Иван Тургенев
The Diary of a Superfluous Man, and Other Stories

At first, Anna Pávlovna endeavoured to exterminate this hatred in her – but several bold questions on Olga's part forced her to complete silence. Iván Andréevitch's children adored Olga, and the old woman loved her also, although with rather a cold affection.

Prolonged sorrow had crushed all cheerfulness, all strong feeling, in this poor woman; nothing so clearly proves Vasíly's bewitching amiability as the fact that he made even his mother love him ardently. Effusions of tenderness on the part of children was not in the spirit of that age, and therefore it is not surprising that Olga did not venture to display her devotion, although she always kissed Anna Pávlovna's hand with particular respect in the evening, when she bade her good-night. She was barely able to read and write. Twenty years later, Russian girls began to read novels in the style of the "Adventures of Marquis G***," – "Fanfan and Lolotte," – of "Alexyéi; or, The Cot in the Forest"; – they began to learn to play on the clavichord and to sing romances in the style of the following, once very familiar song:

 
"Men in the light
Cling to us like flies" – and so forth.
 

But in the '70s (Olga Ivánovna was born in the year 1757), our rustic beauties had no conception of all these accomplishments. It would be difficult for us now to picture to ourselves a young Russian girl of good birth of that epoch. We can, it is true, judge from our grandmothers as to the degree of education of noble gentlewomen in the times of Katherine II; but how is one to distinguish that which was inculcated in them in the course of their long life, from that which they were in the days of their youth?

Olga Ivánovna spoke a little French, but with a strong Russian accent; in her day, there was no thought of such a thing as the emigrés.¹⁹ In a word, with all her good qualities, she was, nevertheless, a decided savage, and, probably, in the simplicity of her heart, she more than once administered chastisement with her own hands to some unlucky maid…

Some time before Vasíly Ivánovitch's arrival, Olga Ivánovna had been betrothed to a neighbour, – Pável Afanásievitch Rogatchyóff, an extremely good-natured and honourable man. Nature had forgotten to endow him with gall. His own servants did not obey him; they sometimes all went off, from the first to the last of them, and left poor Rogatchyóff without any dinner … but nothing could disturb the tranquillity of his soul. He had been distinguished, even from his childhood, by his obesity and sluggishness; he had never served anywhere, and he was fond of going to church and singing in the choir. Look at that good-natured, round face, gentlemen; gaze at that tranquil, brilliant smile … does not it make you feel cheerful yourselves? Once in a while his father had driven over to Lutchínovko, and had brought with him, on festival days, his Pávlusha, whom the little Lutchínoffs tormented in every possible way. Pávlusha grew up, began to go to Iván Andréevitch's of his own accord, fell in love with Olga Ivánovna, and offered her his hand and his heart – not to her personally, but to her benefactors. Her benefactors gave their consent. They never even thought of asking Olga Ivánovna whether she liked Rogatchyóff. At that epoch, – as our grandmothers used to say, – "such luxuries were not in fashion." But Olga speedily got used to her betrothed: it was impossible not to grow attached to that gentle, indulgent being.

Rogatchyóff had received no education whatsoever; all he could say in French was "bonzhour" – and in secret he even regarded that word as improper. And some jester had also taught him the following, which professed to be a French song: "Sónetchka, Sónetchka! Que voulez-vous de moi – I adore you – mais je ne peux pas."… He was always humming this song in an undertone when he felt in good spirits. His father also was a man of indescribably kind disposition; he was forever going about in a long nankeen coat, and no matter what was said to him, he assented to everything with a smile.

From the time of Pável Afanásievitch's betrothal both the Rogatchyóffs – father and son – began to bustle about frightfully; they made over their house, they built on various "galleries," they chatted in friendly wise with the workmen, they treated them to vodka. They did not manage to finish all the additional building by winter – so they deferred the wedding until the summer; in the summer, Iván Andréevitch died – and the wedding was postponed until the following spring; in the winter, Vasíly Ivánovitch arrived. Rogatchyóff was introduced to him; Vasíly received him coldly and carelessly, and in the course of time, frightened him to such a degree by his arrogant treatment that poor Rogatchyóff quivered like a leaf at his mere appearance, maintained silence, and smiled constrainedly. Vasíly once came near driving him off for good – by offering to bet with him that he, Rogatchyóff, was unable to stop smiling. Poor Pável Afanásievitch almost wept with confusion, but – 't is an actual fact! – the smile, the very stupid, constrained smile, would not quit his face! And Vasíly slowly toyed with the ends of his neckcloth, and stared at him in quite too scornful a manner.

Pável Afanásievitch's father also learned of Vasíly's arrival, and a few days later – for the sake of "the greater solemnity" – he set out for Lutchínovko with the intention of "congratulating the amiable visitor on his arrival in his native parts." Afanásy Lúkitch was renowned throughout the whole countryside for his eloquence – that is to say, for his ability to utter, without hesitation, a rather long and cunningly-concocted speech, with a slight admixture of bookish words. Alas! on this occasion he did not maintain his reputation; he became confused much worse than his son, Pável Afanásievitch. He stammered out something very unintelligible, and, although he had never touched vodka in his life, having this time, "by way of countenance," drunk a small glassful (he had found Vasíly at luncheon), he had endeavoured, at least, to clear his throat with a certain amount of independence, and had not produced the smallest sound. As he set out for home, Pável Afanásievitch whispered to his parent: "Well, dear little father?" Afanásy Lúkitch replied to him with irritation, also in a whisper: "Don't mention it!"

The Rogatchyóffs began to come more rarely to Lutchínovko. But they were not the only ones whom Vasíly intimidated: he aroused in his brothers, in their wives, even in Anna Pávlovna herself, a painful and involuntary sense of discomfort … they began to avoid him in all possible ways. Vasíly could not help noticing this, but, apparently, he had no intention of altering his behaviour to them, when, all of a sudden, at the beginning of the spring, he again revealed himself as the same amiable, charming man they had previously known him to be…

The first revelation of this sudden change was on the occasion of Vasíly's unexpected call on the Rogatchyóffs. Afanásy Lúkitch, in particular, was thoroughly daunted by the sight of Lutchínoff's calash, but his fear very speedily vanished. Never had Vasíly been more amiable and merry. He linked his arm in the arm of young Rogatchyóff, walked out with him to inspect the buildings, chatted with the carpenters, gave them advice, himself made a few notches with the axe, ordered them to show him Afanásy Lúkitch's stud-horses, himself drove them at the end of a rope – and altogether, by his cordial amiability, reduced the kind-hearted steppe-dwellers to such a condition that they both repeatedly embraced him. At home, also, Vasíly turned all heads for a few days as of yore: he devised various amusing games, he procured musicians, invited in the neighbours of both sexes, narrated the tittle-tattle of the town to the old ladies in the most diverting manner, paid some court to the young women, invented unheard-of amusements, fireworks, and so forth: – in a word, he enlivened everything and everybody. The sad, gloomy house of the Lutchínoffs was suddenly converted into a noisy, brilliant, enchanting sort of dwelling, of which the whole countryside talked. – This sudden change amazed many, delighted all, and various rumours got into circulation; the knowing ones said that some hidden trouble had, up to that time, been afflicting Vasíly Ivánovitch, that the possibility of returning to the capital had presented itself to him… But no one divined the true cause of Vasíly Ivánovitch's regeneration.

Olga Ivánovna, gentlemen, was very far from being uncomely. – But her beauty consisted rather in remarkable softness and freshness of person, in a tranquil charm of movement, than in strict regularity of features. Nature had endowed her with a certain independence; her education – she had been reared an orphan – had developed in her caution and firmness. Olga did not belong to the category of quiet and languid young gentlewomen; but one feeling alone had fully ripened in her: hatred for her benefactor. However, other and more womanly passions also could flame up in Olga Ivánovna's soul with unusual, unhealthy force … but there was in her none of that proud coldness, nor that compact strength of soul, nor that selfish concentration, without which every passion speedily vanishes. – The first outbursts of such half-active, half-passive souls are sometimes remarkably violent; but they very soon undergo a change, especially when it becomes a question of the ruthless application of accepted principles; they fear the consequences… And, yet, gentlemen, I must confess to you frankly: women of that sort produce upon me a very strong impression…

(At these words, the narrator tossed off a glass of water at one draught. – "Nonsense! nonsense!" – I thought, as I looked at his round chin: – "on you, my dear friend, no one in the world produces 'a very strong impression.'") …

Piótr Feódorovitch went on:

Gentlemen, I believe in blood, in race. There was more blood in Olga Ivánovna, than, for example, in her nominal sister – Natálya. How did that "blood" show itself? – you ask me. – Why, in everything; in the outline of her hands and of her lips, in the sound of her voice, in her glance, in her walk, in the way she dressed her hair, – in the folds of her gown, in short. In all these trifles there was a certain hidden something, although I must admit that that … how shall I express it?.. that distinction which had fallen to the lot of Olga Ivánovna would not have attracted the attention of Vasíly if he had met her in Petersburg. But in the country, in the wilds, she not only excited his attention, – but even, altogether, was the sole cause of the change of which I have just spoken.

Judge for yourselves: Vasíly Ivánovitch was fond of enjoying life; he could not help being bored in the country; his brothers were kind-hearted fellows, but extremely limited in mind; he had nothing in common with them. His sister Natálya and her husband had had four children in the space of three years; between her and Vasíly lay a whole abyss… Anna Pávlovna went to church, prayed, fasted, and prepared herself for death. There remained only Olga, a rosy, timid, charming young girl… At first Vasíly did not notice her … and who would turn his attention on an adopted child, an orphan, a foundling?.. One day, at the very beginning of spring, he was walking through the garden, and with his cane switching off the heads of the chicory, those stupid yellow flowers which make their appearance in such abundance first of all, in the meadows as yet hardly green. – He was strolling in the garden in front of the house, raised his head – and beheld Olga Ivánovna. – She was sitting with her side to the window, and gazing pensively at a striped kitten, which, purring and blinking, had cuddled down on her lap, and with great satisfaction was presenting its little nose to the spring sunshine, already fairly brilliant. Olga Ivánovna wore a white morning-gown with short sleeves; her bare, faintly-rosy, as yet not fully-developed shoulders and arms breathed forth freshness and health; a small cap discreetly confined her thick, soft, silky locks; her face was slightly flushed; she had not been long awake. Her slender, supple neck was bent forward so charmingly; her unconfined form reposed so engagingly and modestly that Vasíly Ivánovitch (a great connoisseur!) involuntarily halted and took a look. It suddenly came into his head that Olga Ivánovna ought not to be left in her pristine ignorance, that in time she might turn out to be a very charming and very amiable woman. He crept up to the window, raised himself on tiptoe, and imprinted a silent kiss on Olga Ivánovna's smooth, white arm, a little below the elbow. – Olga screamed and sprang to her feet, the kitten elevated its tail, and leaped into the garden; Vasíly Ivánovitch detained her with his hand… Olga blushed all over, to her very ears; he began to jest at her fright … invited her to walk with him; but suddenly Olga Ivánovna noticed the negligence of her attire – "more swiftly than the swift-footed doe," she slipped into the next room.

That same day, Vasíly set off for the Rogatchyóffs'. He suddenly grew gay, and brightened up in spirit. Vasíly did not fall in love with Olga, no! – one must not trifle with the word love… He had found for himself an occupation, he had set himself a task, and was rejoicing with the joy of an active man. He never even called to mind the fact that she was his mother's adopted child, the betrothed of another man; he did not deceive himself for a single instant; he was very well aware that she could not be his wife… Perhaps passion was his excuse – not a lofty, not a noble passion, 't is true, but, nevertheless, a tolerably strong and torturing passion. Of course he did not fall in love like a child; he did not surrender himself to unbounded raptures; he knew well what he wanted and what he was aiming at.

Vasíly Ivánovitch possessed to perfection the ability to win the favour of others, even of those who were prejudiced or timid. Olga speedily ceased to shun him. Vasíly Ivánovitch introduced her into a new world. He imported a clavichord for her, gave her music lessons (he played very fairly himself on the flute), he read books to her, he had long talks with her… The poor young steppe-girl's head was turned; Vasíly had completely subjugated her. He knew how to talk to her about that which, hitherto, had been foreign to her, and to talk in a language which she understood. Olga gradually brought herself to express all her feelings to him; he helped her, suggested to her the words which she could not find; he did not startle her; he now repressed, now encouraged her impulses… Vasíly occupied himself with her education not out of a disinterested desire to awaken and develop her abilities; he simply wanted to bring her somewhat closer to him, and he knew, moreover, that it is easier to attract an inexperienced, shy, but vain young girl by the mind than by the heart. Even if Olga had been a remarkable being, Vasíly could not possibly have observed it, because he treated her like a child; but you already know, gentlemen, that there was nothing noteworthy about Olga.

Vasíly strove, as much as possible, to work on her imagination, and often of an evening she would leave him with such a whirl of new images, words, and thoughts in her head, that she was unable to get to sleep until dawn, and sighing sadly, she pressed her burning cheeks against her cold pillows; or she rose and went to the window, and gazed timorously and eagerly into the far-away gloom. Vasíly filled every moment of her life; she could not think of any one else. She soon ceased to take any notice of Rogatchyóff. Vasíly, being a shrewd and clever man, did not speak to Olga in his presence; but he either confused him to the verge of tears, or got up some boisterous game, a stroll in the evening, a rowing-party on the river by night with lanterns and music, – in a word, he did not give Pável Afanásievitch a chance to recover his ground. But, despite all Vasíly Ivánovitch's cleverness, Rogatchyóff was dimly conscious that he, the betrothed and the future husband of Olga, had become, as it were, a stranger to her … but, in his infinite good-heartedness, he was afraid of wounding her by a reproach, although he really loved her and prized her affection. When he was alone with her, he did not know what to talk about, and merely endeavoured to serve her in every possible way. Two months passed. Every trace of independence, of will, disappeared in Olga; the weak and taciturn Rogatchyóff could not serve her as a prop; she did not even try to resist the fascination, and with a sinking heart she gave herself unconditionally to Vasíly…

Olga Ivánovna, it is probable, then learned the joys of love; but not for long. Although Vasíly – for the lack of any other occupation – not only did not discard her, but even became attached to her, and petted her, yet Olga lost herself to such a degree that she did not find bliss even in love, and nevertheless she was unable to tear herself away from Vasíly. She began to be afraid of everything, she did not dare to think; she talked of nothing; she ceased to read; she became a prey to melancholy. Sometimes Vasíly succeeded in drawing her after him, and making her forget everybody and everything; but on the following day he found her pale and silent, with cold hands, with a senseless smile on her lips…

A decidedly difficult time began for Vasíly; but no difficulties could daunt him. He concentrated himself completely, like an expert gambler. He could not count upon Olga Ivánovna in the slightest degree; she was incessantly betraying herself, paling, and blushing and weeping … her new rôle was beyond her strength. Vasíly toiled for two; in his boisterous and noisy joy only an experienced observer could have detected a feverish tenseness; he played with his brothers, his sisters, the Rogatchyóffs, the neighbours, both men and women, – as though they had been pawns; he was eternally on the alert, he never allowed a single glance, a single movement to escape him, although he appeared to be the most care-free of mortals; every morning he entered into battle, and every evening he celebrated a victory. He was not in the least oppressed by this strange activity; he slept four hours a day, he ate very little, and was healthy, fresh, and gay. In the meantime, the wedding-day was approaching; Vasíly succeeded in convincing Pável Afanásievitch himself of the necessity of a postponement; then he despatched him to Moscow to make some purchases, and himself entered into correspondence with his Petersburg friends. He exerted himself not so much out of compassion for Olga Ivánovna, as out of a desire and love for fuss and bustle… Moreover, he had begun to grow tired of Olga Ivánovna, and more than once already, after a fierce outburst of passion, he had looked at her as he had been wont to look at Rogatchyóff. Lutchínoff always remained a puzzle to every one; in the very coldness of his implacable spirit you felt conscious of the presence of a strange, almost southern flame, and in the maddest heat of passion, cold emanated from that man. – In the presence of others, he upheld Olga Ivánovna as before; but when he was alone with her, he played with her as a cat plays with a mouse – he either terrified her with sophisms, or he exhibited heavy and vicious tedium, or, in conclusion, he threw himself at her feet again, swept her away, as a whirlwind sweeps a chip … and he was not then pretending to be in love … but really was swooning with it himself…

One day, quite late in the evening, Vasíly was sitting alone in his own room and attentively perusing the latest letters he had received from Petersburg – when, suddenly, the door creaked softly and Paláshka, Olga Ivánovna's maid, entered.

"What dost thou want?" – Vasíly asked her, quite curtly.

"My mistress begs that you will come to her."

"I can't at present. Go away… Well, why dost thou stand there?" – he went on, perceiving that Paláshka did not leave the room.

"My mistress ordered me to say that there is very great need, sir."

"Well, but what 's the matter?"

"Please to see for yourself, sir…"

Vasíly rose, with vexation tossed the letters into a casket, and betook himself to Olga Ivánovna. She was sitting alone in a corner, – pale and motionless.

"What do you want?" – he asked her, not very politely.

Olga looked at him, and with a shudder, covered her eyes.

"What ails you? what 's the matter with thee, Olga?"

He took her hand… Olga Ivánovna's hand was as cold as ice… She tried to speak … and her voice died away. The poor woman had no doubt left in her mind as to her condition.

Vasíly was somewhat disconcerted. Olga Ivánovna's room was a couple of paces from the bedroom of Anna Pávlovna. Vasíly cautiously seated himself beside Olga, kissed and warmed her hands, and argued with her in a whisper. She listened to him, and shivered silently, slightly. Paláshka stood in the doorway and softly wiped away her tears. In the adjoining room a pendulum was beating heavily and regularly, and the breathing of a sleeper was audible. Olga Ivánovna's torpor dissolved, at last, in tears and dull sobs. Tears are the equivalent of a thunder-storm: after them a person is always quieter. When Olga Ivánovna had become somewhat composed, and only sobbed convulsively from time to time like a child, Vasíly knelt down before her, and with caresses and tender promises soothed her completely, gave her a drink of water, put her to bed, and went away. All night long he did not undress himself, wrote two or three letters, burned two or three papers, got out a golden locket with the portrait of a black-browed and black-eyed woman, with a bold, sensual face, gazed long at her features, and paced his chamber in thought. On the following morning, at tea, he beheld, with a good deal of dissatisfaction, poor Olga's reddened, swollen eyes, and pale, distraught face. After breakfast, he proposed to her that she should take a stroll with him in the park. Olga followed Vasíly like an obedient sheep. But when, two hours later, she returned from the park, she looked dreadfully; she told Anna Pávlovna that she felt ill, and went to bed. During the walk, Vasíly had announced to her, with all due penitence, that he was secretly married – he was just as much a bachelor as I am. Olga Ivánovna did not fall down in a swoon – people fall in swoons only on the stage; but she became suddenly petrified, although she not only had not been hoping to marry Vasíly Ivánovitch, but had even, somehow, been afraid to think of it. Vasíly began to demonstrate to her the necessity of parting from him and marrying Rogatchyóff. Olga Ivánovna looked at him with dumb horror. Vasíly talked coldly, practically, sensibly; he blamed himself, he expressed regret, – but all his arguments wound up with the following words: "We must act." Olga lost her head completely; she was frightened and ashamed; dismal, heavy despair took possession of her; she longed for death – and sadly awaited Vasíly's decision.

"We must confess all to my mother," he said at last.

Olga turned deadly pale; her limbs gave way beneath her.

"Don't be frightened, don't be frightened," – Vasíly kept repeating: – "rely on me; I will not forsake thee … I will arrange everything … trust in me."

The poor woman gazed at him with love … yes, with love, and with profound, though hopeless devotion.

"I will arrange everything, everything," – said Vasíly to her at parting … and for the last time kissed her ice-cold hands.

Olga Ivánovna had just risen from her bed on the following morning, when her door opened … and Anna Pávlovna made her appearance on the threshold. She was supported by Vasíly. Silently she made her way to an arm-chair, and silently seated herself. Vasíly stood beside her. He seemed composed; his brows were contracted, and his lips were slightly parted. Anna Pávlovna, pale, indignant, wrathful, tried to speak, but her voice failed her. Olga Ivánovna with terror, took in, in a single glance, her benefactress and her lover; she felt a frightful sinking at the heart … with a shriek she fell down on her knees in the middle of the room and covered her face with her hands…

"So it is true … it is true?" whispered Anna Pávlovna, and bent toward her… "Answer!" – she went on harshly, seizing Olga by the arm.

"Mamma!" rang out Vasíly's brazen voice, – "you promised me not to insult her."

"I won't … come, confess … confess … is it true? Is it true?"

"Mamma … remember!.." said Vasíly, slowly.

That one word shook Anna Pávlovna violently. She leaned against the back of her chair, and fell to sobbing.

Olga Ivánovna softly raised her head and attempted to fling herself at the old woman's feet, but Vasíly restrained her, raised her up, and seated her in another arm-chair. Anna Pávlovna continued to weep and whisper incoherent words…

"Listen, mamma," – began Vasíly. "Don't be so overwhelmed! This calamity can still be alleviated… If Rogatchyóff …"

Olga Ivánovna shuddered and straightened herself up.

"If Rogatchyóff," – pursued Vasíly, with a significant glance at Olga Ivánovna, – "has imagined that he can with impunity disgrace an honourable family …"

Olga Ivánovna was terrified.

"In my house," – moaned Anna Pávlovna.

"Calm yourself, mamma. He has taken advantage of her inexperience, of her youth, he … did you wish to say something?" – he added, perceiving that Olga was trying to get at him.

Olga Ivánovna fell back in her chair.

"I shall go at once to Rogatchyóff. I shall force him to wed her this very day. Be assured, I shall not permit him to jeer at us…"

"But … Vasíly Ivánovitch … you …" whispered Olga.

He stared long and coldly at her. She relapsed into silence.

"Mamma, give me your word not to disturb her until my arrival. See – she is barely alive. Yes, and you require rest yourself. Trust to me: I answer for everything; in any case, await my return. I repeat to you – do not kill her, nor yourself – rely upon me."

He walked to the door, and paused.

"Mamma," – he said: "come with me. Leave her alone, I beg of you."

Anna Pávlovna rose, went to the holy picture, made a reverence to the floor, and softly followed her son. Olga Ivánovna followed her silently and immovably with her eyes. Vasíly hastily came back, seized her hand, whispered in her ear: "Trust to me, and do not betray us," – and immediately withdrew…

"Boursier!" he shouted, as he ran swiftly down the stairs. – "Boursier!"

A quarter of an hour later he was seated in his calash with his servant.

Old Rogatchyóff was not at home that day. He had gone to the county town, to buy seersucker for kaftans to clothe his retainers. Pável Afanásievitch was sitting in his study, and inspecting a collection of faded butterflies. Elevating his eyebrows, and thrusting forth his lips, he was cautiously turning about with a pin the large wings of the "nocturnal sphinx," when suddenly, he felt a small but heavy hand on his shoulder. He glanced round – before him stood Vasíly.

"Good morning, Vasíly Ivánovitch," – said he, not without some surprise.

Vasíly looked at him and sat down in front of him on a chair.

Pável Afanásievitch was about to smile … but glanced at Vasíly, relaxed, opened his mouth, and clasped his hands.

"Come, tell me, Pável Afanásievitch," – began Vasíly, suddenly: – "do you intend to have the wedding soon?"

"I?.. soon … of course… I, so far as I am concerned … however, that is as you and your sister choose… I, for my part, am ready to-morrow, if you like."

"Very good, very good. You are a very impatient man, Pável Afanásievitch."

"How so, sir?"

"Listen," – added Vasíly Ivánovitch, rising to his feet: – "I know everything; you understand me, and I order you to marry Olga without delay, to-morrow."

"But excuse me, excuse me," – returned Rogatchyóff, without rising from his seat; – "you order me? I myself have sought the hand of Olga Ivánovna, and there is no need to order me. I must confess, Vasíly Ivánovitch, somehow, I don't understand you…"

"Thou dost not understand?"

"No, really, I don't understand, sir."

"Wilt thou give me thy word to marry her to-morrow?"

"Why, good gracious, Vasíly Ivánovitch … have n't you yourself repeatedly postponed our marriage? If it had not been for you, it would have taken place long ago. And even now I have no idea of refusing. But what is the meaning of your threats, of your urgent demands?"

Pável Afanásievitch wiped the perspiration from his face.

"Wilt thou give me thy word? Speak! Yes, or no?" – repeated Vasíly with pauses between his words.

"Certainly … I give it, sir, but …"

"Good. Remember… And she has confessed everything."

"Who has confessed?"

"Olga Ivánovna."

"But what has she confessed?"

"Why do you dissimulate with me, Pável Afanásievitch? Surely, I 'm not a stranger to you."

"How am I dissimulating? I don't understand you, I don't understand you, positively I don't understand you. What could Olga Ivánovna confess?"

"What? You bore me! You know well what."

"May God slay me if …"

"No, I will slay thee – if thou dost not marry her … dost understand?"

"What!.." Pável Afanásievitch leaped to his feet, and stood before Vasíly. – "Olga Ivánovna … you say …"

"Thou 'rt clever, my good fellow, very clever, I must admit." Vasíly, with a smile, tapped him on the shoulder. – "In spite of the fact that thou art so mild of aspect …"

"My God, O God!.. You will drive me mad… What do you mean to say? Explain yourself, for God's sake!"

Vasíly bent over him and whispered something in his ear.

Rogatchyóff cried out: – "What?.. how?"

Vasíly stamped his foot.

"Olga Ivánovna? Olga?.."

"Yes … your betrothed bride…"

"My betrothed bride … Vasíly Ivánovitch … she … she … But I will have nothing to do with her!" – shouted Pável Afanásievitch. "I 'll have none of her! What do you take me for? To deceive me – to deceive me!.. Olga Ivánovna, is n't it sinful of you, are n't you ashamed?.." (Tears gushed from his eyes.) – "I thank you, Vasíly Ivánovitch, I thank you… And now I 'll have nothing to do with her! I won't! I won't! don't speak of such a thing!.. Akh, good heavens! – that I should have lived to see this day! But it is well, it is well!"