once resigned all his favourite dishes--haggis, roast ribs of pork, and
porridge made of green rye. A _chef_ had 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 entrees there were only two:
salted quails _aux choux_, and stuffed ducks with a red sauce containing
raisins, plums, peaches, and apricots. These entrees 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,
iced _kvass_, 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
Alexyei 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 Alexyei 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!" Alexyei
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 the _samovar_ was 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 fifteen _versts_. 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 Alexyei 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, forty _versts_ away; 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,[45] and 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.
[45] In prayers of this kind, nothing is said aloud: the worshipper
turns towards the _ikons_ on the wall and crosses himself.
FRAGMENT V: LIFE AT UFA
During the first few minutes Sofya Nikolayevna felt sorry for her
father-in-law and sad to part with him. The image of the old man who had
learnt to love her and was suffering now from the separation, came
vividly before her. But before long the easy motion of the carriage,
with the fleeting glimpses of fields and coppices and the outline of the
hills along which they were driving, had a soothing effect upon her
mind; and she began to feel heartily glad that she had left Bagrovo. Her
joy was too great to be concealed, though she realised that her husband
would not like it. He, she thought, was sadder than he had any business
to be. Some explanations might possibly have followed, but were
fortunately prevented by the presence of Parasha. The carriage rolled
quickly through the village of Noikino, where it was saluted by hearty
shouts from the Mordvinians, and then crossed the river Nasyagai by a
crazy bridge. They crossed the same river again and passed through the
village of Polibino, and came at last to Korovino, where a fresh team
was waiting for their arrival; their own horses were to rest there for
some hours and return to Bagrovo in the evening.
Sofya Nikolayevna had provided herself with writing materials, and now
she wrote a warm letter of thanks to her husband's parents. It was
intended especially for Stepan Mihailovitch; and he understood this
perfectly and hid the letter in the secret drawer of the modest
writing-desk which satisfied his needs; and there Sofya Nikolayevna came
upon her own letter unexpectedly eight years afterwards, when the old
man was in his grave. The horses were put to, good-byes were said to the
coachman and postilion--long-legged Tanaichonok was acting as postilion
on this occasion--and the pair resumed their journey. Fortune was kind
at this point to Sofya Nikolayevna: it proved impossible to get to the
Yerlykins' house, and thus she was saved from a most tiresome and
oppressive visit. A deep river on the way had to be crossed, and the
bridge had rotted and collapsed. As it would take a long time to mend
it, the young couple could keep straight on towards Ufa. As they got
near the town, Sofya Nikolayevna could think of nothing but her sick
father, who had not seen her for more than a fortnight; he had been left
in the care of servants and must be feeling lonely and eager for his
daughter's return. The travellers took a full hour to cross the river
Byelaya in a crazy ferry-boat; and the ascent of the steep hill on the
other side took time. Before it was over, Sofya Nikolayevna was very
impatient and in great agitation. At last she got to the house. In a
fever of excitement she hurried to her father's room and softly opened
the door. He was lying in his usual position; and near him, on the very
armchair which was usually occupied by Sofya Nikolayevna herself, his
servant Nikolai was sitting.
This man was a Kalmuck, and I must tell something of his history. In
those distant times it was a common practice in the district of Ufa to
buy native boys and girls, either Kalmucks or Kirghizes, from their
parents or relations, and to make use of them later as serfs. Forty
years before the date of my story, M. Zubin had bought two Kalmuck boys.
He had them baptized, became fond of them, and made pets of them. He had
them taught to read and write; and, when they grew up, they became his
personal servants. Both of them were intelligent and neat-handed and
appeared to be very devoted; but, when Pugatchoff[46] raised the
standard of revolt, they both ran off and joined the rebels. One of them
soon lost his life; but the other, who had been his master's favourite
and was called Nikolai, now became the favourite of one Chika, who was
prominent among the rebels and stood high in the favour of Pugatchoff
himself. It is well known that one band of the revolters was encamped
for a long time near Ufa, on the opposite bank of the river Byelaya.
Nikolai was in this camp and had by this time been promoted to a
position of some authority. It was said that he was fiercer than any of
them and breathed fire and slaughter against no one so much as his old
master who had brought him up. Tradition tells that, whenever the rebels
were preparing to cross the river and fall upon the defenceless town,
they saw a great army march out to defend the heights on the opposite
bank, and an ancient warrior at their head, riding on a snow-white
horse, and holding a spear in one hand and a Cross in the other. The
cowardly band of outlaws were terrified by this vision and desisted from
all their attempts; and they had done nothing when the news came that
Pugatchoff was defeated. Of course they scattered at once. The revolt
came to an end, and the scattered rabble were seized and brought to
trial. Nikolai, who was one of these, was condemned to the gallows. I
cannot vouch for the truth of this; but I have been assured that, after
his trial at Ufa, the noose was actually round his neck, when M. Zubin
claimed the privilege which he possessed as a landholder, pardoned his
old favourite, and took him home, undertaking to be responsible himself
for the criminal's behaviour. Nikolai seemed penitent and tried by zeal
and devotion to atone for his crime. By degrees he contrived to get back
into his master's confidence; and, when Sofya Nikolayevna, after her
stepmother's death, took over the management of the household, she found
Nikolai established as butler; he had been a favourite with her
stepmother, and this now became a passport to her father's goodwill.
Nikolai had been guilty of much insolence to his young mistress during
her time of humiliation; but he was a very cunning fellow and quite
realised his present position. He played the part of the repentant
sinner, throwing all the guilt on the stepmother, and blaming himself
for the slavish spirit in which he had carried out her orders. It would
have been quite easy for Sofya Nikolayevna to get rid of him for good
and all; but her youth and generous nature made her believe that his
repentance was genuine. She pardoned him, and actually begged her father
to leave him in his old position. As time went on, she was sometimes
vexed by the way in which he settled things without consulting her, and
she felt doubts about his honesty. She noticed also that his intimacy
with her father, though concealed from her, was closer than she liked.
But he was very zealous in his attendance upon his sick master, sleeping
always in the same room, and also found time to do his work as butler
exceedingly well. She was therefore content with mild reproofs, and the
man was left free to take root at leisure in his double office. When she
became engaged, she had to see herself to the buying of her
wedding-clothes and to spend much time with her future husband; and so
she was less with her father and gave less attention to household
affairs. Nikolai took full advantage of this opportunity, and his power
over the old invalid increased daily. Hoping soon to get rid of his
mistress and to become master of the house himself, he grew more
insolent and less careful to conceal his power. Sofya Nikolayevna
sometimes snubbed him sharply; she was grieved to see her father's
increasing dependence on this man and abdication of his own authority.
[46] See note to p. 67 (Transcriber: note 33).
Nikolai had made full use of the few days that preceded and followed the
marriage, and of her absence for a fortnight at Bagrovo: his master, now
at death's door, was completely under his control. Sofya Nikolayevna
guessed the true state of affairs as soon as she saw the man lying
asleep in the armchair; never before had he ventured on such a liberty.
She gave him a look which sent him in some haste and confusion out of
the room. Her father was by no means as pleased to see her as she
expected; he made haste to tell her that Nikolai was not to blame: "It
is at my urgent wish," he said, "that he sometimes takes a seat at my
bedside." "It is a pity you do that, father," she said; "you will spoil
him altogether and be forced to turn him off; I know him better than you
do." Then, without entering upon further explanations, she expressed her
joy at having found him no worse. Alexyei Stepanitch soon came in, and
then the old man, touched by his daughter's unfeigned tenderness, his
son-in-law's attentive behaviour, and the love between husband and wife,
listened with pleasure to their narrative and thanked God with tears for
their happiness.