XVIII
Meantime, so far as the old man Pólozof could judge, the affair was coming to a marriage. When the probable bride and probable bridegroom were getting to be so intimate, it was evident that there would be a marriage. Has he not heard their talk? To be sure, his daughter and the probable bridegroom were not always under his eyes. More often than not they would sit by themselves or walk together by themselves; but this did not change in the least the tenor of their conversations. Even the shrewdest student of the human heart would have never suspected, had he heard them talk, that Beaumont would marry Katerina Vasílyevna. Not that they never spoke about their feelings. They spoke about them as they spoke about everything else in the world; but they said excessively little about them; and even this little counted as nothing from the tone in which they spoke. The tone was vexatious from its very calmness, and what they said would have seemed terribly absurd to anyone in society. Now, for example, it happened that in about a week after the visit for which Beaumont was so grateful to Katerina Vasílyevna, and in about two months after their acquaintance had begun, the sale of the factory was accomplished. Mr. Lotter was intending to leave on the following day. (And he left; don’t imagine that he is going to bring a catastrophe. He, as is common with business men in transacting commercial operations, told Beaumont that the firm would make him the manager of the factory, at the salary of a thousand pounds, as might have been expected, and nothing more. What need had he, as a business man, to interfere with Beaumont’s love affairs?) The shareholders, including Pólozof, were to receive, on the following day (and they did receive all that they expected. Here, again, you must not expect a catastrophe; for the firm of Hodgson, Lotter and Company is a very reliable one) half in ready cash, and half in notes payable in three months. Pólozof, full of satisfaction at this turn of affairs, was sitting at his table in the reception-room, and was counting over the banknotes. He overheard in part the conversation that was going on between his daughter and Beaumont, as they passed through the reception-room. They were walking through the four rooms of the flat that faced on the street.
“If a woman, a girl, is embarrassed with prejudices,” said Beaumont (not committing any Americanisms or Anglicisms), “then a man—I speak of respectable men—is subject to great inconveniences on that account. Tell me, how can one marry a girl who has not been trained in the simple duties of life, who does not realize what relations may arise after she has accepted an offer? She may not be able to judge whether she will enjoy her life with the man who is to be her husband.”
“But, Mr. Beaumont, if her relations to this man are of a sincere character, such as they had been before he proposed to her, then I think that this would be some guarantee that they would be contented with each other.”
“Some guarantee, certainly; but it would be much surer if the trial were longer and more thorough. She cannot know in any way the character of the relation into which she is going to enter; and so marriage is for her a terrible risk. So much for her; and the honorable man who is to marry her has to run the same risk. He can generally judge whether he will be satisfied. He knows intimately women of various natures; he has made trial of what nature suits him the best. She has not that chance.”
“But she can observe the lives and characters of those in her own family and in the families of her friends; she can think a great deal.”
“All that is good, so far as it goes, but it is not sufficient. Nothing can take the place of a personal trial.”
“Would you have only widows get married?” asked Katerina Vasílyevna, laughing.
“You have expressed yourself quite to the point. Only widows; girls should be prohibited from marrying.”
“That is true,” said Katerina Vasílyevna, seriously.
Such talk as this seemed very wild to Pólozof at first, as he caught fragments of it. But gradually he got accustomed to the thought, and he said to himself, “Well, I myself am a man without prejudices. I started in business, and I, too, married a widow, a merchant’s widow.”
What he heard was only a little episode in their conversation, which was also devoted to other affairs; but on the following day this subject of their yesterday’s conversation was continued in this way:—
“You have told me the story of your love for Sólovtsof. But what was it? It was—”
“Let us sit down, if it is just the same to you; I am tired of walking.”
“Very well. It was a childish feeling, such as gives no guarantee. You remember it only as a subject to laugh over, or, rather, to feel gloomy about; for it certainly has its melancholy side. You were saved only by a strange and rare piece of good fortune, because your case fell into the hands of a man like Aleksandr.”
“Who?”
“Aleksandr Matvéitch Kirsánof,” he added, as though not to say merely his first name. “If it had not been for Kirsánof, you would have died, either by consumption or by that wretch. One can draw very sensible conclusions about the unhappy position that you held in society. You yourself have drawn such conclusions. All this is good enough, and it has only in the end made you a far more sensible and excellent girl; but it did not in the slightest degree give you any further experience for making up your mind what sort of a man would satisfy you as a husband.”
“Not a miserable but an honorable man; that is all that you can decide. So far so good; but would it be enough for any honorable woman to know that the character of the man that she had chosen for her husband was honorable, if she did not know him any more than that? It is necessary to have a more exact knowledge of a man’s character; that is, you must have a very different experience from what you have already had. We decided yesterday that according to your expression it is only widows who should be allowed to marry. But what sort of a widow are you?”
All this was said by Beaumont in a tone expressing dissatisfaction, and his last words were spoken actually in a grieved tone.
“That is true,” said Katerina Vasílyevna rather gloomily, “for all that, I could not be easily deceived.”
“And you could not if you tried, because it is impossible to affect experience if you have it not.”
“You are always speaking about the lack of ways that we girls have for making a satisfactory choice. As a general thing it is absolutely true; but there are exceptional cases when so much experience is not necessary for making a satisfactory choice. If a girl is not so very young, she may understand her own character very well. For instance, I know my character, and it is evident to me that it is not going to change. I am twenty-two years old. I know what is necessary for my happiness: to live quietly so as not to be stirred up, that is all.”
“That is true. That is evident.”
“And is it so very hard to see whether this man or that has the marks of character sufficient to satisfy this want? This can be seen in a few conversations.”
“That is true; but you said that this is an exceptional case. The general rule is different.”
“Of course the rule is different. But, Mr. Beaumont, in the conditions of our lives, according to our understandings and habits, it is impossible to wish that a girl should have the knowledge of those everyday relations about which we were speaking, while without it, in most cases, a girl runs the risk of making an unsatisfactory choice. Her position is inextricable under present conditions. As things are now, let her enter into whatever relations she pleases; it will in no case give her experience: she might not get any advantage, and her dangers would be vastly multiplied. A girl can easily lower herself, can learn wickedness and deceit. She would be obliged to deceive her friends and society, to hide from their eyes, and from this there is an easy transition to falsehood, which is sure to ruin her character. It is even very possible that she may learn to look superficially upon life. And if this should not result, yet if she is going to be a good woman, then her heart may be broken. In the meantime, she will gain nothing in the experience of every day’s life, because these relations which are so dangerous to her character or so tormenting to her heart are theatrical, idle, and out of the ordinary. You see that it is impossible to advise in the conditions of our life.”
“Of course, Katerina Vasílyevna; but for that very reason our life is bad.”
“Yes, indeed, we are agreed on that point.”
“What does this mean? Leaving out the fact that the deuce knows what it means, what has it to do with their personal relations? The man says, ‘I doubt whether you will make me a good wife’; and the girl replies, ‘Just make me an offer and see!’
“What extraordinary impertinence! Or is it not so, perhaps? Maybe the man says: ‘I have no need of questioning whether I am going to be happy with you; but be careful even though you choose me. You have chosen me, but I beg of you, think, think carefully. This is a very serious matter. Don’t put your confidence even in me, who love you so dearly, without a serious and attentive making up of your mind.’
“And maybe the girl answers: ‘My friend, I see that you think not about yourself, but about me. It is your truthfulness; we are to be pitied, we are deceived, we are led blindfolded, so as to be more easily deceived. But don’t fear on my account; you cannot deceive me. My happiness is sure. Just as you are tranquil on your part, so am I on mine.’ ”
“I wonder at one thing,” continued Beaumont on the following day. Again they were walking through the rooms, and Pólozof was sitting in one of them. “I wonder at one thing—that there are any happy marriages under such conditions.”
“You speak in a tone as though you were sorry that there were such things as happy marriages,” replied Katerina Vasílyevna laughingly. She now, as may have been observed, laughs frequently in a tranquil and joyous way.
“And in fact they generally do inspire gloomy thoughts: if with such scanty means of judging the necessities and characters of men, girls very often succeed in making satisfactory choices, what a brightness and soundness of wit it shows that women possess! What a true, strong, vigilant mind nature has gifted them withal! And this mind remains without advantage for society, society dismisses it, oppresses it, chokes it, and the history of mankind would have advanced tenfold quicker if this intellect had not been dismissed, oppressed, and killed.”
“You are the panegyrist of women, Mr. Beaumont! Is there no way of explaining it in a simpler way, by opportunity?”
“By opportunity? Explain it by opportunity if you want to; but when the opportunities are numerous, you know that besides chance which originates one part of them, there must be another cause originating the other part. It is impossible to suppose any other general cause, beyond my explanation—soundness of choice arising from the strength and vigilance of mind.”
“You are quite like Mrs. Beecher Stowe, on the woman question, Mr. Beaumont. She proves that the negroes are the most talented of all the races, that they stand above the white race by their intellect.”
“You are joking, but I am serious.”
“It seems that you are provoked at me because I don’t bow before a woman. But accept as my excuse at least the difficulty of getting on my knees before myself.”
“Joke! but I am seriously provoked.”
“But not at me, I hope? I am not in the least to blame for the fact that women and girls cannot accomplish what is necessary according to your opinion. However, if you want, I will tell you seriously what I think—only not on the woman question: I don’t want to be a judge in my own case, but exclusively about you, Mr. Beaumont. You are a man of reserved nature, but you get excited when you speak on this subject. What should follow from this? The fact that you must have some personal interest in this question. Evidently you must have suffered from some mistake in the choice made by a girl who was, as you say, inexperienced.”
“Maybe I, maybe somebody else who was nearer me. However, consider, Katerina Vasílyevna. I shall tell you when I hear your answer. I shall ask your answer in three days.”
“To a question which has not been asked? Do I know you so little as to be compelled to think three days?” Katerina Vasílyevna stopped, put her arm around Beaumont’s neck, drew his head towards her, and kissed his forehead.
According to all the examples of the past, and according to the demands of propriety itself, Beaumont would have to take her in his arms and kiss her lips; but he did no such thing, but only pressed her hand, which had dropped down from his head. “Yes, Katerina Vasílyevna, still think the matter over.” And they began to walk again.
“But who told you, Charlie, that I have been thinking about it for more than three days?” she replied, not letting go his hand.
“Yes, of course, I saw it; but still I will tell you now—I have a secret; let us go to that room, and sit down there, so that he can’t hear.”
The end of this began to take place when they passed the old man. The old man saw that they were walking hand in hand, which had never happened to them before, and he thought: “He has asked her hand, and she has promised. Good!”
“Tell me your secret, Charlie; papa will not hear from there.”
“It seems absurd, Katerina Vasílyevna that I appear to be afraid of you; of course there is nothing to be afraid of. But you will understand why I caution you when I tell you that I have an example in mind. Of course you see that we shall be able to live together; but I pitied her. How much she suffered, and how long she was deprived of life which was necessary to her! It was pitiful; I saw with my own eyes. Where it was makes no difference—New York, Boston, Philadelphia—you know—it’s no matter; but she was a very excellent woman, and she looked upon her husband as an excellent man. They were exceedingly attached to each other; yet, still she had to suffer a great deal. He was ready to give his life for the least increase of her happiness, but, for all that, she could not live happily with him. It was well that it ended as it did, but it was hard for her. You have not experienced any such thing, and so I shall not accept your answer.”
“Could I hear this story from anybody?”
“Perhaps so.”
“From the woman herself?”
“Perhaps so.”
“And I have not given you any answer yet?”
“No.”
“Do you know what it will be?”
“I do,” said Beaumont, and then began an ordinary scene, proper between “bridegroom” and “bride,” with kisses.