Chapter X: Part 10

For these reasons, when Sofya Nikolayevna began to recover and Alexyei Stepanitch ceased to fear for her life and health, there began by degrees to reappear, on one side, the old exacting temper, and, on the other side, the old incapacity to satisfy its demands. Gentle reproaches and expostulations had become tiresome to the husband, and fierce explosions frightened him. Fear at once banished perfect frankness, and loss of frankness between husband and wife, especially in the less assertive and independent of the two, leads straight to the destruction of domestic happiness. After the return to Ufa, this evil would probably have grown worse in the trivial, idle atmosphere of town life; but Sofya Nikolayevna's father was now actually dying, and his sad, suffering condition banished all other anxieties and monopolised his daughter's; thoughts and feelings. Obedient to the law of her moral nature, she gave herself up without reserves to her duty as a daughter. Thus the process which was unveiling every corner of their domestic life, was again brought to a standstill. Sofya Nikolayevna spent her days and nights with her father. Nikolai, as before, waited on his sick master, nursing him with wonderful devotion and indefatigable care; and, as before, he kept out of sight of Sofya; Nikolayevna, though he had now the right and the power to appear before her with impunity. Touched by his behaviour, she had sent for him; a reconciliation took place, and she gave him leave to be present with her in the sick-room. The dying man, in spite of his apparent insensibility to all around him, noticed this change: he pressed his daughter's hand in his feeble grasp, and said in a hardly audible whisper, "I thank you." Sofya Nikolayevna never left her father after this time.

I said that when Stepan Mihailovitch received the good news of his daughter-in-law's recovery, fond hopes awoke once more in his breast. They were not disappointed: before long Sofya Nikolayevna wrote to him herself, that she hoped, if God was good to her, to give birth to a son, to be the comfort of his old age. At the instant Stepan Mihailovitch was overjoyed, but he soon controlled his feelings and hid his happiness from his womankind. Perhaps it occurred to him that this second child might be a daughter, that Sofya Nikolayevna and the doctors between them might kill it too with too much love and too much medicine, and that the mother might lose her health over again; or perhaps Stepan Mihailovitch was like many other people, who deliberately prophesy calamities with a secret hope that fortune will reverse their prognostications. He pretended that he was not in the least glad, and said coolly: "No, no! I'm too old a bird to look at _that_ chaff. When the thing happens, it will be time enough to believe it and rejoice over it." His family were surprised to hear him speak so, and said nothing in reply. But, as a matter of fact, the old man for some unknown reason became convinced once more in his heart that he would have a grandson: he gave instructions again to Father Vassili to repeat in church the prayer for "women labouring of child"; and he fished out once more the family tree from its hiding-place, and kept it always beside him.

Meanwhile M. Zubin's last hour on earth came quietly on. He had suffered much for many years; it seemed hardly natural that life should linger on in a body which had lost all force and motion; and the ending of such a bare and pitiful existence could distress no one. Even Sofya Nikolayevna had only one prayer--that her father's soul might depart in peace. And there _was_ peace, and even happiness, at the moment of death. The face of the dying man lit up suddenly, and this expression remained long upon the features, though the eyes were shut and the body had grown cold. The funeral was a solemn and splendid ceremony. M. Zubin had once been very popular; but he had become forgotten by degrees, and sympathy for his suffering had become gradually weaker. But now, when the news of his death flew round the town, old memories revived and evoked a fresh feeling of love and pity for him. On the day of his funeral every house was empty, and all the population of Ufa lined the streets between the Church of the Assumption and the cemetery. May he rest in peace! If he had the weakness of human nature, he had also its goodness.

After M. Zubin's death, guardians were appointed for the children of his two marriages; and Alexyei Stepanitch became guardian of his wife's two brothers, who, before finishing their education at the Moscow boarding-school, were summoned to Petersburg to enter the Guards. I forgot to mention that M. Zubin, shortly before his death, was successful in obtaining for Alexyei Stepanitch his promotion to a higher office at the law-courts.

Sofya Nikolayevna wept and prayed for a long time, and Alexyei Stepanitch wept and prayed at her side; but those tears and prayers were not painful or violent and had no ill effect on the recently restored health of Sofya Nikolayevna. Her husband's entreaties and the advice of her friends and doctors prevailed with her, and she began to take care of herself and to pay due attention to her condition. They convinced her that the health and even the life of the unborn child depended on the state of her own health and spirits. Their arguments were confirmed by bitter experience, and she resolutely submitted to all that was required of her. When her father-in-law wrote to her and expressed in simple words his sympathy with her loss and his fear that she might again injure her own health by excess of grief, she sent a very reassuring letter in reply; and she did in fact attend carefully to her bodily health and composure of mind. A regular but not monotonous plan of life was laid down. The two doctors, Klauss--who was becoming very intimate with the Bagroffs--and Avenarius, made her go out every day before dinner, and sometimes on foot; and each evening they had an unceremonious party of pleasant people at home, or went out themselves, generally to the Chichagoffs' house. Mme. Chichagoff's brothers became great friends of the Bagroffs, especially the younger, Dmitri, who asked that, when the time came, he might stand godfather. Both brothers were well-bred men and well-educated, according to the standards of the time; and they came often to the house and passed the time there with pleasure. In the Bagroffs' house, reading aloud was a favourite occupation. But, as no one can read or listen to reading without intervals, Sofya Nikolayevna was taught to play cards. Klauss took the chief part in initiating her into this science; and, whenever the Bagroffs were alone of an evening, he never failed to make up their table. Avenarius could not take part in this pastime, because he never in his life knew the difference between the five and the ace.

Spring set in early that year, but in all its beauty. The ice on the Byelaya broke up, and the blocks were carried down by the stream; the river broke its banks and spread till it was six _versts_ across. The whole of this expanse could be clearly seen from the windows of the Bagroffs' little house; their orchard burst into leaf and flower, and the fragrance of bird-cherries and apple-blossom filled the air. They used this orchard as a drawing-room, and the warm weather did good to Sofya Nikolayevna and made her stronger.

At this time an event happened at Ufa which caused a great sensation there and was especially interesting to the young Bagroffs, because the hero of the story was an intimate friend of theirs, and, if I am not mistaken, distantly related to Alexyei Stepanitch. Sofya Nikolayevna, as one would expect from her character, took a lively interest in such a romantic affair. A young man, named Timasheff, one of the most prominent and richest nobles of the district, fell in love with a Tatar girl, the daughter of a rich Tatar landowner. Her family, just like the Alkins, had altered their way of living to a certain extent in conformity with European customs, and they spoke Russian well; but they strictly observed the Moslem faith in all its purity. The beautiful Salme returned the love of the handsome Russian officer, who was a captain in the regiment stationed near Ufa. As she could not be married to a Russian without changing her religion, it was perfectly certain that her parents and grown-up brothers would never give their consent to such a union. Salme struggled long against her love, and love burns more fiercely in the hearts of women of Asia. At last, as is the rule in such cases, Mahomet was defeated, and Salme made up her mind to elope with her lover, meaning to be baptised first and then married. The commander of Timasheff's regiment was General Mansuroff, a universal favourite and the kindest of men, who gained distinction afterwards when he crossed "The Devil's Bridge" in the Alps with Suvoroff. He had lately married for love himself, and he knew and sympathised with Timasheff's enterprise, and promised to take the lovers under his protection. One dark, rainy night Salme sallied forth from her father's house, and found Timasheff waiting for her in a wood close by with a pair of saddle-horses; they had to gallop about 100 _versts_ to reach Ufa. Salme was a skilful rider; every ten or fifteen _versts_ they found fresh horses, guarded by soldiers of Timasheff's regiment; he was very popular with his men. Thus the fugitives flew along "on the wings of love," as a poet of that day would infallibly have said. Meanwhile Salme's absence was quickly noticed: her passion for Timasheff had long been suspected, and a strict watch was kept over her movements. A band of armed Tatars assembled instantly, and followed the enraged father[51] and brothers in furious pursuit of the lovers, uttering fierce shouts and threats of vengeance. They took the right track and would probably have captured the fugitives--at any rate blood would have been spilt, because a number of soldiers, eagerly interested in the affair, were posted at different points along the road--had not the pursuit been delayed by a stratagem. The bridge over a deep and dangerous river was broken down behind the lovers; and the Tatars were forced to swim across, and thus lost some two hours. Even so, the boat which carried Timasheff and Salme across the Byelaya under the walls of Ufa, had hardly reached mid-stream, when the old Tatar galloped up to the bank, attended by his sons and half of his faithful company; the other half had stopped when their horses fell dead under them. A whole regiment of Russian soldiers were in possession of all the punts and ferry-boats, on the pretence of crossing to the town. The unhappy father gnashed his teeth in fury, cursed his daughter, and rode off home. Half dead with weariness and fear, Salme was placed in a carriage and taken to the house of Timasheff's mother. The affair now assumed a legal and official character: here was a Mahometan woman asking of her own free will to be received into the Christian Church, and the authorities of the town took her under their protection, informed the _mufti_, who lived at Ufa and was always called "the Tatar bishop," of all that had passed, and called upon him to stop the injured family or any other Mahometans from all attempts to recover by violence a person who had deliberately preferred the Christian faith. In a few days the clergy prepared the convert to receive the sacraments of baptism and unction. The rite was celebrated with great pomp in the Cathedral: Salme was christened Seraphima, and immediately afterwards, without leaving the church, the young lovers were married. All Ufa was interested in the affair. The young people and all the men naturally stood up for the beautiful Salme; but the women, some of whom, perhaps, had personal reasons for disappointment, judged her conduct severely. Very few stretched out the hand of sincere friendship to the convert, whom her husband's station admitted to the inner circle of Ufa society. The young couple had no warmer sympathisers than Sofya Nikolayevna and Alexyei Stepanitch; and they were actively assisted by the wife of General Mansuroff, an amiable young woman whose maiden name was Bulgakoff. Before long the Timasheffs had a firm footing in their new sphere. The bride's education was taken in hand; she had much natural ability, and soon became a success in society, where she aroused both sympathy and envy, due in some degree to her beauty and the peculiarity of her position. Sofya Nikolayevna kept up a steady friendship with Seraphima Timasheff till death divided them. To the general regret, Mme. Timasheff died of consumption three years after her marriage. She left two sons; her husband nearly went out of his mind with grief; he left the Army, gave up his life to the care of his children, and never married again. It was currently reported, though I cannot vouch for the truth of the reports, that her illness and death were due to secret pining after the kinsfolk she had abandoned and remorse for her change of religion.

[51] Another version of the story tells that the mother led the pursuit.
(_Author's note_.)

These events did nothing to arrest the quick flight of time. The day came when Sofya Nikolayevna was forbidden to go out to parties, or even to take drives in the country. In fine weather she walked up and down the garden for half an hour twice a day; if it was wet, she opened all the doors in the house and followed the same routine under cover. It is probable that all this seclusion and strict regimen did more harm than good; yet my opinion is contradicted by the facts, for Sofya Nikolayevna was in perfect health. Alexyei Stepanitch found it necessary to let the doctors have their way; for he was constantly receiving instructions from his father to watch over his wife like the apple of his eye. Her friends also, and especially the doctors who felt a strong personal attachment for her, kept such a close watch on Sofya Nikolayevna that she could neither take a step nor swallow a morsel or drink a drop without their permission. As Avenarius had to leave the town on some official business, it fell on Klauss, who was the other leading lady's doctor at Ufa, to undertake the personal supervision of her health. Klauss was a German, a very kind man, clever and well-educated, but singularly grotesque in his appearance. Though he was still of middle age, he wore a bright yellow wig; and people asked where he could have got human hair of a colour never beheld on any human head; his eyebrows also were yellowish, and so were the whites of his small brown eyes; but his face, which was round and rather small, was as red as burning coal. His habits in society were very odd: though he liked kissing the hands of ladies, he would never allow himself to be kissed on the cheek, maintaining that it was a gross breach of manners on the part of a man to permit such a greeting. He had a great fondness for small children which he showed in this way: he took the child on his knees, placed its hand on the palm of his own left hand and stroked it for hours at a time with his right hand. His special favourites he constantly addressed as "Monster!" or "Turk!"--and Sofya Nikolayevna naturally came in for her share of these endearments.[52]

[52] Klauss became lecturer on midwifery in the Foundling Hospital at
Moscow in 1791, and died in 1821 after the conscientious discharge
of his duties for thirty years. He never left off the yellow wig.
He was an enthusiastic and well-known numismatist. (_Author's
note._)

Owing to his intimacy with the young Bagroffs, Klauss knew all about Stepan Mihailovitch--his eager desire for a grandson, and the impatience with which he was awaiting the event. As Klauss wrote Russian well, he wrote out a forecast, for whose accuracy he vouched, in a distinct handwriting for the old man's benefit: he foretold that Sofya Nikolayevna would give birth to a son between the 15th and 22nd of September. When the forecast was sent to Stepan Mihailovitch, "German liar!" was his only comment; but in his heart he believed it; for his excitement and joy could be seen in his face and heard in every word he spoke. About this time, our old acquaintance, Afrosinya Andreyevna, paid him a visit at Bagrovo. He let her see more than others of his main anxiety, that he might have another grand-daughter; and she told him that, when passing through Moscow, she had gone to Trinity Church there, to say her prayers to St. Sergius; and there she heard that some well-known lady, the mother of several daughters, had taken a vow that if her next child was a boy, it should be christened Serghei; and she did give birth to a son before the year was out. Stepan Mihailovitch said nothing at the time; but he wrote a letter himself to his son and daughter-in-law by the next post, expressing his desire that they should say prayers in church to St. Sergius the Wonder-worker, and take a vow to call their child Serghei if it were a boy. In explanation of his wish he added: "There has never yet been a Serghei in the Bagroff family." These instructions were carried out to the letter. Sofya Nikolayevna spared no pains to provide everything that a careful mother could think of for her expected child; above all, an admirable foster-mother was found at Kasimofka, one of the villages that had belonged to her father. Marya Vassilyevna, a peasant woman, had every qualification for her office that one could wish for; and she was perfectly willing to undertake the duty, and moved to Ufa in good time, bringing her own infant with her.

The crisis was now approaching. By this time Sofya Nikolayevna was forbidden to walk. Catherine Chichagoff was kept to her own house by ill-health, and no other visitors were admitted. But Mme. Cheprunoff was constantly with her cousin, never leaving her except to see her own beloved little boy, Andrusha. Klauss came to breakfast every morning, and again for tea, which he drank with rum in it, in the evening; then he played cards with husband and wife; and, as the stakes were too small to buy cards with, the prudent German procured some used packs which he brought with him. Reading sometimes took the place of cards, and Klauss was present on these occasions. Alexyei Stepanitch, who had gained some experience and skill in the art, was the regular reader; and sometimes Klauss brought a German book and translated it aloud, which gave pleasure to his hearers, especially to Sofya Nikolayevna, who wished to get some knowledge, if only a smattering, of German literature.

Sofya Nikolayevna had experienced already the absorbing and unlimited power of maternal affection, the strongest of all our feelings, and she was filled with awe by her present condition. She accepted it as a sacred duty to maintain mental composure, and so to preserve the health of her unborn infant and secure its existence, on which depended all her hopes, all her future, and all her life. We know Sofya Nikolayevna pretty well already; we know how apt she was to be carried away; and therefore we shall not be surprised to hear that she gave herself up wholly to her feeling for the child she bore. Every hour of the day and night was devoted to the task of taking care of herself in all possible ways. Her mind and her thoughts were so entirely concentrated upon this one object that she noticed nothing else and was, apparently, quite satisfied with her husband, though it is probable that things happened which might have made her dissatisfied. The more Alexyei Stepanitch got to know his wife, the more she surprised him. He was a man singularly unable to appreciate excessive display of feeling, or to sympathise with it, from whatever object it arose. Thus his wife's power of passionate devotion frightened him; he dreaded it, just as he used to dread his father's furious fits of anger. Excessive feeling always produces an unpleasant impression upon quiet unemotional people; they cannot recognise such a state of mind to be natural, and regard it as a kind of morbid condition which some persons are liable to at times. They disbelieve in the permanence of a mental composure which may break down at any moment; and they are afraid of people with such a temperament. And fear is fatal to love, even to a child's love for his parents. In general I must say that, in point of mutual understanding and sympathy, the relations between Alexyei Stepanitch and his wife, instead of becoming closer, as might have been expected, grew less intimate. This may seem strange, but it often happens thus in life.

Just at this time Klauss was transferred to an official post at Moscow. He had already taken leave of his colleagues and all his acquaintance; and he waited on solely with a view to Sofya Nikolayevna's confinement, hoping to be of service to her in case of necessity. He calculated that he might be able to get away on the 17th or 18th of September, and hired horses for that date. Hiring was necessary, because he intended to break his journey to visit a German friend, who lived at some distance from the post-road, so that the coach would not serve his purpose. The 15th of September passed, but the expected event did not take place. Sofya Nikolayevna felt better and more enterprising than usual; and it was only the pedantry of the doctor, she said, that kept her to the sofa. When the 16th, 17th, and 18th had all gone by, the German, in spite of his love for Sofya Nikolayevna, got very angry, because he had to pay a _rouble_ a day to the driver he had hired--a terribly high price, according to the ideas of those days; and the Bagroffs bantered him about this in a friendly way. The reading and card-playing went on every evening; and if the doctor won 60 _kopecks_[53] from his hosts, he was much pleased, and said that his driver would not cost him much _that_ day. The 19th passed off with no change. On the 20th, when Klauss came in the morning, Sofya Nikolayevna stood at her bedroom door and greeted him with a curtsey. He got very angry: "Monster!" he said, "you are treating me abominably"; but he kissed as usual the hand she held out to him. "It is too bad, Alexyei Stepanitch," he went on; "your wife is ruining me. Her baby ought to have been born on the 15th, and here she is, dropping curtseys on the 20th!" "Never mind, my dear fellow," said Alexyei Stepanitch, patting him on the shoulder; "you must rob us at cards to-night. But the packs are nearly worn out." Klauss promised to bring a new pack; he lunched there, and, after sitting on till two o'clock, took his leave. He called again at six in the evening, punctual to the minute. Finding no one in the hall, or parlour, or drawing-room, he tried to get into the bedroom, but the door was locked; he knocked, and it was opened by Mme. Cheprunoff. The doctor went in and stood dumb with astonishment. The floor of the room was covered with rugs; green silk curtains hung by the windows, and a fine silk canopy over the double bed; a candle, shaded by a book, was burning in a corner; and in the bed, resting on embroidered pillows and wearing a dainty, easy morning wrapper, lay Sofya Nikolayevna. Her face looked fresh, and her eyes were radiant with happiness. "Congratulate me, my dear friend!" she said in a strong, audible voice; "I am the happy mother of a son!" The doctor, when he looked at her face and heard her voice, took the whole thing to be a mystification and a hoax. "Monster! don't try to play tricks on so old a bird as I am!" he said. "Better get up; I have brought a new pack of cards. It will be a present for the baby," he added, coming up to the bed and shoving the cards under a pillow. "My dear friend," said Sofya Nikolayevna, "I swear to you I have got a son! Look at him; there he is!" And there, resting on a large down-pillow trimmed with lace, and wrapped in a pink velvet coverlet, he really saw a newborn infant, a strong boy; and Alyona Maksimovna, the midwife, was standing near the bed.

[53] 1 _rouble_ = 100 _kopecks_.

The doctor flew into a furious rage. He sprang back from the bed as if he had burnt himself, and roared out, "What! in my absence! after my staying on here for a week and losing money every day, you did not send for me!" His face turned from red to purple, his wig came half off, and his whole stumpy figure looked so ridiculous that the lady in the bed burst out laughing. Then the midwife tried to soothe him: "_Batyushka_," she said, "we had no time to think of anything at the moment; then, when we had got things straight, we meant to send for your Honour, but Sofya Nikolayevna said you would be here at once." The worthy man soon recovered from his vexation; tears of joy started to his eyes; he caught hold of the infant in his practised hands and began to examine it by the candle-light, turning it round and feeling it till it squalled loudly. Then he thrust a finger into its mouth, and, when the infant began to suck lustily, the doctor was pleased and called out, "How fine and healthy he is, the little Turk!" Sofya Nikolayevna was frightened when she saw her priceless treasure so freely handed; and the midwife tried to take it from him, fearing it would be "overlooked." But Klauss was inexorable: he ran about the room, holding the child, and called for a tub of warm water with a sponge and some soap, and a binder. Then he turned back his sleeves, tied on an apron, threw down his wig, and began to wash the babe, talking to it like this: "Ah, my little Turk, that stops your crying; you like the feel of the warm water!"

Then Alexyei Stepanitch hurried into the room, almost beside himself with joy. He had been dispatching a special messenger to carry the good news to Stepan Mihailovitch, and writing letters to his parents; and there was a separate letter for his sister Aksinya, begging her to come as soon as possible and stand godmother to his son. Before the doctor had time to dry himself, the happy father embraced him till he nearly choked him; he had already exchanged greetings with every one in the house, and many tears of joy had been shed. And Sofya Nikolayevna--but, what _she_ felt, I dare not try to express in words: her bliss was such as few on earth ever feel and no one can feel for long.

The event produced extraordinary rejoicing within the house, and even the neighbours shared in it. The intoxication of joy was prolonged by liquor; and soon all the servants were singing and dancing in the court. Some who never drank at other times now took a drop too much; and one of these was Yevseitch. They found it impossible to control him: he was always begging to go to his mistress's bedroom to see the little son. At last his wife, with Parasha's help, tied him tightly to a heavy bench; and even then he went on kicking out his legs, cracking his fingers, and attempting to articulate the chorus of a song.

Tired out by his exertions and by joyful excitement, Klauss at last sat down in an armchair and much enjoyed a cup of tea. He was somewhat too liberal with the rum that evening, and felt a buzzing in his head after the third cup. So he gave instructions that the baby was to have no milk but only syrup of rhubarb till the morning, and took leave of his happy host and hostess. He kissed the baby's hand, promised to call early the next morning, and went off to spend the night at his own house. As he passed through the court, he saw the dancing, and the sound of singing came from every window of the kitchen and servants' quarter. He stood still; and, though he was sorry to interfere with the good people's merriment, yet he advised them to stop their singing and dancing, because their mistress needed rest. To his surprise, they all took his hint and lay down at once, intending to sleep. As he passed out of the gate he muttered to himself: "Well, he's a lucky child! How glad they all are to have him!"

And it is really true that this child was born under a happy star. His mother, who had suffered constantly before her former confinement, had perfect health before his birth; his parents lived in peace together during those halcyon days; a foster-mother was found for him who proved to be more devoted than most real mothers; he was the answer to prayers and the object of fond desires, and the joy over his coming into the world spread far beyond his parents. The very day of his birth, though the season was autumn, was warm as summer.

But what happened at Bagrovo, when the good news came that God had given a son and heir to Alexyei Stepanitch? This is what happened at Bagrovo. From the 15th of September, Stepan Mihailovitch counted the days and hours, and waited for the special messenger from Ufa. The man had been told to gallop day and night with relays of horses. This method of travelling was new, and Stepan Mihailovitch disapproved of it as a foolish waste of money and an unnecessary tax on the country people. He preferred to use his own horses; but the importance and solemnity of this occasion made him depart from his regular practice. Fortune did not keep him in suspense too long: on the 22nd of September, when he was sleeping after dinner, the messenger arrived, bearing letters and the good news. The old man woke from a sound sleep, and had hardly had time to stretch himself and clear his throat when Mazan rushed into the room and, stammering with joyful excitement, got out the words, "A grandson, _batyushka_ Stepan Mihailovitch! Hearty congratulations!"

The first movement of Stepan Mihailovitch was to cross himself. Then he sprang out of bed, went barefoot to his desk, snatched from it the family tree, took the pen from the ink-bottle, drew a line from the circle containing the name Alexyei, traced a fresh circle at the end of the line, and wrote in the centre of the circle, "_Serghei_."

----

Farewell! my figures, bright or dark, my people, good or bad--I should rather say, figures that have their bright and dark sides, and people who have both virtues and vices. You are not great heroes, not imposing personalities; you trod your path on earth in silence and obscurity, and it is long, very long, since you left it. But you were men and women, and your inward and outward life was not mere dull prose, but as interesting and instructive to us as we and our life in turn will be interesting and instructive to our descendants. You were actors in that mighty drama which mankind has played on this earth since time immemorial; you played your parts as conscientiously as others, and you deserve as well to be remembered. By the mighty power of the pen and of print, your descendants have now been made acquainted with you.[54] They have greeted you with sympathy and recognised you as brothers, whenever and however you lived, and whatever clothes you wore. May no harsh judgment and no flippant tongue ever wrong your memory!

[54] This work first appeared in parts in a Moscow magazine. When they
were collected in a book, this epilogue was added.

THE END.

----

PRINTED BY

WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,

LONDON AND BECCLES

----

_By SERGE AKSAKOFF_.

YEARS OF CHILDHOOD

By SERGE AKSAKOFF.

Translated, for the first time, from the Russian by J. D. DUFF,
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.

_Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._

----

"We are grateful to Mr. Duff for translating for the first time into English this remarkable book. 'Years of Childhood' becomes the more fascinating the more one reads and thinks about it. Aksakoff read a new and ecstatic meaning into things which are banal and tame to most men and women, and the eager eye of his mind scanned deep into the lives and loves of the people round about him."--_Morning Post._

"Serge Aksakoff holds a distinct and, one might say, delightful position in Russian literature. He placed himself, almost without an effort, in the ranks of the great masters of his nation by instinctively obeying the precept that men of letters should look in their own hearts and write. One can hardly thank the translator sufficiently for this first rendering of the book in any other language than Russian."--_The Times._

"English readers may well be grateful to Mr. J. D. Duff for his translation of a very unusual book. He promises us a translation of 'A Family History,' which carries on the narrative of Aksakoff's life and gives some account of his family. In the original the two make one book, and all who read this first instalment will welcome the completion of it."--_Spectator._

"A book of rare charm."--_Observer._

"Mr. Duff, with this admirable rendering, has unearthed a treasure for the English reader. Let us hope that the other portion of these memoirs will appear without delay. For this is Russia herself--convincingly real and intimate." --_English Review._

"Apart from its great artistic value, Aksakoff's work has the attractiveness that belongs to all origins. What Mr. Maurice Baring once said, that the story of Aksakoff's memoirs is as vivid and interesting as any novel, is quite true. And it is not only true but remarkable; for reminiscences, especially of childhood, do not usually have the sort of interest that a novel has, however vivid they may be.... The fact is, Aksakoff succeeded in solving perhaps the hardest problem in literature,--the problem of working a child's consciousness as a medium for all it is worth. The book has, for us, this advantage over the other major works of Russian literature, that it has found in Mr. Duff a translator who is not only a scholar, but an artist skilful enough never to force the note for a moment." --_New Statesman._

"A charming Russian book. At this time when so many translations from the Russian are appearing, well advised and ill advised, it is good to be able to put the hand on one superlatively good book. Here is a refreshment for tired eyes and tired souls. It is put into beautiful English, and the book can be read aloud with much profit and pleasure."--_Country Life._

"Of an extraordinary richness and novelty."--_Westminster Gazette._

LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD