Some time before Vasíly Ivánovitch's arrival, Olga Ivánovna had been betrothed to a neighbour,—Pável Afanásievitch Rogatchyóff, an extremely good-natured and honourable man. Nature had forgotten to endow him with gall. His own servants did not obey him; they sometimes all went off, from the first to the last of them, and left poor Rogatchyóff without any dinner ... but nothing could disturb the tranquillity of his soul. He had been distinguished, even from his childhood, by his obesity and sluggishness; he had never served anywhere, and he was fond of going to church and singing in the choir. Look at that good-natured, round face, gentlemen; gaze at that tranquil, brilliant smile .... does not it make you feel cheerful yourselves? Once in a while his father had driven over to Lutchínovko, and had brought with him, on festival days, his Pávlusha, whom the little Lutchínoffs tormented in every possible way. Pávlusha grew up, began to go to Iván Andréevitch's of his own accord, fell in love with Olga Ivánovna, and offered her his hand and his heart—not to her personally, but to her benefactors. Her benefactors gave their consent. They never even thought of asking Olga Ivánovna whether she liked Rogatchyóff. At that epoch,—as our grandmothers used to say,—"such luxuries were not in fashion." But Olga speedily got used to her betrothed: it was impossible not to grow attached to that gentle, indulgent being.
Rogatchyóff had received no education whatsoever; all he could say in French was "bonzhour"—and in secret he even regarded that word as improper. And some jester had also taught him the following, which professed to be a French song: "Sónetchka, Sónetchka! Que voulez-vous de moi—I adore you—mais je ne peux pas."... He was always humming this song in an undertone when he felt in good spirits. His father also was a man of indescribably kind disposition; he was forever going about in a long nankeen coat, and no matter what was said to him, he assented to everything with a smile.
From the time of Pável Afanásievitch's betrothal both the Rogatchyóffs—father and son—began to bustle about frightfully; they made over their house, they built on various "galleries," they chatted in friendly wise with the workmen, they treated them to vodka. They did not manage to finish all the additional building by winter—so they deferred the wedding until the summer; in the summer, Iván Andréevitch died—and the wedding was postponed until the following spring; in the winter, Vasíly Ivánovitch arrived. Rogatchyóff was introduced to him; Vasíly received him coldly and carelessly, and in the course of time, frightened him to such a degree by his arrogant treatment that poor Rogatchyóff quivered like a leaf at his mere appearance, maintained silence, and smiled constrainedly. Vasíly once came near driving him off for good—by offering to bet with him that he, Rogatchyóff, was unable to stop smiling. Poor Pável Afanásievitch almost wept with confusion, but—'t is an actual fact!—the smile, the very stupid, constrained smile, would not quit his face! And Vasíly slowly toyed with the ends of his neckcloth, and stared at him in quite too scornful a manner.
Pável Afanásievitch's father also learned of Vasíly's arrival, and a few days later—for the sake of "the greater solemnity"—he set out for Lutchínovko with the intention of "congratulating the amiable visitor on his arrival in his native parts." Afanásy Lúkitch was renowned throughout the whole countryside for his eloquence—that is to say, for his ability to utter, without hesitation, a rather long and cunningly-concocted speech, with a slight admixture of bookish words. Alas! on this occasion he did not maintain his reputation; he became confused much worse than his son, Pável Afanásievitch. He stammered out something very unintelligible, and, although he had never touched vodka in his life, having this time, "by way of countenance," drunk a small glassful (he had found Vasíly at luncheon), he had endeavoured, at least, to clear his throat with a certain amount of independence, and had not produced the smallest sound. As he set out for home, Pável Afanásievitch whispered to his parent: "Well, dear little father?" Afanásy Lúkitch replied to him with irritation, also in a whisper: "Don't mention it!"
The Rogatchyóffs began to come more rarely to Lutchínovko. But they were not the only ones whom Vasíly intimidated: he aroused in his brothers, in their wives, even in Anna Pávlovna herself, a painful and involuntary sense of discomfort .... they began to avoid him in all possible ways. Vasíly could not help noticing this, but, apparently, he had no intention of altering his behaviour to them, when, all of a sudden, at the beginning of the spring, he again revealed himself as the same amiable, charming man they had previously known him to be....
The first revelation of this sudden change was on the occasion of Vasíly's unexpected call on the Rogatchyóffs. Afanásy Lúkitch, in particular, was thoroughly daunted by the sight of Lutchínoff's calash, but his fear very speedily vanished. Never had Vasíly been more amiable and merry. He linked his arm in the arm of young Rogatchyóff, walked out with him to inspect the buildings, chatted with the carpenters, gave them advice, himself made a few notches with the axe, ordered them to show him Afanásy Lúkitch's stud-horses, himself drove them at the end of a rope—and altogether, by his cordial amiability, reduced the kind-hearted steppe-dwellers to such a condition that they both repeatedly embraced him. At home, also, Vasíly turned all heads for a few days as of yore: he devised various amusing games, he procured musicians, invited in the neighbours of both sexes, narrated the tittle-tattle of the town to the old ladies in the most diverting manner, paid some court to the young women, invented unheard-of amusements, fireworks, and so forth:—in a word, he enlivened everything and everybody. The sad, gloomy house of the Lutchínoffs was suddenly converted into a noisy, brilliant, enchanting sort of dwelling, of which the whole countryside talked.—This sudden change amazed many, delighted all, and various rumours got into circulation; the knowing ones said that some hidden trouble had, up to that time, been afflicting Vasíly Ivánovitch, that the possibility of returning to the capital had presented itself to him.... But no one divined the true cause of Vasíly Ivánovitch's regeneration.
Olga Ivánovna, gentlemen, was very far from being uncomely.—But her beauty consisted rather in remarkable softness and freshness of person, in a tranquil charm of movement, than in strict regularity of features. Nature had endowed her with a certain independence; her education—she had been reared an orphan—had developed in her caution and firmness. Olga did not belong to the category of quiet and languid young gentlewomen; but one feeling alone had fully ripened in her: hatred for her benefactor. However, other and more womanly passions also could flame up in Olga Ivánovna's soul with unusual, unhealthy force .... but there was in her none of that proud coldness, nor that compact strength of soul, nor that selfish concentration, without which every passion speedily vanishes.—The first outbursts of such half-active, half-passive souls are sometimes remarkably violent; but they very soon undergo a change, especially when it becomes a question of the ruthless application of accepted principles; they fear the consequences.... And, yet, gentlemen, I must confess to you frankly: women of that sort produce upon me a very strong impression....
(At these words, the narrator tossed off a glass of water at one draught.—"Nonsense! nonsense!"—I thought, as I looked at his round chin:—"on you, my dear friend, no one in the world produces 'a very strong impression.'") ...
Piótr Feódorovitch went on:
Gentlemen, I believe in blood, in race. There was more blood in Olga Ivánovna, than, for example, in her nominal sister—Natálya. How did that "blood" show itself?—you ask me.—Why, in everything; in the outline of her hands and of her lips, in the sound of her voice, in her glance, in her walk, in the way she dressed her hair,—in the folds of her gown, in short. In all these trifles there was a certain hidden something, although I must admit that that .... how shall I express it?.... that distinction which had fallen to the lot of Olga Ivánovna would not have attracted the attention of Vasíly if he had met her in Petersburg. But in the country, in the wilds, she not only excited his attention,—but even, altogether, was the sole cause of the change of which I have just spoken.