in the young girl's mind, mingling and jostling one another. Long after
darkness had come down, she was still sitting there alone. At last a
feeling of extreme misery, a terrible certainty that her reason was
utterly baffled and growing less and less able to solve her problem,
turned her thoughts to prayer. She hurried to her room to beg for the
light of reason from on high, and fell on her knees before the image of
Our Lady of Smolensk, who had once before by a miracle lightened her
darkness and pointed out to her the path of life. For a long time she
prayed, and her hot tears fell. But by degrees she felt a kind of
relief, a measure of strength, a power of resolve, though she did not
know yet what her resolve would be; and even this feeling helped her.
She went downstairs to look at her father in his sleep; then she came
back to her own room, lay down, and went peacefully to sleep. When she
woke next morning, she was perfectly composed; she reflected for a few
minutes, gave a thought to her hesitation and perplexity of the night
before, and then kept quietly to her purpose, which was, first to have a
conversation with her suitor, and then to settle the matter definitely,
in accordance with the impression left on her mind by their interview.
Alexyei Stepanitch, wishing to know his fate as soon as possible, sent
for the doctor and begged to be put on his legs without delay. The
doctor promised to let him out soon and kept his promise for once.
Within a week Alexyei Stepanitch, though still pale, thin, and feeble,
was sitting in Sofya Nikolayevna's drawing-room. Touched by the loss of
colour and change in his young face, she was not quite as outspoken and
rigorous as she meant to be. In substance she repeated to him what she
had said to Mme. Alakayeff, but she added two points--that she would not
part from her father while he lived, and that she would not live in the
country. She wished to live in a town, in Ufa, for choice, where she was
acquainted with many worthy and cultivated people, and hoped to enjoy
their society after her marriage. She ended by saying that she would
like to see her husband in the public service and holding a position in
the town, which, if not brilliant, should at least secure deference and
respect. To all these conditions and anticipations of a wife's rights,
Alexyei Stepanitch replied, with abject humility, that her will was law
to him, and that his happiness would consist in the fulfilment of all
her wishes. Such an answer no man should have given: it proved that his
love was not to be depended on, and that he could not assure a woman's
happiness; yet it pleased Sofya Nikolayevna, clever as she was.
Reluctantly I must confess that love of power was one of her ruling
passions; and the germs of this passion, now that she had been released
from the cruel oppression of her stepmother, were sprouting actively at
this time. Love of power did really, though she herself did not know it,
help her to her decision.
She expressed a wish to see the letter of consent which he had received
from his parents; and he produced it from his pocket. She read it and
was convinced that she was right in guessing that his wishes had at
first been opposed. The young man was incapable of dissimulation, and
also so much in love that he could not resist a kind look or word from
his idol. So, when Sofya Nikolayevna demanded perfect frankness, he made
a clean breast of everything; and I believe that this frankness finally
settled the question in his favour. Sofya Nikolayevna was clever, but
still she was a woman; and she was filled with the idea of reshaping and
remoulding in her own way this good-tempered young man, so modest and
sincere and uncorrupted by society. How delightful to think of the
gradual awakening and enlightenment of this Orson! Orson had no lack of
sense; and feeling, though wrapt in unbroken slumber, was there too.
Orson would love her still better, if that were possible, in gratitude
for his transformation. This vision took hold of her eager imagination;
and she parted very graciously from her adorer, promising to talk the
matter over with her father and communicate the result through Mme.
Alakayeff. Alexyei Stepanitch was "swimming in bliss"--to use an
expression of that day. That evening Sofya Nikolayevna again had
recourse to prayer, and prayed for a long time with great mental strain
and fervour. She was exhausted when she went to sleep; and she had a
dream which she interpreted, as people often do, as a confirmation of
her purpose. Men are clever enough to interpret anything according to
their desires. This dream I forget; but I remember that it was capable,
with much more probability and much less forcing, of the opposite
interpretation. Next morning Sofya Nikolayevna lost no time in telling
her father, who was now in a very feeble state, of the proposal she had
received. M. Zubin did not know Alexyei Stepanitch, but had somehow come
to think of him as a person of no importance; and he was not pleased, in
spite of his eager desire to see his daughter settled before he died.
But she proved to him, with her usual eagerness and convincing
eloquence, that it was unwise to show the door to such a suitor. She
urged all the advantages of the match which we know already, and, above
all, that, far from parting with him, she would continue to live in the
same house. She painted her helpless condition when it should please God
to remove her father, till the sick man shed a tear and said: "Do as you
please, my dear clever child. I consent to everything. Bring your future
husband to see me soon: I wish to become better acquainted with him. And
I insist on receiving a proposal in writing from his parents."
Sofya Nikolayevna then sent a note to Mme. Alakayeff, asking Alexyei
Stepanitch to call on her father at a fixed hour. He was still "swimming
in bliss," which he shared only with his old friend and supporter; but
he was much disconcerted by this invitation which he had never expected
from such a confirmed invalid. M. Zubin, in the absence of the
Lieutenant-Governor the most important and powerful personage in the
whole district of Ufa! M. Zubin, whom he had always approached with
reverence and awe! His name seemed now more formidable than ever. What
if he frowned on this proposal for his daughter's hand from one of the
humblest of his subordinates? Might he not treat it as insolence, and
thunder out: "How dared you think of my daughter? Are you a fit match
for her? Off with him to prison and to judgment!" However wild these
notions may appear, they did really pass through the young man's head;
and he often told the story afterwards himself. Plucking up his spirits
and encouraged by Mme. Alakayeff, he put on his uniform which hung
loosely on his limbs from loss of flesh, and set off to wait on the
great man. With his three-cornered hat under his arm, and clutching his
troublesome sword in a trembling hand, he entered M. Zubin's study, so
nervous that he could hardly breathe. M. Zubin, who had once been
clever, lively, and energetic, now lay on his couch hardly able to move
and shrunk to a mere skeleton. The visitor bowed low and remained
standing by the door. This in itself was enough to annoy the invalid.
"Step this way, M. Bagroff, and take a chair near my bed; I am too weak
to talk loud." Alexyei Stepanitch, with a profusion of bows, sat down on
the edge of a chair close to the bed. "I understand that you seek my
daughter's hand," the old man went on. The suitor jumped up, bowed, and
said that he did in fact venture to seek this happiness.
I could report the whole of this interview in detail, as I have often
heard it fully described by Alexyei Stepanitch himself; but part of it
would be a repetition of what we know already, and I am afraid of
wearying my readers. The important points are these. M. Zubin questioned
the young man about his family, his means, and his intentions with
regard to his profession and place of residence; he said that Sofya
Nikolayevna would have nothing but her portion of 10,000 _roubles_, two
families of serfs as servants, and 3000 _roubles_ in cash for initial
expenses; and he added: "Though I am quite sure that you, as a dutiful
son, would not have made such a proposal without the consent of your
parents, yet they may change their minds; and social usage requires that
they should write to me personally on the subject; and I cannot give you
a positive answer till I receive a letter to that effect." Alexyei
Stepanitch got up repeatedly, bowed, and sat down again. He agreed to
everything and promised to write that very day to his parents. In half
an hour the invalid said that he was tired--which was perfectly
true--and dismissed the young man rather drily. The moment he left,
Sofya Nikolayevna entered her father's study; he was lying with closed
eyes, and his face expressed weariness and also anxiety. Hearing his
daughter's approach, he threw an imploring glance at her, pressed his
hands to his breast, and ejaculated: "Is it possible, Sonitchka, that
you intend to marry him!" But Sofya Nikolayevna had anticipated the
result of the interview and was prepared for an even worse impression.
"I warned you, father," she said in a gentle but firm voice, "that
Alexyei Stepanitch, owing to utter ignorance of society, awkwardness,
and timidity, was bound to appear to you at first somewhat of a
simpleton; but I, who have seen him often and had long conversations
with him, will vouch for it that he is no fool and has more sense than
most people. I beg you to have two more interviews with him; and I am
sure you will agree with me." M. Zubin looked long at his daughter with
a keen and penetrating gaze, as if he wished to read some secret hidden
in her heart; then he sighed heavily and consented to do what she asked.
By the next post Alexyei Stepanitch sent a very affectionate and
respectful letter to his parents. He thanked them for having given him
life a second time, and humbly begged them to write at once to M. Zubin
and request the hand of his daughter for their son; he added that this
was the regular custom, and without such a letter the father would not
give a positive answer. The fulfilment of this simple request gave some
trouble to the old people at Bagrovo. They were no hands at composition,
and, for want of previous experience, had no idea how to set about it,
while they were exceedingly loath to commit themselves before the
Governor's Deputy and their future relation, who was sure to be a
skilful man of business and a practised writer. It took them a whole
week to compose their letter; at last it got written somehow and was
dispatched to Alexyei Stepanitch. It was not a skilful production,
having none of those polite phrases and expressions of affection which
are indispensable in such cases.
While waiting for the answer from home, Alexyei Stepanitch received two
more invitations from M. Zubin. The second visit did not remove the
unfavourable impression produced by the first. On the next occasion,
however, Sofya Nikolayevna was present. Returning from a call earlier
than usual, she walked into her father's room, as if she did not know
that her suitor was sitting there. Her presence made all the difference.
She could make him talk and knew what he could talk about, so as to
display to advantage his natural good sense, high principle, and
goodness of heart. M. Zubin was obviously pleased: he spoke kindly to
the young man and invited him to come to the house as often as he could.
When they were alone, the old man embraced his daughter with tears,
called her by many fond names, and said she was a witch whose spells
could draw out a man's good qualities, even when they were so deeply
hidden that no one suspected their existence. She too was much pleased;
for she had not dared to hope that Alexyei Stepanitch would do so much
to support her favourable opinion and justify the character she had
given him.
The letter containing the formal proposal arrived at last, and Alexyei
Stepanitch delivered it in person to M. Zubin. Alas! without the magic
presence and aid of Sofya Nikolayevna the suitor failed again to please
his future father-in-law, who was also far from satisfied with the
letter. Next day he had a long conversation with his daughter, in which
he set before her all the disadvantages of marrying a man inferior to
herself in intelligence, education, and force of character; he said that
the Bagroff family would not take her to their hearts--they would be
much more likely to hate her, because coarse and cruel ignorance always
hates refinement; he warned her not to rely on the promises of a lover;
for these as a rule are not kept after marriage, and Alexyei Stepanitch,
even if he wished, would not have the power to keep them. To all this
sage advice, drawn directly from the experience of life, she had an
answer of surprising adroitness; and at the same time she depicted in
such lively colours the advantages of marrying a man who, if he lacked
energy and refinement, was at least kind-hearted, honourable, loving,
and no fool, that her father was carried away by her confidence and gave
his full consent. She clasped her father in her arms and kissed his
wasted hands; then she gave him the _ikon_ and received his
blessing,[40] kneeling by his bed and weeping. "Father," she cried in
her excitement, "with God's help, I hope that in a year's time Alexyei
Stepanitch will be a different creature: the reading of good books, the
society of clever people, and constant conversation with his wife--these
will make up for defects of education; his bashfulness will pass away,
and the power to take a place in society will come of itself." "May it
be so!" he answered. "Now send for the priest. I wish that we should
pray together for your happiness."
[40] The sacred image is often held by the person giving the blessing.
That same evening Alexyei Stepanitch was invited to the house, with Mme.
Alakayeff and some old friends of the Zubins'--M. Anitchkoff and the
Misailoffs; and the favourable answer was given. The young man's bliss
no words can describe: Sofya Nikolayevna, even in extreme old age, used
to speak of his joy at that moment. He threw himself at M. Zubin's feet
and kissed his hands, cried and sobbed like a child, and nearly fainted
from the effect of this immense good-fortune which down to the last
moment had seemed beyond his reach. She too was deeply moved by such a
frank expression of ardent and entire devotion.
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. Alexyei 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 Alexyei 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. Alexyei
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 500 _roubles_ then 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 Alexyei."
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 Alexyei 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! Alexyei 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, Alexyei 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 800
_roubles_, 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--300 _roubles_, 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: Alexyei Stepanitch
thanked them for their kindness and borrowed 500 _roubles_; 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."