So, too, concerning this new debt, in which Yevgeny saw an almost crushing blow to all his undertakings, Marya Pavlovna only saw an incident displaying Yevgeny’s noble nature. Moreover she did not feel much anxiety about Yevgeny’s position, because she was confident that he would make a brilliant marriage which would put everything right. And he could make a very brilliant marriage: she knew a dozen families who would be glad to give their daughters to him. And she wished to arrange the matter as soon as possible.
IV
Yevgeny himself dreamt of marriage, but not in the same way as his mother. The idea of using marriage as a means of putting his affairs in order was repulsive to him. He wished to marry honourably, for love. He observed the girls whom he met and those he knew, and compared himself with them, but no decision had yet been taken. Meanwhile, contrary to his expectations, his relations with Stepanida continued, and even acquired the character of a settled affair. Yevgeny was so far from debauchery, it was so hard for him secretly to do this thing which he felt to be bad, that he could not arrange these meetings himself and even after the first one hoped not to see Stepanida again; but it turned out that after some time the same restlessness (due he believed to that cause) again overcame him. And his restlessness this time was no longer impersonal, but suggested just those same bright, black eyes, and that deep voice, saying, “ever so long,” that same scent of something fresh and strong, and that same full breast lifting the bib of her apron, and all this in that hazel and maple thicket, bathed in bright sunlight.
Though he felt ashamed he again approached Danila. And again a rendezvous was fixed for midday in the wood. This time Yevgeny looked her over more carefully and everything about her seemed attractive. He tried talking to her and asked about her husband. He really was Mikhalya’s son and lived as a coachman in Moscow.
“Well, then, how is it you …” Yevgeny wanted to ask how it was she was untrue to him.
“What about ‘how is it’?” asked she. Evidently she was clever and quick-witted.
“Well, how is it you come to me?”
“There now,” said she merrily. “I bet he goes on the spree there. Why shouldn’t I?”
Evidently she was putting on an air of sauciness and assurance, and this seemed charming to Yevgeny. But all the same he did not himself fix a rendezvous with her. Even when she proposed that they should meet without the aid of Danila, to whom she seemed not very well disposed, he did not consent. He hoped that this meeting would be the last. He thought such contact was necessary for him and that there was nothing bad about it, but in the depth of his soul there was a stricter judge who did not approve of it and hoped that this would be the last time, or if he did not hope that, at any rate did not wish to participate in arrangements to repeat it another time.
So the whole summer passed, during which they met a dozen times and always by Danila’s help. It happened once that she could not be there because her husband had come home, and Danila proposed another woman, but Yevgeny refused with disgust. Then the husband went away and the meetings continued as before, at first through Danila, but afterwards he simply fixed the time and she came with another woman, Prokhorova—as it would not do for a peasant-woman to go about alone.
Once at the very time fixed for the rendezvous a family came to call on Marya Pavlovna, with the very girl she wished Yevgeny to marry, and it was impossible for Yevgeny to get away. As soon as he could do so, he went out as though to the threshing floor, and round by the path to their meeting place in the wood. She was not there, but at the accustomed spot everything within reach had been broken—the black alder, the hazel-twigs, and even a young maple the thickness of a stake. She had waited, had become excited and angry, and had skittishly left him a remembrance. He waited and waited, and then went to Danila to ask him to call her for tomorrow. She came and was just as usual.
So the summer passed. The meetings were always arranged in the wood, and only once, when it grew towards autumn, in the shed that stood in her backyard.
It did not enter Yevgeny’s head that these relations of his had any importance for him. About her he did not even think. He gave her money and nothing more. At first he did not know and did not think that the affair was known and that she was envied throughout the village, or that her relations took money from her and encouraged her, and that her conception of any sin in the matter had been quite obliterated by the influence of the money and her family’s approval. It seemed to her that if people envied her, then what she was doing was good.
“It is simply necessary for my health,” thought Yevgeny. “I grant it is not right, and though no one says anything, everybody, or many people, know of it. The woman who comes with her knows. And once she knows she is sure to have told others. But what’s to be done? I am acting badly,” thought Yevgeny, “but what’s one to do? Anyhow it is not for long.”
What chiefly disturbed Yevgeny was the thought of the husband. At first for some reason it seemed to him that the husband must be a poor sort, and this as it were partly justified his conduct. But he saw the husband and was struck by his appearance: he was a fine fellow and smartly dressed, in no way a worse man than himself, but surely better. At their next meeting he told her he had seen her husband and had been surprised to see that he was such a fine fellow.
“There’s not another man like him in the village,” said she proudly.
This surprised Yevgeny, and the thought of the husband tormented him still more after that. He happened to be at Danila’s one day and Danila, having begun chatting said to him quite openly:
“And Mikhalya asked me the other day: ‘Is it true that the master is living with my wife?’ I said I did not know. ‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘better with the master than with a peasant.’ ”
“Well, and what did he say?”
“He said: ‘Wait a bit. I’ll get to know and I’ll give it her all the same.’ ”
Yes, if the husband returned to live here I would give her up, thought Yevgeny.
But the husband lived in town and for the present their relations continued.
“When necessary I will break it off, and there will be nothing left of it,” thought he.
And this seemed to him certain, especially as during the whole summer many different things occupied him very fully: the erection of the new farm-house, and the harvest and building, and above all meeting the debts and selling the wasteland. All these were affairs that completely absorbed him and on which he spent his thoughts when he lay down and when he got up. All that was real life. His relations—he did not even call it connection—with Stepanida he paid no attention to. It is true that when the wish to see her arose it came with such strength that he could think of nothing else. But this did not last long. A meeting was arranged, and he again forgot her for a week or even for a month.
In autumn Yevgeny often rode to town, and there became friendly with the Annenskys. They had a daughter who had just finished the Institute. And then, to Marya Pavlovna’s great grief, it happened that Yevgeny “cheapened himself,” as she expressed it, by falling in love with Liza Annenskaya and proposing to her.
From that time his relations with Stepanida ceased.
V
It is impossible to explain why Yevgeny chose Liza Annenskaya, as it is always impossible to explain why a man chooses this and not that woman. There were many reasons—positive and negative. One reason was that she was not a very rich heiress such as his mother sought for him, another that she was naive and to be pitied in her relations with her mother, another that she was not a beauty who attracted general attention to herself, and yet she was not bad-looking. But the chief reason was that his acquaintance with her began at the time when he was ripe for marriage. He fell in love because he knew that he would marry.
Liza Annenskaya was at first merely pleasing to Yevgeny, but when he decided to make her his wife his feelings for her became much stronger. He felt that he was in love.
Liza was tall, slender, and long. Everything about her w
as long; her face, and her nose (not prominently but downwards), and her fingers, and her feet. The colour of her face was very delicate, creamy white and delicately pink; she had long, soft, and curly, light-brown hair, and beautiful eyes, clear, mild, and confiding. Those eyes especially struck Yevgeny, and when he thought of Liza he always saw those clear, mild, confiding eyes.
Such was she physically; he knew nothing of her spiritually, but only saw those eyes. And those eyes seemed to tell him all he needed to know. The meaning of their expression was this:
While still in the Institute, when she was fifteen, Liza used continually to fall in love with all the attractive men she met and was animated and happy only when she was in love. After leaving the Institute she continued to fall in love in just the same way with all the young men she met, and of course fell in love with Yevgeny as soon as she made his acquaintance. It was this being in love which gave her eyes that particular expression which so captivated Yevgeny. Already that winter she had been in love with two young men at one and the same time, and blushed and became excited not only when they entered the room but whenever their names were mentioned. But afterwards, when her mother hinted to her that Irtenev seemed to have serious intentions, her love for him increased so that she became almost indifferent to the two previous attractions, and when Irtenev began to come to their balls and parties and danced with her more than with others and evidently only wished to know whether she loved him, her love for him became painful. She dreamed of him in her sleep and seemed to see him when she was awake in a dark room, and everyone else vanished from her mind. But when he proposed and they were formally engaged, and when they had kissed one another and were a betrothed couple, then she had no thoughts but of him, no desire but to be with him, to love him, and to be loved by him. She was also proud of him and felt emotional about him and herself and her love, and quite melted and felt faint from love of him.
The more he got to know her the more he loved her. He had not at all expected to find such love, and it strengthened his own feeling more.
VI
Towards spring he went to his estate at Semyonovskoe to have a look at it and to give directions about the management, and especially about the house which was being done up for his wedding.
Marya Pavlovna was dissatisfied with her son’s choice, not only because the match was not as brilliant as it might have been, but also because she did not like Varvara Alexeevna, his future mother-in-law. Whether she was good-natured or not she did not know and could not decide, but that she was not well-bred, not comme il faut—“not a lady” as Marya Pavlovna said to herself—she saw from their first acquaintance, and this distressed her; distressed her because she was accustomed to value breeding and knew that Yevgeny was sensitive to it, and she foresaw that he would suffer much annoyance on this account. But she liked the girl. Liked her chiefly because Yevgeny did. One could not help loving her, and Marya Pavlovna was quite sincerely ready to do so.
Yevgeny found his mother contented and in good spirits. She was getting everything straight in the house and preparing to go away herself as soon as he brought his young wife. Yevgeny persuaded her to stay for the time being, and the future remained undecided.
In the evening after tea Marya Pavlovna played patience as usual. Yevgeny sat by, helping her. This was the hour of their most intimate talks. Having finished one game and while preparing to begin another, she looked up at him and, with a little hesitation, began thus:
“I wanted to tell you, Zhenya—of course I do not know, but in general I wanted to suggest to you—that before your wedding it is absolutely necessary to have finished with all your bachelor affairs so that nothing may disturb either you or your wife. God forbid that it should. You understand me?”
And indeed Yevgeny at once understood that Marya Pavlovna was hinting at his relations with Stepanida which had ended in the previous autumn, and that she attributed much more importance to those relations than they deserved, as solitary women always do. Yevgeny blushed, not from shame so much as from vexation that good-natured Marya Pavlovna was bothering—out of affection no doubt, but still was bothering—about matters that were not her business and that she did not and could not understand. He answered that there was nothing that needed concealment, and that he had always conducted himself so that there should be nothing to hinder his marrying.
“Well, dear, that is excellent. Only, Zhenya … don’t be vexed with me,” said Marya Pavlovna, and broke off in confusion.
Yevgeny saw that she had not finished and had not said what she wanted to. And this was confirmed, when a little later she began to tell him how, in his absence, she had been asked to stand godmother at … the Pechnikovs.
Yevgeny flushed again, not with vexation or shame this time, but with some strange consciousness of the importance of what was about to be told him—an involuntary consciousness quite at variance with his conclusions. And what he expected happened. Marya Pavlovna, as if merely by way of conversation, mentioned that this year only boys were being born—evidently a sign of a coming war. Both at the Vasins and the Pechnikovs the young wife had a first child—at each house a boy. Marya Pavlovna wanted to say this casually, but she herself felt ashamed when she saw the colour mount to her son’s face and saw him nervously removing, tapping, and replacing his pince-nez and hurriedly lighting a cigarette. She became silent. He too was silent and could not think how to break that silence. So they both understood that they had understood one another.
“Yes, the chief thing is that there should be justice and no favouritism in the village—as under your grandfather.”
“Mamma,” said Yevgeny suddenly, “I know why you are saying this. You have no need to be disturbed. My future family life is so sacred to me that I should not infringe it in any case. And as to what occurred in my bachelor days, that is quite ended. I never formed any union and no one has any claims on me.”
“Well, I am glad,” said his mother. “I know how noble your feelings are.”
Yevgeny accepted his mother’s words as a tribute due to him, and did not reply.
Next day he drove to town thinking of his fiancée and of anything in the world except of Stepanida. But, as if purposely to remind him, on approaching the church he met people walking and driving back from it. He met old Matvey with Simyon, some lads and girls, and then two women, one elderly, the other, who seemed familiar, smartly dressed and wearing a bright-red kerchief. This woman was walking lightly and boldly, carrying a child in her arms. He came up to them, and the elder woman bowed, stopping in the old-fashioned way, but the young woman with the child only bent her head, and from under the kerchief gleamed familiar, merry, smiling eyes.
Yes, this was she, but all that was over and it was no use looking at her: “and the child may be mine,” flashed through his mind. No, what nonsense! There was her husband, she used to see him. He did not even consider the matter further, so settled in his mind was it that it had been necessary for his health—he had paid her money and there was no more to be said; there was, there had been, and there could be, no question of any union between them. It was not that he stifled the voice of conscience, no—his conscience simply said nothing to him. And he thought no more about her after the conversation with his mother and this meeting. Nor did he meet her again.
Yevgeny was married in town the week after Easter, and left at once with his young wife for his country estate. The house had been arranged as usual for a young couple. Marya Pavlovna wished to leave, but Yevgeny begged her to remain, and Liza still more strongly, and she only moved into a detached wing of the house.
And so a new life began for Yevgeny.
VII
The first year of his marriage was a hard one for Yevgeny. It was hard because affairs he had managed to put off during the time of his courtship now, after his marriage, all came upon him at once.
To escape from debts was impossible. An outlying part of the estate was sold and the most pressing obligations met, but others remained, and h
e had no money. The estate yielded a good revenue, but he had had to send payments to his brother and to spend on his own marriage, so that there was no ready money and the factory could not carry on and would have to be closed down. The only way of escape was to use his wife’s money; and Liza, having realized her husband’s position, insisted on this herself. Yevgeny agreed, but only on condition that he should give her a mortgage on half his estate, which he did. Of course this was done not for his wife’s sake, who felt offended at it, but to appease his mother-in-law.
These affairs with various fluctuations of success and failure helped to poison Yevgeny’s life that first year. Another thing was his wife’s ill-health. That same first year, seven months after their marriage, a misfortune befell Liza. She was driving out to meet her husband on his return from town, and the quiet horse became rather playful and she was frightened and jumped out. Her jump was comparatively fortunate—she might have been caught by the wheel—but she was pregnant, and that same night the pains began and she had a miscarriage from which she was long in recovering. The loss of the expected child and his wife’s illness, together with the disorder in his affairs, and above all the presence of his mother-in-law, who arrived as soon as Liza fell ill—all this together made the year still harder for Yevgeny.
But notwithstanding these difficult circumstances, towards the end of the first year Yevgeny felt very well. First of all his cherished hope of restoring his fallen fortune and renewing his grandfather’s way of life in a new form, was approaching accomplishment, though slowly and with difficulty. There was no longer any question of having to sell the whole estate to meet the debts. The chief estate, though transferred to his wife’s name, was saved, and if only the beet crop succeeded and the price kept up, by next year his position of want and stress might be replaced by one of complete prosperity. That was one thing.