Chapter V: Part 5

The letter produced a powerful effect. My aunts began to whimper; my grandmother, who was taken utterly by surprise, turned pale, threw out her hands, and flopped down on the ground like a corn-sheaf. Even in those days fainting-fits were not unknown. Stepan Mihailovitch never stirred; but his head bent a little to one side, as it used to do when a fit of anger was coming on, and began to tremble slightly; and that tremulous motion went on from that hour till his death. The daughters rushed to their mother's aid and soon brought her back to her senses. At once, Arina Vassilyevna threw herself at her husband's feet, raising the cry of mourning for the dead; and her daughters followed her example. Taking no notice of the storm-signals on his brow, and quite forgetting that she herself had egged him on to disappoint his son, she cried at the top of her voice: "_Batyushka_ Stepan Mihailovitch! have pity and do not be the death of your own child, our only son! Give Alosha leave to marry! If anything happens to him, I will not live one hour longer!" The old man never stirred. At last he said in an unsteady voice: "Enough of that howling! Alosha deserves a good whipping. But we'll leave it till to-morrow; morning brings good counsel. Now go and order dinner to be served." Dinner my grandfather regarded as a sedative at every domestic crisis. Arina Vassilyevna tried to begin again--"Mercy! Mercy!"--but Stepan Mihailovitch called out loudly, "Leave the room, all of you!"--and in his voice was audible the roar that goes before a storm. The room was cleared instantly, and no one ventured near him before the dinner-hour.

It is hard to imagine the thoughts that passed through his mind in the interval, the struggle that took place in that iron heart between love and prudence, and the final defeat of the stubborn spirit; but, when Mazan's voice was heard outside the door, announcing dinner, my grandfather came out of his room quite composed. His face was rather pale, but his wife and daughters, who were standing, each by her own chair, till he appeared, could not see the faintest sign of anger; on the contrary, he was quieter and more cheerful than he had been in the morning, and made a hearty meal. Arina Vassilyevna had to harden her heart and suit her conversation to his mood; she dared not even sigh, far less ask questions; in vain she tried to guess what was passing through her husband's mind; the little chestnut-brown eyes in her fat face might ask what questions they pleased, but the dark-blue eyes of Stepan Mihailovitch, for all their frank good-humoured expression, gave no answer. After dinner he lay down as usual, and woke in a still more cheerful mood, but not a syllable did he utter about his son or the letter. Yet it was clear that no wrath was brooding in the old man's heart. When he said "good night"; to his wife after supper, she ventured to say, "Please say something about Alosha." He smiled and answered: "Did I not say that morning thoughts are best? Go to sleep, and God bless you!"

Morning did indeed bring good counsel and kindly action. My grandfather got up at four o'clock when Mazan was kindling his fire, and his first words were: "Tanaichonok, you are to take a letter at once to Ufa for Alexyei Stepanitch. Get ready immediately, and no one is to know your errand or where you are going. Put the young brown horse in the shafts, and the roarer abreast of him. Take six bushels of oats with you and a loaf of bread. Ask the housekeeper for two _roubles_ in copper for your expenses. See that all is ready when my letter is written, and don't lose a moment!" When my grandfather demanded haste, he always got it. Then he opened the oak desk which served him as a writing-table, got writing materials, and with some effort--for ten years past he had written nothing but his signature--he wrote as follows in a stiff, old-fashioned hand:--

"_Dear Son Alexyei_,

"Your mother, Arina Vassilyevna, and I, give you our permission
to marry Sofya Nikolayevna Zubin, if that be God's will, and we
send you our blessing.

"Your father,

"_Stepan Bagroff_."

Half an hour later, long before it was light, Tanaichonok had reached the top of the long hill and passed the stackyard, and was trotting briskly along the road to Ufa. At six o'clock Stepan Mihailovitch ordered Aksyutka to bring the _samovar_ but to wake no one in the house. In spite of this, the mistress was called and told in confidence that Tanaichonok had started very early with a pair of horses from the stable; he was carrying a letter from the master, but his destination was unknown. She did not venture to join her husband at once: she waited an hour or so, and appeared when he had finished his tea and was chatting with Aksyutka, the maid, who had been plain as a child and was now still plainer in middle life. "Well, what did they wake you for?" said Stepan Mihailovitch, holding out his hand to his wife. "I dare say you had a bad night." Arina Vassilyevna kissed his hand respectfully: "No," she said, "no one called me, I woke of myself; and I had a good night, for I hoped you would be kind to our poor boy." He looked attentively at her; but her face was accustomed to wear a mask, and he could not read her thoughts. "In that case," he said, "I have good news for you. I have sent a special messenger to Ufa and written to Alexyei that he has permission from us both to marry Sofya Nikolayevna."

Arina Vassilyevna had been horrified by her son's tragic intentions, and had sincerely begged and prayed her stern husband to consent to the marriage. Yet, when she heard how Stepan Mihailovitch had decided, she felt more fear than joy; or rather, she did not dare to feel joy, because she feared her daughters. She knew already what Elizabeth thought of the letter, and guessed what Alexandra would say. For these reasons she received the decision, which her husband hoped would delight her, rather coldly and strangely; and this did not escape him. Elizabeth expressed no satisfaction whatever, but merely respectful submission to her father's will; but Tanyusha, who took her brother's letter quite seriously, rejoiced with all her heart. Elizabeth was not alarmed even at first by her brother's threat; she shed tears and interceded for him, merely because it would not look well to act differently from her mother and youngest sister. She wrote at once to Alexandra, who was furious when she heard of the decision and came with all speed to Bagrovo. She too treated her brother's letter as an empty threat, a trick suggested by Sofya Nikolayevna; and the two together soon converted their mother and even Tanyusha to this belief. But the matter was settled, and open rebellion was now out of the question. Stepan Mihailovitch had thought that Sofya Nikolayevna would refuse his son; but no one else at Bagrovo believed this. But it is time now to leave Bagrovo and see what was going on at Ufa.

I will not take upon myself to decide positively whether Alexyei Stepanitch really intended to shoot himself, if his parents were obdurate, or took a hint from some incident in a novel and tried to excite their fears by suggesting the awful result of their refusal. Judging by the later development of his character--and I knew it well--I cannot think him capable of either course of action. Therefore, as I suppose, the young man was not playing a trick in order to frighten his parents; on the contrary, he sincerely intended to blow out his brains, if he was forbidden to marry Sofya Nikolayevna. But at the same time I do not think he could ever have brought himself to carry out his fatal purpose, although your mild quiet people, who are often called faint-hearted, are sometimes more capable of desperate actions than men of bold and energetic temperament. The idea of suicide was certainly borrowed from some novel: it was quite out of keeping with the character of Alexyei Stepanitch, his view of life, and the circle of ideas in which he had been born and brought up. However that may be, when he had launched the fatal letter, he became greatly agitated and was soon laid up with fever. His friend and confidante, Mme. Alakayeff, knew nothing of the letter; she came to see him daily and soon perceived that his illness and his love-affair were not enough to account for his excessive agitation. She was sitting beside him one day, knitting a stocking and talking about trifles, in order to amuse the invalid and distract his mind from his hopeless passion; he was lying on the sofa, with his hands behind his head, looking out of the window. Suddenly he turned as white as a sheet. A cart with a pair of horses had turned off the street into the courtyard, and he recognised the horses and Tanaichonok. He sprang to his feet, cried out, "A message from my father, from Bagrovo!" and made for the door. Mme. Alakayeff seized his arm, and, with the help of a servant, prevented him from hurrying to the steps; it was wet and cold autumn weather. Meanwhile Tanaichonok came quickly into the room and delivered the letter. Alexyei Stepanitch broke the seal with trembling fingers, read the few lines, burst into tears, and fell on his knees before the _ikon_. Mme. Alakayeff was puzzled until he handed her the letter; but, when she had read it, she too shed tears of joy. The young man was beside himself with happiness. He now confessed the nature of the letter he had written to his parents, and she shook her head when she heard it. Tanaichonok was called in and closely questioned; when he told how he had been sent off, they saw that Stepan Mihailovitch had settled the matter by himself, without the knowledge of his womankind and probably against their wishes.

Mme. Alakayeff was entirely taken by surprise: even when she had read the letter over again she could not believe her own eyes, because she knew Stepan Mihailovitch of old and quite realised the opposition of the family. But, when the first excitement of surprise and joy was over, the two began to discuss how they should set to work. So long as opposition from their own side made the marriage seem remote and impossible, they had been sanguine as to the feelings of the lady; but now a doubt seized on Mme. Alakayeff. When she recalled and examined all the favourable signs, she felt that perhaps she had attached more importance to them than they deserved; and, like a sensible woman, she made haste to moderate the young man's confident hopes, prudently calculating that, if he were seduced by them, he would find it harder to bear the sudden collapse of those radiant dreams. A refusal now seemed to her quite possible, and her fears had effect upon her companion. Still, she did not back out of her promise to help him: on the contrary, she went next day and laid his proposal before Sofya Nikolayevna.

Simply, clearly, and with no exaggeration, she described the constant and ardent attachment of Alexyei Stepanitch--all the town had long known it, and certainly Sofya Nikolayevna did; she spoke warmly of the fine character of her young relative, his kind heart, his rare modesty; she gave true and exact details of his financial position and prospects; she told the facts about his family, not forgetting to state that he had received by letter yesterday his parents' blessing and their full consent to seek the hand of a lady so worthy and highly respected as Sofya Nikolayevna; she added, that the young man had caught a fever in the excitement of waiting for his parents' reply, but found it impossible to postpone the decision of his fate, and therefore had asked her, as his kinswoman and a friend of Sofya Nikolayevna's, to find out whether a formal proposal for her hand, laid before her father, would be distasteful to her or not.

Sofya Nikolayevna had long been accustomed to act for herself: without confusion and without any of the affectation and prudery expected of women in those days, she replied as follows:--

"I thank Alexyei Stepanitch for the honour he has done me, and you, dear lady, for your interest in the matter. I say frankly that I noticed long ago his partiality for me and have long expected that he would make me a proposal; but I have never decided whether I would accept or reject it. His last visit to his parents, the suddenness--you told me this yourself--of his long and dangerous illness at home, and the change in him when he came back to Ufa--these were signs that his parents disapproved of me as a daughter-in-law. This, I confess, I did not expect; it seemed more natural to fear opposition on the part of my father. Later I saw that Alexyei Stepanitch had revived his former feeling for me; and now I suppose that he has been able to induce his father and mother to consent. But you must admit yourself, my dear lady, that the matter now assumes quite a new aspect. To enter a family where one is not welcome, is too great a risk. Certainly, my father would not oppose my choice; but can I venture to conceal the truth from him? If he were to learn that an obscure country squire thought twice before admitting me to the honour of alliance with his family, he would consider it a degradation, and nothing would induce him to consent. I am not in love with Alexyei Stepanitch: I only respect his good qualities and his constant affection, and I believe he might make the woman he loved happy. Allow me, therefore, to think it over; and also, before I speak of this to my father and trouble him in his feeble state with such news, I wish to speak myself to Alexyei Stepanitch. Let him come and see us, when he is well enough."

Mme. Alakayeff reported this answer exactly to the young man. He did not think it promising, but she disagreed with him and tried to sooth his anxiety.

After parting on very friendly terms with her visitor, Sofya Nikolayevna sat for a long time alone in her drawing-room, and thought hard. Her bright lively eyes were clouded; sombre thoughts raced through her brain and were reflected on the mirror of her beautiful face. All that she had said to Mme. Alakayeff was perfectly true: the question, whether she should marry Alexyei Stepanitch or not, was really not settled. But the proposal had now been made, and it was necessary to make the great decision, so critical in every woman's life. Sofya Nikolayevna had an unusually clear head; in later years, the trials of life and her own passionate temperament may have warped her judgment, but she was able then to see everything exactly in its true light. Her prospects were not bright. Her father was a hopeless invalid, and Zanden, their best doctor, declared he could not live more than a year. His property consisted of two villages near Ufa, Zubkova and Kasimofka--forty serfs in all and a small amount of land; he had also scraped together a sum of 10,000 _roubles_ which he intended as a portion for his daughter. To see her married was his constant and eager desire; but strange things do happen, and Sofya Nikolayevna had never before received a formal offer. He would leave behind him six orphans, the children of his two marriages, and separate guardians would have to be appointed. The three youngest would go to their grandmother, Mme. Rychkoff; their mother's fortune consisted of a small estate of fifty serfs. Sofya Nikolayevna's own brothers were at a boarding-school in Moscow; she would be left absolutely alone, without even distant relations to take her under their roof. In short, she had no where to lay her head. To face poverty and want, to live on the charity of strangers and in complete dependence upon strangers--such a fate might distress any one; but to a girl who had lived in comfort and held a high position in society, a girl proud by nature and flattered by general attention and popularity, a girl who had experienced all the burden of dependence and then all the charm of authority--such a change might well seem intolerable. And here was a young man, good-looking, honest, modest, the heir of an ancient line and an only son, whose father possessed 180 serfs and who was himself to inherit wealth from an aunt; and this young man worshipped her and offered her his hand and heart. At first sight, hesitation seemed out of the question. But, on the other hand, they were ill-matched in mind and temperament. No one in the town could believe that Sofya Nikolayevna would accept Alexyei Stepanitch, and she realised the justice of public opinion and could not but attach importance to it. She was considered a marvel of beauty and intelligence: her suitor was certainly pretty in a boyish way--which was no recommendation to Sofya Nikolayevna--but rather simple and stupid, and passed with every one for a plain country lad. She was quick and enterprising: he was timid and slow. She was educated and might almost be called learned, had read much, and had a wide range of intellectual interests: he was quite ignorant, had read nothing but a few silly novels and a song-book, and cared for little beyond snaring quails and flying his hawks. She was witty and tactful and shone in society: he could not string three words together; clumsy, shy, abject, and ridiculous, he could only blush and bow and squeeze into a corner or against a door, to escape from the talkative and sociable young men whom he positively feared, though he was in truth far cleverer than many of them. She had a firm, positive, unbending temper: he was humble and wanting in energy, easily silenced and easily discomfited. Was he the man to support and defend his wife in society and in domestic life?

Such were the contradictory thoughts and ideas and fancies which swarmed in the young girl's mind, mingling and jostling one another. Long after darkness had come down, she was still sitting there alone. At last a feeling of extreme misery, a terrible certainty that her reason was utterly baffled and growing less and less able to solve her problem, turned her thoughts to prayer. She hurried to her room to beg for the light of reason from on high, and fell on her knees before the image of Our Lady of Smolensk, who had once before by a miracle lightened her darkness and pointed out to her the path of life. For a long time she prayed, and her hot tears fell. But by degrees she felt a kind of relief, a measure of strength, a power of resolve, though she did not know yet what her resolve would be; and even this feeling helped her. She went downstairs to look at her father in his sleep; then she came back to her own room, lay down, and went peacefully to sleep. When she woke next morning, she was perfectly composed; she reflected for a few minutes, gave a thought to her hesitation and perplexity of the night before, and then kept quietly to her purpose, which was, first to have a conversation with her suitor, and then to settle the matter definitely, in accordance with the impression left on her mind by their interview.

Alexyei Stepanitch, wishing to know his fate as soon as possible, sent for the doctor and begged to be put on his legs without delay. The doctor promised to let him out soon and kept his promise for once. Within a week Alexyei Stepanitch, though still pale, thin, and feeble, was sitting in Sofya Nikolayevna's drawing-room. Touched by the loss of colour and change in his young face, she was not quite as outspoken and rigorous as she meant to be. In substance she repeated to him what she had said to Mme. Alakayeff, but she added two points--that she would not part from her father while he lived, and that she would not live in the country. She wished to live in a town, in Ufa, for choice, where she was acquainted with many worthy and cultivated people, and hoped to enjoy their society after her marriage. She ended by saying that she would like to see her husband in the public service and holding a position in the town, which, if not brilliant, should at least secure deference and respect. To all these conditions and anticipations of a wife's rights, Alexyei Stepanitch replied, with abject humility, that her will was law to him, and that his happiness would consist in the fulfilment of all her wishes. Such an answer no man should have given: it proved that his love was not to be depended on, and that he could not assure a woman's happiness; yet it pleased Sofya Nikolayevna, clever as she was. Reluctantly I must confess that love of power was one of her ruling passions; and the germs of this passion, now that she had been released from the cruel oppression of her stepmother, were sprouting actively at this time. Love of power did really, though she herself did not know it, help her to her decision.

She expressed a wish to see the letter of consent which he had received from his parents; and he produced it from his pocket. She read it and was convinced that she was right in guessing that his wishes had at first been opposed. The young man was incapable of dissimulation, and also so much in love that he could not resist a kind look or word from his idol. So, when Sofya Nikolayevna demanded perfect frankness, he made a clean breast of everything; and I believe that this frankness finally settled the question in his favour. Sofya Nikolayevna was clever, but still she was a woman; and she was filled with the idea of reshaping and remoulding in her own way this good-tempered young man, so modest and sincere and uncorrupted by society. How delightful to think of the gradual awakening and enlightenment of this Orson! Orson had no lack of sense; and feeling, though wrapt in unbroken slumber, was there too. Orson would love her still better, if that were possible, in gratitude for his transformation. This vision took hold of her eager imagination; and she parted very graciously from her adorer, promising to talk the matter over with her father and communicate the result through Mme. Alakayeff. Alexyei Stepanitch was "swimming in bliss"--to use an expression of that day. That evening Sofya Nikolayevna again had recourse to prayer, and prayed for a long time with great mental strain and fervour. She was exhausted when she went to sleep; and she had a dream which she interpreted, as people often do, as a confirmation of her purpose. Men are clever enough to interpret anything according to their desires. This dream I forget; but I remember that it was capable, with much more probability and much less forcing, of the opposite interpretation. Next morning Sofya Nikolayevna lost no time in telling her father, who was now in a very feeble state, of the proposal she had received. M. Zubin did not know Alexyei Stepanitch, but had somehow come to think of him as a person of no importance; and he was not pleased, in spite of his eager desire to see his daughter settled before he died. But she proved to him, with her usual eagerness and convincing eloquence, that it was unwise to show the door to such a suitor. She urged all the advantages of the match which we know already, and, above all, that, far from parting with him, she would continue to live in the same house. She painted her helpless condition when it should please God to remove her father, till the sick man shed a tear and said: "Do as you please, my dear clever child. I consent to everything. Bring your future husband to see me soon: I wish to become better acquainted with him. And I insist on receiving a proposal in writing from his parents."

Sofya Nikolayevna then sent a note to Mme. Alakayeff, asking Alexyei Stepanitch to call on her father at a fixed hour. He was still "swimming in bliss," which he shared only with his old friend and supporter; but he was much disconcerted by this invitation which he had never expected from such a confirmed invalid. M. Zubin, in the absence of the Lieutenant-Governor the most important and powerful personage in the whole district of Ufa! M. Zubin, whom he had always approached with reverence and awe! His name seemed now more formidable than ever. What if he frowned on this proposal for his daughter's hand from one of the humblest of his subordinates? Might he not treat it as insolence, and thunder out: "How dared you think of my daughter? Are you a fit match for her? Off with him to prison and to judgment!" However wild these notions may appear, they did really pass through the young man's head; and he often told the story afterwards himself. Plucking up his spirits and encouraged by Mme. Alakayeff, he put on his uniform which hung loosely on his limbs from loss of flesh, and set off to wait on the great man. With his three-cornered hat under his arm, and clutching his troublesome sword in a trembling hand, he entered M. Zubin's study, so nervous that he could hardly breathe. M. Zubin, who had once been clever, lively, and energetic, now lay on his couch hardly able to move and shrunk to a mere skeleton. The visitor bowed low and remained standing by the door. This in itself was enough to annoy the invalid. "Step this way, M. Bagroff, and take a chair near my bed; I am too weak to talk loud." Alexyei Stepanitch, with a profusion of bows, sat down on the edge of a chair close to the bed. "I understand that you seek my daughter's hand," the old man went on. The suitor jumped up, bowed, and said that he did in fact venture to seek this happiness.

I could report the whole of this interview in detail, as I have often heard it fully described by Alexyei Stepanitch himself; but part of it would be a repetition of what we know already, and I am afraid of wearying my readers. The important points are these. M. Zubin questioned the young man about his family, his means, and his intentions with regard to his profession and place of residence; he said that Sofya Nikolayevna would have nothing but her portion of 10,000 _roubles_, two families of serfs as servants, and 3000 _roubles_ in cash for initial expenses; and he added: "Though I am quite sure that you, as a dutiful son, would not have made such a proposal without the consent of your parents, yet they may change their minds; and social usage requires that they should write to me personally on the subject; and I cannot give you a positive answer till I receive a letter to that effect." Alexyei Stepanitch got up repeatedly, bowed, and sat down again. He agreed to everything and promised to write that very day to his parents. In half an hour the invalid said that he was tired--which was perfectly true--and dismissed the young man rather drily. The moment he left, Sofya Nikolayevna entered her father's study; he was lying with closed eyes, and his face expressed weariness and also anxiety. Hearing his daughter's approach, he threw an imploring glance at her, pressed his hands to his breast, and ejaculated: "Is it possible, Sonitchka, that you intend to marry him!" But Sofya Nikolayevna had anticipated the result of the interview and was prepared for an even worse impression. "I warned you, father," she said in a gentle but firm voice, "that Alexyei Stepanitch, owing to utter ignorance of society, awkwardness, and timidity, was bound to appear to you at first somewhat of a simpleton; but I, who have seen him often and had long conversations with him, will vouch for it that he is no fool and has more sense than most people. I beg you to have two more interviews with him; and I am sure you will agree with me." M. Zubin looked long at his daughter with a keen and penetrating gaze, as if he wished to read some secret hidden in her heart; then he sighed heavily and consented to do what she asked.

By the next post Alexyei Stepanitch sent a very affectionate and respectful letter to his parents. He thanked them for having given him life a second time, and humbly begged them to write at once to M. Zubin and request the hand of his daughter for their son; he added that this was the regular custom, and without such a letter the father would not give a positive answer. The fulfilment of this simple request gave some trouble to the old people at Bagrovo. They were no hands at composition, and, for want of previous experience, had no idea how to set about it, while they were exceedingly loath to commit themselves before the Governor's Deputy and their future relation, who was sure to be a skilful man of business and a practised writer. It took them a whole week to compose their letter; at last it got written somehow and was dispatched to Alexyei Stepanitch. It was not a skilful production, having none of those polite phrases and expressions of affection which are indispensable in such cases.

While waiting for the answer from home, Alexyei Stepanitch received two more invitations from M. Zubin. The second visit did not remove the unfavourable impression produced by the first. On the next occasion, however, Sofya Nikolayevna was present. Returning from a call earlier than usual, she walked into her father's room, as if she did not know that her suitor was sitting there. Her presence made all the difference. She could make him talk and knew what he could talk about, so as to display to advantage his natural good sense, high principle, and goodness of heart. M. Zubin was obviously pleased: he spoke kindly to the young man and invited him to come to the house as often as he could. When they were alone, the old man embraced his daughter with tears, called her by many fond names, and said she was a witch whose spells could draw out a man's good qualities, even when they were so deeply hidden that no one suspected their existence. She too was much pleased; for she had not dared to hope that Alexyei Stepanitch would do so much to support her favourable opinion and justify the character she had given him.

The letter containing the formal proposal arrived at last, and Alexyei Stepanitch delivered it in person to M. Zubin. Alas! without the magic presence and aid of Sofya Nikolayevna the suitor failed again to please his future father-in-law, who was also far from satisfied with the letter. Next day he had a long conversation with his daughter, in which he set before her all the disadvantages of marrying a man inferior to herself in intelligence, education, and force of character; he said that the Bagroff family would not take her to their hearts--they would be much more likely to hate her, because coarse and cruel ignorance always hates refinement; he warned her not to rely on the promises of a lover; for these as a rule are not kept after marriage, and Alexyei Stepanitch, even if he wished, would not have the power to keep them. To all this sage advice, drawn directly from the experience of life, she had an answer of surprising adroitness; and at the same time she depicted in such lively colours the advantages of marrying a man who, if he lacked energy and refinement, was at least kind-hearted, honourable, loving, and no fool, that her father was carried away by her confidence and gave his full consent. She clasped her father in her arms and kissed his wasted hands; then she gave him the _ikon_ and received his blessing,[40] kneeling by his bed and weeping. "Father," she cried in her excitement, "with God's help, I hope that in a year's time Alexyei Stepanitch will be a different creature: the reading of good books, the society of clever people, and constant conversation with his wife--these will make up for defects of education; his bashfulness will pass away, and the power to take a place in society will come of itself." "May it be so!" he answered. "Now send for the priest. I wish that we should pray together for your happiness."

[40] The sacred image is often held by the person giving the blessing.

That same evening Alexyei Stepanitch was invited to the house, with Mme. Alakayeff and some old friends of the Zubins'--M. Anitchkoff and the Misailoffs; and the favourable answer was given. The young man's bliss no words can describe: Sofya Nikolayevna, even in extreme old age, used to speak of his joy at that moment. He threw himself at M. Zubin's feet and kissed his hands, cried and sobbed like a child, and nearly fainted from the effect of this immense good-fortune which down to the last moment had seemed beyond his reach. She too was deeply moved by such a frank expression of ardent and entire devotion.

The official betrothal came two days later, and all the town was invited to the ceremony. There was general surprise, because many had disbelieved the reports of the engagement. But all sceptics were convinced at last, and came to express their congratulations and good wishes. Alexyei Stepanitch was radiant with happiness; he was quite unaware of any hidden meaning in congratulations, of any mockery in looks and smiles. But Sofya Nikolayevna let nothing pass unnoticed: she saw everything and heard everything, though, in speaking to her, every one was cautious and polite. Though she knew beforehand the view society would take of her action, she could not help being vexed by this expression of their opinion. But no one detected her vexation; for she was cheerful and affectionate with every one and especially with her suitor, and seemed perfectly happy and content with her choice. The pair were soon summoned into M. Zubin's study, and the betrothal took place there before a few witnesses. While the priest read the prayers, the old man shed tears; when the rite was over, he told the bridegroom to kiss the bride and embraced them both himself with a great effort; then he gazed earnestly at Alexyei Stepanitch and said, "Love her always as you do now; God is giving you such a treasure ..." and then he broke down. The engaged couple and the witnesses returned to the drawing-room, where all the men embraced the bridegroom and kissed the bride's hand, while all the ladies embraced the bride and had their hands kissed by the bridegroom. When this fuss was over, the pair were made to sit on a sofa side by side, and exchange kisses again; and then the company, holding glasses in their hands, repeated their congratulations and good wishes. Anitchkoff acted as host, and Mme. Alakayeff as hostess. Alexyei Stepanitch, who had never in his life drunk anything but water, was forced to take a glass of wine, and the unfamiliar stimulant had a strong effect upon him, weakened as he was by recent illness and constant agitation. He became uncommonly lively, laughed and cried, and talked a great deal, to the amusement of the company and the mortification of the bride. The guests soon grew merry: glass followed glass, and a fine supper was served. All ate and drank heartily, and at last the party broke up amid noise and merriment. The bridegroom's head was beginning to ache; and Mme. Alakayeff took him home in her carriage.

M. Zubin felt that he was in great danger and therefore wished to have the wedding as soon as possible; but, as he also wished his daughter's outfit to be rich and splendid, it was necessary to postpone the ceremony for some months. Her mother's diamonds and emeralds had to be sent to Moscow, to be reset and restrung in the newest fashion; silver had to be ordered from Moscow, and some dresses and presents; the other dresses, curtains for the state bed, and a sumptuous black-brown fur cloak which cost 500 _roubles_ then and could not be bought now for 5000--all these were made in Kazan; a quantity of table-linen and Holland sheets were also provided. Ten thousand roubles, the amount fixed for the dowry, was a great sum in those days; and, as many valuable things were provided as well, the inventory of the bride's outfit assumed such splendid proportions, that when I read it now I can hardly believe in the simple life of our ancestors at the end of last century.

The first business after the formal betrothal was to send complimentary letters to all relations on both sides. One of Sofya Nikolayevna's gifts was her remarkable skill in letter-writing; and her letter to her future husband's parents was such that Stepan Mihailovitch, though no letter-writer himself, set a high value on it. First he listened to it with great attention; then he took it out of Tanyusha's hand, praised the distinct handwriting, and read it through twice himself. "Well, she's a clever girl," he said, "and I make sure she has a warm heart." This enraged the family, but they had the sense to keep silent. Alexandra alone could not restrain herself: her gooseberry eyes flashed with rage as she said: "She can write a fine letter, father, I admit; but all is not gold that glitters." The old man scowled at her and said in his dangerous voice: "How do you know? You're snarling at her already, and you've never even seen her! Take care! Keep your tongue from wagging, and don't stir up the rest!" All sat as silent as mice, and, of course, hated Sofya Nikolayevna worse than ever. Meanwhile Stepan Mihailovitch, under the influence of that warm and affectionate letter, took the pen himself and wrote as follows, in defiance of all established etiquette:--

"_My dear, precious, sensible Daughter-in-Law to be_,

"If you, without seeing us, have learnt to love and respect us
old people, we feel the same for you. And when, by God's
blessing, we meet, we shall love you still better; and you will
be to us as our own daughter, and we shall rejoice in the
happiness of our son Alexyei."

On her side, Sofya Nikolayevna valued the old man's simple words as they deserved; from what she had heard, she had already taken a fancy to him. As she had no relations living, the bridegroom had no letters to write; but she asked Alexyei Stepanitch to write a letter of intimation to M. Anitchkoff, the friend at Moscow whom she had never seen and who had taken her brothers under his care. The bridegroom of course gladly consented. Not having much confidence in his power to express himself on paper, she asked to see the letter before it was sent. When she read it, she was horrified! Alexyei Stepanitch, who had heard a great deal of M. Anitchkoff as a wit, took it into his head to adopt an elaborate style. Therefore he had recourse to some novel of the day, and filled two sides with phrases which, under other circumstances, would have made Sofya Nikolayevna laugh outright; as it was, the blood rushed to her face, and then the tears poured from her eyes. When she grew calmer, she wondered how she was to get out of such an awkward situation. She did not wonder long, however. She wrote a rough draft of a letter herself, and then said to her betrothed, that, not being in the habit of writing to strangers, he had written in a way that might not please Anitchkoff; and therefore she had written a rough draft, which she asked him to copy out and send off. She felt shame and pain, and was hurt on his account; her voice shook, and she nearly broke down. But he welcomed her suggestion with enthusiasm; when she read him the letter, he was charmed with it, praised her wonderful skill, and covered her hands with kisses. This was the first step in disrespect for her future husband, the first step towards realising her dream of complete domination over him; and she did not find it easy to take.

Knowing that his parents had little money and were forced to be chary in spending any, Alexyei Stepanitch wrote to ask for a very moderate sum; and, to strengthen his request, he asked Mme. Alakayeff to write to his father, to assure him that the request was reasonable and that some expense was inevitable in view of the marriage. He asked only 800 _roubles_, but Mme. Alakayeff stated the necessary sum at 1500. The old people replied that they had not got such a sum; they sent him all they had--300 _roubles_, and suggested that, if the other 500 were necessary, he should borrow them; but they promised to send him a team of four horses with a coachman and postilion, and provisions of all kinds. They did not even answer Mme. Alakayeff: so indignant were they with her for demanding such a huge sum. It could not be helped: Alexyei Stepanitch thanked them for their kindness and borrowed 500 _roubles_; when even this proved insufficient, Mme. Alakayeff gave him 500 more, without the knowledge of his parents.

Meantime, as the engaged couple met more often and were together longer, they became more intimate. Sofya Nikolayevna for the first time saw her husband as he really was, and realised for the first time what a heavy task lay before her! She had made no mistake in thinking that he possessed natural intelligence, a very kind heart, strict principles of honour, and perfect integrity in official life; but otherwise she found such a limitation of ideas, such a pettiness of interests, such an absence of self-esteem and independence, that her courage and firmness in the execution of her purpose were more than once severely shaken. More than once, in despair, she took the engagement-ring off her finger, laid it before the image of Our Lady of Smolensk, and prayed with tears that her feeble intelligence might be enlightened by divine wisdom. As we know already, she was accustomed to act thus at each crisis in her life. When she had prayed, she felt braver and calmer. Interpreting this feeling as heavenly guidance, she would put her ring on again and go back, composed and cheerful, to join her lover in the drawing-room. Her father felt that he was losing strength daily; and she was able to assure him that she was constantly discovering fresh merits in her lover, that she was quite content and looked forward to happiness in her marriage. By this time disease had dulled M. Zubin's perspicacity: he not only believed that she was sincere, but was convinced himself that his daughter would be happy. "Thank God!" he used to say; "now I can die happy."

And now the wedding-day drew near. The bride's outfit was all ready. The bridegroom too made his preparations, being guided by the advice of Mme. Alakayeff, who assumed the entire management of him. The old lady, in spite of her shrewdness, was surprised by his profound ignorance of the customs of polite society. But for her, he would have been guilty of many blunders which would have made his bride blush for shame. Thus he intended to give her as a birthday-present a kind of cloth for a dress which would only have been suitable as a present to her maid; and he thought of driving to the church in an old shandrydan without springs, which would have made all the town laugh; and so on. The things were not of importance in themselves; but it would have tried Sofya Nikolayevna too hard to see her bridegroom the laughing-stock of Ufa society. All such things were put right by Mme. Alakayeff, or rather by the bride herself, for the two women discussed every point together. Sofya Nikolayevna told her lover in time, that he must not think of giving her a present for her birthday, because she loathed birthday-presents in general. For the wedding, she made him buy a new English carriage which had lately been ordered from Petersburg by a local landowner; his name was Murzahanoff,[41] and he had managed to run through his fortune in a few months. The price paid for the carriage was 350 _roubles_; Sofya Nikolayevna bought it herself as a present from her father to the bridegroom, and begged him not to trouble the dying man by thanking him. And the other difficulties were got over in the same fashion.

[41] The Russianised form of an oriental name, Mirza Khan.

Then the bride and bridegroom wrote, for themselves and M. Zubin, to Stepan Mihailovitch and Arina Vassilyevna, pressing them to honour the wedding by their presence; but the old people, as a matter of course, declined the invitation. They had lived so long in their country solitude that town and town society seemed to them something strange and formidable. None of the daughters wished to go either; but Stepan Mihailovitch thought this awkward, and desired Elizabeth and Alexandra to attend the wedding. The latter was accompanied by her husband, Karatayeff; but Yerlykin was detained by his duties at Orenburg.

The presence of these uninvited and unexpected guests was the cause of much annoyance to Sofya Nikolayevna. Her future sisters-in-law were clever and cunning women; they were determined to dislike her, and their behaviour to her was cold, unfriendly, and even rude. Though Sofya Nikolayevna knew very well the sort of attitude they were likely to adopt, yet she thought it her duty to be friendly and even cordial to them at first; but when she saw that all her efforts were vain, and that the better she treated them the worse they treated her, she retired behind a wall of cold civility. But this did not protect her from those mean hints and innuendoes which it is impossible not to understand and not to resent, though it is awkward to do either, because you lay yourself open to the retort--"If the cap fits, wear it!" This odious form of attack, now banished to the servants' hall by the advance of refinement, was formidable in those days, and much used in the houses of rural landowners, many of whom differed little from their own servants in their manners and customs. But is it true that it has really been banished? Does it not still live on among us, concealed under more decent and artistic forms?

The good people of Ufa made fun, as might be expected, of the country clothes and manners of the two ladies. As to Karatayeff, who had now adopted all the Bashkir habits and began drinking Bashkir decoctions at eight in the morning, when he was first introduced to Sofya Nikolayevna, he kissed her hand with a sounding smack three times over, and cried out with real Bashkir enthusiasm, "My word! what a dazzler brother Alexyei has hooked!" The coarse jests and compliments of the man were as distressing as the malicious sallies of the women; and both forced Sofya Nikolayevna to swallow many tears. But worse than all was the blindness of Alexyei Stepanitch: he seemed perfectly satisfied with the relations between his sisters and his bride, and this was not only a mortification for the present but also a peril for the future. These venomous creatures, who were staying with their brother, began at once to drop their poison into his simple soul, and did it so artfully that he did not suspect their manoeuvres. Allusions to the young lady's pride, to the poverty which she hid under jewels and fine clothes, to her caprices and his meek submission to them, were dinned into his ears all day long. Much passed unnoticed, but much also went straight to the mark and made him thoughtful and vaguely uneasy. All their attacks, whether secret or open, were accompanied by a pretence of sympathy and sisterly affection. "What makes you look so worn, my dear boy?" Elizabeth would ask; "Sofya Nikolayevna wears you out with all her commissions. You've just got back from the other end of the town, tired and hungry, and off you run again, without eating a morsel, to dance attendance on her. As your sisters, we can't help being sorry for you"; and then sham tears, or at least some play with the pocket-handkerchief, completed the crafty sentence. Then Alexandra would make a furious entry into the conversation. "No, my dear, I really cannot stand it! I know you will be angry, and perhaps you will cease to love us; but I can't help it, I must tell you the truth. You are quite changed: you're ashamed of us and have forgotten us altogether; your one wish is to mumble that girl's hand; your one fear, to get into her black books. You have become her lackey, her slave! Then it cuts us to the heart to see that old witch, Mme. Alakayeff, ordering you about like a servant and making you fetch and carry for her; and she's not content with that, but finds fault with you and urges you to greater activity." Alexyei Stepanitch could think of no answer to all this, except that he loved his sisters and would continue to do so, and--it was time to go and see Sofya Nikolayevna; whereupon he took his hat and hurried off. "Oh, go by all means!" Alexandra called after him, "and go quick; or else she will be angry and perhaps withhold her hand from your lips!" Scenes like this took place again and again and undoubtedly left their impression.

Sofya Nikolayevna could not help noticing that his sisters' visit had brought about a certain change in her lover. He seemed depressed, was less exact in keeping his engagements, and spent less time with her. The reason for this she herself understood very well; and Mme. Alakayeff, who had become a very intimate friend and also knew all that went on in the Bagroffs' lodgings, did not fail to provide her with detailed information. Her impulsive nature made her unwilling to let things drag on. She reasoned justly, that she ought not to give time for the sisters' influence to take root at leisure, that she must open her lover's eyes and put the strength of his character and affection to a decisive test. If they proved too weak, it was better to part before marriage than to unite her fate to such a feeble creature, who was, to use her own expression, "neither a shield from the sun nor a cloak to keep out the rain." She summoned him early one morning and ordered that no visitors should be admitted to the drawing-room where they were sitting. Then she turned to Alexyei Stepanitch, who was looking pale and frightened, and addressed him as follows:--