Berg’s proposal was received at first with a reluctance that hardly flattered him. At first it seemed most unusual that the son of an obscure Livonian gentleman should ask for the hand of a Countess Rostov. But Berg’s greatest quality was a kind of self-regard founded on such naivety and good will that the Rostovs came round to thinking it must be a good idea because he was completely convinced it was a good idea, in fact a very good idea indeed. Besides that, the Rostovs were in financial trouble which the suitor could hardly be unaware of, and the main thing was that Vera was now twenty-four years old and although she was undeniably good-looking and a sensible young woman who had been taken out everywhere no one had yet made a proposal. So consent was given.
‘It’s like this,’ Berg said to a comrade, whom he described as a friend because he knew that everybody had friends, ‘It’s like this – I’ve weighed things up and I wouldn’t be getting married if I hadn’t given it a lot of thought, or if there had been anything wrong with it. But as things stand Papa and Mamma are reasonably secure – I’ve given them the income from that Baltic estate – and I can support a wife in Petersburg. I’m pretty careful, and with my pay and whatever she brings we can get along nicely. I’m not marrying for money – I think that’s uncouth – but a wife ought to make her contribution and a husband his. I have my service career; she has good contacts and some small means. That’s something nowadays, isn’t it? But the thing is this: she’s a lovely respectable girl, and she’s in love with me . . .’
Berg blushed and smiled.
‘And I love her because she has a nice personality and a lot of good sense. That other sister of hers, though – same family name but she’s completely different, a horrible personality and she’s not all that bright, you know what I mean . . . But my fiancée . . . You must come and see us. Come and have . . .’ Berg went on. He was about to say ‘dinner’, but on second thoughts he said ‘a cup of tea’, and with a curl of his tongue he blew a tiny smoke ring, the very emblem of his dreams of happiness.
The parents’ early reluctance to accept Berg’s proposal had been followed by the usual celebrations and rejoicing, but the rejoicing was false and forced. Not a little discomfort and embarrassment was apparent in the attitude of the relatives towards this marriage. They seemed to feel guilty for not having given Vera enough affection and now being all too ready to get her off their hands. The old count was more disconcerted than anyone. Perhaps he couldn’t have put his finger on what made him feel like that, but it had everything to do with his financial difficulties. He had no idea of what he was worth, how much he owed, or what he might be able to provide for Vera by way of a dowry. Both of his daughters at birth had been assigned an estate with three hundred serfs. But one of these had been sold, and the other mortgaged with the interest payments so far behind that it would have to be sold too, so she couldn’t have this estate. And there wasn’t any money.
Berg had been engaged for more than a month, and the wedding was only a week away, but still the count couldn’t decide about the dowry, and he hadn’t discussed it with his wife. Should he give Vera the Ryazan estate? Or sell off some forest-land? Or borrow on a bill of exchange?
Early one morning only a day or two before the wedding Berg walked into the count’s study, smiled his nicest smile and politely asked his father-in-law to let him know what the Countess Vera was going to be given. The count was so taken aback by this long-expected inquiry that he just blurted out the first thing that came into his head.
‘I like that. You’re thinking ahead . . . Yes, I like it. You’ll be well satisfied . . .’
He clapped Berg on the shoulder and got to his feet, with the conversation, he hoped, at an end. But Berg, still sweetly smiling, announced that if he didn’t know for certain what Vera was being given, and didn’t get some of it in advance, he would be obliged to call off the marriage.
‘Look at it this way, Count, if I allowed myself to marry now with no definite security for the maintenance of my wife, that would be most irresponsible.’
The conversation ended when the count, anxious to demonstrate his generosity and avoid any more requests, said he would give him a note of hand for eighty thousand. Berg gave a pleasant smile, kissed him on the shoulder and said how grateful he was, but he couldn’t make arrangements for his new life without getting thirty thousand in cash. ‘Well, let’s say twenty thousand at least, Count,’ he added, ‘plus a note for the other sixty thousand.’
‘Yes, yes, very good,’ babbled the count. ‘Now you’ll have to excuse me, dear boy. I’ll let you have the twenty thousand – and a note for eighty thousand as well. So that’s all right. Kiss me.’
CHAPTER 12
