Confused and enraged, I return to our villa. At home I find Varenka’s maman embracing my maman with tears in her eyes. And my maman weeps and says:
“I always hoped for it!”
And then, if you please, Nadenka’s maman comes up to me, embraces me, and says:
“May God bless you! . . . Mind you love her well. . . . Remember the sacrifice she is making for your sake!”
And here I am at my wedding. At the moment I write these last words, my best man is at my side, urging me to make haste. These people have no idea of my character! I have a violent temper, I cannot always answer for myself! Hang it all! God knows what will come of it! To lead a violent, desperate man to the altar is as unwise as to thrust one’s hand into the cage of a ferocious tiger. We shall see, we shall see!
And so, I am married. Everybody congratulates me and Varenka keeps clinging to me and saying:
“Now you are mine, mine; do you understand that? Tell me that you love me!” And her nose swells as she says it.
I learn from my best man that the wounded officer has very cleverly escaped the snares of Hymen. He showed the variegated young lady a medical certificate that owing to the wound in his temple he was at times mentally deranged and incapable of contracting a valid marriage. An inspiration! I might have got a certificate too. An uncle of mine drank himself to death, another uncle was extremely absent-minded (on one occasion he put a lady’s muff on his head in mistake for his hat), an aunt of mine played a great deal on the piano, and used to put out her tongue at gentlemen she did not like. And my ungovernable temper is a very suspicious symptom.
But why do these great ideas always come too late? Why?