XXII
The two families each lived according to the style that best pleased them. On ordinary days there was much noise in one apartment, much quiet in the other. They met like kinsfolks; some days they met as often as ten times, and each time for only a minute or two; sometimes for a whole day one of the apartments would be empty, and its inhabitants would be found in the other part. All this was according to circumstances. And when there were gatherings of guests, it was again as it happened; sometimes the doors between the apartments would be locked, because the doors which opened from the parlor of one apartment into the reception-room of the other were generally locked; but the doors between the rooms occupied by Viéra Pavlovna and Katerina Vasílyevna were constantly open. And so, sometimes the doors connecting the reception-rooms were locked; that was when the company was small. But if the party was large, these doors were opened, and the guests would not know whether they were at Viéra Pavlovna’s or Katerina Vasílyevna’s; and the khozyáïkas themselves could hardly distinguish. The young people, when they wanted to take a rest, generally found themselves in Katerina Vasílyevna’s rooms; but when they did not come to rest, they would be with Viéra Pavlovna. But the young people could not be considered as guests, they are so intimate, and Viéra Pavlovna, without any ceremony, would drive them off to see Katerina Vasílyevna.
“I am tired of you boys! Go to Kátenka; she never gets tired of you. Why are you always quieter with her than with me? here I am older than she is.”
“Don’t you trouble yourself; we like her better than we do you.”
“Kátenka, why do they like you better than they do me?”
“Because I scold them less than you do.”
“Da! Katerina Vasílyevna treats us like men, and so we behave like men when we are with her.”
Not bad was the effect of the game which was repeated very often last winter in the home circle, when the young folks and their intimate friends alone used to gather; the pianos from the two apartments were brought together; the young folks would cast lots, and divide into two choirs, making their benefactresses sit one at the one, the other at the other, grand piano, facing each other; each choir would stand near its prima donna, and at one and the same time they would sing: Viéra Pavlovna with her choir, “La Donna é Mobile”; and Katerina Vasílyevna with her choir would sing “Long cast off by Thee”; or Viéra Pavlovna with her choir would sing Lizette’s Song from Béranger; and Katerina Vasílyevna, “Eramushkás’ Song.” This winter something became popular: the former prima donnas, with the aid of all, adapted to their own liking “the discussion of two Grecian philosophers about the beautiful.” It began this way: Katerina Vasílyevna would lift her eyes to heaven, and sighing languishingly, would say, “Divine Schiller, the rapture of my soul!” Viéra Pavlovna would answer with dignity. “But the prunella shoes from Koralof’s shop are just beautiful!” and she would thrust out her foot. Whoever of the young folks laugh at such a discussion would be put into the corner; at the end of the discussion there would remain two or three people out of ten or twelve, who were not in the corner. But an immeasurable excitement would be aroused if they managed to inveigle Beaumont into this game, and get him into the corner.
What else? The sewing shops, continuing to agree, continued to exist. Now there are three of them. Katerina Vasílyevna has arranged hers long ago. Now she very often takes Viéra Pavlovna’s place in the shop, and soon she will have to take her place entirely. This year—forgive her—she will pass her examinations as a doctor; and then she will have no time at all to occupy herself in the shop.
“It is a pity that there is no chance for these sewing unions to develop as they might have been developed,” says Viéra Pavlovna sometimes. Katerina Vasílyevna does not answer a word, only her eyes flash with indignation.
“What a quick temper you have, Kátya. You are worse than I,” says Viéra Pavlovna. “It is good that your father has something; it is very good.”
“Yes, Viérotchka; it is good. I have less anxiety for my son.” (You see, she has a son.)
“However, Kátya, I don’t know what you make me think of. We will always live quietly and peacefully, won’t we?”
Katerina Vasílyevna makes no reply.
“Yes, Kátya; say yes for my sake.”
Katerina Vasílyevna laughs.
“It does not depend on my yes or no; and so for your satisfaction, I will say yes, we will always live peacefully.”
And indeed they all live peacefully. They live harmoniously and cordially and quietly and happily and gayly and actively. But it does not follow from this that my story is at end. All four of them are as yet young, active; and if their lives are arranged harmoniously and cordially, beautifully and solidly, still it has not ceased to be interesting: far from it; and I have a good many things yet to tell about them; and I vouch for it that the continuation of my story about them will be much more interesting than what I have related till now.