Mikhaïl Ivanuitch was lying down, and not without some satisfaction, was twisting his mustache: “Now, what has brought her here? I have no smelling-salts for fainting-fits!” he thought, getting up when his mother entered. But he saw in her face a scornful triumph.
She sat down; she said: “Sit down, Mikhaïl Ivanuitch, and we will have a talk.” And she looked at him for a long time with a smile; at last she continued: “I am very well content, Mikhaïl Ivanuitch; guess why I am content.”
“I do not know what to guess, maman; you are so strange—”
“You will see that there is nothing strange at all; think away, and perhaps you will guess!”
Again a long pause. He is lost in perplexity; she is enjoying her triumph.
“You cannot guess; I will tell you. It is very simple and natural; if you had a spark of noble feeling, you would have guessed it. Your mistress”—in the former talk Anna Petrovna had to tack ship, but now she had no reason to tack; the means of defeating her was taken away from her opponent—“Your mistress—don’t you answer me back, Mikhaïl Ivanuitch—you yourself have boasted everywhere that she was your mistress—this creature of low origin, of low training, of low behavior—even this contemptible creature—”
“Maman, I am not willing to hear such expressions about the girl who is to be my wife.”
“I should not have used them, if I had thought that she was going to be your wife. And I began with the intention of explaining to you that this was not to be, and why it was not to be. Allow me to finish. Then you may freely reproach me for these expressions, which will then be out of place according to your idea; but now allow me to finish. I wish to say that your mistress, this nameless creature, untrained, mannerless, feelingless—even she puts you to shame, even she understands all the shamelessness of your intentions—”
“What? what is that? Speak, maman!”
“You yourself are hindering me. I was going to say that even she—do you hear?—even she!—could understand and appreciate my feelings; even she when she learned from her mother about your offer, sent her father to tell me, that she would not put herself in opposition to my will and would not degrade our family by her polluted name.”
“Maman, you are deceiving me!”
“Fortunately for me and you, no! She says that—”
But Mikhaïl Ivanuitch was no longer in the room; he had already put on his army coat.
“Hold him, Piotr! hold him!” cried Anna Petrovna. Piotr opened wide his mouth at such an extraordinary command, but Mikhaïl Ivanuitch was already running down the front doorsteps.
IX
“Nu! how was it?” asked Marya Alekséyevna, as her husband came back.
“Elegant, mátushka; she knew all about it, and she says, ‘How did you dare?’ and I says, ‘We don’t dare, your ladyship, and Viérotchka has already refused him.’ ”
“What? What? You said such nonsense as that, you ass?”9
“Marya Alekséyevna—”
“You ass! you villain! you have killed me! you have cut my throat! Take that!”—The husband received a slap. “And take that!” Another slap. “That’s the way to teach you, durak!” She seized him by the hair and began to drag him about the room. The lesson continued for some time, for Storeshnikof, after his mother’s long lecture and pauses, came running into the room, and found Marya Alekséyevna still in the full heat of instruction.
“You ass! you did not even fasten the door—and what a state strangers find us in! You ought to be ashamed to be such a hog [svinya]!” That was all that Marya Alekséyevna found to say.
“Where is Viéra Pavlovna? I must see Viéra Pavlovna! Immediately! Is it true that she refuses me?”
The circumstances were so embarrassing that Marya Alekséyevna could only motion with her hand. The very same thing happened to Napoleon after the Battle of Waterloo, when Marshal Grouchy proved to be stupid like Pavel Konstantinuitch, and La Fayette was bold like Viérotchka; Napoleon was fighting, fighting—doing, accomplishing all the miracles in his art—but it was without avail, and he could only motion with his hand, and say, “I give it all up; let everyone do as he pleases, with himself and with me.”
“Viéra Pavlovna, do you refuse my hand?”
“Judge for yourself; how can I not refuse it?”
“Viéra Pavlovna, I have cruelly offended you; I am to blame; I am worthy of being hung; but I cannot bear your refusal,” etc., etc.
Viérotchka listened to him for several minutes; finally—it was time to put an end to it—this was hard:—
“No, Mikhaïl Ivanuitch, this is enough! Stop! I cannot consent.”
“Well, if that must be so, I beg one favor; you feel just now too keenly how I offended you; don’t give me your answer yet; allow me time to win your forgiveness! I seem to you low, vile; but look, maybe I shall grow to be better; I will use all my strength to become a better man; help me! Don’t push me away now! Give me time! I will obey you in everything that you may ask; you shall see how humble I am; maybe you will see that there is some good in me; only give me time!”
“I am sorry for you,” said Viérotchka; “I see the sincerity of your love.” (Viérotchka, this is not love at all; it is only a mixture of different grades of depravity and meanness: love is something quite different; because a man finds it disagreeable to be refused by a women, that man is not necessarily in love with her; that is not love at all; but Viérotchka does not know this yet and she is touched.) “You want me not to give my answer yet—very good; but I warn you that the postponement will lead to nothing. I shall never give you any other answer than the one that
