War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [291]
“So you see,” Berg said to his comrade, whom he called his friend only because he knew that all people had friends. “You see, I figured it all out, and I wouldn’t be getting married if I hadn’t thought it all over and if it were awkward for some reason. But now, on the contrary, my papa and mama are provided for, I’ve arranged that lease for them in the Ostzee region, and I can live with my wife in Petersburg on my salary, her fortune, and my carefulness. We can get along quite well. I’m not marrying for money, I consider that ignoble, but a wife ought to bring in hers and a husband his. I have my service, she has her connections and some small means. In our time that means something, doesn’t it? And, above all, she’s an excellent, respectable girl, and she loves me…”
Berg blushed and smiled.
“And I love her, because she has a sensible character—a very good one. Take the other sister—same family, but something quite different, an unpleasant character, and none of that intelligence, and all that, you know?…It’s unpleasant…But my fiancée…You must come to…” Berg went on; he was about to say “to dinner,” but changed his mind and said “to tea,” and with a quick movement of his tongue let out a small, round smoke ring that fully embodied his dreams of happiness.
After the first feeling of perplexity that Berg’s proposal aroused in the parents, the festivity and joy usual on such occasions installed themselves in the family, yet the joy was not sincere, but external. In the feelings of the family regarding this marriage confusion and abashedness could be noticed. It was as if they were ashamed that they loved Vera so little and were now so eager to get her off their hands. The old count was the most embarrassed of all. He probably would have been unable to give a name to the cause of his embarrassment, but that cause was his financial affairs. He decidedly did not know what he had, how far in debt he was, and what he would be able to give Vera as a dowry. When the daughters were born, each was assigned three hundred souls as a dowry; but one of the estates had already been sold, another had been mortgaged and was so long overdue that it had to be sold; therefore it was impossible to give her an estate. There was no money either.
Berg had been a fiancé for over a month, and only a week remained before the wedding, but the count still had not resolved the question of the dowry for himself and had not discussed it with his wife. First the count wanted to allot Vera the Ryazan estate, then to sell some woodlands, then to borrow money on a promissory note. Several days before the wedding, Berg came into the count’s study early in the morning and, with a pleasant smile, respectfully asked his future father-in-law to tell him what Countess Vera’s dowry would be. This long-anticipated question embarrassed the count so much that he unthinkingly said the first thing that came to his head.
“I like that you’re concerned about it, I like it, you’ll be satisfied…”
And, patting Berg on the shoulder, he got up, wishing to end the conversation. But Berg, smiling pleasantly, explained that unless he knew for certain what Vera’s dowry would be, and received at least part of what was allotted her in advance, he would be forced to renounce.
“Because consider, Count, if I were to allow myself to marry now, not having definite means of supporting my wife, I would be acting basely…”
The conversation ended with the count, who wished to be magnanimous and not be subjected to new requests, saying he would give him a promissory note for eighty thousand. Berg smiled meekly, kissed the count on the shoulder, and said that he was very grateful, but that he was quite unable to settle into the new life now without receiving thirty thousand in cash.
“Or at least twenty thousand, Count,” he added, “and then a promissory note for only sixty thousand.”
“Yes, yes, all right,” the count said quickly, “only, excuse me, my friend,