They finally got up from the table; the guests left, and Grigory Ivanovich gave free rein to his laughter and his questions.
“What gave you a mind to fool them?” he asked Liza. “And do you know something? White greasepaint really becomes you; I won’t enter into the mysteries of feminine toilette, but in your place I’d use white greasepaint; not too much, of course, just a little.”
Liza was delighted with the success of her hoax. She embraced her father, promised to think over his advice, and ran to propitiate the annoyed Miss Jackson, who could hardly be persuaded to open her door and listen to her excuses. Liza had been ashamed to show such a swarthy face to strangers; she had not dared to ask…she was sure that good, kind Miss Jackson would forgive her…and so on and so forth. Miss Jackson, now persuaded that Liza had not thought to make fun of her, calmed down, kissed Liza, and in token of their reconciliation gave her a little jar of white English greasepaint, which Liza accepted with expressions of sincere gratitude.
The reader can guess that the next morning Liza was not slow to make her appearance in the grove of their meetings.
“Did you go to our masters’ yesterday, sir?” she asked Alexei at once. “How did you find the young lady?”
Alexei replied that he had not noticed her.
“A pity,” Liza retorted.
“Why is that?” asked Alexei.
“Because I wanted to ask you whether it’s true what they say…”
“What do they say?”
“Whether it’s true, as they say, that I supposedly resemble the young lady?”
“What nonsense! Next to you, she’s a real fright.”
“Ah, sir, it’s sinful for you to say so; our young lady’s so white, so elegant! As if I could compare with her!”
Alexei swore to her that she was better than all possible white-skinned young ladies and, to reassure her completely, began to portray her mistress in such funny strokes that Liza laughed heartily.
“Still and all,” she said with a sigh, “though my young lady may be ridiculous, I’m just an illiterate fool next to her.”
“Eh,” said Alexei, “there’s nothing to grieve over! If you like, I’ll teach you to read and write at once.”
“Really,” said Liza, “why not give it a try?”
“Very well, my dear, we’ll begin right now.”
They sat down. Alexei took a pencil and a notebook from his pocket, and Akulina learned the alphabet with surprising ease. Alexei could not marvel enough at her quick-wittedness. The next morning she also wanted to try writing; at first the pencil would not obey her, but after a few minutes she began to trace letters quite decently.
“What a wonder!” said Alexei. “Our studies go more quickly than by the Lancaster system.”9
Indeed, at the third lesson Akulina could already read “Natalya, the Boyar’s Daughter”10 syllable by syllable, interrupting her reading with remarks which truly amazed Alexei, and she covered a whole sheet of paper with aphorisms chosen from the same tale.
A week went by and they began to exchange letters. The post office was set up in a hole in an old oak tree. Nastya secretly performed the duties of postman. There Alexei brought letters written in a round hand, and there, on plain blue paper, he found the scribbles of his beloved. Akulina was evidently growing accustomed to a better turn of style, and her mind was noticeably developing and forming.
Meanwhile the recent acquaintance between Ivan Petrovich Berestov and Grigory Ivanovich Muromsky strengthened more and more and soon turned into friendship, owing to this particular circumstance: the thought often occurred to Muromsky that, at Ivan Petrovich’s death, all his property would pass into Alexei Ivanovich’s hands; that Alexei Ivanovich would thus become one of the richest landowners in the province; and that there was no reason why he should not marry Liza. Old Berestov, for his part, though he acknowledged a certain extravagance (or English folly, as he put it) in his neighbor, still did not deny that he had many excellent qualities—for instance, a rare resourcefulness: Grigory Ivanovich was closely related to Count Pronsky, a distinguished and powerful man; the count could be very useful to Alexei, and Muromsky (so thought Ivan Petrovich) would probably be glad of the chance to give his daughter away in a profitable manner. The old men thought so much about all this, each to himself, that they finally talked it over together, embraced, promised to work things out properly, and set about it, each for his own part. Muromsky was faced with a difficulty: persuading his Betsy to get more closely acquainted with Alexei, whom she had not seen since that memorable dinner. It seemed they had not liked each other very much; at least Alexei never came back to Priluchino, and Liza went to her room each time Ivan Petrovich honored them with a visit.
“But,” thought Grigory Ivanovich, “if Alexei came here every day, Betsy would be bound to fall in love with him. That’s in the nature of things. Time puts everything right.”
Ivan Petrovich was less worried about the success of his intentions. That same evening he summoned his son to his study, lit his pipe, and, after a brief silence, said:
“Why is it, Alyosha, that you haven’t mentioned military service for so long now? Or perhaps the hussar uniform no longer tempts you!…”
“No, papa,” Alexei replied respectfully. “I see it is not your wish that I join the hussars; it is my duty to obey you.”
“Very well,” replied Ivan Petrovich, “I see you are an obedient son. That is a comfort to me. Nor do I want to force you; I will not compel you to enter…government service…at once; but meanwhile I intend to get you married.”
“To whom, papa?” asked the amazed Alexei.
“To Lizaveta Grigoryevna Muromsky,” replied Ivan Petrovich. “Quite the bride, isn’t she?”
“I’m not thinking of marrying yet, papa.”
“You’re not thinking, so I’ve thought for you and thought well.”
“Say what you like, Liza Muromsky doesn’t please me at all.”
“She’ll please you later. Habit and love go hand in glove.”
“I don’t feel capable of making her happy.”
“Her happiness is not your worry. What? So this is how you respect the parental will? Very well!”
“As you please, I don’t want to marry and I won’t marry.”
“You’ll marry, or I’ll curse you, and—as God is holy!—I’ll sell the estate and squander the money, and you won’t get half a kopeck! I’ll give you three days to reflect, and meanwhile don’t you dare show your face to me.”
Alexei knew that once his father got something into his head, in Taras Skotinin’s words, even a nail couldn’t drive it out;11 but Alexei took after his papa, and it was just as hard to out-argue him. He went to his room and began to reflect on the limits of parental power, on Lizaveta Grigoryevna, on his father’s solemn promise to make a beggar of him, and finally on Akulina. For the first time he saw clearly that he was passionately in love with her; the romantic notion of marrying a peasant girl and living by his own labors came to his head, and the more he thought about this decisive step, the more reasonable he found it. For some time their meetings in the grove had broken off on account of rainy weather. He wrote Akulina a letter in the clearest handwriting and the most frantic style, announced to her the ruin that threatened them, and at the same time offered her his hand. He at once took the letter to the post office, the hole in the tree, and lay down to sleep quite pleased with himself.
The next day Alexei, firm in his intention, went to Muromsky early in the morning to have a frank talk with him. He hoped to arouse his magnanimity and win him over to his side.