Chapter 7

The official betrothal came two days later, and all the town was invited to the ceremony. There was general surprise, because many had disbelieved the reports of the engagement. But all sceptics were convinced at last, and came to express their congratulations and good wishes. Alexyéi Stepanitch was radiant with happiness; he was quite unaware of any hidden meaning in congratulations, of any mockery in looks and smiles. But Sofya Nikolayevna let nothing pass unnoticed: she saw everything and heard everything, though, in speaking to her, every one was cautious and polite. Though she knew beforehand the view society would take of her action, she could not help being vexed by this expression of their opinion. But no one detected her vexation; for she was cheerful and affectionate with every one and especially with her suitor, and seemed perfectly happy and content with her choice. The pair were soon summoned into M. Zubin's study, and the betrothal took place there before a few witnesses. While the priest read the prayers, the old man shed tears; when the rite was over, he told the bridegroom to kiss the bride and embraced them both himself with a great effort; then he gazed earnestly at Alexyéi Stepanitch and said, "Love her always as you do now; God is giving you such a treasure ..." and then he broke down. The engaged couple and the witnesses returned to the drawing-room, where all the men embraced the bridegroom and kissed the bride's hand, while all the ladies embraced the bride and had their hands kissed by the bridegroom. When this fuss was over, the pair were made to sit on a sofa side by side, and exchange kisses again; and then the company, holding glasses in their hands, repeated their congratulations and good wishes. Anitchkoff acted as host, and Mme. Alakayeff as hostess. Alexyéi Stepanitch, who had never in his life drunk anything but water, was forced to take a glass of wine, and the unfamiliar stimulant had a strong effect upon him, weakened as he was by recent illness and constant agitation. He became uncommonly lively, laughed and cried, and talked a great deal, to the amusement of the company and the mortification of the bride. The guests soon grew merry: glass followed glass, and a fine supper was served. All ate and drank heartily, and at last the party broke up amid noise and merriment. The bridegroom's head was beginning to ache; and Mme. Alakayeff took him home in her carriage.M. Zubin felt that he was in great danger and therefore wished to have the wedding as soon as possible; but, as he also wished his daughter's outfit to be rich and splendid, it was necessary to postpone the ceremony for some months. Her mother's diamonds and emeralds had to be sent to Moscow, to be reset and restrung in the newest fashion; silver had to be ordered from Moscow, and some dresses and presents; the other dresses, curtains for the state bed, and a sumptuous black-brown fur cloak which cost 500roublesthen and could not be bought now for 5000—all these were made in Kazan; a quantity of table-linen and Holland sheets were also provided. Ten thousand roubles, the amount fixed for the dowry, was a great sum in those days; and, as many valuable things were provided as well, the inventory of the bride's outfit assumed such splendid proportions, that when I read it now I can hardly believe in the simple life of our ancestors at the end of last century.The first business after the formal betrothal was to send complimentary letters to all relations on both sides. One of Sofya Nikolayevna's gifts was her remarkable skill in letter-writing; and her letter to her future husband's parents was such that Stepan Mihailovitch, though no letter-writer himself, set a high value on it. First he listened to it with great attention; then he took it out of Tanyusha's hand, praised the distinct handwriting, and read it through twice himself. "Well, she's a clever girl," he said, "and I make sure she has a warm heart." This enraged the family, but they had the sense to keep silent. Alexandra alone could not restrain herself: her gooseberry eyes flashed with rage as she said: "She can write a fine letter, father, I admit; but all is not gold that glitters." The old man scowled at her and said in his dangerous voice: "How do you know? You're snarling at her already, and you've never even seen her! Take care! Keep your tongue from wagging, and don't stir up the rest!" All sat as silent as mice, and, of course, hated Sofya Nikolayevna worse than ever. Meanwhile Stepan Mihailovitch, under the influence of that warm and affectionate letter, took the pen himself and wrote as follows, in defiance of all established etiquette:—"My dear, precious, sensible Daughter-in-Law to be,"If you, without seeing us, have learnt to love and respect us old people, we feel the same for you. And when, by God's blessing, we meet, we shall love you still better; and you will be to us as our own daughter, and we shall rejoice in the happiness of our son Alexyéi."On her side, Sofya Nikolayevna valued the old man's simple words as they deserved; from what she had heard, she had already taken a fancy to him. As she had no relations living, the bridegroom had no letters to write; but she asked Alexyéi Stepanitch to write a letter of intimation to M. Anitchkoff, the friend at Moscow whom she had never seen and who had taken her brothers under his care. The bridegroom of course gladly consented. Not having much confidence in his power to express himself on paper, she asked to see the letter before it was sent. When she read it, she was horrified! Alexyéi Stepanitch, who had heard a great deal of M. Anitchkoff as a wit, took it into his head to adopt an elaborate style. Therefore he had recourse to some novel of the day, and filled two sides with phrases which, under other circumstances, would have made Sofya Nikolayevna laugh outright; as it was, the blood rushed to her face, and then the tears poured from her eyes. When she grew calmer, she wondered how she was to get out of such an awkward situation. She did not wonder long, however. She wrote a rough draft of a letter herself, and then said to her betrothed, that, not being in the habit of writing to strangers, he had written in a way that might not please Anitchkoff; and therefore she had written a rough draft, which she asked him to copy out and send off. She felt shame and pain, and was hurt on his account; her voice shook, and she nearly broke down. But he welcomed her suggestion with enthusiasm; when she read him the letter, he was charmed with it, praised her wonderful skill, and covered her hands with kisses. This was the first step in disrespect for her future husband, the first step towards realising her dream of complete domination over him; and she did not find it easy to take.Knowing that his parents had little money and were forced to be chary in spending any, Alexyéi Stepanitch wrote to ask for a very moderate sum; and, to strengthen his request, he asked Mme. Alakayeff to write to his father, to assure him that the request was reasonable and that some expense was inevitable in view of the marriage. He asked only 800roubles, but Mme. Alakayeff stated the necessary sum at 1500. The old people replied that they had not got such a sum; they sent him all they had—300roubles, and suggested that, if the other 500 were necessary, he should borrow them; but they promised to send him a team of four horses with a coachman and postilion, and provisions of all kinds. They did not even answer Mme. Alakayeff: so indignant were they with her for demanding such a huge sum. It could not be helped: Alexyéi Stepanitch thanked them for their kindness and borrowed 500roubles; when even this proved insufficient, Mme. Alakayeff gave him 500 more, without the knowledge of his parents.Meantime, as the engaged couple met more often and were together longer, they became more intimate. Sofya Nikolayevna for the first time saw her husband as he really was, and realised for the first time what a heavy task lay before her! She had made no mistake in thinking that he possessed natural intelligence, a very kind heart, strict principles of honour, and perfect integrity in official life; but otherwise she found such a limitation of ideas, such a pettiness of interests, such an absence of self-esteem and independence, that her courage and firmness in the execution of her purpose were more than once severely shaken. More than once, in despair, she took the engagement-ring off her finger, laid it before the image of Our Lady of Smolensk, and prayed with tears that her feeble intelligence might be enlightened by divine wisdom. As we know already, she was accustomed to act thus at each crisis in her life. When she had prayed, she felt braver and calmer. Interpreting this feeling as heavenly guidance, she would put her ring on again and go back, composed and cheerful, to join her lover in the drawing-room. Her father felt that he was losing strength daily; and she was able to assure him that she was constantly discovering fresh merits in her lover, that she was quite content and looked forward to happiness in her marriage. By this time disease had dulled M. Zubin's perspicacity: he not only believed that she was sincere, but was convinced himself that his daughter would be happy. "Thank God!" he used to say; "now I can die happy."And now the wedding-day drew near. The bride's outfit was all ready. The bridegroom too made his preparations, being guided by the advice of Mme. Alakayeff, who assumed the entire management of him. The old lady, in spite of her shrewdness, was surprised by his profound ignorance of the customs of polite society. But for her, he would have been guilty of many blunders which would have made his bride blush for shame. Thus he intended to give her as a birthday-present a kind of cloth for a dress which would only have been suitable as a present to her maid; and he thought of driving to the church in an old shandrydan without springs, which would have made all the town laugh; and so on. The things were not of importance in themselves; but it would have tried Sofya Nikolayevna too hard to see her bridegroom the laughing-stock of Ufa society. All such things were put right by Mme. Alakayeff, or rather by the bride herself, for the two women discussed every point together. Sofya Nikolayevna told her lover in time, that he must not think of giving her a present for her birthday, because she loathed birthday-presents in general. For the wedding, she made him buy a new English carriage which had lately been ordered from Petersburg by a local landowner; his name was Murzahanoff,41and he had managed to run through his fortune in a few months. The price paid for the carriage was 350roubles; Sofya Nikolayevna bought it herself as a present from her father to the bridegroom, and begged him not to trouble the dying man by thanking him. And the other difficulties were got over in the same fashion.Then the bride and bridegroom wrote, for themselves and M. Zubin, to Stepan Mihailovitch and Arina Vassilyevna, pressing them to honour the wedding by their presence; but the old people, as a matter of course, declined the invitation. They had lived so long in their country solitude that town and town society seemed to them something strange and formidable. None of the daughters wished to go either; but Stepan Mihailovitch thought this awkward, and desired Elizabeth and Alexandra to attend the wedding. The latter was accompanied by her husband, Karatayeff; but Yerlykin was detained by his duties at Orenburg.The presence of these uninvited and unexpected guests was the cause of much annoyance to Sofya Nikolayevna. Her future sisters-in-law were clever and cunning women; they were determined to dislike her, and their behaviour to her was cold, unfriendly, and even rude. Though Sofya Nikolayevna knew very well the sort of attitude they were likely to adopt, yet she thought it her duty to be friendly and even cordial to them at first; but when she saw that all her efforts were vain, and that the better she treated them the worse they treated her, she retired behind a wall of cold civility. But this did not protect her from those mean hints and innuendoes which it is impossible not to understand and not to resent, though it is awkward to do either, because you lay yourself open to the retort—"If the cap fits, wear it!" This odious form of attack, now banished to the servants' hall by the advance of refinement, was formidable in those days, and much used in the houses of rural landowners, many of whom differed little from their own servants in their manners and customs. But is it true that it has really been banished? Does it not still live on among us, concealed under more decent and artistic forms?The good people of Ufa made fun, as might be expected, of the country clothes and manners of the two ladies. As to Karatayeff, who had now adopted all the Bashkir habits and began drinking Bashkir decoctions at eight in the morning, when he was first introduced to Sofya Nikolayevna, he kissed her hand with a sounding smack three times over, and cried out with real Bashkir enthusiasm, "My word! what a dazzler brother Alexyéi has hooked!" The coarse jests and compliments of the man were as distressing as the malicious sallies of the women; and both forced Sofya Nikolayevna to swallow many tears. But worse than all was the blindness of Alexyéi Stepanitch: he seemed perfectly satisfied with the relations between his sisters and his bride, and this was not only a mortification for the present but also a peril for the future. These venomous creatures, who were staying with their brother, began at once to drop their poison into his simple soul, and did it so artfully that he did not suspect their manœuvres. Allusions to the young lady's pride, to the poverty which she hid under jewels and fine clothes, to her caprices and his meek submission to them, were dinned into his ears all day long. Much passed unnoticed, but much also went straight to the mark and made him thoughtful and vaguely uneasy. All their attacks, whether secret or open, were accompanied by a pretence of sympathy and sisterly affection. "What makes you look so worn, my dear boy?" Elizabeth would ask; "Sofya Nikolayevna wears you out with all her commissions. You've just got back from the other end of the town, tired and hungry, and off you run again, without eating a morsel, to dance attendance on her. As your sisters, we can't help being sorry for you"; and then sham tears, or at least some play with the pocket-handkerchief, completed the crafty sentence. Then Alexandra would make a furious entry into the conversation. "No, my dear, I really cannot stand it! I know you will be angry, and perhaps you will cease to love us; but I can't help it, I must tell you the truth. You are quite changed: you're ashamed of us and have forgotten us altogether; your one wish is to mumble that girl's hand; your one fear, to get into her black books. You have become her lackey, her slave! Then it cuts us to the heart to see that old witch, Mme. Alakayeff, ordering you about like a servant and making you fetch and carry for her; and she's not content with that, but finds fault with you and urges you to greater activity." Alexyéi Stepanitch could think of no answer to all this, except that he loved his sisters and would continue to do so, and—it was time to go and see Sofya Nikolayevna; whereupon he took his hat and hurried off. "Oh, go by all means!" Alexandra called after him, "and go quick; or else she will be angry and perhaps withhold her hand from your lips!" Scenes like this took place again and again and undoubtedly left their impression.Sofya Nikolayevna could not help noticing that his sisters' visit had brought about a certain change in her lover. He seemed depressed, was less exact in keeping his engagements, and spent less time with her. The reason for this she herself understood very well; and Mme. Alakayeff, who had become a very intimate friend and also knew all that went on in the Bagroffs' lodgings, did not fail to provide her with detailed information. Her impulsive nature made her unwilling to let things drag on. She reasoned justly, that she ought not to give time for the sisters' influence to take root at leisure, that she must open her lover's eyes and put the strength of his character and affection to a decisive test. If they proved too weak, it was better to part before marriage than to unite her fate to such a feeble creature, who was, to use her own expression, "neither a shield from the sun nor a cloak to keep out the rain." She summoned him early one morning and ordered that no visitors should be admitted to the drawing-room where they were sitting. Then she turned to Alexyéi Stepanitch, who was looking pale and frightened, and addressed him as follows:—"I wish to have a frank explanation with you and to make a clean breast of what I am feeling; and I ask you to do the same. Your sisters detest me and did their best to rouse your parents against me. That I know from yourself. But your love overcame all obstacles: your parents gave you their approval, and I resolved to accept you and brave the hatred of all your family. I hoped to find protection in your love for me and in my endeavour to prove to your parents that I don't deserve their displeasure. But now I see that I was mistaken. You saw yourself how I received your sisters, how friendly I was and how hard I tried to please them; and, though their rudeness made me draw back, yet I never once failed in politeness to them. And what has been the result? It is only a week since they came, and you treat me differently already: you make me promises and then forget to keep them; you spend less time with me; you are depressed and anxious, and even less affectionate to me than you used to be. Don't defend yourself, or deny it; that would not be honourable on your part. I know that you love me still, but you are afraid to show it; you fear your sisters, and that is why you are depressed and even avoid opportunities of being alone with me. You know yourself that all this is quite true. Well, then, tell me, how can I hope that your love will stand firm? It is a strange kind of love that turns coward and hides, because your sisters disapprove of your bride, as you knew they did long ago. Suppose your parents disapprove of me and turn up their noses at me? What then? Then you will really cease to love me. No, Alexyéi Stepanitch, honourable men do not behave so to the woman they love. The knowledge that your sisters disliked me should have made you twice as attentive and twice as devoted in their presence; and then they would not have dared to utter a syllable; but you have suffered them to use insulting language in your presence. I know just how they speak to you. From all this I conclude that your love is not love at all, but love-making, that I cannot rely on you, and that we had better part now than be unhappy for life. Consider carefully what I have said; I shall give you two days to think it over. Come to the house as usual, but I shall not see you alone and shall not refer to this interview. After two days, I shall ask for an honest answer to these questions: 'Have you sufficient firmness to be my defender against your relations and any one else who chooses to insult me? Can you shut your sisters' mouths and prevent them from uttering in your presence a single insulting word or allusion against me?' To break her engagement a week before her marriage is a great misfortune for any girl; but it is better to bear it once for all than to suffer all one's life. You know that I am not in love with you, but I was beginning to love you; and I believe my love would have been stronger and more constant than yours. Now, good-bye! For to-day and to-morrow we are strangers."Long before she ended, Alexyéi Stepanitch had been in tears, and he tried several times to interrupt; but, before he could open his mouth, she had left the room and shut the door behind her. It was some time before he recovered from this tremendous blow. But at last the terrible thought of losing his adored mistress presented itself to him with appalling reality, and summoned up that energy and vigour of which the mildest and gentlest of men are capable, though they cannot keep it up for long. He hurried home; and, when his sisters, with no pity for his evident disturbance and distress, greeted him with the usual malicious jests, he flew into such a rage and attacked them with such fury that they were frightened. The wrath of a gentle patient man is a formidable thing. Among other things he told his sisters that, if they ventured to say another insulting word about his bride or about himself, he would instantly move to other lodgings, from which, as well as from M. Zubin's house, they would be excluded; and he would write to his father and tell him the whole story. That was enough. Alexandra had a clear recollection of her father's warning-"Keep your tongue quiet, and don't stir up the rest of the family!" She knew very well what a thunder-cloud her brother's complaint would call up, and what alarming consequences she might expect. Both the sisters fell on their brother's neck and begged forgiveness with tears; they solemnly declared that it should never happen again; they were really very fond of Sofya Nikolayevna, and it was only out of pity for his health and fear that he was doing too much that they had ventured on these foolish jests. They called on Sofya Nikolayevna that same day and paid court to her with the utmost servility. The meaning of all this was not lost upon her, and she felt she had prevailed.The position of her lover really deserved pity. His feelings, which had been calmed and composed to some extent by frequent interviews with Sofya Nikolayevna, her simple friendly behaviour to him, and the near prospect of the marriage, had then been rather alarmed and abashed by the sneers of his sisters; and now they flamed up so fiercely, that at the present moment he was capable of any self-sacrifice, of any desperate action, a true knight-errant! His state of mind was clearly reflected on his handsome young face during those two endless days. The lovers met several times, and Sofya Nikolayevna could not look at his face without pain; but she had the firmness to support the test she had imposed. The agitation and pity which she felt were a surprise to herself. She felt that she did really love this simple, modest young man, who was absolutely devoted to her and would not have hesitated to put an end to his existence if she made up her mind to refuse him. At last the two long days were over. Early on the third day Alexyéi Stepanitch sat in the drawing-room, waiting for his mistress to appear. The door opened softly, and in she came, more beautiful, more charming than ever. She was smiling, and her eyes expressed such tenderness that, when he looked at her and saw her kind hand stretched out towards him, the excess of his emotion deprived him for an instant of the power of speech. He soon recovered, and then, instead of taking her hand, fell at her feet and poured forth a torrent of burning heartfelt eloquence. She interrupted him and raised him to his feet. Then she said: "I see and feel your love, and I share it; I believe all your promises; I put my fate in your hands without fear." She had never been so affectionate to him before, and she used words of tenderness which he had never before heard from her lips.Only five days remained before the marriage. All their preparations were complete, and the lovers were free to spend most of their time together. For five whole months Sofya Nikolayevna had been true to her intention of educating her future husband over again. She never lost a suitable moment, but did her best to impart those ideals which he did not possess, to clear up and develop feelings of which he was dimly conscious, and to root out the notions which he had derived from his early surroundings. She even made him read, and discussed with him the books he had read, explaining what puzzled him, filling up gaps in his memory, and illustrating fiction from real life. But it is probable that she got on faster with her task during these five days than in the course of five long months; for the recent incident which I have described had raised her lover's mind to a higher level of refinement, and he was in an unusually receptive and impressionable mood. How far the teacher succeeded on the whole in impressing her ideas upon the pupil, I cannot venture to decide. It is hard to know how much weight to attach to the opinions of the two persons concerned; but it is certain that in later years they both maintained—and they appealed to the evidence of disinterested persons in confirmation of the statement—that a great change took place in Alexyéi Stepanitch, and even a complete transformation. I am very willing to believe it; but I have a proof that his proficiency in social etiquette left something to be desired. I know that he made his bride very angry the day before the marriage, and that her vehemence left a strong and painful impression on his mind. It happened in the following way. Two ladies were calling on Sofya Nikolayevna when a servant brought in a paper parcel and handed it to his mistress, with the explanation that Alexyéi Stepanitch had sent it by his coachman and wished her at once to make a cap for his sister Alexandra. Her lover had left her half an hour before without saying one word about this commission, and Sofya Nikolayevna was exceedingly annoyed. The ladies, who were of some importance, had supposed at first that the parcel contained a present from the bridegroom; and now they did not try to conceal their amusement. Sofya Nikolayevna lost patience: she ordered the parcel to be returned, with a message that Alexyéi Stepanitch had better apply to a milliner; it was no doubt a mistake to have brought the thing to her. The explanation was quite simple. On going home, he had found his sister in a great difficulty, because the milliner, who had engaged to make her a cap for the wedding, had fallen ill and returned the materials. As he had seen with his own eyes the skill with which Sofya Nikolayevna could trim hats and caps, he offered to help his sister out of her trouble, and told his servant to carry the parcel to his bride, with a humble request that she would trim a cap for Alexandra. But the servant was busy, and, instead of going himself, sent the coachman; and the humble request became, in the coachman's mouth, an imperious demand. Alexyéi Stepanitch hastened back to explain matters, and carried with him the same unlucky parcel. Sofya Nikolayevna had not yet cooled down, when she saw him coming into the room with the odious parcel under his arm; and she flared up worse than ever, and said many violent and unkind things which she had better have left unspoken. The culprit, utterly dumbfounded, tried to defend himself, but did it very badly; he was seriously hurt by this onslaught. She sent the materials for the cap to some milliner she knew of; and then, repenting of her violence, she tried to put matters right. But, to her surprise, Alexyéi Stepanitch could not get over it: he felt that he had been unjustly treated, and she had frightened him. He became very depressed, and her efforts to calm and cheer him were unsuccessful.The wedding-day, the 10th of May, 1788, arrived, and the bridegroom paid an early visit to his bride. After her excitement of the previous day, she was distressed to see that Alexyéi Stepanitch still wore the same pained expression. She felt hurt; for she had always supposed that he would be in an ecstasy of joy on the day when he led her to the altar; and here he was, looking demure and even depressed! She expressed her feelings, and that made matters worse. Of course, he assured her that he considered himself the happiest man in the world, and so on; but the pompous and trivial phrases, which he had repeated many a time before and she had heard with satisfaction, were now distasteful to her ear, because they lacked the fire of inward conviction. They soon parted, to meet next in church, where the bridegroom was to be in waiting for her at six in the evening.Sofya Nikolayevna was assailed by a terrible misgiving—would she be happy in her marriage? A host of dark forebodings passed before her heated imagination. She blamed herself for her hot temper and violent language; she recognised that the offence was trifling, and that she must expect many slips of the kind on her lover's part, and must take them calmly. They had happened often enough before; but, on this occasion, the unlucky combination of circumstances and the presence of the two unfriendly visitors had pricked her vanity and irritated her natural impetuosity. Conscious that she had frightened her lover, she repented of her fault; but at the same time she was aware in the depth of her heart that she was quite capable of committing the same fault again. And now she realised afresh all the difficulty of the tremendous task she had undertaken—the reformation and regeneration of a man of twenty-seven. Her whole life—and it might be long—must be spent with a husband whom she loved indeed but could not entirely respect; there would be constant collision between utterly different ideas and opposite qualities, and they would often misunderstand one another. Doubts of success, doubts of her own strength, doubts of her power to command the qualities of firmness and calmness so foreign to her nature—these rose before her for the first time in their appalling truth, and she shrank back in terror. But what could she do? If she broke off the marriage at the eleventh hour, what would be the consequences? It would be a terrible blow to her dying father, who took comfort in the conviction that his daughter would be happy in the care of a kind husband; her rivals in society and enemies would mock at her; she would be the talk of the town and the laughing-stock of the district, perhaps even a mark for calumny; and, above all, she would kill, literally kill, her devoted lover. And all for what? Merely because she was afraid she might lack firmness to carry out a purpose which she had deliberately formed and which was beginning to take shape with triumphant success. "No! that shall never be! God will help me; Our Lady of Smolensk will be my intercessor and will give me strength to conquer my impetuous nature." Thus Sofya Nikolayevna thought, and thus she decided. She wept and prayed and regained her stability.The Church of the Assumption was quite close to the Zubins' house, and there was then an empty space round it. Long before six o'clock, it was surrounded by a crowd of curious spectators. The high steps projecting from the house into the street were blocked by the carriages of the privileged persons who had been invited to escort the bride. The bride was dressed, and her little brother, Nikolinka, whose birth had cost his mother her life three years before, put on the stockings and shoes, according to established custom, though of course the maids lent their assistance. By six the bride was ready; she received her father's blessing and came into the drawing-room. The rich bridal-dress lent an added lustre to her beauty. The bridegroom, on his way to church, had to pass right under the drawing-room windows, and Sofya Nikolayevna saw him drive past in the English carriage drawn by the four fine horses bred at Bagrovo; he had his head out and was looking up at the open windows; she smiled and nodded. Next came the bridegroom's sisters with Mme. Alakayeff, and all the men who were escorting him to church. She did not wish to keep him waiting, and insisted, in spite of various hindrances, that they should start at once. Sofya Nikolayevna was calm and composed when she entered the church; she gave her arm cheerfully and smilingly to the bridegroom; but she was vexed to see that his face still wore the same sad expression; and it was generally remarked that they both looked depressed during the ceremony. The church was brilliantly lighted and full of people; the cathedral choir did not spare their voices. Altogether, it was a dignified and splendid ceremony. When the rite was over, the young couple were escorted to the Zubins' house by the bridegroom's sisters, the whole train of friends and relations on both sides, and all the important people of Ufa. Dancing began at once and went on till an early but sumptuous supper was served. Privileged guests paid a visit to M. Zubin in his study and congratulated him on his daughter's marriage. The usual festivities took place on the next and following days—balls, dinners, and calls, in fact, the regular routine which we see nowadays even in Moscow and Petersburg.The shade of sadness soon vanished from the faces of the young couple. They were perfectly happy. Kind people could not look at them without pleasure; and every one said, "What a handsome couple!" A week later, they prepared for a visit to Bagrovo; the bridegroom's sisters had gone back there three days after the wedding, and Sofya Nikolayevna had sent by them an affectionate letter to the old people.Startled by their brother's explosion, Elizabeth and Alexandra had been cautious of late. They refrained from all hints and sneers and grimaces in his presence, and were even polite to Sofya Nikolayevna. She, of course, was not taken in by this; but their brother entirely believed in the sincerity of their devotion to his bride. At the wedding and the festivities which followed, they were, naturally, somewhat out of place, and therefore hastened their departure. On arriving at Bagrovo, they determined to do nothing rash and to hide their hostility towards Sofya Nikolayevna from their father; but to their mother and two sisters they described the marriage and events at Ufa in such a way as to fill their minds with a strong prejudice against the bride; and they did not forget to mention their brother's threats and his fury excited by their attacks upon Sofya Nikolayevna. It was agreed to treat her kindly in the presence of Stepan Mihailovitch, and to say nothing bad about her to him directly; at the same time they were to use every opportunity to excite by indirect means his displeasure against their enemy. It was a highly delicate operation; and Elizabeth and Alexandra could not trust it to any hands but their own.My grandfather questioned them minutely about the wedding, the people they had seen there, the health of M. Zubin, and so on. They praised everything, but the poison under their praises could be smelt and tasted, and they failed to deceive their father. By way of a joke, and perhaps also for the sake of comparison, he turned to Karatayeff and said: "Well, now, friend Ivan, what say you of the daughter-in-law? As a man, you are a better judge of the point than the women are." Karatayeff, disregarding a signal from his wife, burst out with enthusiasm: "I do assure you,batyushka, that such another dazzler"—he always used this phrase of a beautiful woman—"as brother Alexyéi has bagged is not to be found in the whole world. A look from her is as good as a shilling. And her cleverness! it's past all telling. But there's one thing,batyushka: she's proud; she can't stand a joke. When you try to have a little fun with her, she gives you a look that makes you bite off the end of your tongue." "I see, my friend, that she made short work with your nonsense," said the old man with an amused look; then he laughed and added, "Not much amiss there, so far." In fact, Stepan Mihailovitch, from what he had heard and the bride's letters and Karatayeff's description, had formed in his own mind a highly favourable opinion of Sofya Nikolayevna.The expected visit of the young couple produced bustle and confusion in the quiet or, one might say, stagnant waters of life at Bagrovo. They had to bestir themselves, to clean things up, and bring out their best clothes. The bride was a fine town lady, poor, perhaps, but accustomed to live in luxury; she would be critical and contemptuous—so they all thought, and so they all said, except the master of the house. As there were no separate rooms in the house unoccupied, Tanyusha had to turn out of her bedroom, one corner of which overlooked the garden and the clear waters of the Boogoorooslan with its green bushes and loud nightingales. Tanyusha was very unwilling to move to the bath-house, but there was no other place: all her sisters were put up in the house, and Karatayeff and Yerlykin slept in the hayloft. The day before the visitors' arrival brought their state-bed and bed-hangings and curtains for the windows, and with them a man who knew how to put everything up properly. Tanyusha's room was completely furnished in a few hours. Stepan Mihailovitch came to see it and expressed his admiration, but the women bit their lips with envy. At last a messenger galloped up and announced that the couple had stopped at the village of Noikino, eightverstsfrom Bagrovo; they were to change their dress there and would arrive in two hours. This caused a general stir. The priest had been summoned hours before; but, as he had not yet arrived, Stepan Mihailovitch sent a mounted messenger to hasten his steps.Meantime the following scene was taking place in the Mordvinian village of Noikino. The travellers were making their way along side roads and had always to send a man ahead to arrange about fresh horses. The people of Noikino had all known Alexyéi Stepanitch from childhood, and had a great regard and respect for his father. Every one of the six hundred inhabitants of the village, men and women, old and young, gathered before the cottage where the young people were to make their halt. Sofya Nikolayevna had probably never seen people of this tribe close at hand; and therefore the dress of the women and the uncommonly tall stout girls—their white shifts embroidered with red wool, their black woollen girdles, and the silver coins and little bells which hung from their heads over their breasts and backs—was very interesting to her. But, when she heard them all break out into joyful greetings and compliments and good wishes, childish enough and expressed in bad Russian, but coming from the heart, then she both laughed and cried. "What a fine wife God has given you, Alosha! How glad our father Stepan Mihailovitch will be! Good luck! Good luck!" But, when the bride, arrayed in her fine city clothes, came out to take her seat in the carriage, there was such a roar of enthusiastic applause that the horses actually shied. The travellers made a present of tenroubles, to be spent on whisky, to the whole village, and went on their way.The stackyard at Bagrovo was at the top of a hill, and now the high carriage was seen emerging from behind it. The cry, "They're coming! they're coming!" flew from room to room, and house-servants and labourers soon gathered in the large courtyard, while the young people and children ran to meet the carriage. The master and mistress, attended by all their family, came out upon the steps. Arina Vassilyevna wore a silk jacket and skirt and a silk handkerchief adorned with gold sprigs upon her head; Stepan Mihailovitch was clean-shaved and wore an old-fashioned frock-coat and a stock round his neck. Husband and wife stood on the top step; and he held in his hands an ikon representing the Presentation of the Virgin, while she carried a loaf of bread and a silver salt-cellar. Their daughters and two sons-in-law were grouped round them. The carriage drove up to the steps. The young couple got out, knelt down before the old people, and received their blessing; then they exchanged embraces with each member of the family. Hardly had the bride completed this ceremony and turned again towards her father-in-law, when he caught her by the hand and looked keenly at her eyes from which the tears were falling. His own eyes grew wet; he clasped her in a tight embrace, kissed her, and said, "I thank God. Let us go and thank Him together!" He took her by the hand and led her through the crowd of people into the parlour. There he made her sit near him; and the priest, who was waiting for them with his robes on, pronounced the solemn words—"We praise thee, O God: we acknowledge thee to be the Lord."

M. Zubin felt that he was in great danger and therefore wished to have the wedding as soon as possible; but, as he also wished his daughter's outfit to be rich and splendid, it was necessary to postpone the ceremony for some months. Her mother's diamonds and emeralds had to be sent to Moscow, to be reset and restrung in the newest fashion; silver had to be ordered from Moscow, and some dresses and presents; the other dresses, curtains for the state bed, and a sumptuous black-brown fur cloak which cost 500roublesthen and could not be bought now for 5000—all these were made in Kazan; a quantity of table-linen and Holland sheets were also provided. Ten thousand roubles, the amount fixed for the dowry, was a great sum in those days; and, as many valuable things were provided as well, the inventory of the bride's outfit assumed such splendid proportions, that when I read it now I can hardly believe in the simple life of our ancestors at the end of last century.

The first business after the formal betrothal was to send complimentary letters to all relations on both sides. One of Sofya Nikolayevna's gifts was her remarkable skill in letter-writing; and her letter to her future husband's parents was such that Stepan Mihailovitch, though no letter-writer himself, set a high value on it. First he listened to it with great attention; then he took it out of Tanyusha's hand, praised the distinct handwriting, and read it through twice himself. "Well, she's a clever girl," he said, "and I make sure she has a warm heart." This enraged the family, but they had the sense to keep silent. Alexandra alone could not restrain herself: her gooseberry eyes flashed with rage as she said: "She can write a fine letter, father, I admit; but all is not gold that glitters." The old man scowled at her and said in his dangerous voice: "How do you know? You're snarling at her already, and you've never even seen her! Take care! Keep your tongue from wagging, and don't stir up the rest!" All sat as silent as mice, and, of course, hated Sofya Nikolayevna worse than ever. Meanwhile Stepan Mihailovitch, under the influence of that warm and affectionate letter, took the pen himself and wrote as follows, in defiance of all established etiquette:—

"My dear, precious, sensible Daughter-in-Law to be,"If you, without seeing us, have learnt to love and respect us old people, we feel the same for you. And when, by God's blessing, we meet, we shall love you still better; and you will be to us as our own daughter, and we shall rejoice in the happiness of our son Alexyéi."

"My dear, precious, sensible Daughter-in-Law to be,

"If you, without seeing us, have learnt to love and respect us old people, we feel the same for you. And when, by God's blessing, we meet, we shall love you still better; and you will be to us as our own daughter, and we shall rejoice in the happiness of our son Alexyéi."

On her side, Sofya Nikolayevna valued the old man's simple words as they deserved; from what she had heard, she had already taken a fancy to him. As she had no relations living, the bridegroom had no letters to write; but she asked Alexyéi Stepanitch to write a letter of intimation to M. Anitchkoff, the friend at Moscow whom she had never seen and who had taken her brothers under his care. The bridegroom of course gladly consented. Not having much confidence in his power to express himself on paper, she asked to see the letter before it was sent. When she read it, she was horrified! Alexyéi Stepanitch, who had heard a great deal of M. Anitchkoff as a wit, took it into his head to adopt an elaborate style. Therefore he had recourse to some novel of the day, and filled two sides with phrases which, under other circumstances, would have made Sofya Nikolayevna laugh outright; as it was, the blood rushed to her face, and then the tears poured from her eyes. When she grew calmer, she wondered how she was to get out of such an awkward situation. She did not wonder long, however. She wrote a rough draft of a letter herself, and then said to her betrothed, that, not being in the habit of writing to strangers, he had written in a way that might not please Anitchkoff; and therefore she had written a rough draft, which she asked him to copy out and send off. She felt shame and pain, and was hurt on his account; her voice shook, and she nearly broke down. But he welcomed her suggestion with enthusiasm; when she read him the letter, he was charmed with it, praised her wonderful skill, and covered her hands with kisses. This was the first step in disrespect for her future husband, the first step towards realising her dream of complete domination over him; and she did not find it easy to take.

Knowing that his parents had little money and were forced to be chary in spending any, Alexyéi Stepanitch wrote to ask for a very moderate sum; and, to strengthen his request, he asked Mme. Alakayeff to write to his father, to assure him that the request was reasonable and that some expense was inevitable in view of the marriage. He asked only 800roubles, but Mme. Alakayeff stated the necessary sum at 1500. The old people replied that they had not got such a sum; they sent him all they had—300roubles, and suggested that, if the other 500 were necessary, he should borrow them; but they promised to send him a team of four horses with a coachman and postilion, and provisions of all kinds. They did not even answer Mme. Alakayeff: so indignant were they with her for demanding such a huge sum. It could not be helped: Alexyéi Stepanitch thanked them for their kindness and borrowed 500roubles; when even this proved insufficient, Mme. Alakayeff gave him 500 more, without the knowledge of his parents.

Meantime, as the engaged couple met more often and were together longer, they became more intimate. Sofya Nikolayevna for the first time saw her husband as he really was, and realised for the first time what a heavy task lay before her! She had made no mistake in thinking that he possessed natural intelligence, a very kind heart, strict principles of honour, and perfect integrity in official life; but otherwise she found such a limitation of ideas, such a pettiness of interests, such an absence of self-esteem and independence, that her courage and firmness in the execution of her purpose were more than once severely shaken. More than once, in despair, she took the engagement-ring off her finger, laid it before the image of Our Lady of Smolensk, and prayed with tears that her feeble intelligence might be enlightened by divine wisdom. As we know already, she was accustomed to act thus at each crisis in her life. When she had prayed, she felt braver and calmer. Interpreting this feeling as heavenly guidance, she would put her ring on again and go back, composed and cheerful, to join her lover in the drawing-room. Her father felt that he was losing strength daily; and she was able to assure him that she was constantly discovering fresh merits in her lover, that she was quite content and looked forward to happiness in her marriage. By this time disease had dulled M. Zubin's perspicacity: he not only believed that she was sincere, but was convinced himself that his daughter would be happy. "Thank God!" he used to say; "now I can die happy."

And now the wedding-day drew near. The bride's outfit was all ready. The bridegroom too made his preparations, being guided by the advice of Mme. Alakayeff, who assumed the entire management of him. The old lady, in spite of her shrewdness, was surprised by his profound ignorance of the customs of polite society. But for her, he would have been guilty of many blunders which would have made his bride blush for shame. Thus he intended to give her as a birthday-present a kind of cloth for a dress which would only have been suitable as a present to her maid; and he thought of driving to the church in an old shandrydan without springs, which would have made all the town laugh; and so on. The things were not of importance in themselves; but it would have tried Sofya Nikolayevna too hard to see her bridegroom the laughing-stock of Ufa society. All such things were put right by Mme. Alakayeff, or rather by the bride herself, for the two women discussed every point together. Sofya Nikolayevna told her lover in time, that he must not think of giving her a present for her birthday, because she loathed birthday-presents in general. For the wedding, she made him buy a new English carriage which had lately been ordered from Petersburg by a local landowner; his name was Murzahanoff,41and he had managed to run through his fortune in a few months. The price paid for the carriage was 350roubles; Sofya Nikolayevna bought it herself as a present from her father to the bridegroom, and begged him not to trouble the dying man by thanking him. And the other difficulties were got over in the same fashion.

Then the bride and bridegroom wrote, for themselves and M. Zubin, to Stepan Mihailovitch and Arina Vassilyevna, pressing them to honour the wedding by their presence; but the old people, as a matter of course, declined the invitation. They had lived so long in their country solitude that town and town society seemed to them something strange and formidable. None of the daughters wished to go either; but Stepan Mihailovitch thought this awkward, and desired Elizabeth and Alexandra to attend the wedding. The latter was accompanied by her husband, Karatayeff; but Yerlykin was detained by his duties at Orenburg.

The presence of these uninvited and unexpected guests was the cause of much annoyance to Sofya Nikolayevna. Her future sisters-in-law were clever and cunning women; they were determined to dislike her, and their behaviour to her was cold, unfriendly, and even rude. Though Sofya Nikolayevna knew very well the sort of attitude they were likely to adopt, yet she thought it her duty to be friendly and even cordial to them at first; but when she saw that all her efforts were vain, and that the better she treated them the worse they treated her, she retired behind a wall of cold civility. But this did not protect her from those mean hints and innuendoes which it is impossible not to understand and not to resent, though it is awkward to do either, because you lay yourself open to the retort—"If the cap fits, wear it!" This odious form of attack, now banished to the servants' hall by the advance of refinement, was formidable in those days, and much used in the houses of rural landowners, many of whom differed little from their own servants in their manners and customs. But is it true that it has really been banished? Does it not still live on among us, concealed under more decent and artistic forms?

The good people of Ufa made fun, as might be expected, of the country clothes and manners of the two ladies. As to Karatayeff, who had now adopted all the Bashkir habits and began drinking Bashkir decoctions at eight in the morning, when he was first introduced to Sofya Nikolayevna, he kissed her hand with a sounding smack three times over, and cried out with real Bashkir enthusiasm, "My word! what a dazzler brother Alexyéi has hooked!" The coarse jests and compliments of the man were as distressing as the malicious sallies of the women; and both forced Sofya Nikolayevna to swallow many tears. But worse than all was the blindness of Alexyéi Stepanitch: he seemed perfectly satisfied with the relations between his sisters and his bride, and this was not only a mortification for the present but also a peril for the future. These venomous creatures, who were staying with their brother, began at once to drop their poison into his simple soul, and did it so artfully that he did not suspect their manœuvres. Allusions to the young lady's pride, to the poverty which she hid under jewels and fine clothes, to her caprices and his meek submission to them, were dinned into his ears all day long. Much passed unnoticed, but much also went straight to the mark and made him thoughtful and vaguely uneasy. All their attacks, whether secret or open, were accompanied by a pretence of sympathy and sisterly affection. "What makes you look so worn, my dear boy?" Elizabeth would ask; "Sofya Nikolayevna wears you out with all her commissions. You've just got back from the other end of the town, tired and hungry, and off you run again, without eating a morsel, to dance attendance on her. As your sisters, we can't help being sorry for you"; and then sham tears, or at least some play with the pocket-handkerchief, completed the crafty sentence. Then Alexandra would make a furious entry into the conversation. "No, my dear, I really cannot stand it! I know you will be angry, and perhaps you will cease to love us; but I can't help it, I must tell you the truth. You are quite changed: you're ashamed of us and have forgotten us altogether; your one wish is to mumble that girl's hand; your one fear, to get into her black books. You have become her lackey, her slave! Then it cuts us to the heart to see that old witch, Mme. Alakayeff, ordering you about like a servant and making you fetch and carry for her; and she's not content with that, but finds fault with you and urges you to greater activity." Alexyéi Stepanitch could think of no answer to all this, except that he loved his sisters and would continue to do so, and—it was time to go and see Sofya Nikolayevna; whereupon he took his hat and hurried off. "Oh, go by all means!" Alexandra called after him, "and go quick; or else she will be angry and perhaps withhold her hand from your lips!" Scenes like this took place again and again and undoubtedly left their impression.

Sofya Nikolayevna could not help noticing that his sisters' visit had brought about a certain change in her lover. He seemed depressed, was less exact in keeping his engagements, and spent less time with her. The reason for this she herself understood very well; and Mme. Alakayeff, who had become a very intimate friend and also knew all that went on in the Bagroffs' lodgings, did not fail to provide her with detailed information. Her impulsive nature made her unwilling to let things drag on. She reasoned justly, that she ought not to give time for the sisters' influence to take root at leisure, that she must open her lover's eyes and put the strength of his character and affection to a decisive test. If they proved too weak, it was better to part before marriage than to unite her fate to such a feeble creature, who was, to use her own expression, "neither a shield from the sun nor a cloak to keep out the rain." She summoned him early one morning and ordered that no visitors should be admitted to the drawing-room where they were sitting. Then she turned to Alexyéi Stepanitch, who was looking pale and frightened, and addressed him as follows:—

"I wish to have a frank explanation with you and to make a clean breast of what I am feeling; and I ask you to do the same. Your sisters detest me and did their best to rouse your parents against me. That I know from yourself. But your love overcame all obstacles: your parents gave you their approval, and I resolved to accept you and brave the hatred of all your family. I hoped to find protection in your love for me and in my endeavour to prove to your parents that I don't deserve their displeasure. But now I see that I was mistaken. You saw yourself how I received your sisters, how friendly I was and how hard I tried to please them; and, though their rudeness made me draw back, yet I never once failed in politeness to them. And what has been the result? It is only a week since they came, and you treat me differently already: you make me promises and then forget to keep them; you spend less time with me; you are depressed and anxious, and even less affectionate to me than you used to be. Don't defend yourself, or deny it; that would not be honourable on your part. I know that you love me still, but you are afraid to show it; you fear your sisters, and that is why you are depressed and even avoid opportunities of being alone with me. You know yourself that all this is quite true. Well, then, tell me, how can I hope that your love will stand firm? It is a strange kind of love that turns coward and hides, because your sisters disapprove of your bride, as you knew they did long ago. Suppose your parents disapprove of me and turn up their noses at me? What then? Then you will really cease to love me. No, Alexyéi Stepanitch, honourable men do not behave so to the woman they love. The knowledge that your sisters disliked me should have made you twice as attentive and twice as devoted in their presence; and then they would not have dared to utter a syllable; but you have suffered them to use insulting language in your presence. I know just how they speak to you. From all this I conclude that your love is not love at all, but love-making, that I cannot rely on you, and that we had better part now than be unhappy for life. Consider carefully what I have said; I shall give you two days to think it over. Come to the house as usual, but I shall not see you alone and shall not refer to this interview. After two days, I shall ask for an honest answer to these questions: 'Have you sufficient firmness to be my defender against your relations and any one else who chooses to insult me? Can you shut your sisters' mouths and prevent them from uttering in your presence a single insulting word or allusion against me?' To break her engagement a week before her marriage is a great misfortune for any girl; but it is better to bear it once for all than to suffer all one's life. You know that I am not in love with you, but I was beginning to love you; and I believe my love would have been stronger and more constant than yours. Now, good-bye! For to-day and to-morrow we are strangers."

Long before she ended, Alexyéi Stepanitch had been in tears, and he tried several times to interrupt; but, before he could open his mouth, she had left the room and shut the door behind her. It was some time before he recovered from this tremendous blow. But at last the terrible thought of losing his adored mistress presented itself to him with appalling reality, and summoned up that energy and vigour of which the mildest and gentlest of men are capable, though they cannot keep it up for long. He hurried home; and, when his sisters, with no pity for his evident disturbance and distress, greeted him with the usual malicious jests, he flew into such a rage and attacked them with such fury that they were frightened. The wrath of a gentle patient man is a formidable thing. Among other things he told his sisters that, if they ventured to say another insulting word about his bride or about himself, he would instantly move to other lodgings, from which, as well as from M. Zubin's house, they would be excluded; and he would write to his father and tell him the whole story. That was enough. Alexandra had a clear recollection of her father's warning-"Keep your tongue quiet, and don't stir up the rest of the family!" She knew very well what a thunder-cloud her brother's complaint would call up, and what alarming consequences she might expect. Both the sisters fell on their brother's neck and begged forgiveness with tears; they solemnly declared that it should never happen again; they were really very fond of Sofya Nikolayevna, and it was only out of pity for his health and fear that he was doing too much that they had ventured on these foolish jests. They called on Sofya Nikolayevna that same day and paid court to her with the utmost servility. The meaning of all this was not lost upon her, and she felt she had prevailed.

The position of her lover really deserved pity. His feelings, which had been calmed and composed to some extent by frequent interviews with Sofya Nikolayevna, her simple friendly behaviour to him, and the near prospect of the marriage, had then been rather alarmed and abashed by the sneers of his sisters; and now they flamed up so fiercely, that at the present moment he was capable of any self-sacrifice, of any desperate action, a true knight-errant! His state of mind was clearly reflected on his handsome young face during those two endless days. The lovers met several times, and Sofya Nikolayevna could not look at his face without pain; but she had the firmness to support the test she had imposed. The agitation and pity which she felt were a surprise to herself. She felt that she did really love this simple, modest young man, who was absolutely devoted to her and would not have hesitated to put an end to his existence if she made up her mind to refuse him. At last the two long days were over. Early on the third day Alexyéi Stepanitch sat in the drawing-room, waiting for his mistress to appear. The door opened softly, and in she came, more beautiful, more charming than ever. She was smiling, and her eyes expressed such tenderness that, when he looked at her and saw her kind hand stretched out towards him, the excess of his emotion deprived him for an instant of the power of speech. He soon recovered, and then, instead of taking her hand, fell at her feet and poured forth a torrent of burning heartfelt eloquence. She interrupted him and raised him to his feet. Then she said: "I see and feel your love, and I share it; I believe all your promises; I put my fate in your hands without fear." She had never been so affectionate to him before, and she used words of tenderness which he had never before heard from her lips.

Only five days remained before the marriage. All their preparations were complete, and the lovers were free to spend most of their time together. For five whole months Sofya Nikolayevna had been true to her intention of educating her future husband over again. She never lost a suitable moment, but did her best to impart those ideals which he did not possess, to clear up and develop feelings of which he was dimly conscious, and to root out the notions which he had derived from his early surroundings. She even made him read, and discussed with him the books he had read, explaining what puzzled him, filling up gaps in his memory, and illustrating fiction from real life. But it is probable that she got on faster with her task during these five days than in the course of five long months; for the recent incident which I have described had raised her lover's mind to a higher level of refinement, and he was in an unusually receptive and impressionable mood. How far the teacher succeeded on the whole in impressing her ideas upon the pupil, I cannot venture to decide. It is hard to know how much weight to attach to the opinions of the two persons concerned; but it is certain that in later years they both maintained—and they appealed to the evidence of disinterested persons in confirmation of the statement—that a great change took place in Alexyéi Stepanitch, and even a complete transformation. I am very willing to believe it; but I have a proof that his proficiency in social etiquette left something to be desired. I know that he made his bride very angry the day before the marriage, and that her vehemence left a strong and painful impression on his mind. It happened in the following way. Two ladies were calling on Sofya Nikolayevna when a servant brought in a paper parcel and handed it to his mistress, with the explanation that Alexyéi Stepanitch had sent it by his coachman and wished her at once to make a cap for his sister Alexandra. Her lover had left her half an hour before without saying one word about this commission, and Sofya Nikolayevna was exceedingly annoyed. The ladies, who were of some importance, had supposed at first that the parcel contained a present from the bridegroom; and now they did not try to conceal their amusement. Sofya Nikolayevna lost patience: she ordered the parcel to be returned, with a message that Alexyéi Stepanitch had better apply to a milliner; it was no doubt a mistake to have brought the thing to her. The explanation was quite simple. On going home, he had found his sister in a great difficulty, because the milliner, who had engaged to make her a cap for the wedding, had fallen ill and returned the materials. As he had seen with his own eyes the skill with which Sofya Nikolayevna could trim hats and caps, he offered to help his sister out of her trouble, and told his servant to carry the parcel to his bride, with a humble request that she would trim a cap for Alexandra. But the servant was busy, and, instead of going himself, sent the coachman; and the humble request became, in the coachman's mouth, an imperious demand. Alexyéi Stepanitch hastened back to explain matters, and carried with him the same unlucky parcel. Sofya Nikolayevna had not yet cooled down, when she saw him coming into the room with the odious parcel under his arm; and she flared up worse than ever, and said many violent and unkind things which she had better have left unspoken. The culprit, utterly dumbfounded, tried to defend himself, but did it very badly; he was seriously hurt by this onslaught. She sent the materials for the cap to some milliner she knew of; and then, repenting of her violence, she tried to put matters right. But, to her surprise, Alexyéi Stepanitch could not get over it: he felt that he had been unjustly treated, and she had frightened him. He became very depressed, and her efforts to calm and cheer him were unsuccessful.

The wedding-day, the 10th of May, 1788, arrived, and the bridegroom paid an early visit to his bride. After her excitement of the previous day, she was distressed to see that Alexyéi Stepanitch still wore the same pained expression. She felt hurt; for she had always supposed that he would be in an ecstasy of joy on the day when he led her to the altar; and here he was, looking demure and even depressed! She expressed her feelings, and that made matters worse. Of course, he assured her that he considered himself the happiest man in the world, and so on; but the pompous and trivial phrases, which he had repeated many a time before and she had heard with satisfaction, were now distasteful to her ear, because they lacked the fire of inward conviction. They soon parted, to meet next in church, where the bridegroom was to be in waiting for her at six in the evening.

Sofya Nikolayevna was assailed by a terrible misgiving—would she be happy in her marriage? A host of dark forebodings passed before her heated imagination. She blamed herself for her hot temper and violent language; she recognised that the offence was trifling, and that she must expect many slips of the kind on her lover's part, and must take them calmly. They had happened often enough before; but, on this occasion, the unlucky combination of circumstances and the presence of the two unfriendly visitors had pricked her vanity and irritated her natural impetuosity. Conscious that she had frightened her lover, she repented of her fault; but at the same time she was aware in the depth of her heart that she was quite capable of committing the same fault again. And now she realised afresh all the difficulty of the tremendous task she had undertaken—the reformation and regeneration of a man of twenty-seven. Her whole life—and it might be long—must be spent with a husband whom she loved indeed but could not entirely respect; there would be constant collision between utterly different ideas and opposite qualities, and they would often misunderstand one another. Doubts of success, doubts of her own strength, doubts of her power to command the qualities of firmness and calmness so foreign to her nature—these rose before her for the first time in their appalling truth, and she shrank back in terror. But what could she do? If she broke off the marriage at the eleventh hour, what would be the consequences? It would be a terrible blow to her dying father, who took comfort in the conviction that his daughter would be happy in the care of a kind husband; her rivals in society and enemies would mock at her; she would be the talk of the town and the laughing-stock of the district, perhaps even a mark for calumny; and, above all, she would kill, literally kill, her devoted lover. And all for what? Merely because she was afraid she might lack firmness to carry out a purpose which she had deliberately formed and which was beginning to take shape with triumphant success. "No! that shall never be! God will help me; Our Lady of Smolensk will be my intercessor and will give me strength to conquer my impetuous nature." Thus Sofya Nikolayevna thought, and thus she decided. She wept and prayed and regained her stability.

The Church of the Assumption was quite close to the Zubins' house, and there was then an empty space round it. Long before six o'clock, it was surrounded by a crowd of curious spectators. The high steps projecting from the house into the street were blocked by the carriages of the privileged persons who had been invited to escort the bride. The bride was dressed, and her little brother, Nikolinka, whose birth had cost his mother her life three years before, put on the stockings and shoes, according to established custom, though of course the maids lent their assistance. By six the bride was ready; she received her father's blessing and came into the drawing-room. The rich bridal-dress lent an added lustre to her beauty. The bridegroom, on his way to church, had to pass right under the drawing-room windows, and Sofya Nikolayevna saw him drive past in the English carriage drawn by the four fine horses bred at Bagrovo; he had his head out and was looking up at the open windows; she smiled and nodded. Next came the bridegroom's sisters with Mme. Alakayeff, and all the men who were escorting him to church. She did not wish to keep him waiting, and insisted, in spite of various hindrances, that they should start at once. Sofya Nikolayevna was calm and composed when she entered the church; she gave her arm cheerfully and smilingly to the bridegroom; but she was vexed to see that his face still wore the same sad expression; and it was generally remarked that they both looked depressed during the ceremony. The church was brilliantly lighted and full of people; the cathedral choir did not spare their voices. Altogether, it was a dignified and splendid ceremony. When the rite was over, the young couple were escorted to the Zubins' house by the bridegroom's sisters, the whole train of friends and relations on both sides, and all the important people of Ufa. Dancing began at once and went on till an early but sumptuous supper was served. Privileged guests paid a visit to M. Zubin in his study and congratulated him on his daughter's marriage. The usual festivities took place on the next and following days—balls, dinners, and calls, in fact, the regular routine which we see nowadays even in Moscow and Petersburg.

The shade of sadness soon vanished from the faces of the young couple. They were perfectly happy. Kind people could not look at them without pleasure; and every one said, "What a handsome couple!" A week later, they prepared for a visit to Bagrovo; the bridegroom's sisters had gone back there three days after the wedding, and Sofya Nikolayevna had sent by them an affectionate letter to the old people.

Startled by their brother's explosion, Elizabeth and Alexandra had been cautious of late. They refrained from all hints and sneers and grimaces in his presence, and were even polite to Sofya Nikolayevna. She, of course, was not taken in by this; but their brother entirely believed in the sincerity of their devotion to his bride. At the wedding and the festivities which followed, they were, naturally, somewhat out of place, and therefore hastened their departure. On arriving at Bagrovo, they determined to do nothing rash and to hide their hostility towards Sofya Nikolayevna from their father; but to their mother and two sisters they described the marriage and events at Ufa in such a way as to fill their minds with a strong prejudice against the bride; and they did not forget to mention their brother's threats and his fury excited by their attacks upon Sofya Nikolayevna. It was agreed to treat her kindly in the presence of Stepan Mihailovitch, and to say nothing bad about her to him directly; at the same time they were to use every opportunity to excite by indirect means his displeasure against their enemy. It was a highly delicate operation; and Elizabeth and Alexandra could not trust it to any hands but their own.

My grandfather questioned them minutely about the wedding, the people they had seen there, the health of M. Zubin, and so on. They praised everything, but the poison under their praises could be smelt and tasted, and they failed to deceive their father. By way of a joke, and perhaps also for the sake of comparison, he turned to Karatayeff and said: "Well, now, friend Ivan, what say you of the daughter-in-law? As a man, you are a better judge of the point than the women are." Karatayeff, disregarding a signal from his wife, burst out with enthusiasm: "I do assure you,batyushka, that such another dazzler"—he always used this phrase of a beautiful woman—"as brother Alexyéi has bagged is not to be found in the whole world. A look from her is as good as a shilling. And her cleverness! it's past all telling. But there's one thing,batyushka: she's proud; she can't stand a joke. When you try to have a little fun with her, she gives you a look that makes you bite off the end of your tongue." "I see, my friend, that she made short work with your nonsense," said the old man with an amused look; then he laughed and added, "Not much amiss there, so far." In fact, Stepan Mihailovitch, from what he had heard and the bride's letters and Karatayeff's description, had formed in his own mind a highly favourable opinion of Sofya Nikolayevna.

The expected visit of the young couple produced bustle and confusion in the quiet or, one might say, stagnant waters of life at Bagrovo. They had to bestir themselves, to clean things up, and bring out their best clothes. The bride was a fine town lady, poor, perhaps, but accustomed to live in luxury; she would be critical and contemptuous—so they all thought, and so they all said, except the master of the house. As there were no separate rooms in the house unoccupied, Tanyusha had to turn out of her bedroom, one corner of which overlooked the garden and the clear waters of the Boogoorooslan with its green bushes and loud nightingales. Tanyusha was very unwilling to move to the bath-house, but there was no other place: all her sisters were put up in the house, and Karatayeff and Yerlykin slept in the hayloft. The day before the visitors' arrival brought their state-bed and bed-hangings and curtains for the windows, and with them a man who knew how to put everything up properly. Tanyusha's room was completely furnished in a few hours. Stepan Mihailovitch came to see it and expressed his admiration, but the women bit their lips with envy. At last a messenger galloped up and announced that the couple had stopped at the village of Noikino, eightverstsfrom Bagrovo; they were to change their dress there and would arrive in two hours. This caused a general stir. The priest had been summoned hours before; but, as he had not yet arrived, Stepan Mihailovitch sent a mounted messenger to hasten his steps.

Meantime the following scene was taking place in the Mordvinian village of Noikino. The travellers were making their way along side roads and had always to send a man ahead to arrange about fresh horses. The people of Noikino had all known Alexyéi Stepanitch from childhood, and had a great regard and respect for his father. Every one of the six hundred inhabitants of the village, men and women, old and young, gathered before the cottage where the young people were to make their halt. Sofya Nikolayevna had probably never seen people of this tribe close at hand; and therefore the dress of the women and the uncommonly tall stout girls—their white shifts embroidered with red wool, their black woollen girdles, and the silver coins and little bells which hung from their heads over their breasts and backs—was very interesting to her. But, when she heard them all break out into joyful greetings and compliments and good wishes, childish enough and expressed in bad Russian, but coming from the heart, then she both laughed and cried. "What a fine wife God has given you, Alosha! How glad our father Stepan Mihailovitch will be! Good luck! Good luck!" But, when the bride, arrayed in her fine city clothes, came out to take her seat in the carriage, there was such a roar of enthusiastic applause that the horses actually shied. The travellers made a present of tenroubles, to be spent on whisky, to the whole village, and went on their way.

The stackyard at Bagrovo was at the top of a hill, and now the high carriage was seen emerging from behind it. The cry, "They're coming! they're coming!" flew from room to room, and house-servants and labourers soon gathered in the large courtyard, while the young people and children ran to meet the carriage. The master and mistress, attended by all their family, came out upon the steps. Arina Vassilyevna wore a silk jacket and skirt and a silk handkerchief adorned with gold sprigs upon her head; Stepan Mihailovitch was clean-shaved and wore an old-fashioned frock-coat and a stock round his neck. Husband and wife stood on the top step; and he held in his hands an ikon representing the Presentation of the Virgin, while she carried a loaf of bread and a silver salt-cellar. Their daughters and two sons-in-law were grouped round them. The carriage drove up to the steps. The young couple got out, knelt down before the old people, and received their blessing; then they exchanged embraces with each member of the family. Hardly had the bride completed this ceremony and turned again towards her father-in-law, when he caught her by the hand and looked keenly at her eyes from which the tears were falling. His own eyes grew wet; he clasped her in a tight embrace, kissed her, and said, "I thank God. Let us go and thank Him together!" He took her by the hand and led her through the crowd of people into the parlour. There he made her sit near him; and the priest, who was waiting for them with his robes on, pronounced the solemn words—

"We praise thee, O God: we acknowledge thee to be the Lord."

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