tea-time. Dinner was not a cheerful meal: all were out of spirits, and
each had his or her own reasons. Arina Vassilyevna and Elizabeth were
conscious of the approaching storm, and feared that the thunderbolt
might smite them also. It was long since Stepan Mihailovitch had been in
a rage, and the prospect was more alarming to them because they had
become unused to such outbreaks. Sofya Nikolayevna noted the frown on
her father-in-law's face; she did not object to his giving a good fright
to his daughter, whom she detested as her avowed enemy; but she feared
she might somehow get involved herself. She had no unkind intention in
speaking about the rats: she never supposed that her father-in-law would
take any special notice of this circumstance or attach serious
importance to it. Nevertheless, a stone lay on her heart also: she could
not determine how to act towards her husband. He had been angry with her
for the first time, when she used insulting language about his sister:
was it best to wait till he appealed to her voluntarily, or to put an
end to the uncomfortable situation by begging him to forgive her? Her
love and her tender caresses might then cause him to forget her
regrettable impulsiveness. And she certainly would have chosen this
course; for she was passionately in love with her kind young husband.
She blamed herself severely: she ought to have foreseen everything and
been prepared for everything. She knew that Alexyei Stepanitch would not
hesitate to die for her, but she knew also that she ought not to demand
of him what he could not give--a tender and constant observation, and a
full comprehension of all the trifling occurrences that might give her
pain. And this was hard for her, with her hot blood and sensitive
nerves, her eager, excitable brain and impressionable nature. Such were
the poor woman's thoughts and feelings as she walked up and down her
room waiting for her husband; his mother had stopped him on his way
there after dinner and asked him to come to her bedroom. The minutes
seemed to her like hours. The thought that he was loitering on purpose,
fearing a scene and unwilling to be alone with her; the thought, that
without relieving her heart of its many troubles and without a
reconciliation with her husband, she would see him again in the presence
of her enemies and must play a part the whole evening--this thought
oppressed her heart and threw her into a fever. Suddenly the door
opened, and Alexyei Stepanitch walked in. There was no hesitation in his
movements; he was no longer timid and sad, but fearless and even
displeased. He began at once to reproach her for complaining to his
father and getting Alexandra into trouble. "They are all trembling and
crying now, and God only knows what will come of it," he said, primed
with all that his mother and sister had been impressing upon him. "It is
wrong and a sin on your part to cause trouble and quarrels in your
husband's family. I told you what my father is like when he is angry;
and you, knowing this and seeing his love for you, took advantage of
it!" Sofya Nikolayevna's patience snapped instantly, and she fired up at
once; love was silent, and of pity and contrition not a trace was left;
and her poor husband discovered that Stepan Mihailovitch was not the
only person who could fly into a passion. An irresistible flood of
complaints, accusations, and reproaches poured down upon him. He was
utterly crushed and confounded; he could make no defence, and was all
but a monster in his own eyes. Soon he was kneeling at her feet and
begging forgiveness with tears. It was not surprising that Alexyei
Stepanitch was powerless before that volcanic eruption of feeling and
intelligence, that heartfelt conviction and wonderful power of
eloquence. A man entirely in the right, a man much more resolute than
Alexyei Stepanitch, would have pleaded guilty before the youth and
beauty of a woman whom he loved. And Alexyei Stepanitch was certainly
not in the right.
When the storm had calmed down in the bedroom of the young couple, it
was still brewing at the other end of the house, in the smallish room
which belonged to Stepan Mihailovitch. Sleep had not brought peace to
him or smoothed the frown from his high forehead. He sat for some time
across his bed in gloomy silence, and then called out, "Mazan!" Mazan
had long been lying outside the door, breathing heavily according to his
wont, and looking in through a chink; he had been placed there as a
sentry, while the family were sitting in the parlour, full of gloomy
apprehensions. He called out at the top of his voice, "What is your
pleasure, sir?"--and hurried into the room. "Has my daughter Alexandra
arrived? Yes? Then bring her here." Alexandra entered on his heels, for
on such occasions delay was more dangerous than anything. "How dared
you, Madam," began the old man in the voice she knew and dreaded--"how
dared you set rats on your brother and his wife?" "I am sorry, father,"
humbly answered Alexandra, while her knees trembled beneath her, and
fear kept down her own infernal temper. "I put my guests on purpose in
the drawing-room, and I never thought of putting curtains to their bed.
I was so busy and so glad to see them that it slipped my memory." "You
were so glad to see them! Do you expect me to believe _that_? How did
you dare to act so to your brother and to me? How did you dare to bring
shame on your father in his old age?" The affair would perhaps have gone
no further than angry words and loud threats and possibly a rap from his
fist; but Alexandra, stung by the thought that she was suffering on
account of Sofya Nikolayevna, and hoping that the storm would still blow
over, forgot that any sort of answer was a new offence. She could not
resist saying, "I am punished for nothing on her account." A fresh and
terrible fit of rage seized Stepan Mihailovitch, that rage which
invariably ended in painful and shocking violence. Words of fury were on
the point of rushing from his lips, when Arina Vassilyevna, with her
daughters Aksinya and Tanyusha, ran into the room and fell at the old
man's feet, with tears and cries; they had been standing outside the
door and had seen what was coming. Karatayeff had been standing there
with them; but he ran out of the house and into the wood, where he
slashed furiously at the innocent birch-branches with his stick,
punishing them for the wrong done to his wife. Elizabeth did not venture
to enter the room, knowing that her own conscience was not clear, and
that her father was quite aware of the part she had played. "_Batyushka_
Stepan Mihailovitch!" cried Arina Vassilyevna, "your will is law, you
are our master, do what pleases you! Only do not shame us and disgrace
your family in the sight of your daughter-in-law! You will frighten her
out of her life; all this is new to her." The words seemed to have some
effect on the old man. He was silent for a moment; then he pushed
Alexandra from him with his foot, crying, "Begone, and don't venture to
show yourself till I send for you!" No one waited for any further
orders: in a moment the room was cleared, and all was silence round
Stepan Mihailovitch; but his blue eyes long remained dark and clouded,
and his chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, as he restrained
his passionate anger which had been aroused and not satisfied.
The _samovar_ had long been hissing on the drawing-room table, not in
the shade of the stoop, because heavy rain had just ceased falling and
it was damp out of doors. Nature seemed to sympathise with what was
passing in the house of Bagrovo. Soon after dinner two clouds of intense
blackness had met in the zenith and long remained there motionless,
emitting from time to time flashes of lightning and shaking the air with
peals of thunder. At last the rain came down in torrents, the clouds
shifted to the east, and the setting sun shone out. Fields and woods
smelt sweeter, refreshed by the rain, and the birds began to sing
louder; but alas! the storms of human passion are not followed by such a
calm.
Alexandra pretended illness, but the other daughters came with their
mother to the drawing-room; Karatayeff also was there, but Yerlykin was
still absent from the house, on the pretext of ill-health. Stepan
Mihailovitch had tea in his room and gave orders that he was not to be
disturbed. The door of the young couple's room was locked; after a short
delay, tapping was tried and brought them out at once. Sofya Nikolayevna
looked cheerful, and her husband really was more cheerful than before;
but it was easy to guess from their faces that something unusual had
been happening in their room. Of what had passed in the bedroom of
Stepan Mihailovitch, they knew nothing. As for Arina Vassilyevna and her
daughters, they looked like people who had just been pulled out of the
water or snatched from the fire. It is a pity that there was no one to
observe the scene; for it is certain that the different expressions on
the faces of the company would have afforded an entertaining spectacle.
All attempts to keep up a conversation were unsuccessful. The absence of
the father and of one daughter puzzled Sofya Nikolayevna beyond
endurance: she invented some pretext for going to her own room, where
she summoned Parasha and got to the bottom of the mystery. They knew all
about it in the maids' room: not only had Mazan and Tanaichonok been
listening all the time, but the old lady and her daughter were in the
habit of keeping nothing back from their waiting-women. Thus Parasha was
able to give her mistress an exact and detailed report. Sofya
Nikolayevna was much disturbed. She had never expected such alarming
consequences; she heartily regretted having told her father-in-law about
the wretched rats; and she was sincerely sorry for Alexandra. She went
back to the drawing-room and asked leave to visit the invalid, but was
told she was asleep. During her absence, Alexyei Stepanitch had heard
the whole story. After a hasty supper they separated to their rooms at
ten o'clock. When alone with her husband, Sofya Nikolayevna, with much
agitation and many tears, fell on his neck, and again asked his
forgiveness with heartfelt penitence, blaming herself much more than she
really deserved. But he did not understand the delicacy of feeling which
prompted her genuine grief and drew from her tears. He was only sorry to
see her distress herself about trifles; and he tried to console her by
saying that all was well that ends well, that the family were accustomed
to such scenes, that his father would wake in a good temper to-morrow
and forgive Alexandra, and all would go on as well as at first. Only he
begged her not to have any explanations with any of the family, and not
to beg pardon, as she wished to do, for her unintentional slip; and he
advised her not to visit his father in the morning but to wait till he
sent for her. Sofya Nikolayevna understood her husband's character
better than she had ever done before; and the knowledge hurt her deeply.
While he slept peacefully all night, she never closed an eye.
Stepan Mihailovitch was the worse for his fit of anger and also disliked
the thought that his daughter-in-law might have heard of it. His honest
nature resented every underhand action and deliberate unkindness; and
also he saw, in what his daughter had done, disregard to his own
authority and position. He was on the brink of an illness; he ate no
supper, stayed indoors instead of going to sit on the stoop, and, when
he should have seen his bailiff, sent his orders by a servant. But the
benign darkness of night which gives light to the eye of our mind, the
stillness, and then sleep, which calms the passions of men and rains
down blessings upon them--all these did their kindly office. Early next
day he summoned Arina Vassilyevna and gave her his instructions to
convey to his daughters--they were intended mainly for Alexandra, but in
part also for Elizabeth--that Sofya Nikolayevna was not to know of any
unpleasantness, and they were to behave accordingly. In a short time the
_samovar_ was placed on the table, and all the family summoned. Arina
Vassilyevna fortunately had time to send a message by her son to Sofya
Nikolayevna, begging her to do her best to cheer up the master of the
house: "He is not quite well," she said, "and in low spirits for some
reason." In spite of her sleepless night and the aching of her own
heart, Sofya Nikolayevna carried out this request to admiration; all the
party, and she herself more than any, were anxious that it should be
done.
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 two _versts_ of 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 Andreyevna (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 Andreyevna 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 Andreyevna? 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 Andreyevna!' 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, _batyushka_ Stepan 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 Andreyevna, 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's
_kaftan_[44] and 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.
[44] The kaftan is a long cloth coat belted in at the waist.