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Updated: May 11, 2025
One likes dark ladies, the other prefers fair ones." "You see, Lyubov Grigoryevna," said Stytchkin, sighing sedately, "I am a practical man and a man of character; for me beauty and external appearance generally take a secondary place, for, as you know yourself, beauty is neither bowl nor platter, and a pretty wife involves a great deal of anxiety.
I've had only one feeling, that for you, and if I receive ridicule from you, then it would have been better for me never to have lived in this world. You may trust me! I am telling you the truth. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. No, Mítya dear, what I wrote to you was the truth, and not a joke. And you, do you love me? MÍTYA. Indeed, Lyubóv Gordéyevna, I do not know how to express to you what I feel.
That he may not be lonely on this expedition, he takes with him the deacon, who appropriately feels it necessary to have a look at his horse. . . . On the evening of the same day, Lyubov Petrovna is sitting in her study, writing a letter to an old friend in Petersburg: "To-day, as in past years," she writes among other things, "I had a memorial service for my dear husband.
But can you reason with him, my dear, with his violent character? MÍTYA. What is there to say? He's a harsh man. PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Lyubóv is just at the right age now; we ought to be settling her, but he keeps dinning it in: "There's no one her equal, no! no!" But there is! But he says there isn't. How hard all this is for a mother's heart.
LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA and ANNA IVÁNOVNA enter through the lighted door. ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Why don't they come, our fine lads? Shall we go and fetch them? LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. No, you'd better not. ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Well, evidently you aren't happy without him! LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Oh, Annushka, if you only knew how I love him! ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Love him, then, my dear, but don't lose your wits.
GORDÉY KÁRPYCH, KÓRSHUNOV, LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA, ANNA IVÁNOVNA, MÁSHA, LÍZA, girls, MÍTYA, GÚSLIN, and RAZLYULYÁYEV. KÓRSHUNOV. Let's join the young ladies. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. We don't drive any one away. ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Be seated; you'll be our guest. KÓRSHUNOV. You're pretty chilly to the old man! It's Christmas time now, and I suppose we may exchange kisses. ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Why be so affectionate?
Don't let him go too far, or you may be sorry for it. Be sure you find out first what sort of a fellow he is. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. He's a good lad! I love him very much; he's so quiet, and he's an orphan. ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Well, if he's good, then love him; you ought to know best. I just said that! Many a girl comes to grief because of them. It's easy to get into trouble, if you don't use your sense.
Apart from that, Lyubov Grigoryevna, a married man has always more weight in society than a bachelor. . . . I am a man of the educated class, with money, but if you look at me from a point of view, what am I? A man with no kith and kin, no better than some Polish priest.
Lyubov Petrovna has taken a vow never to have in her house cards or spirituous liquors the two sources of her husband's ruin. And the only bottles contain oil and vinegar, as though in mockery and chastisement of the guests who are to a man desperately fond of the bottle, and given to tippling. "Please help yourselves, gentlemen!" the marshal's widow presses them.
There's nothing good to be heard of him except what's bad. PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. I know, Mítya dear, I know. MÍTYA. Well, from all accounts, I must say this, that most likely Lyubóv Gordéyevna, married to such a man, and living far away from you, will absolutely perish no doubt of it. PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Oh, don't speak of it to me, don't speak of it!
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