the young people's arrival by an entertainment given to the outdoor
servants and all the serfs on the estate; and, if serfs from
neighbouring estates chose to come on foot or on wheels, they were
welcome too. A quantity of beer had been brewed, and some twenty buckets
of strong home-made spirits distilled; and drinking vessels of all kinds
were ready. Before he lay down after dinner, Stepan Mihailovitch had
asked whether many had come from the neighbouring villages. When he was
told that the whole population, from the old men and women to the
babies, had assembled, he smiled and said, "Well, we shall not stint
them; tell the housekeeper and steward to have everything ready." He did
not sleep long, but he woke in even better spirits than when he lay
down. "Is all ready?" he asked at once, and was told that all was ready
long ago. The old man dressed quickly; instead of his ceremonial
frock-coat, he put on his familiar dressing-gown of fine camel's hair,
and went out to the stoop to superintend the entertainment in person. On
the broad lawn which was not fenced off from the road, tables had been
put up on trestles, and the tables were laden with barrels of beer,
casks of whisky, and piles of buns to eat with the liquor; these buns,
made of wheat-flour, were cut in halves. The outdoor servants stood in a
group apart near the house; a great crowd of serfs and their wives stood
further off, and beyond them a still greater crowd of Mordvinians of
both sexes. Stepan Mihailovitch threw a hasty glance over the scene, saw
that all was in order, and went back to his stoop. The family had
collected round him, and he was just going to ask where the young couple
were, when they appeared together. He greeted his daughter-in-law even
more affectionately than before, and treated her with no more formality
than if she had been his own daughter. "Now then, Alosha," he said,
"take your wife's arm and lead her round to greet the people; they are
all anxious to see her and kiss the hand of their young mistress. Let us
start!" He went in front himself; then came Alexyei Stepanitch, leading
his wife, and last, at a little distance, Arina Vassilyevna with her
daughters and their husbands. The sisters-in-law, except Aksinya, found
it hard to restrain their wrath. The signs of growing affection on their
father's part, his mention of Sofya Nikolayevna as "the young mistress,"
the triumph of this hated intruder, her beauty and pretty clothes, her
ready easy tongue, her charming respect and affection for her
father-in-law--all these things rankled in their jealous bosoms. They
felt at once that they had sunk in importance. "It matters less to us,"
whispered Alexandra; "we are severed branches; but I can't look at
Tanyusha without crying. She is nothing now in the household but Sofya
Nikolayevna's maid. And you, mother--no one will respect you any more:
the servants will all look to her for orders." Her voice shook, and the
tears gathered in her round rolling eyes. Meanwhile Stepan Mihailovitch
had got to the outdoor servants and was calling the peasants to come
nearer: "Why don't you all stand together? You all belong to the same
family. Well," he went on, "here you see your young mistress; the young
master you know already. When the time comes, serve them as faithfully
and zealously as you have served me and Arina Vassilyevna, and you will
earn their love and favour." All the people bowed to the ground. The
bride, unaccustomed to such demonstrations, felt disconcerted, not
knowing where to go or what to do. Noticing this, her father-in-law
said: "Don't be frightened! Their heads may bend, but they won't come
off. Well, my friends, first kiss your young mistress's hand, and then
drink to her health." The people all got up and came near Sofya
Nikolayevna. She looked round and signed to her man Theodore and handy
Parasha, who were standing at one side, holding the presents. In a
moment they handed her a large parcel and a well-filled box. It felt
strange to her to stretch out her hand to be kissed while standing
motionless as a statue; and she began to kiss them all herself. This
ceremony was repeated, as each received a gift from her hands. But
Stepan Mihailovitch interfered at this point: he saw that at that rate
he would not get his tea till supper-time. "My dear," he said, "you
can't possibly kiss them all once, let alone twice! There are too many.
The old people are a different matter; but it will be enough if they
kiss your hand." This simplified and shortened the rather tiresome
ceremony, but even so it lasted a long time. Stepan Mihailovitch
sometimes spun it out himself, because he could not refrain from naming
some of the people and praising them to her. Many of the old people
spoke some simple words of love and devotion, some shed tears, and all
looked at the bride with pleasure and cordiality. Sofya Nikolayevna was
much moved. "These good people are ready to love me, and some love me
already," she thought; "how have I deserved it?" At last, when young and
old had kissed her hand and she had kissed some of them, and when all
had received handsome presents, Stepan Mihailovitch took her hand and
led her to the crowd of Mordvinians. "I am glad to see you, neighbours,"
he cried in a hearty cheerful voice; "and thank you for coming. I ask
your goodwill for this young lady who is coming to live near you. You
are welcome to eat and drink what God has given us." The Mordvinians
showed their pleasure by shouting, "Many thanks, Stepan Mihailovitch!
Thank God, for giving such a wife to your son! You deserve such luck for
your goodness, Stepan Mihailovitch."
When the drinking began, Stepan Mihailovitch surrounded by his family
hastened back to his beloved stoop. He was conscious that his tea-time
was long past: it was now past seven, and tea was invariably served at
six. The long shadow of the house was sloping towards the south, and its
edges touched the storehouse and stable; the _samovar_ had long been
hissing on a large table close to the stoop, and Aksyutka was in
attendance. While the rest sat down round the table, Stepan Mihailovitch
stuck to his favourite place: he first spread out his invariable woollen
mat to sit on, and then sat down on the stoop. Tatyana, assisted by
Aksyutka, poured out tea. Then Sofya Nikolayevna asked leave of her
father-in-law to sit beside him, and he consented with obvious
satisfaction. She sprang up from the table, carried her half-finished
cup of tea to the stoop, and sat down beside the old man. He caressed
her and ordered a mat to be put down for her, that she might not spoil
her dress. Then they began a lively, cheerful talk; but at the tea-table
angry looks and even whispers were exchanged, in spite of the presence
of the young husband. He could not help noticing this, and his spirits,
which had not been high before, fell yet lower. Suddenly the old man's
loud voice rang out: "Come and join us, Alosha; it's livelier over
here." Alosha started; but the change of place seemed to improve his
spirits. When tea was over, they remained where they were and went on
talking till supper, which was served at nine--an hour later than usual.
All the time the loud singing and hearty laughter of the revellers rang
out far and wide as the darkness slowly gathered round; but they all
departed to their own homes as soon as the family had finished supper.
On saying "good night" Sofya Nikolayevna asked her father-in-law to give
her his blessing, and the old man at once signed her with the Cross and
kissed her with a father's tenderness.
The young couple were escorted to their room by the lady of the house
and her eldest daughter, who sat there a few minutes; and then it was
the turn of Alexyei Stepanitch to escort his mother and sister to rest.
Sofya Nikolayevna hastily dismissed her maid and sat down by one of the
open windows fronting the river, which was fringed at that point by a
thick border of osier and alder. It was a lovely night: the freshness
from the river and the scent of the young leaves came through the open
windows, together with the trills and calls of the nightingales. But
Sofya Nikolayevna had something else to think of. As a clever woman who
knew in advance what awaited her in her husband's family, she had
naturally formed a plan of action beforehand. She had always lived in a
town and had no conception of the sort of life led by landowners of
moderate means on their scattered estates in that vast country. She had
not expected much, but the reality was far worse than she had imagined.
Nothing was to her taste, neither house, nor garden, nor wood, nor
island. In the neighbourhood of Ufa she had been accustomed to admire
noble views from the mountainous bank of the river Byelaya; and this
little village in a hollow, the time-stained and weather-beaten wooden
house, the pond surrounded by swamps, and the unending clack of the
mill--all this seemed to her actually repulsive. And the people were no
better: from her husband's family to the peasants' children, she could
love none of them. But there was one exception, and that was Stepan
Mihailovitch. But for him, she would have been in despair. She had
formed a favourable opinion of him from the beginning; then, when she
first saw him, she was frightened by his rough exterior; but she soon
read in his intelligent eyes and kindly smile, and heard in his voice,
that this old man had a tender heart which beat kindly to her, that he
was ready to love her and would love her. Knowing from the first that
all her hopes depended upon him, she had firmly resolved to gain his
love by all means; but now she had learnt to love him herself, and her
deliberate plan coincided with the impulse of her heart. In this respect
Sofya Nikolayevna was satisfied with herself: she saw that she had
reached her goal at once. But she was distressed by the thought that by
her impetuosity she had hurt her kind husband. She waited impatiently
for him, but, as if to spite her, he did not return. Had she known where
he was, she would have hurried off in search of him long ago. She longed
to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness with tears, and
to remove the last trace of dissatisfaction from his mind by a torrent
of loving words and caresses. But Alexyei Stepanitch still did not
return; and the happy moment, when she was penitent and loving and
filled with a passionate desire to atone for her fault, went by to no
purpose. An impulse soon passes, and Sofya Nikolayevna first grew
alarmed and then angry at her husband's long absence. When he came in at
last, looking rather upset and distressed, instead of rushing into his
arms and begging to be forgiven, his wife called out to him in an
excited and somewhat irritated voice, as soon as he crossed the
threshold: "Where on earth have you been? Why did you leave me alone? I
am quite worn out with waiting for you two whole hours!" "I sat a
quarter of an hour or so with my mother and sisters," he answered. "And
that was time enough for them to complain of me and invent calumnies
against me, and you believed them! Why are you so depressed and sad?"
Sofya Nikolayevna's face expressed strong emotion, and her beautiful
eyes filled with tears. The young husband was startled and even alarmed;
he was beginning to dread her tears. "Sonitchka," he said, "calm
yourself; no one complained of you; why should they, when you have
injured no one?" This was not quite a true statement. If nobody had
complained openly or attacked her in plain terms, they had implied by
hints and allusions that his wife was singling out her father-in-law to
pay court to, with the object of trampling on the rest of the family;
but they saw through her tricks, and so would her husband some day when
he found himself under her feet! Alexyei Stepanitch did not believe
these innuendoes; but the feeling of sadness, which had never left him
since the scene on the island, became heavier and lay like lead on his
kind heart. He only said, "It is no use talking like that," and left the
room. But, instead of returning at once to his bedroom, he spent some
time in walking alone up and down the parlour which was now dark and
empty. Through the seven open windows he looked at the Jackdaw Wood
sleeping in darkness, and at the dark line of trees by the river, the
scene of his childhood's amusements and occupations; and he listened to
the sound of the mill, the whistles of the nightingales, and the
screeching of the owls. Feeling somewhat relieved, he went off to the
bedroom, entirely unconscious of the reception he was to meet there.
But Sofya Nikolayevna soon grew calmer: the voice of penitence began to
speak again in her heart, though not with the same force as before; she
changed her tone and turned to her husband with a genuine feeling of
love and pity; she caressed him and begged his forgiveness. She spoke
with unfeigned warmth of her happiness in finding that she loved his
father, and begged him to be perfectly frank with her: frankness, she
said, was essential between them. Her husband was soothed and comforted;
and in the fullness of his heart he told her all he had determined to
keep secret at all costs, lest he should make a quarrel between his wife
and his sisters. He lay down and went to sleep at once, but Sofya
Nikolayevna lay awake for long, and her brain worked busily. At last she
remembered that she had to get up early, because she intended to join
her father-in-law on the stoop at sunrise, long before the family
assembled; she wished to cheer the old man by her presence and to speak
her mind to him at leisure. At last, with a strong effort, she fell
asleep.
Sofya Nikolayevna woke with the first rays of the sun. Though she had
not slept long, she rose fresh and vigorous. She dressed quickly, kissed
her husband and told him she was going to his father and he might sleep
on another hour or so, and then hurried off. Stepan Mihailovitch, after
sleeping longer than usual, had just washed himself and gone out to the
stoop. It was a lovely May morning, with all the charm of late spring,
fresh and yet deliciously warm; all living things sang together for joy,
and the long morning shadows still hid the coolness and moisture from
the conquering rays of the sun. The feeling of the morning took hold of
Sofya Nikolayevna and breathed life into her, though she was not
accustomed to be moved by natural beauty or the charms of the country.
Her father-in-law was surprised and pleased to see her. Her fresh face
and shining eyes, her neat hair and pretty dress, made it impossible to
guess that she had sprung out of bed after little sleep and had spent
but little time over her toilet before she hurried out. Stepan
Mihailovitch liked people to be lively and quick and clever; and all
these requirements he was pleased to find in Sofya Nikolayevna. He
kissed her and said good-humouredly: "What made you get up so early? You
can't have had your sleep out. I'm sure you're not accustomed to rise so
early; you will have a headache." "No, _batyushka_," she replied,
embracing the old man with genuine tenderness; "I am used to early
rising. From childhood I have had much to do and many cares, with a sick
father and a whole family to look after. Of late I have been spoilt and
have lain in bed longer. But I woke early this morning, and Alexyei told
me"--here the old man frowned--"that you were up already; so I came out
here, hoping that you would not drive me away but allow me to give you
your tea." The words were ordinary enough, but they came from the heart
and were spoken so earnestly that the old man was touched. He kissed her
forehead and said: "Well, in that case, thank you, my dear child. You
shall give me my tea, and we shall have a leisurely talk together."
Aksyutka had already set the _samovar_ on the table. Stepan Mihailovitch
gave orders that no one else should be called, and Sofya Nikolayevna
began to arrange about the tea. All her actions were as quick and neat
as if she had done nothing else all her life. The old man was pleased,
as he watched that young and pretty figure so unlike what he was
accustomed to, and those busy active fingers. The tea was made strong,
and served exactly as he liked it: that is, the teapot, covered with a
napkin, was placed on the top of the _samovar_; his cup was filled close
up to the brim; Sofya Nikolayevna handed it without spilling a single
drop in the saucer; and the fragrant beverage was so hot that it burnt
his lips. The old man took his cup and tasted the tea. With surprise and
pleasure he said: "I declare you are a witch: you know all my tastes and
fancies. Well, if you make yourself as pleasant to your husband, he will
be a happy man." He generally drank his tea alone, and the family did
not begin theirs till he had finished; but this morning, when he had got
his second cup, he told his daughter-in-law to pour one out for herself
and drink it sitting beside him. "I never drink more than two, but I
will take a third cup to-day; the tea tastes better somehow," he said in
the kindest of tones. And indeed, the pleasure which Sofya Nikolayevna
felt in her occupation was so visible on her expressive face that it
could not but communicate itself to the susceptible nature of Stepan
Mihailovitch; and his spirits rose unusually high. He made her take a
second cup and eat a scone, of the kind for which the ovens at Bagrovo
were long famous. The tea was cleared away, and a conversation began,
most lively and animated, most frank and affectionate. Sofya Nikolayevna
gave free course to her eager feelings; she talked easily and
charmingly; her conquest of the old man was complete. In the middle of
their talk he suddenly asked, "What of your husband? Is he asleep?"
"Alexyei was waking when I left him," she said quickly; "but I told him
to sleep on." The old man frowned severely and was silent. After a
moment's reflexion, he spoke, not angrily but seriously. "Listen to me,
my dear little daughter-in-law; you are so clever that I can tell you
the truth without beating about the bush. I don't like to keep a thing
on my mind. If you take my advice--well and good; if you don't--well,
you are not my daughter and can please yourself. I don't like your
calling your husband 'Alexyei,' as his parents might; he has got another
name;[43] 'Alexyei' is a name you might address to a servant. A wife
must treat her husband with respect if she wishes other people to
respect him. There was another thing yesterday I did not like: you sent
him to fetch the presents, and he stood there holding the tray like a
footman. Then again just now, you said you had 'told' him to go to
sleep. A wife ought not to give orders to her husband; if she does,
mischief comes of it. That may be the fashion with you in the town, but,
according to our old-fashioned country notions, all that is a great
mistake." Sofya Nikolayevna listened respectfully, and then she spoke,
so frankly and feelingly, that every word made its way to the old man's
heart: "I thank you, _batyushka_, for not keeping back from me what
displeased you. I shall gladly do what you wish, and I begin to see
myself that I was wrong. I am still young, _batyushka_, and I have had
no one to guide me: my own father has not left his bed for six years. I
caught up that way of addressing my husband from others; but it shall
never happen again, either in your presence or behind your back.
_Batyushka_," she went on, and the large tears welled from her eyes, "I
have come to love you like a father; treat me always as a daughter: stop
me, scold me, whenever I do wrong, but forgive me and do not keep
displeasure in your heart against me. I am young and hasty, and I may go
wrong at every step. Remember that I am a stranger in this house, where
nobody knows me and I know nobody. Do not you fail me." Then she fell on
his neck and embraced him like a daughter, kissing his breast and even
his hands; and the old man's own eyes filled with tears. He let her keep
hold of his hands and said, "Well, that is all right." As we know
already, Stepan Mihailovitch had a natural sagacity which divined the
presence of evil and was attracted by goodness; and he never made a
mistake in either case. He had taken a fancy to his daughter-in-law at
first sight; and now that he understood her and appreciated her, he
loved her for better and for worse. That love was exposed to many trials
in later years, and any other man might have wavered, but he never
wavered in his love for her to his last breath.
[43] _I.e._ Stepanitch, son of Stephen, which should be used in public
by the wife.
Alexyei Stepanitch soon appeared, and was followed by all the family.
Her daughters had urged Arina Vassilyevna to go out long before, but she
did not dare to appear, because, when Stepan Mihailovitch gave orders
"that no one should be called," it was taken to mean that he did not
wish to see any one. She only came out now because her husband had told
Mazan to summon all the family. There was no trace of tears on Sofya
Nikolayevna's face; and she greeted the newcomers with more than usual
cordiality. Nor could one tell from Stepan Mihailovitch that anything
unusual had happened; but the bride could not conceal her high spirits,
and the two sisters-in-law noticed this at once and guessed the alarming
truth pretty accurately.
Stepan Mihailovitch had settled that the young couple were to visit
their relations in order of seniority; and it was therefore arranged
that they should go to Aksinya's house next day. Aksinya herself went
home that afternoon, accompanied by her sister Elizabeth, who was to
help her in entertaining the guests. The distance was only 50 _versts_,
and the strong Bagrovo horses could go all the way without baiting. The
start was fixed for six o'clock next morning.
Stepan Mihailovitch did not in the least conceal his feelings towards
his daughter-in-law. He kept her beside him and talked with her
repeatedly, asking questions about her family affairs, or making her
speak of her life at Ufa; and he listened to her with attentive
interest, now and then giving his opinion in some pithy phrase. She
eagerly caught up his pertinent remarks; but it was clear that she was
moved, not by obsequious concurrence with the old man's ways of
thinking, but by a full comprehension of his words and a conviction of
their truth. Then in his turn he initiated her into the past and present
history of her new relations; and his whole description was so simple
and true, so frank and lifelike, that she realised it as few could have
done, and was charmed by it. Never in her life had she met his equal.
Her own father was intelligent and kind, emotional and unselfish; but at
the same time he was weak, falling in with the prevailing tone of his
surroundings, and bearing the stamp of the evasive time-serving official
who had worked his way up from a clerk's stool to the position of
Governor's Deputy. Here she saw before her an old man of little
education and uncouth exterior, and report said of him that he was
ruthless when angry; and yet he was sensible, kind, and honest, and
inflexible in his clear judgment of right and wrong--a man who was
upright in all his actions and truthful in every word he spoke. Her
quick intellect conceived a noble type of manly worth, which set aside
her old ideas and opened up new possibilities. And what happiness that
this man was her husband's father! On him depended her peace of mind in
her husband's family, and perhaps even the happiness of her marriage!
Dinner was a much more lively and cheerful affair than on the previous
day. The bride sat as before between her husband and her father-in-law;
but Arina Vassilyevna now took her usual place opposite Stepan
Mihailovitch. Immediately after dinner, Aksinya left, accompanied by
her sister Elizabeth. As the old man was lying down to rest as
usual, he said, "Well, Arisha, I think God has given us a splendid
daughter-in-law; it would be a sin not to take her to our hearts." "True
indeed, Stepan Mihailovitch," she answered; "if you approve of Sofya
Nikolayevna, of course I do." The old man made a wry face but said
nothing; and she hurried away, fearing to make a slip of the tongue, and
anxious to report to her daughters the remarkable words of Stepan
Mihailovitch, which must be accepted as law and obeyed, in appearance at
least, to the letter.
Though she had slept little at night, Sofya Nikolayevna could not sleep
after dinner. She went out with her husband, and they walked, by his
wish, to the old beech-wood, where the jackdaws built, and down the
course of the river. There was no repetition of the old disagreements.
She had been charmed and captivated by her father-in-law, and she now
tried to convey to her husband the feelings of her own eager
impressionable mind. As all people of her temperament are apt to do, she
transferred to her handsome young husband some part of the merits she
had found in his father, and loved him more than ever. He listened with
surprise and pleasure to the enthusiasm of his beautiful wife, and said
to himself, "Thank God that my father and she have become such friends!
There will be no further trouble." He kissed her hands, and said that he
was the happiest man on all the earth, and she a peerless goddess before
whom all should bow down. He did not quite understand his wife nor
appreciate her estimate of his father, so acute and profound; he only
felt, as he had always felt, perfectly convinced that Stepan
Mihailovitch was the kind of man whom all must respect and even fear.
This time Sofya Nikolayevna found no faults: his feelings were her
feelings and his language hers: she praised the deep river and the
beech-wood with all its uneven stumps; even of her sisters-in-law she
spoke kindly.