when he learned from kovrin that not only had a romance resulted, but that a wedding was to follow, yegor semiónovitch walked from corner to corner, and tried to conceal his agitation. his hands shook, his neck seemed swollen and purple; he ordered the horses to be put into his racing droschky, and drove away. tánya, seeing how he whipped the horses and how he pushed his cap down over his ears, understood his mood, locked herself into her room, and cried all day.
in the orangery the peaches and plums were already ripe. the packing and despatch to moscow of such a delicate load required much attention, trouble, and bustle. owing to the heat of the summer every tree had to be watered; the process was costly in time and working-power; and many caterpillars appeared, which the workmen, and even yegor semiónovitch and tánya, crushed with their fingers, to the great disgust of kovrin. the autumn orders for fruit and trees had to be attended to, and a vast correspondence carried on. and at the very busiest time, when it seemed no one had a free moment, work began in the fields and deprived the garden of half its workers. yegor semiónovitch, very sunburnt, very irritated, and very worried, galloped about, now to the garden, now to the fields; and all the time shouted that they were tearing him to bits, and that he would put a bullet through his brain.
on top of all came the bustle over tánya's trousseau, to which the pesótskys attributed infinite significance. with the eternal snipping of scissors, rattle of sewing-machines, smell of flat-irons, and the caprices of the nervous and touchy dressmaker, the whole house seemed to spin round. and, to make matters worse, visitors arrived every day, and these visitors had to be amused, fed, and lodged for the night. yet work and worry passed unnoticed in a mist of joy. tánya felt as if love and happiness had suddenly burst upon her, although ever since her fourteenth year she had been certain that kovrin would marry nobody but herself. she was eternally in a state of astonishment, doubt, and disbelief in herself. at one moment she was seized by such great joy that she felt she must fly away to the clouds and pray to god; but a moment later she remembered that when august came she would have to leave the home of her childhood and forsake her father; and she was frightened by the thought—god knows whence it came—that she was trivial, insignificant, and unworthy of a great man like kovrin. when such thoughts came she would run up to her room, lock herself in, and cry bitterly for hours. but when visitors were present, it broke in upon her that kovrin was a singularly handsome man, that all the women loved him and envied her; and in these moments her heart was as full of rapture and pride as if she had conquered the whole world. when he dared to smile on any other woman she trembled with jealousy, went to her room, and again—tears. these new feelings possessed her altogether; she helped her father mechanically, noticing neither pears nor caterpillars, nor workmen, nor how swiftly time was passing by.
yegor semiónovitch was in much the same state of mind. he still worked from morning to night, hew about the gardens, and lost his temper; but all the while he was wrapped in a magic reverie. in his sturdy body contended two men, one the real yegor semiónovitch, who, when he listened to the gardener, ivan karlovitch's report of some mistake or disorder, went mad with excitement, and tore his hair; and the other the unreal yegor semiónovitch—a half-intoxicated old man, who broke off an important conversation in the middle of a word, seized the gardener by the shoulder, and stammered:
"you may say what you like, but blood is thicker than water. his mother was an astonishing, a most noble, a most brilliant woman. it was a pleasure to see her good, pure, open, angel face. she painted beautifully, wrote poetry, spoke five foreign languages, and sang.... poor thing, heaven rest her soul, she died of consumption!"
the unreal yegor semiónovitch sighed, and after a moment's silence continued:
"when he was a boy growing up to manhood in my house he had just such an angel face, open and good. his looks, his movements, his words were as gentle and graceful as his mother's. and his intellect it is not for nothing he has the degree of magister. but you just wait, ivan karlovitch; you'll see what he'll be in ten years' time. why, he'll be out of sight!" but here the real yegor semiónovitch remembered himself, seized his head and roared:
"devils! frost-bitten! ruined, destroyed! the garden is ruined; the garden is destroyed!" kovrin worked with all his former ardour, and hardly noticed the bustle about him. love only poured oil on the flames. after every meeting with tánya, he returned to his rooms in rapture and happiness, and set to work with his books and manuscripts with the same passion with which he had kissed her and sworn his love. what the black monk had told him of his election by god, of eternal truth, and of the glorious future of humanity, gave to all his work a peculiar, unusual significance. once or twice every week, either in the park or in the house, he met the monk, and talked with him for hours; but this did not frighten, but on the contrary delighted him, for he was now assured that such apparitions visit only the elect and exceptional who dedicate themselves to the ministry of ideas.
assumption passed unobserved. then came the wedding, celebrated by the determined wish of yegor semiónovitch with what was called éclat, that is, with meaningless festivities which lasted for two days. three thousand roubles were consumed in food and drink; but what with the vile music, the noisy toasts, the fussing servants, the clamour, and the closeness of the atmosphere, no one appreciated the expensive wines or the astonishing hors d'oeuvres specially ordered from moscow.
