Fifty-Two Stories

She threw her head back, and he kissed her on the lips, and, to make the kiss last longer, he took her by the cheeks with his fingers; and it somehow turned out that he himself ended up in the corner between the cupboard and the wall, and she put her arms around his neck and pressed her head to his chin.

Then they ran out to the garden.

The Shelestovs’ garden was big, a good ten acres. In it grew a couple of dozen old maples and lindens, there was one spruce, the rest were all fruit trees: cherries, apples, pears, horse chestnuts, silvery olives…There were also many flowers.

Nikitin and Manyusya silently ran along the footpaths, laughed, occasionally asked each other disjointed questions, which they did not answer, while a half-moon shone over the garden, and on the ground, from the dark grass, dimly lit by this half-moon, sleepy tulips and irises grew upwards, as if also asking for a declaration of love.

When Nikitin and Manyusya returned to the house, the officers and young ladies were all there, dancing a mazurka. Again Polyansky led the grand rond through all the rooms, again after dancing they played “fate.” Before supper, when the guests went from the reception room to the dining room, Manyusya, remaining alone with Nikitin, pressed herself to him and said:

“You talk with Papa and Varya yourself. I’m embarrassed…”

After supper he talked with the old man. Having heard him out, Shelestov reflected and said:

“I’m very grateful to you for the honor you are showing me and my daughter, but allow me to speak with you as a friend. I’ll speak not as a father, but as a gentleman to a gentleman. Tell me, please, why do you wish to marry so early? Only peasants marry early, but with them, of course, it’s boorishness, but what about you? What is the pleasure of putting yourself in fetters at such a young age?”

“I’m not all that young!” Nikitin was offended. “I’m twenty-six years old.”

“Papa, the farrier’s here!” Varya shouted from the other room.

And the conversation ended. Varya, Manyusya, and Polyansky went to see Nikitin home. When they came to his gate, Varya said:

“Why is it your mysterious Mitropolit Mitropolitych never shows himself anywhere? Let him come to see us.”

The mysterious Ippolit Ippolitych was sitting on his bed and taking off his trousers when Nikitin came to his room.

“Don’t go to bed, my dear friend!” Nikitin said breathlessly. “Wait, don’t go to bed!”

Ippolit Ippolitych quickly put on his trousers and asked worriedly:

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m getting married!”

Nikitin sat down beside his colleague and, looking at him in surprise, as if he were surprised at himself, said:

“Imagine, I’m getting married! To Masha Shelestova! I proposed today!”

“Really? She seems like a nice girl. Only very young.”

“Yes, young!” Nikitin sighed and shrugged worriedly. “Very, very young!”

“She was my student in school. I know her. She wasn’t bad in geography, but in history—very poor. And she was inattentive in class.”

For some reason Nikitin suddenly felt sorry for his colleague and wanted to say something gentle and comforting to him.

“My dear friend, why don’t you get married?” he asked. “Why not marry Varya, for instance—eh, Ippolit Ippolitych? She’s a wonderful, superlative girl! She loves to argue, true, but her heart…such a heart! She just asked about you. Marry her, my dear friend! Eh?”

He knew perfectly well that Varya would never marry this dull, pug-nosed man, but he still went on persuading him to marry her. Why?

“Marriage is a serious step,” Ippolit Ippolitych said on reflection. “One must discuss everything, ponder, it’s not done just like that. Good sense never hurts, especially in marriage, when a man ceases to be a bachelor and starts a new life.”

And he went on talking about things that had long been known to everyone. Nikitin stopped listening to him, said good night, and went to his room. He quickly undressed and quickly went to bed, the sooner to start thinking about his happiness, about Manyusya, about the future, smiled, and suddenly remembered that he had not yet read Lessing.

“I’ll have to read him…,” he thought. “Though why should I read him? To hell with him!”

And, wearied by his happiness, he immediately fell asleep and went on smiling till morning.

He dreamed about the drumming of horse hooves on the timber floor; dreamed of how they had first led the black Count Nulin from the stable, then the white Giant, then his sister Maika…

II

“The church was very crowded and noisy, and someone even cried out once, and the archpriest, who was marrying Manyusya and me, looked at the crowd through his spectacles and said sternly:

“ ‘Do not walk around in the church and do not make noise, but stand quietly and pray. You must have the fear of God.’