in it at the time,’ but all the same, it turned out that he had an excellent memory, because he could remember how strict his elderly cousin, Marfa Nikitishna, had been with the little ward, ‘so that I even quarrelled with her once about her system of upbringing, because using the birch rod again and again on a sick child - I mean, it’s ... you must admit ...’ - and how kind, on the other hand, the younger cousin, Natalya Nikitishna, had been to the poor boy. ‘Now both of them,’ he explained further, ‘live in the province of - (though I don’t know if they are alive now), where they acquired from Pavlishchev a very decent little estate. I believe Marfa Nikitishna intended to enter a convent; however, I cannot confirm it; it may have been someone else I heard about ... yes, it was about a doctor’s wife the other day ...’