“It’s a wonderful face,” said the prince, “and I feel sure that her destiny is
not by any means an ordinary, uneventful one. Her face is smiling enough,
but she must have suffered terribly—hasn’t she? Her eyes show it—those
two bones there, the little points under her eyes, just where the cheek
begins. It’s a proud face too, terribly proud! And I—I can’t say whether she
is good and kind, or not. Oh, if she be but good! That would make all well!”
“And would you marry a woman like that, now?” continued Gania, never
taking his excited eyes off the prince’s face.
“I cannot marry at all,” said the latter. “I am an invalid.”
“Would Rogojin marry her, do you think?”
“Why not? Certainly he would, I should think. He would marry her
tomorrow!—marry her tomorrow and murder her in a week!”
Hardly had the prince uttered the last word when Gania gave such a
fearful shudder that the prince almost cried out.
“What’s the matter?” said he, seizing Gania’s hand.
“Your highness! His excellency begs your presence in her excellency’s
apartments!” announced the footman, appearing at the door.
The prince immediately followed the man out of the room.
IV.
All three of the Miss Epanchins were fine, healthy girls, well-grown,
with good shoulders and busts, and strong—almost masculine—hands; and,
of course, with all the above attributes, they enjoyed capital appetites, of
which they were not in the least ashamed.
Elizabetha Prokofievna sometimes informed the girls that they were a
little too candid in this matter, but in spite of their outward deference to
their mother these three young women, in solemn conclave, had long agreed
to modify the unquestioning obedience which they had been in the habit of
according to her; and Mrs. General Epanchin had judged it better to say
nothing about it, though, of course, she was well aware of the fact.
It is true that her nature sometimes rebelled against these dictates of
reason, and that she grew yearly more capricious and impatient; but having
a respectful and well-disciplined husband under her thumb at all times, she
found it possible, as a rule, to empty any little accumulations of spleen upon
his head, and therefore the harmony of the family was kept duly balanced,
and things went as smoothly as family matters can.
Mrs. Epanchin had a fair appetite herself, and generally took her share of
the capital mid-day lunch which was always served for the girls, and which
was nearly as good as a dinner. The young ladies used to have a cup of
coffee each before this meal, at ten o’clock, while still in bed. This was a
favourite and unalterable arrangement with them. At half-past twelve, the
table was laid in the small dining-room, and occasionally the general
himself appeared at the family gathering, if he had time.
Besides tea and coffee, cheese, honey, butter, pan-cakes of various kinds
(the lady of the house loved these best), cutlets, and so on, there was
generally strong beef soup, and other substantial delicacies.
On the particular morning on which our story has opened, the family had
assembled in the dining-room, and were waiting the general’s appearance,
the latter having promised to come this day. If he had been one moment
late, he would have been sent for at once; but he turned up punctually.
As he came forward to wish his wife good-morning and kiss her hands,
as his custom was, he observed something in her look which boded ill. He
thought he knew the reason, and had expected it, but still, he was not
altogether comfortable. His daughters advanced to kiss him, too, and though
they did not look exactly angry, there was something strange in their
expression as well.
The general was, owing to certain circumstances, a little inclined to be
too suspicious at home, and needlessly nervous; but, as an experienced
father and husband, he judged it better to take measures at once to protect
himself from any dangers there might be in the air.
However, I hope I shall not interfere with the proper sequence of my
narrative too much, if I diverge for a moment at this point, in order to
explain the mutual relations between General Epanchin’s family and others
acting a part in this history, at the time when we take up the thread of their
destiny. I have already stated that the general, though he was a man of
lowly origin, and of poor education, was, for all that, an experienced and
talented husband and father. Among other things, he considered it
undesirable to hurry his daughters to the matrimonial altar and to worry
them too much with assurances of his paternal wishes for their happiness, as
is the custom among parents of many grown-up daughters. He even
succeeded in ranging his wife on his side on this question, though he found
the feat very difficult to accomplish, because unnatural; but the general’s
arguments were conclusive, and founded upon obvious facts. The general
considered that the girls’ taste and good sense should be allowed to develop
and mature deliberately, and that the parents’ duty should merely be to keep
watch, in order that no strange or undesirable choice be made; but that the
selection once effected, both father and mother were bound from that
moment to enter heart and soul into the cause, and to see that the matter
progressed without hindrance until the altar should be happily reached.
Besides this, it was clear that the Epanchins’ position gained each year,
with geometrical accuracy, both as to financial solidity and social weight;
and, therefore, the longer the girls waited, the better was their chance of
making a brilliant match.
But again, amidst the incontrovertible facts just recorded, one more,
equally significant, rose up to confront the family; and this was, that the
eldest daughter, Alexandra, had imperceptibly arrived at her twenty-fifth
birthday. Almost at the same moment, Afanasy Ivanovitch Totski, a man of
immense wealth, high connections, and good standing, announced his
intention of marrying. Afanasy Ivanovitch was a gentleman of fifty-five
years of age, artistically gifted, and of most refined tastes. He wished to
marry well, and, moreover, he was a keen admirer and judge of beauty.
Now, since Totski had, of late, been upon terms of great cordiality with
Epanchin, which excellent relations were intensified by the fact that they
were, so to speak, partners in several financial enterprises, it so happened
that the former now put in a friendly request to the general for counsel with
regard to the important step he meditated. Might he suggest, for instance,
such a thing as a marriage between himself and one of the general’s
daughters?
Evidently the quiet, pleasant current of the family life of the Epanchins
was about to undergo a change.
The undoubted beauty of the family, par excellence, was the youngest,
Aglaya, as aforesaid. But Totski himself, though an egotist of the extremest
type, realized that he had no chance there; Aglaya was clearly not for such
as he.
Perhaps the sisterly love and friendship of the three girls had more or less
exaggerated Aglaya’s chances of happiness. In their opinion, the latter’s
destiny was not merely to be very happy; she was to live in a heaven on
earth. Aglaya’s husband was to be a compendium of all the virtues, and of
all success, not to speak of fabulous wealth. The two elder sisters had
agreed that all was to be sacrificed by them, if need be, for Aglaya’s sake;
her dowry was to be colossal and unprecedented.
The general and his wife were aware of this agreement, and, therefore,
when Totski suggested himself for one of the sisters, the parents made no
doubt that one of the two elder girls would probably accept the offer, since
Totski would certainly make no difficulty as to dowry. The general valued
the proposal very highly. He knew life, and realized what such an offer was
worth.
The answer of the sisters to the communication was, if not conclusive, at
least consoling and hopeful. It made known that the eldest, Alexandra,
would very likely be disposed to listen to a proposal.
Alexandra was a good-natured girl, though she had a will of her own. She
was intelligent and kind-hearted, and, if she were to marry Totski, she
would make him a good wife. She did not care for a brilliant marriage; she
was eminently a woman calculated to soothe and sweeten the life of any
man; decidedly pretty, if not absolutely handsome. What better could Totski
wish?
So the matter crept slowly forward. The general and Totski had agreed to
avoid any hasty and irrevocable step. Alexandra’s parents had not even
begun to talk to their daughters freely upon the subject, when suddenly, as it
were, a dissonant chord was struck amid the harmony of the proceedings.
Mrs. Epanchin began to show signs of discontent, and that was a serious
matter. A certain circumstance had crept in, a disagreeable and troublesome
factor, which threatened to overturn the whole business.
This circumstance had come into existence eighteen years before. Close
to an estate of Totski’s, in one of the central provinces of Russia, there
lived, at that time, a poor gentleman whose estate was of the wretchedest
description. This gentleman was noted in the district for his persistent ill-
fortune; his name was Barashkoff, and, as regards family and descent, he
was vastly superior to Totski, but his estate was mortgaged to the last acre.
One day, when he had ridden over to the town to see a creditor, the chief
peasant of his village followed him shortly after, with the news that his
house had been burnt down, and that his wife had perished with it, but his
children were safe.
Even Barashkoff, inured to the storms of evil fortune as he was, could not
stand this last stroke. He went mad and died shortly after in the town
hospital. His estate was sold for the creditors; and the little girls—two of
them, of seven and eight years of age respectively,—were adopted by
Totski, who undertook their maintenance and education in the kindness of
his heart. They were brought up together with the children of his German
bailiff. Very soon, however, there was only one of them left—Nastasia
Philipovna—for the other little one died of whooping-cough. Totski, who
was living abroad at this time, very soon forgot all about the child; but five
years after, returning to Russia, it struck him that he would like to look over
his estate and see how matters were going there, and, arrived at his bailiff’s
house, he was not long in discovering that among the children of the latter
there now dwelt a most lovely little girl of twelve, sweet and intelligent, and
bright, and promising to develop beauty of most unusual quality—as to
which last Totski was an undoubted authority.
He only stayed at his country seat a few days on this occasion, but he had
time to make his arrangements. Great changes took place in the child’s
education; a good governess was engaged, a Swiss lady of experience and
culture. For four years this lady resided in the house with little Nastia, and
then the education was considered complete. The governess took her
departure, and another lady came down to fetch Nastia, by Totski’s
instructions. The child was now transported to another of Totski’s estates in
a distant part of the country. Here she found a delightful little house, just
built, and prepared for her reception with great care and taste; and here she
took up her abode together with the lady who had accompanied her from
her old home. In the house there were two experienced maids, musical
instruments of all sorts, a charming “young lady’s library,” pictures, paint-
boxes, a lap-dog, and everything to make life agreeable. Within a fortnight
Totski himself arrived, and from that time he appeared to have taken a great
fancy to this part of the world and came down each summer, staying two
and three months at a time. So passed four years peacefully and happily, in
charming surroundings.
At the end of that time, and about four months after Totski’s last visit (he
had stayed but a fortnight on this occasion), a report reached Nastasia
Philipovna that he was about to be married in St. Petersburg, to a rich,
eminent, and lovely woman. The report was only partially true, the marriage
project being only in an embryo condition; but a great change now came
over Nastasia Philipovna. She suddenly displayed unusual decision of
character; and without wasting time in thought, she left her country home
and came up to St. Petersburg, straight to Totski’s house, all alone.
The latter, amazed at her conduct, began to express his displeasure; but
he very soon became aware that he must change his voice, style, and
everything else, with this young lady; the good old times were gone. An
entirely new and different woman sat before him, between whom and the
girl he had left in the country last July there seemed nothing in common.
In the first place, this new woman understood a good deal more than was
usual for young people of her age; so much indeed, that Totski could not
help wondering where she had picked up her knowledge. Surely not from
her “young lady’s library”? It even embraced legal matters, and the “world”
in general, to a considerable extent.
Her character was absolutely changed. No more of the girlish alternations
of timidity and petulance, the adorable naivete, the reveries, the tears, the
playfulness… It was an entirely new and hitherto unknown being who now
sat and laughed at him, and informed him to his face that she had never had
the faintest feeling for him of any kind, except loathing and contempt—
contempt which had followed closely upon her sensations of surprise and
bewilderment after her first acquaintance with him.
This new woman gave him further to understand that though it was
absolutely the same to her whom he married, yet she had decided to prevent
this marriage—for no particular reason, but that she chose to do so, and
because she wished to amuse herself at his expense for that it was “quite her
turn to laugh a little now!”
Such were her words—very likely she did not give her real reason for
this eccentric conduct; but, at all events, that was all the explanation she
deigned to offer.
Meanwhile, Totski thought the matter over as well as his scattered ideas
would permit. His meditations lasted a fortnight, however, and at the end of
that time his resolution was taken. The fact was, Totski was at that time a
man of fifty years of age; his position was solid and respectable; his place
in society had long been firmly fixed upon safe foundations; he loved
himself, his personal comforts, and his position better than all the world, as
every respectable gentleman should!
At the same time his grasp of things in general soon showed Totski that
he now had to deal with a being who was outside the pale of the ordinary
rules of traditional behaviour, and who would not only threaten mischief but
would undoubtedly carry it out, and stop for no one.
There was evidently, he concluded, something at work here; some storm
of the mind, some paroxysm of romantic anger, goodness knows against
whom or what, some insatiable contempt—in a word, something altogether
absurd and impossible, but at the same time most dangerous to be met with
by any respectable person with a position in society to keep up.
For a man of Totski’s wealth and standing, it would, of course, have been
the simplest possible matter to take steps which would rid him at once from
all annoyance; while it was obviously impossible for Nastasia Philipovna to
harm him in any way, either legally or by stirring up a scandal, for, in case
of the latter danger, he could so easily remove her to a sphere of safety.
However, these arguments would only hold good in case of Nastasia acting
as others might in such an emergency. She was much more likely to
overstep the bounds of reasonable conduct by some extraordinary
eccentricity.
Here the sound judgment of Totski stood him in good stead. He realized
that Nastasia Philipovna must be well aware that she could do nothing by
legal means to injure him, and that her flashing eyes betrayed some entirely
different intention.
Nastasia Philipovna was quite capable of ruining herself, and even of
perpetrating something which would send her to Siberia, for the mere
pleasure of injuring a man for whom she had developed so inhuman a sense
of loathing and contempt. He had sufficient insight to understand that she
valued nothing in the world—herself least of all—and he made no attempt
to conceal the fact that he was a coward in some respects. For instance, if he
had been told that he would be stabbed at the altar, or publicly insulted, he
would undoubtedly have been frightened; but not so much at the idea of
being murdered, or wounded, or insulted, as at the thought that if such
things were to happen he would be made to look ridiculous in the eyes of
society.
He knew well that Nastasia thoroughly understood him and where to
wound him and how, and therefore, as the marriage was still only in
embryo, Totski decided to conciliate her by giving it up. His decision was
strengthened by the fact that Nastasia Philipovna had curiously altered of
late. It would be difficult to conceive how different she was physically, at
the present time, to the girl of a few years ago. She was pretty then… but
now!… Totski laughed angrily when he thought how short-sighted he had
been. In days gone by he remembered how he had looked at her beautiful
eyes, how even then he had marvelled at their dark mysterious depths, and
at their wondering gaze which seemed to seek an answer to some unknown
riddle. Her complexion also had altered. She was now exceedingly pale,
but, curiously, this change only made her more beautiful. Like most men of
the world, Totski had rather despised such a cheaply-bought conquest, but
of late years he had begun to think differently about it. It had struck him as
long ago as last spring that he ought to be finding a good match for
Nastasia; for instance, some respectable and reasonable young fellow
serving in a government office in another part of the country. How
maliciously Nastasia laughed at the idea of such a thing, now!
However, it appeared to Totski that he might make use of her in another
way; and he determined to establish her in St. Petersburg, surrounding her
with all the comforts and luxuries that his wealth could command. In this
way he might gain glory in certain circles.
Five years of this Petersburg life went by, and, of course, during that time
a great deal happened. Totski’s position was very uncomfortable; having
“funked” once, he could not totally regain his ease. He was afraid, he did
not know why, but he was simply afraid of Nastasia Philipovna. For the
first two years or so he had suspected that she wished to marry him herself,
and that only her vanity prevented her telling him so. He thought that she
wanted him to approach her with a humble proposal from his own side. But
to his great, and not entirely pleasurable amazement, he discovered that this
was by no means the case, and that were he to offer himself he would be
refused. He could not understand such a state of things, and was obliged to
conclude that it was pride, the pride of an injured and imaginative woman,
which had gone to such lengths that it preferred to sit and nurse its
contempt and hatred in solitude rather than mount to heights of hitherto
unattainable splendour. To make matters worse, she was quite impervious to
mercenary considerations, and could not be bribed in any way.
Finally, Totski took cunning means to try to break his chains and be free.
He tried to tempt her in various ways to lose her heart; he invited princes,
hussars, secretaries of embassies, poets, novelists, even Socialists, to see
her; but not one of them all made the faintest impression upon Nastasia. It
was as though she had a pebble in place of a heart, as though her feelings
and affections were dried up and withered for ever.
She lived almost entirely alone; she read, she studied, she loved music.
Her principal acquaintances were poor women of various grades, a couple
of actresses, and the family of a poor schoolteacher. Among these people
she was much beloved.
She received four or five friends sometimes, of an evening. Totski often
came. Lately, too, General Epanchin had been enabled with great difficulty
to introduce himself into her circle. Gania made her acquaintance also, and
others were Ferdishenko, an ill-bred, and would-be witty, young clerk, and
Ptitsin, a money-lender of modest and polished manners, who had risen
from poverty. In fact, Nastasia Philipovna’s beauty became a thing known
to all the town; but not a single man could boast of anything more than his
own admiration for her; and this reputation of hers, and her wit and culture
and grace, all confirmed Totski in the plan he had now prepared.
And it was at this moment that General Epanchin began to play so large
and important a part in the story.
When Totski had approached the general with his request for friendly
counsel as to a marriage with one of his daughters, he had made a full and
candid confession. He had said that he intended to stop at no means to
obtain his freedom; even if Nastasia were to promise to leave him entirely
alone in future, he would not (he said) believe and trust her; words were not
enough for him; he must have solid guarantees of some sort. So he and the
general determined to try what an attempt to appeal to her heart would
effect. Having arrived at Nastasia’s house one day, with Epanchin, Totski
immediately began to speak of the intolerable torment of his position. He
admitted that he was to blame for all, but candidly confessed that he could
not bring himself to feel any remorse for his original guilt towards herself,
because he was a man of sensual passions which were inborn and
ineradicable, and that he had no power over himself in this respect; but that
he wished, seriously, to marry at last, and that the whole fate of the most
desirable social union which he contemplated, was in her hands; in a word,
he confided his all to her generosity of heart.
General Epanchin took up his part and spoke in the character of father of
a family; he spoke sensibly, and without wasting words over any attempt at
sentimentality, he merely recorded his full admission of her right to be the
arbiter of Totski’s destiny at this moment. He then pointed out that the fate
of his daughter, and very likely of both his other daughters, now hung upon
her reply.
To Nastasia’s question as to what they wished her to do, Totski confessed
that he had been so frightened by her, five years ago, that he could never
now be entirely comfortable until she herself married. He immediately
added that such a suggestion from him would, of course, be absurd, unless
accompanied by remarks of a more pointed nature. He very well knew, he
said, that a certain young gentleman of good family, namely, Gavrila
Ardalionovitch Ivolgin, with whom she was acquainted, and whom she
received at her house, had long loved her passionately, and would give his
life for some response from her. The young fellow had confessed this love
of his to him (Totski) and had also admitted it in the hearing of his
benefactor, General Epanchin. Lastly, he could not help being of opinion
that Nastasia must be aware of Gania’s love for her, and if he (Totski)
mistook not, she had looked with some favour upon it, being often lonely,
and rather tired of her present life. Having remarked how difficult it was for
him, of all people, to speak to her of these matters, Totski concluded by
saying that he trusted Nastasia Philipovna would not look with contempt
upon him if he now expressed his sincere desire to guarantee her future by a
gift of seventy-five thousand roubles. He added that the sum would have
been left her all the same in his will, and that therefore she must not
consider the gift as in any way an indemnification to her for anything, but
that there was no reason, after all, why a man should not be allowed to
entertain a natural desire to lighten his conscience, etc., etc.; in fact, all that
would naturally be said under the circumstances. Totski was very eloquent
all through, and, in conclusion, just touched on the fact that not a soul in the
world, not even General Epanchin, had ever heard a word about the above
seventy-five thousand roubles, and that this was the first time he had ever
given expression to his intentions in respect to them.
Nastasia Philipovna’s reply to this long rigmarole astonished both the
friends considerably.
Not only was there no trace of her former irony, of her old hatred and
enmity, and of that dreadful laughter, the very recollection of which sent a
cold chill down Totski’s back to this very day; but she seemed charmed and
really glad to have the opportunity of talking seriously with him for once in
a way. She confessed that she had long wished to have a frank and free
conversation and to ask for friendly advice, but that pride had hitherto
prevented her; now, however, that the ice was broken, nothing could be
more welcome to her than this opportunity.
First, with a sad smile, and then with a twinkle of merriment in her eyes,
she admitted that such a storm as that of five years ago was now quite out
of the question. She said that she had long since changed her views of
things, and recognized that facts must be taken into consideration in spite of
the feelings of the heart. What was done was done and ended, and she could
not understand why Totski should still feel alarmed.
She next turned to General Epanchin and observed, most courteously,
that she had long since known of his daughters, and that she had heard none
but good report; that she had learned to think of them with deep and sincere
respect. The idea alone that she could in any way serve them, would be to
her both a pride and a source of real happiness.
It was true that she was lonely in her present life; Totski had judged her
thoughts aright. She longed to rise, if not to love, at least to family life and
new hopes and objects, but as to Gavrila Ardalionovitch, she could not as
yet say much. She thought it must be the case that he loved her; she felt that
she too might learn to love him, if she could be sure of the firmness of his
attachment to herself; but he was very young, and it was a difficult question
to decide. What she specially liked about him was that he worked, and
supported his family by his toil.
She had heard that he was proud and ambitious; she had heard much that
was interesting of his mother and sister, she had heard of them from Mr.
Ptitsin, and would much like to make their acquaintance, but—another
question!—would they like to receive her into their house? At all events,
though she did not reject the idea of this marriage, she desired not to be
hurried. As for the seventy-five thousand roubles, Mr. Totski need not have
found any difficulty or awkwardness about the matter; she quite understood
the value of money, and would, of course, accept the gift. She thanked him
for his delicacy, however, but saw no reason why Gavrila Ardalionovitch
should not know about it.
She would not marry the latter, she said, until she felt persuaded that
neither on his part nor on the part of his family did there exist any sort of
concealed suspicions as to herself. She did not intend to ask forgiveness for
anything in the past, which fact she desired to be known. She did not
consider herself to blame for anything that had happened in former years,
and she thought that Gavrila Ardalionovitch should be informed as to the
relations which had existed between herself and Totski during the last five
years. If she accepted this money it was not to be considered as
indemnification for her misfortune as a young girl, which had not been in
any degree her own fault, but merely as compensation for her ruined life.
She became so excited and agitated during all these explanations and
confessions that General Epanchin was highly gratified, and considered the
matter satisfactorily arranged once for all. But the once bitten Totski was
twice shy, and looked for hidden snakes among the flowers. However, the
special point to which the two friends particularly trusted to bring about
their object (namely, Gania’s attractiveness for Nastasia Philipovna), stood
out more and more prominently; the pourparlers had commenced, and
gradually even Totski began to believe in the possibility of success.
Before long Nastasia and Gania had talked the matter over. Very little
was said—her modesty seemed to suffer under the infliction of discussing
such a question. But she recognized his love, on the understanding that she
bound herself to nothing whatever, and that she reserved the right to say
“no” up to the very hour of the marriage ceremony. Gania was to have the
same right of refusal at the last moment.
It soon became clear to Gania, after scenes of wrath and quarrellings at
the domestic hearth, that his family were seriously opposed to the match,
and that Nastasia was aware of this fact was equally evident. She said
nothing about it, though he daily expected her to do so.
There were several rumours afloat, before long, which upset Totski’s
equanimity a good deal, but we will not now stop to describe them; merely
mentioning an instance or two. One was that Nastasia had entered into close
and secret relations with the Epanchin girls—a most unlikely rumour;
another was that Nastasia had long satisfied herself of the fact that Gania
was merely marrying her for money, and that his nature was gloomy and
greedy, impatient and selfish, to an extraordinary degree; and that although
he had been keen enough in his desire to achieve a conquest before, yet
since the two friends had agreed to exploit his passion for their own
purposes, it was clear enough that he had begun to consider the whole thing
a nuisance and a nightmare.
In his heart passion and hate seemed to hold divided sway, and although
he had at last given his consent to marry the woman (as he said), under the
stress of circumstances, yet he promised himself that he would “take it out
of her,” after marriage.
Nastasia seemed to Totski to have divined all this, and to be preparing
something on her own account, which frightened him to such an extent that
he did not dare communicate his views even to the general. But at times he
would pluck up his courage and be full of hope and good spirits again,
acting, in fact, as weak men do act in such circumstances.
However, both the friends felt that the thing looked rosy indeed when one
day Nastasia informed them that she would give her final answer on the
evening of her birthday, which anniversary was due in a very short time.
A strange rumour began to circulate, meanwhile; no less than that the
respectable and highly respected General Epanchin was himself so
fascinated by Nastasia Philipovna that his feeling for her amounted almost
to passion. What he thought to gain by Gania’s marriage to the girl it was
difficult to imagine. Possibly he counted on Gania’s complaisance; for
Totski had long suspected that there existed some secret understanding
between the general and his secretary. At all events the fact was known that
he had prepared a magnificent present of pearls for Nastasia’s birthday, and
that he was looking forward to the occasion when he should present his gift
with the greatest excitement and impatience. The day before her birthday he
was in a fever of agitation.
Mrs. Epanchin, long accustomed to her husband’s infidelities, had heard
of the pearls, and the rumour excited her liveliest curiosity and interest. The
general remarked her suspicions, and felt that a grand explanation must
shortly take place—which fact alarmed him much.
This is the reason why he was so unwilling to take lunch (on the morning
upon which we took up this narrative) with the rest of his family. Before the
