As soon as she left he sent for me, and locked the door to everyone else for the whole day. Of course, he wept a little; he spoke much and well, got much and badly mixed up, accidentally made a pun and remained pleased with it; then came a slight cholerine—in short, everything took place in due order. After which he brought out a portrait of his little German wife, now twenty years deceased, and began calling to her plaintively: "Will you forgive me?" Generally, he was somehow befuddled. And we had a bit to drink in our grief. Soon, however, he fell fast asleep. Next morning he expertly knotted his tie, dressed with care, and went frequently to look at himself in the mirror. He sprayed perfume on his handkerchief—just a tiny bit, by the way— and then, as soon as he caught sight of Varvara Petrovna through the window, he quickly took another handkerchief and hid the perfumed one under the pillow.
"That's splendid!" Varvara Petrovna praised, after hearing his consent. "A noble determination, first of all, and, second, you've heeded the voice of reason, which you so rarely heed in your private affairs. However, there's no need to rush things," she added, examining the knot of his white tie, "say nothing for the time being, and I will say nothing. It will soon be your birthday; I will come to see you with her. Prepare an evening tea and, please, no wine or appetizers; however, I'll see to everything myself. Invite your friends—you and I will make the selection, however. You may have a talk with her the day before if need be; and during your evening we will not really make an announcement or some sort of betrothal, but simply hint or let it be known without any solemnity. And then in two weeks or so you'll be married, with as little noise as possible ... You both might even go away for a while, right after the ceremony, let's say to Moscow, for instance. Perhaps I'll go with you as well... And, above all, say nothing till then."
Stepan Trofimovich was surprised. He tried to murmur that it was impossible that way, that he must have a talk with the fiancée, but Varvara Petrovna fell upon him irritably:
"And what for? First, it's still possible that nothing will happen..."
"What? Nothing?" the fiancé muttered, now totally flabbergasted.
"Just so. I still have to see... However, everything will be as I've said, and don't worry, I'll prepare her myself. There's no need for you at all. Everything necessary will be said and done, and there's no need of you for that. Why? In what role? Do not come yourself and do not write letters. Not a breath, not a whisper, I beg you. I, too, will say nothing."
She was decidedly unwilling to explain herself and left visibly upset. It seemed she was struck by Stepan Trofimovich's excessive readiness. Alas, he decidedly did not understand his position, and the question had not yet presented itself to him from any other point of view. On the contrary, some new tone emerged, something triumphant and frivolous. He swaggered.
"I like that!" he exclaimed, standing before me and spreading his arms. "Did you hear? She wants to push me so far that I finally will stop wanting it. Because I, too, can lose my patience and... stop wanting it! 'Sit still, there's no need for you to go there'—but why, finally, must I get married? Just because of her ridiculous fantasy? But I am a serious man and may not want to submit to the idle fantasies of a whimsical woman! I have duties towards my son and... towards myself! I am making a sacrifice—does she understand that? Perhaps I agreed because I'm tired of life and it makes no difference to me. But she may provoke me, and then it will make a difference; I will get offended and refuse. Et enfin, le ridicule[xxxi]... What will they say at the club? What will... what will Liputin say? 'It's still possible that nothing will happen'—fancy that! But that's the limit! That's ... I don't know what! fe suis un forçat, un Badinguet, un[45][xxxii] man pushed to the wall! ..."
And at the same time a certain capricious smugness, something frivolously playful, peeped out through all these plaintive exclamations. In the evening we drank some more.
3: Someone Else's Sins
I
About a week went by, and the affair began to expand itself somewhat.
I will observe in passing that I endured much anguish during this unfortunate week, staying almost constantly at the side of my poor matchmade friend in the quality of his closest confidant. It was mainly shame that oppressed him, though during this week we did not see anyone and sat by ourselves all the time; but he was ashamed even before me, and to such an extent that the more he revealed to me, the more vexed he was with me for it. In his insecurity he suspected that everyone already knew everything, all over town, and was afraid to show himself not only at the club but in his own circle as well. Even for a stroll, to get the necessary exercise, he would go out only at full dusk, when it was already quite dark.
A week went by, and he still did not know whether he was engaged or not, and had no way of finding out for certain, however much he tried. He still had not seen the fiancée; did not even know if she was his fiancée; did not even know if there was anything serious in it all! Varvara Petrovna for some reason decidedly did not want to admit him to the house. She replied to one of his first letters (and he wrote her a great many) with a direct request that he spare her any relations with him for the time being, because she was busy, and as she herself had much of the greatest importance to tell him, she was deliberately waiting for a freer moment than the present, and would in time let him know herself when he could come to her. And she vowed to send his letters back unopened, because it was all "just sheer indulgence." I myself read this note; he showed it to me.
And yet all of it, all this rudeness and uncertainty, was nothing compared with his chief care. This care tormented him greatly, relentlessly; he kept losing weight over it, and his spirits declined. It was something he was ashamed of most of all, and which he by no means wished to speak about even with me; on the contrary, whenever the occasion arose, he lied and hedged before me like a little boy; and yet he himself would send for me every day, he was unable to be without me even for two hours, needing me like water or air.