Sofya Nikolayevna was an astonishing woman! Lively, impressionable, and excitable, she could be carried away in a moment by impulses of the head or heart, and was capable of very sudden and complete transformations of behaviour. In later years stupid people accused her of insincerity on this ground, but no one else did. It was really a kind of artistic power, which enabled her to adapt herself instantly to a new atmosphere and a new position, and to act absolutely in accordance with her immediate purpose; and this purpose, being entirely sincere, acted like a spell on others. In this case, she laid herself out to calm the agitation of her father-in-law, for whom she had conceived a warm affection, and who had championed her cause at the cost of his peace of mind and at the risk of his health; and she wished to relieve her husband and his family, who had been terrified and assailed owing to her slip of the tongue. Her imagination and feelings were so completely mastered by this purpose that she exercised a kind of magical power over the party and soon subdued them all by the irresistible spell of her personality. She poured out tea herself and handed the cups herself, first to her father-in-law and then to the rest; she talked to every one so easily and pleasantly and brightly that the old man, quite convinced that she had caught no glimpse of the skeleton in the cupboard, soon relaxed his features. Of him also it was true that his cheerfulness was infectious; and, before an hour had passed, all traces of the storm of yesterday had disappeared.Immediately after dinner the young couple started off to pay two ceremonial visits—to Ilarion Kalpinsky and his wife Catherine at Nyeklyoodovo, and to our old acquaintance Mme. Lupenevsky, who lived within twoverstsof the Kalpinskys. Kalpinsky was in his own way a remarkable man: though he had received no regular education, he was very intelligent and well-read; his origin was obscure—it was said that he was of Mordvinian descent—but he had risen to a considerable rank in the public service, and had made a marriage of interest with the daughter of a country gentleman of good family. His present pursuit was farming, and his object to save money. He set up for a freethinker; and his few neighbours who had heard of Voltaire called him a Voltairian. He lived at home without taking any part in the life of the family, and reserved to himself complete freedom in the gratification of his somewhat Epicurean tastes and habits. Though she had heard of him, Sofya Nikolayevna had never seen him, because he had only recently removed to Orenburg from his public office at Petersburg. She was surprised to find in him a man possessed of intelligence and culture according to the standards of the time, and dressed like a gentleman living in the capital. She was pleased with him at first; but he soon began to show off before such an attractive visitor, and then his profanity and the shameless immorality of his family life made her feel a disgust for him which she never afterwards got over. His wife was far more intelligent than her sister, Mme. Lupenevsky, but not her superior in any other respect. The visit lasted for an hour, and was followed by a visit to Mme. Lupenevsky. In both houses tea was given to the guests and home-made jam, and the meal was seasoned with a kind of conversation which horrified Sofya Nikolayevna. Both families were invited to dine at Bagrovo on the following Sunday. By one of those striking inconsistencies in human nature which it is impossible to explain, Mme. Lupenevsky fell in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and used such language to her at parting that her guest must needs either blush or laugh aloud; nevertheless her words were the expression of sincere and even enthusiastic attachment.The pair reached home an hour before supper-time, and were welcomed with unusual cordiality and pleasure by Stepan Mihailovitch, whom they found sitting on the familiar stoop. He was much amused when he was told that Mme. Lupenevsky had conceived such a passion for his daughter-in-law, kissing her repeatedly, claiming that they were kindred spirits, and lavishing terms of affection upon her. Contrary to custom, the whole family went out again to the stoop after supper, and spent a long time there in cheerful conversation with the master of the household, in the cool of the night and under the starry sky. Stepan Mihailovitch, though he could not have explained why, was fond of the faint colourless light that follows the glow of sunset.The solemn feast on the Sunday was to be something beyond what had ever been seen at Bagrovo, but nothing special happened on either of the intervening days. Yerlykin came back from Boogoorooslan looking yellow and ill, as he always did after a drinking-bout. Stepan Mihailovitch knew of his son-in-law's unfortunate weakness or disease, and tried to cure him by dosing him with unpalatable drinks, but without success. When sober, Yerlykin had a loathing for alcohol and could not raise a glass of wine to his lips without a shudder; but he was seized four times a year with a sudden and irresistible craving for spirits. If the attempt was made to keep drink from him, he became a most pitiable and wretched object, talking constantly and weeping, and begging abjectly for the poison; and if it was still refused, he became frantic and even capable of attempts at suicide. Sofya Nikolayevna, who had heard the whole story, was exceedingly sorry for him. She spoke kindly to him and tried to make him talk to her. But it was no good: the General persisted in his sullen silence and gloomy pride. Instead of being grateful to her sister-in-law, Elizabeth resented these advances to her husband, and expressed her resentment in bitter terms. But Stepan Mihailovitch noticed this and addressed a stern reproof to his clever daughter, who did not love her sister-in-law any the better in consequence.Stepan Mihailovitch twice took his daughter-in-law out to see his crops of rye and spring-sown wheat, and drove with her to all his favourite water-springs in the hills, and the "Sacred Wood" where the trees had been protected from the axe by a religious service. The old man believed that all these sights were interesting and agreeable to her; but in fact she positively disliked them all. Her sole support was in the thought that she would soon leave Bagrovo and would do her best never to set eyes on it again. If any one had told her that she would spend most of her life there, grow old there, and even die there, she would not have believed it: she would have said that death was preferable, and would have meant what she said. But whatever God decrees, to that man can become accustomed, and that he can endure.Sunday came and the guests began to assemble. Mme. Myortvavo came, and the Kalpinskys and Lupenevskys, and two old bachelors, the judge and the mayor of Boogoorooslan. Another guest was Afrosinya Andréyevna (her surname, which was never used, I forget), a spare little old lady and a great talker; she had a small estate near Bagrovo. She was famous for her powers of invention, and Stepan Mihailovitch liked at times to listen to her, as a grown man sometimes listens with pleasure to a fairy tale intended for children.But Afrosinya Andréyevna deserves that the reader should have at least a bowing acquaintance with her. At one time in her life she had spent ten years in Petersburg to watch a lawsuit; when she won it, she came back to her little estate in the country. She brought back with her from Petersburg a store of anecdotes whose extravagance made Stepan Mihailovitch laugh till he cried. For instance, she used to represent herself as a bosom friend of the Empress Catherine, adding by way of explanation that two people could not live ten years in the same town without being thrown together. "I was in church one day"—she talked this way when she was in the vein—"the people were going out, and the Empress walked past me, and I made a low curtsey and ventured to congratulate her on the festival; and then Her Majesty was so very kind and condescending as to say: 'How are you, Afrosinya Andréyevna? How is your suit going? Why don't you come to see me of an evening and bring your knitting with you? We could chat together and pass the time pleasantly.' Of course I never missed an evening after that. I got to know the people about the court, and every one in the palace without a single exception knew me and liked me. Suppose a royal footman was sent anywhere, to buy something it might be, he never failed to look in at my house and tell me all about it. As a matter of course, I always offered him a glass of something good; I kept a bottle of whisky in the cupboard on purpose. I was sitting by my window one evening when I saw a royal footman in red uniform, with the coat of arms on it, ride past at a gallop; he was soon followed by a second and a third. That was too much for me: I threw up the window and called out, 'Philip Petrovitch! Philip Petrovitch! what are you all galloping for, and why don't you pay me a visit?' 'No time! Afrosinya Andréyevna!' was his answer; 'a terrible thing has happened: candles will soon be wanted at the palace, and we've run out of them!' 'Stop!' I cried out; 'I have 5 lbs. of candles laid in; you can come in and take them.' Philip Petrovitch was delighted; I carried out the candles with my own hands and relieved the people from their difficulty. So you see,batyushkaStepan Mihailovitch, they simply couldn't help being fond of me."Stepan Mihailovitch had many traits of character peculiar to himself; and this was one—though he was a sworn foe to deliberate lying of every kind, and detested the most trifling deception and even the kind of evasion which is sometimes quite excusable, yet he liked listening to the harmless fabrications and fictions of simple people, who were innocently carried away by the vividness of their imagination till they actually came to believe in their own incredible romancing. He liked talking to Afrosinya Andréyevna, not only at a merry party, but also when they were alone together, if he was in the right mood for it; and she spent whole hours in pouring out for his benefit the story of her life in Petersburg, which consisted entirely of such incidents as that which I have already quoted.But it is time to go back to the guests arriving at Bagrovo. The mayor'skaftan44and the judge's uniform were equally remarkable; but the best sight of all was Kalpinsky: on each side of him stood a female scarecrow in the person of his wife and of her sister, while he himself wore an embroidered coat of French cut, a pair of watch-chains, a number of rings, silk stockings and shoes with gold buckles. All the family wore their best bib and tucker, and even Stepan Mihailovitch was forced to smarten himself up. M. Chichagoff, who had a critical, satirical turn of mind, made fun with much effect of the motley assembly and especially of his friend Kalpinsky; he was talking all the time to his wife and to her inseparable companion, Sofya Nikolayevna, who sat together and apart from the rest. Sofya Nikolayevna had hard work to keep from laughing: she tried not to listen, and begged Chichagoff either to hold his tongue or to start a conversation with Stepan Mihailovitch, whom he would find worthy of respect. He did so, and soon took a great fancy to the old man; and his feeling was reciprocated. But Stepan Mihailovitch disliked Kalpinsky, both as an upstart and also as an unbeliever and loose-liver.The splendour of the banquet may be imagined. Stepan Mihailovitch for once resigned all his favourite dishes—haggis, roast ribs of pork, and porridge made of green rye. Achefhad been procured, of special skill in the culinary art. Materials of all sorts were provided in abundance—a six-weeks-old calf, a pig fed to monstrous proportions, fat sheep, and poultry of all kinds. It was the custom then to place all the courses at once on the cloth; and the table at Bagrovo could hardly hold them all or support their weight. Cold dishes came first—smoked hams seasoned with garlic; next came green cabbage soup and crayfish soup, with forcemeat balls and rolls of different kinds; then fish-salad on ice, sturgeon kippered and sturgeon dried, and a dish heaped mountain-high with crayfish tails. Of entrées there were only two: salted quailsaux choux, and stuffed ducks with a red sauce containing raisins, plums, peaches, and apricots. These entrées were a concession to modern fashion; Stepan Mihailovitch did not like them and called them "kickshaws." They were followed by a turkey of enormous size and fatness, and a hindquarter of veal; the accessories were preserved melons and gourds, apple chips, and pickled mushrooms. The dinner ended up with round jam-tarts and raised apple pies served with thick cream. All this was washed down with home-made liquors, home-brewed March beer, icedkvass, and foaming mead.Such were the meals which our heroic grandfathers and grandmothers consumed without leaving out a single course, and even managed to digest satisfactorily! But they took their time over it, and the meal went on for hours. The dishes were solid, substantial affairs, as we have seen, and there were plenty of them; and the servants also, both those of the house and those whom the guests brought with them, had no idea of waiting: they bustled about and collided with one another and seemed likely at every moment to spill the sauce or the gravy over some lady's dress.The dinner was a cheerful meal. The master of the house had Mme. Myortvavo on his right, and on his left Chichagoff, who steadily rose in his host's good graces and was quite capable, unaided, of enlivening the dullest of parties. The young couple were near the head of the table, with Mme. Chichagoff and Kalpinsky; the latter, while paying constant attentions to the two young women and exchanging an occasional jest with Alexyéi Stepanitch, ate for two all the time, to make up for the voluntary abstinence which he practised at home, in his eagerness to save money. Yerlykin sat next to Chichagoff; unlike the rest of the party, he ate little and drank nothing but cold water; he never spoke, but looked gloomy and profound. The lady of the house had her daughters and nieces with other guests near her at table. The party next adjourned to the drawing-room, where there were two tables set out with sweetmeats. On one stood a round cabinet of Chinese porcelain resting on a round metal stand which was gilt and painted in bright colours. The cabinet contained a number of closely-fitting trays, each of which held a different sort of preserved fruit—raspberries, strawberries, cherries, gooseberries, and blackberries; and there were crystallised rose-petals in a small round receptacle at the top. This cabinet, which would be considered very rare and precious nowadays, was a present sent by the bride's father to Stepan Mihailovitch. Small plates were set out on the other table, filled with black and white currants, apricots, peaches, dates, raisins, nuts of many kinds, and almonds in the shell.Stepan Mihailovitch rose from table in such good spirits that he did not even wish to lie down and rest. All could see—and indeed he wished it to be seen—his pride in his daughter-in-law and his affection for her; and her love and respect for him were as plain to see. During dinner he often turned towards her and asked her to do him some trifling service—to hand something, or pour out something. "Please help me yourself," he would say, "for you and I agree in our tastes"—or, "Just remind me of what I said to you the other day"—or, "Do repeat what you told me yesterday; I seem to have forgotten it." After dinner it was the same: he often asked her to give some order, or to hand him something, and so on. The form of his address was always plain and unpretentious, sometimes even unceremonious; but the tone of affection in which these appeals were expressed left no doubt in the mind of any spectator that he was entirely captivated by his daughter-in-law. And she, I need hardly say, replied with love and gratitude to every token of the stern old man's love for her—tokens often so slight that many would have missed them. Stepan Mihailovitch, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, tried to make Mme. Lupenevsky talk: pretending ignorance, he asked in a loud voice, "Well, Flona, what say you of my daughter-in-law?" The lady's enthusiasm had been raised to a higher pitch by the ale and strong waters she had been drinking. She declared most positively and solemnly that she had fallen in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and rather preferred her to her own daughter, Lizanka; and that Alexyéi Stepanitch was the most fortunate of men. "It used to be quite another story," said the old man significantly; "don't change back again, my dear!" But now Sofya Nikolayevna, perhaps from a dislike for this topic, strongly urged her father-in-law to go and lie down, if only for a short time. He consented, and she went with him and drew his curtains with her own hand; he asked her to see to the entertainment of the party, and she hurried back, pleased and flattered by this commission. While some lay down to rest, the others crossed to the island and sat on the river-bank in the shade of the trees. Sofya Nikolayevna was reminded of the scene that had taken place there so recently—her unreasonable excitement and the unjust reproaches which had rankled in the mind of her husband. Her heart was full; and, though she saw him now, in perfect content and happiness, laughing loudly at a story which Kalpinsky was telling, she drew him aside, threw her arms round him, and said with tears in her eyes, "Forgive me, my dear, and bury in oblivion all that happened here on the day we came!" Alexyéi Stepanitch had a strong objection to tears; but he kissed both her hands and said good-humouredly, "How can you recall such a trifle, my darling? You are quite wrong to trouble yourself." Then he hurried back to hear the end of the story, which was very amusing as Kalpinsky told it. Though there was really no cause for distress, Sofya Nikolayevna felt a momentary heartache.The master of the house soon woke and summoned all the party to join him by the stoop. Tables and chairs were placed in the broad thick shadow cast by the house; and thesamovarwas soon hissing. Tea was poured out by Sofya Nikolayevna; there were rolls and scones and cream so thick that it had a golden tinge on it; and for all this some at least of the guests still found room. The Kalpinskys and Mme. Lupenevsky went off after tea: there was positively no room for them to sleep at Bagrovo, and they had not far to go, only fifteenversts. The guests from Boogoorooslan also took their leave.Mme. Myortvavo and her party left early next morning, and the Yerlykins after dinner, to prepare for a visit from the young couple on their way back to Ufa. The same evening Stepan Mihailovitch announced quite frankly that the time had come for the rest of the party to disperse: he wished to spend the last days alone with his son and daughter-in-law, and to enjoy their society without interruption. As a matter of course, his wishes were carried out. Alexandra said "good-bye" to her sister-in-law as graciously as she could, and the sister-in-law said "good-bye" to her with unfeigned satisfaction. Her secret wish to spend some days without the hateful presence of Elizabeth and Alexandra had been divined by Stepan Mihailovitch; and she blessed him in her thoughts for his power of intuition. Aksinya was quite different; and Sofya Nikolayevna parted from her with feelings of gratitude and real affection. None of this escaped the old man's keen eyes. Tanyusha and her mother caused no constraint, partly because they were more good-tempered and friendly to their guest, and also because they often withdrew and left the others to their own devices.The three remaining days were spent at Bagrovo in perfect peace of mind, untroubled by malevolent observation or pretences of affection or venomous innuendoes. The strain on Sofya Nikolayevna's nerves was relaxed, and she was able to take her bearings with less prejudice and study the peculiarities of the little world in which she found herself. In spite of their complete unlikeness to herself, she could now understand her mother-in-law and Tanyusha better, and make allowances for them; she could form a cooler judgment of Stepan Mihailovitch, and could understand how her husband came to be what he was. To some extent she realised that Alexyéi could not be entirely changed, and that the time was distant—perhaps it would never come—when misunderstandings between them would cease. But this last thought passed too lightly through her mind; and the old dream, that she could educate her husband over again and make a new man of him, took fresh hold of her eager imagination. What happens to most young wives in the course of life was happening now to Sofya Nikolayevna: she found in her husband a certain inferiority, certain limitations of feeling and perception; and though her love for him was none the less passionate on that account, she was beginning to feel vaguely dissatisfied with his love for her, because he found room in his heart for other things—the pond and the island, the steppe and its population of snipe, the river and those horrid fish! A feeling of jealousy, though directed to no definite object as yet, was lurking at her heart; and she felt a dim presentiment of coming disaster.Stepan Mihailovitch also had been somewhat taken up hitherto by constant observation of the feelings and actions of his daughters; but now he was more at leisure to attend to his daughter-in-law and his son also. For all his want of education and rough-and-ready way of expressing himself, his natural sagacity and power of intuition revealed to him the whole difference of character between the two; and he found here matter for serious reflexion. Their present love for one another was a pleasant sight to him, and he felt happy when he saw Sofya Nikolayevna's eyes constantly fixed on her husband and her eager desire to please him; but his happiness had a shade of fear and of disbelief in the solidity and permanence of a state of things in itself so charming. He would have liked to speak his mind on the subject, to give them some hints or some useful advice; but, whenever he began, he could not find the right words for thoughts and feelings which he could not make clear even to himself; and he went no further than those trivial commonplaces which, for all their triviality, have been bequeathed to us by the practical wisdom of past generations and are verified by our own experience. His failure troubled him, and he said so frankly to his daughter-in-law. She was a clever woman, yet she failed to understand the thoughts which the old man was turning over in his brain, and the feeling hidden in his heart. To his son he said: "Your wife is very clever and very excitable. Her tongue will probably run away with her at times; if so, don't be weak with her: stop her at once, and make her see her mistake. Scold her, but forgive her at once; if she displeases you, don't be sullen or keep up resentment; have it all out with her at once. But trust her absolutely; she is as true as steel." Again, when he was alone with Sofya Nikolayevna, he said to her: "My dear daughter-in-law, God has given you many good gifts. I have only one thing to say to you: don't give the reins to your impetuous temper. Your husband is honest and kind; his temper is mild, and he will never willingly hurt your feelings; don't you hurt his. Honour him and treat him with respect. If you cease to respect your husband, things will go wrong. Suppose he says or does something you don't like, then say nothing; don't be too exacting, and don't expect perfection. I can see you through and through, and I love you dearly. For God's sake, don't fill the cup till it runs over: anything can be overdone, even a wife's devotion to her husband."The advice was received as always by his son with profound respect, and by Sofya Nikolayevna with the ardent gratitude of a daughter. There was much talk on other subjects—their future life at Ufa, the husband's prospects in his profession, and the means of defraying their expenditure. Definite arrangements were made on all points, and all parties were satisfied.And now the day came for their departure. The silk curtains in the bedroom were taken down; the muslin and satin pillow-cases with broad lace edging were taken off the pillows; and all this finery was packed up and dispatched to Ufa. Pies of different kinds were baked for the travellers. Father Vassili was summoned once more, and the prayers for those "travelling by land or by water" were said. Fresh horses were to be in readiness at Korovino, fortyverstsaway; to that point they were to be taken by the Bagrovo horses, the same fine team of six which had conveyed the pair on their ceremonial visits. They dined together for the last time; and for the last time Stepan Mihailovitch pressed his favourite dishes on his daughter-in-law. The carriage was already standing at the steps. When the party rose from table, they went to the drawing-room and sat there in silence for some minutes. Then Stepan Mihailovitch crossed himself and rose to his feet; the rest followed his example, said a prayer,45and began their good-byes. All shed tears except Stepan Mihailovitch, and even he had hard work to refrain. He embraced his daughter-in-law and gave her his blessing; then he whispered in her ear, "Mind, I look forward to a little grandson." She blushed up to the ears and kissed his hands without speaking; and now he did not resist her doing so. All the outdoor servants and most of the peasants were standing by the steps. Some of them had half a mind to come forward and say farewell to their young master and mistress; but Stepan Mihailovitch, who hated good-byes and parting scenes, called out, "What are you up to there? Make your bow, and that will be enough!" Sofya Nikolayevna had only time to exchange greetings with one or two of the people. They took their seats quickly, and the strong horses started off with the carriage as if it had been a mere feather. Stepan Mihailovitch shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand; for some minutes he tried to make out the moving carriage in the cloud of dust which followed it; and, when it had reached the stackyard at the top of the hill, he went back to his own room and lay down to sleep.
Sofya Nikolayevna was an astonishing woman! Lively, impressionable, and excitable, she could be carried away in a moment by impulses of the head or heart, and was capable of very sudden and complete transformations of behaviour. In later years stupid people accused her of insincerity on this ground, but no one else did. It was really a kind of artistic power, which enabled her to adapt herself instantly to a new atmosphere and a new position, and to act absolutely in accordance with her immediate purpose; and this purpose, being entirely sincere, acted like a spell on others. In this case, she laid herself out to calm the agitation of her father-in-law, for whom she had conceived a warm affection, and who had championed her cause at the cost of his peace of mind and at the risk of his health; and she wished to relieve her husband and his family, who had been terrified and assailed owing to her slip of the tongue. Her imagination and feelings were so completely mastered by this purpose that she exercised a kind of magical power over the party and soon subdued them all by the irresistible spell of her personality. She poured out tea herself and handed the cups herself, first to her father-in-law and then to the rest; she talked to every one so easily and pleasantly and brightly that the old man, quite convinced that she had caught no glimpse of the skeleton in the cupboard, soon relaxed his features. Of him also it was true that his cheerfulness was infectious; and, before an hour had passed, all traces of the storm of yesterday had disappeared.Immediately after dinner the young couple started off to pay two ceremonial visits—to Ilarion Kalpinsky and his wife Catherine at Nyeklyoodovo, and to our old acquaintance Mme. Lupenevsky, who lived within twoverstsof the Kalpinskys. Kalpinsky was in his own way a remarkable man: though he had received no regular education, he was very intelligent and well-read; his origin was obscure—it was said that he was of Mordvinian descent—but he had risen to a considerable rank in the public service, and had made a marriage of interest with the daughter of a country gentleman of good family. His present pursuit was farming, and his object to save money. He set up for a freethinker; and his few neighbours who had heard of Voltaire called him a Voltairian. He lived at home without taking any part in the life of the family, and reserved to himself complete freedom in the gratification of his somewhat Epicurean tastes and habits. Though she had heard of him, Sofya Nikolayevna had never seen him, because he had only recently removed to Orenburg from his public office at Petersburg. She was surprised to find in him a man possessed of intelligence and culture according to the standards of the time, and dressed like a gentleman living in the capital. She was pleased with him at first; but he soon began to show off before such an attractive visitor, and then his profanity and the shameless immorality of his family life made her feel a disgust for him which she never afterwards got over. His wife was far more intelligent than her sister, Mme. Lupenevsky, but not her superior in any other respect. The visit lasted for an hour, and was followed by a visit to Mme. Lupenevsky. In both houses tea was given to the guests and home-made jam, and the meal was seasoned with a kind of conversation which horrified Sofya Nikolayevna. Both families were invited to dine at Bagrovo on the following Sunday. By one of those striking inconsistencies in human nature which it is impossible to explain, Mme. Lupenevsky fell in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and used such language to her at parting that her guest must needs either blush or laugh aloud; nevertheless her words were the expression of sincere and even enthusiastic attachment.The pair reached home an hour before supper-time, and were welcomed with unusual cordiality and pleasure by Stepan Mihailovitch, whom they found sitting on the familiar stoop. He was much amused when he was told that Mme. Lupenevsky had conceived such a passion for his daughter-in-law, kissing her repeatedly, claiming that they were kindred spirits, and lavishing terms of affection upon her. Contrary to custom, the whole family went out again to the stoop after supper, and spent a long time there in cheerful conversation with the master of the household, in the cool of the night and under the starry sky. Stepan Mihailovitch, though he could not have explained why, was fond of the faint colourless light that follows the glow of sunset.The solemn feast on the Sunday was to be something beyond what had ever been seen at Bagrovo, but nothing special happened on either of the intervening days. Yerlykin came back from Boogoorooslan looking yellow and ill, as he always did after a drinking-bout. Stepan Mihailovitch knew of his son-in-law's unfortunate weakness or disease, and tried to cure him by dosing him with unpalatable drinks, but without success. When sober, Yerlykin had a loathing for alcohol and could not raise a glass of wine to his lips without a shudder; but he was seized four times a year with a sudden and irresistible craving for spirits. If the attempt was made to keep drink from him, he became a most pitiable and wretched object, talking constantly and weeping, and begging abjectly for the poison; and if it was still refused, he became frantic and even capable of attempts at suicide. Sofya Nikolayevna, who had heard the whole story, was exceedingly sorry for him. She spoke kindly to him and tried to make him talk to her. But it was no good: the General persisted in his sullen silence and gloomy pride. Instead of being grateful to her sister-in-law, Elizabeth resented these advances to her husband, and expressed her resentment in bitter terms. But Stepan Mihailovitch noticed this and addressed a stern reproof to his clever daughter, who did not love her sister-in-law any the better in consequence.Stepan Mihailovitch twice took his daughter-in-law out to see his crops of rye and spring-sown wheat, and drove with her to all his favourite water-springs in the hills, and the "Sacred Wood" where the trees had been protected from the axe by a religious service. The old man believed that all these sights were interesting and agreeable to her; but in fact she positively disliked them all. Her sole support was in the thought that she would soon leave Bagrovo and would do her best never to set eyes on it again. If any one had told her that she would spend most of her life there, grow old there, and even die there, she would not have believed it: she would have said that death was preferable, and would have meant what she said. But whatever God decrees, to that man can become accustomed, and that he can endure.Sunday came and the guests began to assemble. Mme. Myortvavo came, and the Kalpinskys and Lupenevskys, and two old bachelors, the judge and the mayor of Boogoorooslan. Another guest was Afrosinya Andréyevna (her surname, which was never used, I forget), a spare little old lady and a great talker; she had a small estate near Bagrovo. She was famous for her powers of invention, and Stepan Mihailovitch liked at times to listen to her, as a grown man sometimes listens with pleasure to a fairy tale intended for children.But Afrosinya Andréyevna deserves that the reader should have at least a bowing acquaintance with her. At one time in her life she had spent ten years in Petersburg to watch a lawsuit; when she won it, she came back to her little estate in the country. She brought back with her from Petersburg a store of anecdotes whose extravagance made Stepan Mihailovitch laugh till he cried. For instance, she used to represent herself as a bosom friend of the Empress Catherine, adding by way of explanation that two people could not live ten years in the same town without being thrown together. "I was in church one day"—she talked this way when she was in the vein—"the people were going out, and the Empress walked past me, and I made a low curtsey and ventured to congratulate her on the festival; and then Her Majesty was so very kind and condescending as to say: 'How are you, Afrosinya Andréyevna? How is your suit going? Why don't you come to see me of an evening and bring your knitting with you? We could chat together and pass the time pleasantly.' Of course I never missed an evening after that. I got to know the people about the court, and every one in the palace without a single exception knew me and liked me. Suppose a royal footman was sent anywhere, to buy something it might be, he never failed to look in at my house and tell me all about it. As a matter of course, I always offered him a glass of something good; I kept a bottle of whisky in the cupboard on purpose. I was sitting by my window one evening when I saw a royal footman in red uniform, with the coat of arms on it, ride past at a gallop; he was soon followed by a second and a third. That was too much for me: I threw up the window and called out, 'Philip Petrovitch! Philip Petrovitch! what are you all galloping for, and why don't you pay me a visit?' 'No time! Afrosinya Andréyevna!' was his answer; 'a terrible thing has happened: candles will soon be wanted at the palace, and we've run out of them!' 'Stop!' I cried out; 'I have 5 lbs. of candles laid in; you can come in and take them.' Philip Petrovitch was delighted; I carried out the candles with my own hands and relieved the people from their difficulty. So you see,batyushkaStepan Mihailovitch, they simply couldn't help being fond of me."Stepan Mihailovitch had many traits of character peculiar to himself; and this was one—though he was a sworn foe to deliberate lying of every kind, and detested the most trifling deception and even the kind of evasion which is sometimes quite excusable, yet he liked listening to the harmless fabrications and fictions of simple people, who were innocently carried away by the vividness of their imagination till they actually came to believe in their own incredible romancing. He liked talking to Afrosinya Andréyevna, not only at a merry party, but also when they were alone together, if he was in the right mood for it; and she spent whole hours in pouring out for his benefit the story of her life in Petersburg, which consisted entirely of such incidents as that which I have already quoted.But it is time to go back to the guests arriving at Bagrovo. The mayor'skaftan44and the judge's uniform were equally remarkable; but the best sight of all was Kalpinsky: on each side of him stood a female scarecrow in the person of his wife and of her sister, while he himself wore an embroidered coat of French cut, a pair of watch-chains, a number of rings, silk stockings and shoes with gold buckles. All the family wore their best bib and tucker, and even Stepan Mihailovitch was forced to smarten himself up. M. Chichagoff, who had a critical, satirical turn of mind, made fun with much effect of the motley assembly and especially of his friend Kalpinsky; he was talking all the time to his wife and to her inseparable companion, Sofya Nikolayevna, who sat together and apart from the rest. Sofya Nikolayevna had hard work to keep from laughing: she tried not to listen, and begged Chichagoff either to hold his tongue or to start a conversation with Stepan Mihailovitch, whom he would find worthy of respect. He did so, and soon took a great fancy to the old man; and his feeling was reciprocated. But Stepan Mihailovitch disliked Kalpinsky, both as an upstart and also as an unbeliever and loose-liver.The splendour of the banquet may be imagined. Stepan Mihailovitch for once resigned all his favourite dishes—haggis, roast ribs of pork, and porridge made of green rye. Achefhad been procured, of special skill in the culinary art. Materials of all sorts were provided in abundance—a six-weeks-old calf, a pig fed to monstrous proportions, fat sheep, and poultry of all kinds. It was the custom then to place all the courses at once on the cloth; and the table at Bagrovo could hardly hold them all or support their weight. Cold dishes came first—smoked hams seasoned with garlic; next came green cabbage soup and crayfish soup, with forcemeat balls and rolls of different kinds; then fish-salad on ice, sturgeon kippered and sturgeon dried, and a dish heaped mountain-high with crayfish tails. Of entrées there were only two: salted quailsaux choux, and stuffed ducks with a red sauce containing raisins, plums, peaches, and apricots. These entrées were a concession to modern fashion; Stepan Mihailovitch did not like them and called them "kickshaws." They were followed by a turkey of enormous size and fatness, and a hindquarter of veal; the accessories were preserved melons and gourds, apple chips, and pickled mushrooms. The dinner ended up with round jam-tarts and raised apple pies served with thick cream. All this was washed down with home-made liquors, home-brewed March beer, icedkvass, and foaming mead.Such were the meals which our heroic grandfathers and grandmothers consumed without leaving out a single course, and even managed to digest satisfactorily! But they took their time over it, and the meal went on for hours. The dishes were solid, substantial affairs, as we have seen, and there were plenty of them; and the servants also, both those of the house and those whom the guests brought with them, had no idea of waiting: they bustled about and collided with one another and seemed likely at every moment to spill the sauce or the gravy over some lady's dress.The dinner was a cheerful meal. The master of the house had Mme. Myortvavo on his right, and on his left Chichagoff, who steadily rose in his host's good graces and was quite capable, unaided, of enlivening the dullest of parties. The young couple were near the head of the table, with Mme. Chichagoff and Kalpinsky; the latter, while paying constant attentions to the two young women and exchanging an occasional jest with Alexyéi Stepanitch, ate for two all the time, to make up for the voluntary abstinence which he practised at home, in his eagerness to save money. Yerlykin sat next to Chichagoff; unlike the rest of the party, he ate little and drank nothing but cold water; he never spoke, but looked gloomy and profound. The lady of the house had her daughters and nieces with other guests near her at table. The party next adjourned to the drawing-room, where there were two tables set out with sweetmeats. On one stood a round cabinet of Chinese porcelain resting on a round metal stand which was gilt and painted in bright colours. The cabinet contained a number of closely-fitting trays, each of which held a different sort of preserved fruit—raspberries, strawberries, cherries, gooseberries, and blackberries; and there were crystallised rose-petals in a small round receptacle at the top. This cabinet, which would be considered very rare and precious nowadays, was a present sent by the bride's father to Stepan Mihailovitch. Small plates were set out on the other table, filled with black and white currants, apricots, peaches, dates, raisins, nuts of many kinds, and almonds in the shell.Stepan Mihailovitch rose from table in such good spirits that he did not even wish to lie down and rest. All could see—and indeed he wished it to be seen—his pride in his daughter-in-law and his affection for her; and her love and respect for him were as plain to see. During dinner he often turned towards her and asked her to do him some trifling service—to hand something, or pour out something. "Please help me yourself," he would say, "for you and I agree in our tastes"—or, "Just remind me of what I said to you the other day"—or, "Do repeat what you told me yesterday; I seem to have forgotten it." After dinner it was the same: he often asked her to give some order, or to hand him something, and so on. The form of his address was always plain and unpretentious, sometimes even unceremonious; but the tone of affection in which these appeals were expressed left no doubt in the mind of any spectator that he was entirely captivated by his daughter-in-law. And she, I need hardly say, replied with love and gratitude to every token of the stern old man's love for her—tokens often so slight that many would have missed them. Stepan Mihailovitch, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, tried to make Mme. Lupenevsky talk: pretending ignorance, he asked in a loud voice, "Well, Flona, what say you of my daughter-in-law?" The lady's enthusiasm had been raised to a higher pitch by the ale and strong waters she had been drinking. She declared most positively and solemnly that she had fallen in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and rather preferred her to her own daughter, Lizanka; and that Alexyéi Stepanitch was the most fortunate of men. "It used to be quite another story," said the old man significantly; "don't change back again, my dear!" But now Sofya Nikolayevna, perhaps from a dislike for this topic, strongly urged her father-in-law to go and lie down, if only for a short time. He consented, and she went with him and drew his curtains with her own hand; he asked her to see to the entertainment of the party, and she hurried back, pleased and flattered by this commission. While some lay down to rest, the others crossed to the island and sat on the river-bank in the shade of the trees. Sofya Nikolayevna was reminded of the scene that had taken place there so recently—her unreasonable excitement and the unjust reproaches which had rankled in the mind of her husband. Her heart was full; and, though she saw him now, in perfect content and happiness, laughing loudly at a story which Kalpinsky was telling, she drew him aside, threw her arms round him, and said with tears in her eyes, "Forgive me, my dear, and bury in oblivion all that happened here on the day we came!" Alexyéi Stepanitch had a strong objection to tears; but he kissed both her hands and said good-humouredly, "How can you recall such a trifle, my darling? You are quite wrong to trouble yourself." Then he hurried back to hear the end of the story, which was very amusing as Kalpinsky told it. Though there was really no cause for distress, Sofya Nikolayevna felt a momentary heartache.The master of the house soon woke and summoned all the party to join him by the stoop. Tables and chairs were placed in the broad thick shadow cast by the house; and thesamovarwas soon hissing. Tea was poured out by Sofya Nikolayevna; there were rolls and scones and cream so thick that it had a golden tinge on it; and for all this some at least of the guests still found room. The Kalpinskys and Mme. Lupenevsky went off after tea: there was positively no room for them to sleep at Bagrovo, and they had not far to go, only fifteenversts. The guests from Boogoorooslan also took their leave.Mme. Myortvavo and her party left early next morning, and the Yerlykins after dinner, to prepare for a visit from the young couple on their way back to Ufa. The same evening Stepan Mihailovitch announced quite frankly that the time had come for the rest of the party to disperse: he wished to spend the last days alone with his son and daughter-in-law, and to enjoy their society without interruption. As a matter of course, his wishes were carried out. Alexandra said "good-bye" to her sister-in-law as graciously as she could, and the sister-in-law said "good-bye" to her with unfeigned satisfaction. Her secret wish to spend some days without the hateful presence of Elizabeth and Alexandra had been divined by Stepan Mihailovitch; and she blessed him in her thoughts for his power of intuition. Aksinya was quite different; and Sofya Nikolayevna parted from her with feelings of gratitude and real affection. None of this escaped the old man's keen eyes. Tanyusha and her mother caused no constraint, partly because they were more good-tempered and friendly to their guest, and also because they often withdrew and left the others to their own devices.The three remaining days were spent at Bagrovo in perfect peace of mind, untroubled by malevolent observation or pretences of affection or venomous innuendoes. The strain on Sofya Nikolayevna's nerves was relaxed, and she was able to take her bearings with less prejudice and study the peculiarities of the little world in which she found herself. In spite of their complete unlikeness to herself, she could now understand her mother-in-law and Tanyusha better, and make allowances for them; she could form a cooler judgment of Stepan Mihailovitch, and could understand how her husband came to be what he was. To some extent she realised that Alexyéi could not be entirely changed, and that the time was distant—perhaps it would never come—when misunderstandings between them would cease. But this last thought passed too lightly through her mind; and the old dream, that she could educate her husband over again and make a new man of him, took fresh hold of her eager imagination. What happens to most young wives in the course of life was happening now to Sofya Nikolayevna: she found in her husband a certain inferiority, certain limitations of feeling and perception; and though her love for him was none the less passionate on that account, she was beginning to feel vaguely dissatisfied with his love for her, because he found room in his heart for other things—the pond and the island, the steppe and its population of snipe, the river and those horrid fish! A feeling of jealousy, though directed to no definite object as yet, was lurking at her heart; and she felt a dim presentiment of coming disaster.Stepan Mihailovitch also had been somewhat taken up hitherto by constant observation of the feelings and actions of his daughters; but now he was more at leisure to attend to his daughter-in-law and his son also. For all his want of education and rough-and-ready way of expressing himself, his natural sagacity and power of intuition revealed to him the whole difference of character between the two; and he found here matter for serious reflexion. Their present love for one another was a pleasant sight to him, and he felt happy when he saw Sofya Nikolayevna's eyes constantly fixed on her husband and her eager desire to please him; but his happiness had a shade of fear and of disbelief in the solidity and permanence of a state of things in itself so charming. He would have liked to speak his mind on the subject, to give them some hints or some useful advice; but, whenever he began, he could not find the right words for thoughts and feelings which he could not make clear even to himself; and he went no further than those trivial commonplaces which, for all their triviality, have been bequeathed to us by the practical wisdom of past generations and are verified by our own experience. His failure troubled him, and he said so frankly to his daughter-in-law. She was a clever woman, yet she failed to understand the thoughts which the old man was turning over in his brain, and the feeling hidden in his heart. To his son he said: "Your wife is very clever and very excitable. Her tongue will probably run away with her at times; if so, don't be weak with her: stop her at once, and make her see her mistake. Scold her, but forgive her at once; if she displeases you, don't be sullen or keep up resentment; have it all out with her at once. But trust her absolutely; she is as true as steel." Again, when he was alone with Sofya Nikolayevna, he said to her: "My dear daughter-in-law, God has given you many good gifts. I have only one thing to say to you: don't give the reins to your impetuous temper. Your husband is honest and kind; his temper is mild, and he will never willingly hurt your feelings; don't you hurt his. Honour him and treat him with respect. If you cease to respect your husband, things will go wrong. Suppose he says or does something you don't like, then say nothing; don't be too exacting, and don't expect perfection. I can see you through and through, and I love you dearly. For God's sake, don't fill the cup till it runs over: anything can be overdone, even a wife's devotion to her husband."The advice was received as always by his son with profound respect, and by Sofya Nikolayevna with the ardent gratitude of a daughter. There was much talk on other subjects—their future life at Ufa, the husband's prospects in his profession, and the means of defraying their expenditure. Definite arrangements were made on all points, and all parties were satisfied.And now the day came for their departure. The silk curtains in the bedroom were taken down; the muslin and satin pillow-cases with broad lace edging were taken off the pillows; and all this finery was packed up and dispatched to Ufa. Pies of different kinds were baked for the travellers. Father Vassili was summoned once more, and the prayers for those "travelling by land or by water" were said. Fresh horses were to be in readiness at Korovino, fortyverstsaway; to that point they were to be taken by the Bagrovo horses, the same fine team of six which had conveyed the pair on their ceremonial visits. They dined together for the last time; and for the last time Stepan Mihailovitch pressed his favourite dishes on his daughter-in-law. The carriage was already standing at the steps. When the party rose from table, they went to the drawing-room and sat there in silence for some minutes. Then Stepan Mihailovitch crossed himself and rose to his feet; the rest followed his example, said a prayer,45and began their good-byes. All shed tears except Stepan Mihailovitch, and even he had hard work to refrain. He embraced his daughter-in-law and gave her his blessing; then he whispered in her ear, "Mind, I look forward to a little grandson." She blushed up to the ears and kissed his hands without speaking; and now he did not resist her doing so. All the outdoor servants and most of the peasants were standing by the steps. Some of them had half a mind to come forward and say farewell to their young master and mistress; but Stepan Mihailovitch, who hated good-byes and parting scenes, called out, "What are you up to there? Make your bow, and that will be enough!" Sofya Nikolayevna had only time to exchange greetings with one or two of the people. They took their seats quickly, and the strong horses started off with the carriage as if it had been a mere feather. Stepan Mihailovitch shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand; for some minutes he tried to make out the moving carriage in the cloud of dust which followed it; and, when it had reached the stackyard at the top of the hill, he went back to his own room and lay down to sleep.
Sofya Nikolayevna was an astonishing woman! Lively, impressionable, and excitable, she could be carried away in a moment by impulses of the head or heart, and was capable of very sudden and complete transformations of behaviour. In later years stupid people accused her of insincerity on this ground, but no one else did. It was really a kind of artistic power, which enabled her to adapt herself instantly to a new atmosphere and a new position, and to act absolutely in accordance with her immediate purpose; and this purpose, being entirely sincere, acted like a spell on others. In this case, she laid herself out to calm the agitation of her father-in-law, for whom she had conceived a warm affection, and who had championed her cause at the cost of his peace of mind and at the risk of his health; and she wished to relieve her husband and his family, who had been terrified and assailed owing to her slip of the tongue. Her imagination and feelings were so completely mastered by this purpose that she exercised a kind of magical power over the party and soon subdued them all by the irresistible spell of her personality. She poured out tea herself and handed the cups herself, first to her father-in-law and then to the rest; she talked to every one so easily and pleasantly and brightly that the old man, quite convinced that she had caught no glimpse of the skeleton in the cupboard, soon relaxed his features. Of him also it was true that his cheerfulness was infectious; and, before an hour had passed, all traces of the storm of yesterday had disappeared.
Immediately after dinner the young couple started off to pay two ceremonial visits—to Ilarion Kalpinsky and his wife Catherine at Nyeklyoodovo, and to our old acquaintance Mme. Lupenevsky, who lived within twoverstsof the Kalpinskys. Kalpinsky was in his own way a remarkable man: though he had received no regular education, he was very intelligent and well-read; his origin was obscure—it was said that he was of Mordvinian descent—but he had risen to a considerable rank in the public service, and had made a marriage of interest with the daughter of a country gentleman of good family. His present pursuit was farming, and his object to save money. He set up for a freethinker; and his few neighbours who had heard of Voltaire called him a Voltairian. He lived at home without taking any part in the life of the family, and reserved to himself complete freedom in the gratification of his somewhat Epicurean tastes and habits. Though she had heard of him, Sofya Nikolayevna had never seen him, because he had only recently removed to Orenburg from his public office at Petersburg. She was surprised to find in him a man possessed of intelligence and culture according to the standards of the time, and dressed like a gentleman living in the capital. She was pleased with him at first; but he soon began to show off before such an attractive visitor, and then his profanity and the shameless immorality of his family life made her feel a disgust for him which she never afterwards got over. His wife was far more intelligent than her sister, Mme. Lupenevsky, but not her superior in any other respect. The visit lasted for an hour, and was followed by a visit to Mme. Lupenevsky. In both houses tea was given to the guests and home-made jam, and the meal was seasoned with a kind of conversation which horrified Sofya Nikolayevna. Both families were invited to dine at Bagrovo on the following Sunday. By one of those striking inconsistencies in human nature which it is impossible to explain, Mme. Lupenevsky fell in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and used such language to her at parting that her guest must needs either blush or laugh aloud; nevertheless her words were the expression of sincere and even enthusiastic attachment.
The pair reached home an hour before supper-time, and were welcomed with unusual cordiality and pleasure by Stepan Mihailovitch, whom they found sitting on the familiar stoop. He was much amused when he was told that Mme. Lupenevsky had conceived such a passion for his daughter-in-law, kissing her repeatedly, claiming that they were kindred spirits, and lavishing terms of affection upon her. Contrary to custom, the whole family went out again to the stoop after supper, and spent a long time there in cheerful conversation with the master of the household, in the cool of the night and under the starry sky. Stepan Mihailovitch, though he could not have explained why, was fond of the faint colourless light that follows the glow of sunset.
The solemn feast on the Sunday was to be something beyond what had ever been seen at Bagrovo, but nothing special happened on either of the intervening days. Yerlykin came back from Boogoorooslan looking yellow and ill, as he always did after a drinking-bout. Stepan Mihailovitch knew of his son-in-law's unfortunate weakness or disease, and tried to cure him by dosing him with unpalatable drinks, but without success. When sober, Yerlykin had a loathing for alcohol and could not raise a glass of wine to his lips without a shudder; but he was seized four times a year with a sudden and irresistible craving for spirits. If the attempt was made to keep drink from him, he became a most pitiable and wretched object, talking constantly and weeping, and begging abjectly for the poison; and if it was still refused, he became frantic and even capable of attempts at suicide. Sofya Nikolayevna, who had heard the whole story, was exceedingly sorry for him. She spoke kindly to him and tried to make him talk to her. But it was no good: the General persisted in his sullen silence and gloomy pride. Instead of being grateful to her sister-in-law, Elizabeth resented these advances to her husband, and expressed her resentment in bitter terms. But Stepan Mihailovitch noticed this and addressed a stern reproof to his clever daughter, who did not love her sister-in-law any the better in consequence.
Stepan Mihailovitch twice took his daughter-in-law out to see his crops of rye and spring-sown wheat, and drove with her to all his favourite water-springs in the hills, and the "Sacred Wood" where the trees had been protected from the axe by a religious service. The old man believed that all these sights were interesting and agreeable to her; but in fact she positively disliked them all. Her sole support was in the thought that she would soon leave Bagrovo and would do her best never to set eyes on it again. If any one had told her that she would spend most of her life there, grow old there, and even die there, she would not have believed it: she would have said that death was preferable, and would have meant what she said. But whatever God decrees, to that man can become accustomed, and that he can endure.
Sunday came and the guests began to assemble. Mme. Myortvavo came, and the Kalpinskys and Lupenevskys, and two old bachelors, the judge and the mayor of Boogoorooslan. Another guest was Afrosinya Andréyevna (her surname, which was never used, I forget), a spare little old lady and a great talker; she had a small estate near Bagrovo. She was famous for her powers of invention, and Stepan Mihailovitch liked at times to listen to her, as a grown man sometimes listens with pleasure to a fairy tale intended for children.
But Afrosinya Andréyevna deserves that the reader should have at least a bowing acquaintance with her. At one time in her life she had spent ten years in Petersburg to watch a lawsuit; when she won it, she came back to her little estate in the country. She brought back with her from Petersburg a store of anecdotes whose extravagance made Stepan Mihailovitch laugh till he cried. For instance, she used to represent herself as a bosom friend of the Empress Catherine, adding by way of explanation that two people could not live ten years in the same town without being thrown together. "I was in church one day"—she talked this way when she was in the vein—"the people were going out, and the Empress walked past me, and I made a low curtsey and ventured to congratulate her on the festival; and then Her Majesty was so very kind and condescending as to say: 'How are you, Afrosinya Andréyevna? How is your suit going? Why don't you come to see me of an evening and bring your knitting with you? We could chat together and pass the time pleasantly.' Of course I never missed an evening after that. I got to know the people about the court, and every one in the palace without a single exception knew me and liked me. Suppose a royal footman was sent anywhere, to buy something it might be, he never failed to look in at my house and tell me all about it. As a matter of course, I always offered him a glass of something good; I kept a bottle of whisky in the cupboard on purpose. I was sitting by my window one evening when I saw a royal footman in red uniform, with the coat of arms on it, ride past at a gallop; he was soon followed by a second and a third. That was too much for me: I threw up the window and called out, 'Philip Petrovitch! Philip Petrovitch! what are you all galloping for, and why don't you pay me a visit?' 'No time! Afrosinya Andréyevna!' was his answer; 'a terrible thing has happened: candles will soon be wanted at the palace, and we've run out of them!' 'Stop!' I cried out; 'I have 5 lbs. of candles laid in; you can come in and take them.' Philip Petrovitch was delighted; I carried out the candles with my own hands and relieved the people from their difficulty. So you see,batyushkaStepan Mihailovitch, they simply couldn't help being fond of me."
Stepan Mihailovitch had many traits of character peculiar to himself; and this was one—though he was a sworn foe to deliberate lying of every kind, and detested the most trifling deception and even the kind of evasion which is sometimes quite excusable, yet he liked listening to the harmless fabrications and fictions of simple people, who were innocently carried away by the vividness of their imagination till they actually came to believe in their own incredible romancing. He liked talking to Afrosinya Andréyevna, not only at a merry party, but also when they were alone together, if he was in the right mood for it; and she spent whole hours in pouring out for his benefit the story of her life in Petersburg, which consisted entirely of such incidents as that which I have already quoted.
But it is time to go back to the guests arriving at Bagrovo. The mayor'skaftan44and the judge's uniform were equally remarkable; but the best sight of all was Kalpinsky: on each side of him stood a female scarecrow in the person of his wife and of her sister, while he himself wore an embroidered coat of French cut, a pair of watch-chains, a number of rings, silk stockings and shoes with gold buckles. All the family wore their best bib and tucker, and even Stepan Mihailovitch was forced to smarten himself up. M. Chichagoff, who had a critical, satirical turn of mind, made fun with much effect of the motley assembly and especially of his friend Kalpinsky; he was talking all the time to his wife and to her inseparable companion, Sofya Nikolayevna, who sat together and apart from the rest. Sofya Nikolayevna had hard work to keep from laughing: she tried not to listen, and begged Chichagoff either to hold his tongue or to start a conversation with Stepan Mihailovitch, whom he would find worthy of respect. He did so, and soon took a great fancy to the old man; and his feeling was reciprocated. But Stepan Mihailovitch disliked Kalpinsky, both as an upstart and also as an unbeliever and loose-liver.
The splendour of the banquet may be imagined. Stepan Mihailovitch for once resigned all his favourite dishes—haggis, roast ribs of pork, and porridge made of green rye. Achefhad been procured, of special skill in the culinary art. Materials of all sorts were provided in abundance—a six-weeks-old calf, a pig fed to monstrous proportions, fat sheep, and poultry of all kinds. It was the custom then to place all the courses at once on the cloth; and the table at Bagrovo could hardly hold them all or support their weight. Cold dishes came first—smoked hams seasoned with garlic; next came green cabbage soup and crayfish soup, with forcemeat balls and rolls of different kinds; then fish-salad on ice, sturgeon kippered and sturgeon dried, and a dish heaped mountain-high with crayfish tails. Of entrées there were only two: salted quailsaux choux, and stuffed ducks with a red sauce containing raisins, plums, peaches, and apricots. These entrées were a concession to modern fashion; Stepan Mihailovitch did not like them and called them "kickshaws." They were followed by a turkey of enormous size and fatness, and a hindquarter of veal; the accessories were preserved melons and gourds, apple chips, and pickled mushrooms. The dinner ended up with round jam-tarts and raised apple pies served with thick cream. All this was washed down with home-made liquors, home-brewed March beer, icedkvass, and foaming mead.
Such were the meals which our heroic grandfathers and grandmothers consumed without leaving out a single course, and even managed to digest satisfactorily! But they took their time over it, and the meal went on for hours. The dishes were solid, substantial affairs, as we have seen, and there were plenty of them; and the servants also, both those of the house and those whom the guests brought with them, had no idea of waiting: they bustled about and collided with one another and seemed likely at every moment to spill the sauce or the gravy over some lady's dress.
The dinner was a cheerful meal. The master of the house had Mme. Myortvavo on his right, and on his left Chichagoff, who steadily rose in his host's good graces and was quite capable, unaided, of enlivening the dullest of parties. The young couple were near the head of the table, with Mme. Chichagoff and Kalpinsky; the latter, while paying constant attentions to the two young women and exchanging an occasional jest with Alexyéi Stepanitch, ate for two all the time, to make up for the voluntary abstinence which he practised at home, in his eagerness to save money. Yerlykin sat next to Chichagoff; unlike the rest of the party, he ate little and drank nothing but cold water; he never spoke, but looked gloomy and profound. The lady of the house had her daughters and nieces with other guests near her at table. The party next adjourned to the drawing-room, where there were two tables set out with sweetmeats. On one stood a round cabinet of Chinese porcelain resting on a round metal stand which was gilt and painted in bright colours. The cabinet contained a number of closely-fitting trays, each of which held a different sort of preserved fruit—raspberries, strawberries, cherries, gooseberries, and blackberries; and there were crystallised rose-petals in a small round receptacle at the top. This cabinet, which would be considered very rare and precious nowadays, was a present sent by the bride's father to Stepan Mihailovitch. Small plates were set out on the other table, filled with black and white currants, apricots, peaches, dates, raisins, nuts of many kinds, and almonds in the shell.
Stepan Mihailovitch rose from table in such good spirits that he did not even wish to lie down and rest. All could see—and indeed he wished it to be seen—his pride in his daughter-in-law and his affection for her; and her love and respect for him were as plain to see. During dinner he often turned towards her and asked her to do him some trifling service—to hand something, or pour out something. "Please help me yourself," he would say, "for you and I agree in our tastes"—or, "Just remind me of what I said to you the other day"—or, "Do repeat what you told me yesterday; I seem to have forgotten it." After dinner it was the same: he often asked her to give some order, or to hand him something, and so on. The form of his address was always plain and unpretentious, sometimes even unceremonious; but the tone of affection in which these appeals were expressed left no doubt in the mind of any spectator that he was entirely captivated by his daughter-in-law. And she, I need hardly say, replied with love and gratitude to every token of the stern old man's love for her—tokens often so slight that many would have missed them. Stepan Mihailovitch, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, tried to make Mme. Lupenevsky talk: pretending ignorance, he asked in a loud voice, "Well, Flona, what say you of my daughter-in-law?" The lady's enthusiasm had been raised to a higher pitch by the ale and strong waters she had been drinking. She declared most positively and solemnly that she had fallen in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and rather preferred her to her own daughter, Lizanka; and that Alexyéi Stepanitch was the most fortunate of men. "It used to be quite another story," said the old man significantly; "don't change back again, my dear!" But now Sofya Nikolayevna, perhaps from a dislike for this topic, strongly urged her father-in-law to go and lie down, if only for a short time. He consented, and she went with him and drew his curtains with her own hand; he asked her to see to the entertainment of the party, and she hurried back, pleased and flattered by this commission. While some lay down to rest, the others crossed to the island and sat on the river-bank in the shade of the trees. Sofya Nikolayevna was reminded of the scene that had taken place there so recently—her unreasonable excitement and the unjust reproaches which had rankled in the mind of her husband. Her heart was full; and, though she saw him now, in perfect content and happiness, laughing loudly at a story which Kalpinsky was telling, she drew him aside, threw her arms round him, and said with tears in her eyes, "Forgive me, my dear, and bury in oblivion all that happened here on the day we came!" Alexyéi Stepanitch had a strong objection to tears; but he kissed both her hands and said good-humouredly, "How can you recall such a trifle, my darling? You are quite wrong to trouble yourself." Then he hurried back to hear the end of the story, which was very amusing as Kalpinsky told it. Though there was really no cause for distress, Sofya Nikolayevna felt a momentary heartache.
The master of the house soon woke and summoned all the party to join him by the stoop. Tables and chairs were placed in the broad thick shadow cast by the house; and thesamovarwas soon hissing. Tea was poured out by Sofya Nikolayevna; there were rolls and scones and cream so thick that it had a golden tinge on it; and for all this some at least of the guests still found room. The Kalpinskys and Mme. Lupenevsky went off after tea: there was positively no room for them to sleep at Bagrovo, and they had not far to go, only fifteenversts. The guests from Boogoorooslan also took their leave.
Mme. Myortvavo and her party left early next morning, and the Yerlykins after dinner, to prepare for a visit from the young couple on their way back to Ufa. The same evening Stepan Mihailovitch announced quite frankly that the time had come for the rest of the party to disperse: he wished to spend the last days alone with his son and daughter-in-law, and to enjoy their society without interruption. As a matter of course, his wishes were carried out. Alexandra said "good-bye" to her sister-in-law as graciously as she could, and the sister-in-law said "good-bye" to her with unfeigned satisfaction. Her secret wish to spend some days without the hateful presence of Elizabeth and Alexandra had been divined by Stepan Mihailovitch; and she blessed him in her thoughts for his power of intuition. Aksinya was quite different; and Sofya Nikolayevna parted from her with feelings of gratitude and real affection. None of this escaped the old man's keen eyes. Tanyusha and her mother caused no constraint, partly because they were more good-tempered and friendly to their guest, and also because they often withdrew and left the others to their own devices.
The three remaining days were spent at Bagrovo in perfect peace of mind, untroubled by malevolent observation or pretences of affection or venomous innuendoes. The strain on Sofya Nikolayevna's nerves was relaxed, and she was able to take her bearings with less prejudice and study the peculiarities of the little world in which she found herself. In spite of their complete unlikeness to herself, she could now understand her mother-in-law and Tanyusha better, and make allowances for them; she could form a cooler judgment of Stepan Mihailovitch, and could understand how her husband came to be what he was. To some extent she realised that Alexyéi could not be entirely changed, and that the time was distant—perhaps it would never come—when misunderstandings between them would cease. But this last thought passed too lightly through her mind; and the old dream, that she could educate her husband over again and make a new man of him, took fresh hold of her eager imagination. What happens to most young wives in the course of life was happening now to Sofya Nikolayevna: she found in her husband a certain inferiority, certain limitations of feeling and perception; and though her love for him was none the less passionate on that account, she was beginning to feel vaguely dissatisfied with his love for her, because he found room in his heart for other things—the pond and the island, the steppe and its population of snipe, the river and those horrid fish! A feeling of jealousy, though directed to no definite object as yet, was lurking at her heart; and she felt a dim presentiment of coming disaster.
Stepan Mihailovitch also had been somewhat taken up hitherto by constant observation of the feelings and actions of his daughters; but now he was more at leisure to attend to his daughter-in-law and his son also. For all his want of education and rough-and-ready way of expressing himself, his natural sagacity and power of intuition revealed to him the whole difference of character between the two; and he found here matter for serious reflexion. Their present love for one another was a pleasant sight to him, and he felt happy when he saw Sofya Nikolayevna's eyes constantly fixed on her husband and her eager desire to please him; but his happiness had a shade of fear and of disbelief in the solidity and permanence of a state of things in itself so charming. He would have liked to speak his mind on the subject, to give them some hints or some useful advice; but, whenever he began, he could not find the right words for thoughts and feelings which he could not make clear even to himself; and he went no further than those trivial commonplaces which, for all their triviality, have been bequeathed to us by the practical wisdom of past generations and are verified by our own experience. His failure troubled him, and he said so frankly to his daughter-in-law. She was a clever woman, yet she failed to understand the thoughts which the old man was turning over in his brain, and the feeling hidden in his heart. To his son he said: "Your wife is very clever and very excitable. Her tongue will probably run away with her at times; if so, don't be weak with her: stop her at once, and make her see her mistake. Scold her, but forgive her at once; if she displeases you, don't be sullen or keep up resentment; have it all out with her at once. But trust her absolutely; she is as true as steel." Again, when he was alone with Sofya Nikolayevna, he said to her: "My dear daughter-in-law, God has given you many good gifts. I have only one thing to say to you: don't give the reins to your impetuous temper. Your husband is honest and kind; his temper is mild, and he will never willingly hurt your feelings; don't you hurt his. Honour him and treat him with respect. If you cease to respect your husband, things will go wrong. Suppose he says or does something you don't like, then say nothing; don't be too exacting, and don't expect perfection. I can see you through and through, and I love you dearly. For God's sake, don't fill the cup till it runs over: anything can be overdone, even a wife's devotion to her husband."
The advice was received as always by his son with profound respect, and by Sofya Nikolayevna with the ardent gratitude of a daughter. There was much talk on other subjects—their future life at Ufa, the husband's prospects in his profession, and the means of defraying their expenditure. Definite arrangements were made on all points, and all parties were satisfied.
And now the day came for their departure. The silk curtains in the bedroom were taken down; the muslin and satin pillow-cases with broad lace edging were taken off the pillows; and all this finery was packed up and dispatched to Ufa. Pies of different kinds were baked for the travellers. Father Vassili was summoned once more, and the prayers for those "travelling by land or by water" were said. Fresh horses were to be in readiness at Korovino, fortyverstsaway; to that point they were to be taken by the Bagrovo horses, the same fine team of six which had conveyed the pair on their ceremonial visits. They dined together for the last time; and for the last time Stepan Mihailovitch pressed his favourite dishes on his daughter-in-law. The carriage was already standing at the steps. When the party rose from table, they went to the drawing-room and sat there in silence for some minutes. Then Stepan Mihailovitch crossed himself and rose to his feet; the rest followed his example, said a prayer,45and began their good-byes. All shed tears except Stepan Mihailovitch, and even he had hard work to refrain. He embraced his daughter-in-law and gave her his blessing; then he whispered in her ear, "Mind, I look forward to a little grandson." She blushed up to the ears and kissed his hands without speaking; and now he did not resist her doing so. All the outdoor servants and most of the peasants were standing by the steps. Some of them had half a mind to come forward and say farewell to their young master and mistress; but Stepan Mihailovitch, who hated good-byes and parting scenes, called out, "What are you up to there? Make your bow, and that will be enough!" Sofya Nikolayevna had only time to exchange greetings with one or two of the people. They took their seats quickly, and the strong horses started off with the carriage as if it had been a mere feather. Stepan Mihailovitch shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand; for some minutes he tried to make out the moving carriage in the cloud of dust which followed it; and, when it had reached the stackyard at the top of the hill, he went back to his own room and lay down to sleep.