VI
Varvara Ardalionovna had also informed her brother quite correctly about the evening gathering at the Epanchins' dacha, where Belokonsky was expected; guests were expected precisely that evening; but, again, the way she had put it was slightly stronger than it should have been. True, the affair had been organized too hastily and even with a certain quite unnecessary excitement, and that precisely because in this family "everything was done as no one else did it." Everything was explained by the impatience of Lizaveta Prokofyevna, "who did not wish to have any more doubts" and by the ardent throbbings of both parental hearts over the happiness of their beloved daughter. Besides,
Belokonsky was in fact leaving soon; and since her protection indeed meant much in society and since it was hoped that she would look favorably on the prince, the parents reckoned that "society" would receive Aglaya's fiancé straight from the hands of the all-powerful "old woman," and so, if there was something strange in it, under such protection it would appear much less strange. The whole thing was that the parents were simply unable to decide for themselves: "Was there anything strange in this whole affair, and if so, precisely how much? Or was there nothing strange at all?" The friendly and candid opinion of people of authority and competence would precisely be useful at the present moment, when, thanks to Aglaya, nothing had been ultimately resolved yet. In any case, the prince had sooner or later to be introduced into society, of which he had not the slightest idea. In short, the intention was to "show" him. The evening, however, was planned without ceremony; only "friends of the house" were expected, a very small number of them. Besides Princess Belokonsky, a certain lady was expected, the wife of a very important gentleman and a dignitary. Among the young men they counted perhaps only on Evgeny Pavlovich; he was to arrive escorting Belokonsky.
Of the fact that Belokonsky would be there, the prince had heard possibly some three days before the evening; of the party he learned only the day before. Naturally, he noticed the busy look of the members of the family, and even grasped, from certain allusive and preoccupied remarks made to him, that they feared for the impression he might make. But somehow all the Epanchins to a person formed the idea that he, in his simplicity, would never be able to guess that they were so worried for him. Which was why, looking at him, they all felt an inner anguish. However, he in fact ascribed almost no significance to the forthcoming event; he was concerned with something else entirely: with every hour Aglaya was becoming more capricious and gloomy—this was killing him. When he learned that Evgeny Pavlovich was also expected, he was very glad and said he had long been wanting to see him. For some reason no one liked these words; Aglaya left the room in vexation, and only late in the evening, sometime past eleven, when the prince was leaving, did she seize the chance to tell him a few words alone, as she was seeing him off.
"I wish you wouldn't come to see us all day tomorrow, but come in the evening, when these . . . guests have gathered. You know there will be guests?"
She spoke impatiently and with increased sternness; this was the first time she had spoken of this "evening." For her, too, the thought of guests was almost unbearable; everyone noticed it. She might have wanted very much to quarrel with her parents over it, but pride and modesty kept her from speaking. The prince understood at once that she, too, feared for him (and did not want to admit it), and he suddenly felt afraid himself.
"Yes, I've been invited," he replied.
She was obviously embarrassed to go on.
"Is it possible to speak with you about anything serious? At least once in your life?" she suddenly became extremely angry, not knowing why herself and not able to restrain herself.
"It's possible, and I'm listening to you; I'm very glad," the prince murmured.
Aglaya paused again for about a minute and began with obvious repugnance:
"I didn't want to argue about it with them; in certain cases they can't be brought to reason. The rules that mamansometimes goes by have always been repugnant to me. I'm not speaking of father, there's nothing to be expected from him. Mamanis, of course, a noble woman; dare to suggest something mean to her and you'll see . . . Well, but before this . . . trash—she stands in awe! I'm not speaking of this Belokonsky alone: a trashy little hag, and with a trashy character, but she's intelligent and knows how to hold them all in her hand—that, at least, is a good thing about her. Oh, meanness! And it's ridiculous: we've always been people of the middle circle, as middle as can be; why climb into that high-society circle? And my sisters, too: this Prince Shch. has got them all confused. Why are you glad that Evgeny Pavlych will come?"
"Listen, Aglaya," said the prince, "it seems to me you're very afraid for me, that I'll flunk it tomorrow ... in that company?"
"For you? Afraid?" Aglaya flared up. "Why should I be afraid for you, even if you . . . even if you disgrace yourself completely? What is it to me? And how can you use such words? What does 'flunk' mean? It's a trite, trashy word."
"It's a . . . school word."
"Ah, yes, a school word! A trashy word! You intend, apparently, to speak in such words tomorrow. Go home and pick more words like that from your lexicon: what an effect you'll make! Too bad you seem to know how to make a proper entrance; where did you
learn that? Will you be able to take a cup of tea and drink it decently, while everybody's looking at you on purpose?"
"I think I'll be able to."
"That's too bad; otherwise I'd have had a good laugh. At least break the Chinese vase in the drawing room! It's expensive: please break it; it was a gift, mama will lose her mind and cry in front of everybody—it's so precious to her. Make some gesture, the way you always do, hit it and break it. Sit next to it on purpose."
"On the contrary, I'll try to sit as far away as possible: thank you for warning me."
"So you're afraid beforehand that you'll make grand gestures. I bet you'll start discussing some 'topic,' something serious, learned, lofty? That will be . . . proper!"
"I think it would be stupid ... if it's inappropriate."
"Listen once and for all," Aglaya finally could not stand it, "if you start talking about something like capital punishment or the economic situation in Russia, or that 'beauty will save the world'. . . I'll certainly be glad and laugh very much, but . . . I'm warning you ahead of time: don't let me set eyes on you afterwards! Do you hear? I'm speaking seriously! This time I'm speaking seriously!"
She actually uttered her threat seriously,so that something extraordinary could even be heard in her words and glimpsed in her eyes, something that the prince had never noticed before and that certainly bore no resemblance to a joke.
"Well, you've made it so that now I'll be sure to 'start talking' and even . . . maybe . . . break the vase as well. I wasn't afraid of anything before, but now I'm afraid of everything. I'm sure to flunk."
"Then keep quiet. Sit there and keep quiet."
"It won't be possible; I'm sure to start talking from fear and to break the vase from fear. Maybe I'll trip on the smooth floor, or something else like that will happen, because it's happened before; I'll dream about it all night; why did you speak of it!"
Aglaya gave him a dark look.
"You know what: I'd better not come at all tomorrow! I'll report myself sick and be done with it!" he decided at last.
Aglaya stamped her foot and even turned pale with wrath.