“Nothing special; what a way you have of assuming the air of a victim at once!” he began, quite needlessly dropping the corners of his mouth at every word. “I only want to forewarn you that we shall have a new guest dining here today.”
“Who is it?”
“Kurnatovsky, Yegor Andreyevitch. You don’t know him. The head secretary in the senate.”
“He is to dine with us today?”
“Yes.”
“And was it only to tell me this that you made everyone go away?”
Nikolai Artemyevitch again flung a glance—this time one of irony—at Anna Vassilyevna.
“Does that surprise you? Defer your surprise a little.”
He ceased speaking. Anna Vassilyevna too was silent for a little time.
“I could have wished—” she was beginning.
“I know you have always looked on me as an ‘immoral’ man,” began Nikolai Artemyevitch suddenly.
“I!” muttered Anna Vassilyevna, astounded.
“And very likely you are right. I don’t wish to deny that I have in fact sometimes given you just grounds for dissatisfaction” (“my greys!” flashed through Anna Vassilyevna’s head), “though you must yourself allow, that in the condition, as you are aware, of your constitution—”
“And I make no complaint against you, Nikolai Artemyevitch.”
“C’est possible. In any case, I have no intention of justifying myself. Time will justify me. But I regard it as my duty to prove to you that I understand my duties, and know how to care for—for the welfare of the family entrusted—entrusted to me.”
“What’s the meaning of all this?” Anna Vassilyevna was thinking. (She could not guess that the preceding evening at the English club a discussion had arisen in a corner of the smoking-room as to the incapacity of Russians to make speeches. “Which of us can speak? Mention anyone!” one of the disputants had exclaimed. “Well, Stahov, for instance,” had answered the other, pointing to Nikolai Artemyevitch, who stood up on the spot almost squealing with delight.)
“For instance,” pursued Nikolai Artemyevitch, “my daughter Elena. Don’t you consider that the time has come for her to take a decisive step along the path—to be married, I mean to say. All these intellectual and philanthropic pursuits are all very well, but only up to a certain point, up to a certain age. It’s time for her to drop her mistiness, to get out of the society of all these artists, scholars, and Montenegrins, and do like everybody else.”
“How am I to understand you?” asked Anna Vassilyevna.
“Well, if you will kindly listen,” answered Nikolai Artemyevitch, still with the same dropping of the corners of his lips, “I will tell you plainly, without beating about the bush. I have made acquaintance, I have become intimate with this young man, Mr. Kurnatovsky, in the hope of having him for a son-in-law. I venture to think that when you see him, you will not accuse me of partiality or precipitate judgment.” (Nikolai Artemyevitch was admiring his own eloquence as he talked.) “Of excellent education—educated in the highest legal college—excellent manners, thirty-three years old, and upper-secretary, a councillor, and a Stanislas cross on his neck. You, I hope, will do me the justice to allow that I do not belong to the number of those pères de famille who are mad for position; but you yourself told me that Elena Nikolaevna likes practical business men; Yegor Andreyevitch is in the first place a business man; now on the other side, my daughter has a weakness for generous actions; so let me tell you that Yegor Andreyevitch, directly he had attained the possibility—you understand me—the possibility of living without privation on his salary, at once gave up the yearly income assigned him by his father, for the benefit of his brothers.”
“Who is his father?” inquired Anna Vassilyevna.
“His father? His father is a man well-known in his own line, of the highest moral character, un vrai stoïcien, a retired major, I think, overseer of all the estates of the Count B⸺”
“Ah!” observed Anna Vassilyevna.
“Ah! why ah?” interposed Nikolai Artemyevitch. “Can you be infected with prejudice?”
“Why, I said nothing—” Anna Vassilyevna was beginning.
“No, you said, ah!—However that may be, I have thought it well to acquaint you with my way of thinking; and I venture to think—I venture to hope Mr. Kurnatovsky will be received à bras ouverts. He is no Montenegrin vagrant.”
“Of course; I need only call Vanka the cook and order a few extra dishes.”
“You are aware that I will not enter into that,” said Nikolai Artemyevitch; and he got up, put on his hat, and whistling (he had heard someone say that whistling was only permissible in a country villa and a riding court) went out for a stroll in the garden. Shubin watched him out of the little window of his lodge, and in silence put out his tongue at him.
At ten minutes to four, a hackney-carriage drove up to the steps of the Stahovs’s villa, and a man, still young, of prepossessing appearance, simply and elegantly dressed, stepped out of it and sent up his name. This was Yegor Andreyevitch Kurnatovsky.
This was what, among other things, Elena wrote next day to Insarov:
“Congratulate me, dear Dmitri, I have a suitor. He dined with us yesterday: papa made his acquaintance at the English club, I fancy, and invited him. Of course he did not come yesterday as a suitor. But good mamma, to whom papa had made known his hopes, whispered in my ear what this guest was. His name is Yegor Andreyevitch Kurnatovsky; he is upper-secretary to the Senate. I will first describe to you his appearance. He is of medium height, shorter than you, and a good figure; his features are regular, he is close-cropped, and wears large whiskers. His eyes are rather small (like yours), brown, and quick; he has a flat wide mouth; in his eyes and on his lips there is a perpetual sort of official smile; it seems to be always on duty there. He behaves very simply and speaks precisely, and everything about him is precise;
