Chapter VI: Part 6

"I wish to have a frank explanation with you and to make a clean breast of what I am feeling; and I ask you to do the same. Your sisters detest me and did their best to rouse your parents against me. That I know from yourself. But your love overcame all obstacles: your parents gave you their approval, and I resolved to accept you and brave the hatred of all your family. I hoped to find protection in your love for me and in my endeavour to prove to your parents that I don't deserve their displeasure. But now I see that I was mistaken. You saw yourself how I received your sisters, how friendly I was and how hard I tried to please them; and, though their rudeness made me draw back, yet I never once failed in politeness to them. And what has been the result? It is only a week since they came, and you treat me differently already: you make me promises and then forget to keep them; you spend less time with me; you are depressed and anxious, and even less affectionate to me than you used to be. Don't defend yourself, or deny it; that would not be honourable on your part. I know that you love me still, but you are afraid to show it; you fear your sisters, and that is why you are depressed and even avoid opportunities of being alone with me. You know yourself that all this is quite true. Well, then, tell me, how can I hope that your love will stand firm? It is a strange kind of love that turns coward and hides, because your sisters disapprove of your bride, as you knew they did long ago. Suppose your parents disapprove of me and turn up their noses at me? What then? Then you will really cease to love me. No, Alexyei Stepanitch, honourable men do not behave so to the woman they love. The knowledge that your sisters disliked me should have made you twice as attentive and twice as devoted in their presence; and then they would not have dared to utter a syllable; but you have suffered them to use insulting language in your presence. I know just how they speak to you. From all this I conclude that your love is not love at all, but love-making, that I cannot rely on you, and that we had better part now than be unhappy for life. Consider carefully what I have said; I shall give you two days to think it over. Come to the house as usual, but I shall not see you alone and shall not refer to this interview. After two days, I shall ask for an honest answer to these questions: 'Have you sufficient firmness to be my defender against your relations and any one else who chooses to insult me? Can you shut your sisters' mouths and prevent them from uttering in your presence a single insulting word or allusion against me?' To break her engagement a week before her marriage is a great misfortune for any girl; but it is better to bear it once for all than to suffer all one's life. You know that I am not in love with you, but I was beginning to love you; and I believe my love would have been stronger and more constant than yours. Now, good-bye! For to-day and to-morrow we are strangers."

Long before she ended, Alexyei Stepanitch had been in tears, and he tried several times to interrupt; but, before he could open his mouth, she had left the room and shut the door behind her. It was some time before he recovered from this tremendous blow. But at last the terrible thought of losing his adored mistress presented itself to him with appalling reality, and summoned up that energy and vigour of which the mildest and gentlest of men are capable, though they cannot keep it up for long. He hurried home; and, when his sisters, with no pity for his evident disturbance and distress, greeted him with the usual malicious jests, he flew into such a rage and attacked them with such fury that they were frightened. The wrath of a gentle patient man is a formidable thing. Among other things he told his sisters that, if they ventured to say another insulting word about his bride or about himself, he would instantly move to other lodgings, from which, as well as from M. Zubin's house, they would be excluded; and he would write to his father and tell him the whole story. That was enough. Alexandra had a clear recollection of her father's warning-"Keep your tongue quiet, and don't stir up the rest of the family!" She knew very well what a thunder-cloud her brother's complaint would call up, and what alarming consequences she might expect. Both the sisters fell on their brother's neck and begged forgiveness with tears; they solemnly declared that it should never happen again; they were really very fond of Sofya Nikolayevna, and it was only out of pity for his health and fear that he was doing too much that they had ventured on these foolish jests. They called on Sofya Nikolayevna that same day and paid court to her with the utmost servility. The meaning of all this was not lost upon her, and she felt she had prevailed.

The position of her lover really deserved pity. His feelings, which had been calmed and composed to some extent by frequent interviews with Sofya Nikolayevna, her simple friendly behaviour to him, and the near prospect of the marriage, had then been rather alarmed and abashed by the sneers of his sisters; and now they flamed up so fiercely, that at the present moment he was capable of any self-sacrifice, of any desperate action, a true knight-errant! His state of mind was clearly reflected on his handsome young face during those two endless days. The lovers met several times, and Sofya Nikolayevna could not look at his face without pain; but she had the firmness to support the test she had imposed. The agitation and pity which she felt were a surprise to herself. She felt that she did really love this simple, modest young man, who was absolutely devoted to her and would not have hesitated to put an end to his existence if she made up her mind to refuse him. At last the two long days were over. Early on the third day Alexyei Stepanitch sat in the drawing-room, waiting for his mistress to appear. The door opened softly, and in she came, more beautiful, more charming than ever. She was smiling, and her eyes expressed such tenderness that, when he looked at her and saw her kind hand stretched out towards him, the excess of his emotion deprived him for an instant of the power of speech. He soon recovered, and then, instead of taking her hand, fell at her feet and poured forth a torrent of burning heartfelt eloquence. She interrupted him and raised him to his feet. Then she said: "I see and feel your love, and I share it; I believe all your promises; I put my fate in your hands without fear." She had never been so affectionate to him before, and she used words of tenderness which he had never before heard from her lips.

Only five days remained before the marriage. All their preparations were complete, and the lovers were free to spend most of their time together. For five whole months Sofya Nikolayevna had been true to her intention of educating her future husband over again. She never lost a suitable moment, but did her best to impart those ideals which he did not possess, to clear up and develop feelings of which he was dimly conscious, and to root out the notions which he had derived from his early surroundings. She even made him read, and discussed with him the books he had read, explaining what puzzled him, filling up gaps in his memory, and illustrating fiction from real life. But it is probable that she got on faster with her task during these five days than in the course of five long months; for the recent incident which I have described had raised her lover's mind to a higher level of refinement, and he was in an unusually receptive and impressionable mood. How far the teacher succeeded on the whole in impressing her ideas upon the pupil, I cannot venture to decide. It is hard to know how much weight to attach to the opinions of the two persons concerned; but it is certain that in later years they both maintained--and they appealed to the evidence of disinterested persons in confirmation of the statement--that a great change took place in Alexyei Stepanitch, and even a complete transformation. I am very willing to believe it; but I have a proof that his proficiency in social etiquette left something to be desired. I know that he made his bride very angry the day before the marriage, and that her vehemence left a strong and painful impression on his mind. It happened in the following way. Two ladies were calling on Sofya Nikolayevna when a servant brought in a paper parcel and handed it to his mistress, with the explanation that Alexyei Stepanitch had sent it by his coachman and wished her at once to make a cap for his sister Alexandra. Her lover had left her half an hour before without saying one word about this commission, and Sofya Nikolayevna was exceedingly annoyed. The ladies, who were of some importance, had supposed at first that the parcel contained a present from the bridegroom; and now they did not try to conceal their amusement. Sofya Nikolayevna lost patience: she ordered the parcel to be returned, with a message that Alexyei Stepanitch had better apply to a milliner; it was no doubt a mistake to have brought the thing to her. The explanation was quite simple. On going home, he had found his sister in a great difficulty, because the milliner, who had engaged to make her a cap for the wedding, had fallen ill and returned the materials. As he had seen with his own eyes the skill with which Sofya Nikolayevna could trim hats and caps, he offered to help his sister out of her trouble, and told his servant to carry the parcel to his bride, with a humble request that she would trim a cap for Alexandra. But the servant was busy, and, instead of going himself, sent the coachman; and the humble request became, in the coachman's mouth, an imperious demand. Alexyei Stepanitch hastened back to explain matters, and carried with him the same unlucky parcel. Sofya Nikolayevna had not yet cooled down, when she saw him coming into the room with the odious parcel under his arm; and she flared up worse than ever, and said many violent and unkind things which she had better have left unspoken. The culprit, utterly dumbfounded, tried to defend himself, but did it very badly; he was seriously hurt by this onslaught. She sent the materials for the cap to some milliner she knew of; and then, repenting of her violence, she tried to put matters right. But, to her surprise, Alexyei Stepanitch could not get over it: he felt that he had been unjustly treated, and she had frightened him. He became very depressed, and her efforts to calm and cheer him were unsuccessful.

The wedding-day, the 10th of May, 1788, arrived, and the bridegroom paid an early visit to his bride. After her excitement of the previous day, she was distressed to see that Alexyei Stepanitch still wore the same pained expression. She felt hurt; for she had always supposed that he would be in an ecstasy of joy on the day when he led her to the altar; and here he was, looking demure and even depressed! She expressed her feelings, and that made matters worse. Of course, he assured her that he considered himself the happiest man in the world, and so on; but the pompous and trivial phrases, which he had repeated many a time before and she had heard with satisfaction, were now distasteful to her ear, because they lacked the fire of inward conviction. They soon parted, to meet next in church, where the bridegroom was to be in waiting for her at six in the evening.

Sofya Nikolayevna was assailed by a terrible misgiving--would she be happy in her marriage? A host of dark forebodings passed before her heated imagination. She blamed herself for her hot temper and violent language; she recognised that the offence was trifling, and that she must expect many slips of the kind on her lover's part, and must take them calmly. They had happened often enough before; but, on this occasion, the unlucky combination of circumstances and the presence of the two unfriendly visitors had pricked her vanity and irritated her natural impetuosity. Conscious that she had frightened her lover, she repented of her fault; but at the same time she was aware in the depth of her heart that she was quite capable of committing the same fault again. And now she realised afresh all the difficulty of the tremendous task she had undertaken--the reformation and regeneration of a man of twenty-seven. Her whole life--and it might be long--must be spent with a husband whom she loved indeed but could not entirely respect; there would be constant collision between utterly different ideas and opposite qualities, and they would often misunderstand one another. Doubts of success, doubts of her own strength, doubts of her power to command the qualities of firmness and calmness so foreign to her nature--these rose before her for the first time in their appalling truth, and she shrank back in terror. But what could she do? If she broke off the marriage at the eleventh hour, what would be the consequences? It would be a terrible blow to her dying father, who took comfort in the conviction that his daughter would be happy in the care of a kind husband; her rivals in society and enemies would mock at her; she would be the talk of the town and the laughing-stock of the district, perhaps even a mark for calumny; and, above all, she would kill, literally kill, her devoted lover. And all for what? Merely because she was afraid she might lack firmness to carry out a purpose which she had deliberately formed and which was beginning to take shape with triumphant success. "No! that shall never be! God will help me; Our Lady of Smolensk will be my intercessor and will give me strength to conquer my impetuous nature." Thus Sofya Nikolayevna thought, and thus she decided. She wept and prayed and regained her stability.

The Church of the Assumption was quite close to the Zubins' house, and there was then an empty space round it. Long before six o'clock, it was surrounded by a crowd of curious spectators. The high steps projecting from the house into the street were blocked by the carriages of the privileged persons who had been invited to escort the bride. The bride was dressed, and her little brother, Nikolinka, whose birth had cost his mother her life three years before, put on the stockings and shoes, according to established custom, though of course the maids lent their assistance. By six the bride was ready; she received her father's blessing and came into the drawing-room. The rich bridal-dress lent an added lustre to her beauty. The bridegroom, on his way to church, had to pass right under the drawing-room windows, and Sofya Nikolayevna saw him drive past in the English carriage drawn by the four fine horses bred at Bagrovo; he had his head out and was looking up at the open windows; she smiled and nodded. Next came the bridegroom's sisters with Mme. Alakayeff, and all the men who were escorting him to church. She did not wish to keep him waiting, and insisted, in spite of various hindrances, that they should start at once. Sofya Nikolayevna was calm and composed when she entered the church; she gave her arm cheerfully and smilingly to the bridegroom; but she was vexed to see that his face still wore the same sad expression; and it was generally remarked that they both looked depressed during the ceremony. The church was brilliantly lighted and full of people; the cathedral choir did not spare their voices. Altogether, it was a dignified and splendid ceremony. When the rite was over, the young couple were escorted to the Zubins' house by the bridegroom's sisters, the whole train of friends and relations on both sides, and all the important people of Ufa. Dancing began at once and went on till an early but sumptuous supper was served. Privileged guests paid a visit to M. Zubin in his study and congratulated him on his daughter's marriage. The usual festivities took place on the next and following days--balls, dinners, and calls, in fact, the regular routine which we see nowadays even in Moscow and Petersburg.

The shade of sadness soon vanished from the faces of the young couple. They were perfectly happy. Kind people could not look at them without pleasure; and every one said, "What a handsome couple!" A week later, they prepared for a visit to Bagrovo; the bridegroom's sisters had gone back there three days after the wedding, and Sofya Nikolayevna had sent by them an affectionate letter to the old people.

Startled by their brother's explosion, Elizabeth and Alexandra had been cautious of late. They refrained from all hints and sneers and grimaces in his presence, and were even polite to Sofya Nikolayevna. She, of course, was not taken in by this; but their brother entirely believed in the sincerity of their devotion to his bride. At the wedding and the festivities which followed, they were, naturally, somewhat out of place, and therefore hastened their departure. On arriving at Bagrovo, they determined to do nothing rash and to hide their hostility towards Sofya Nikolayevna from their father; but to their mother and two sisters they described the marriage and events at Ufa in such a way as to fill their minds with a strong prejudice against the bride; and they did not forget to mention their brother's threats and his fury excited by their attacks upon Sofya Nikolayevna. It was agreed to treat her kindly in the presence of Stepan Mihailovitch, and to say nothing bad about her to him directly; at the same time they were to use every opportunity to excite by indirect means his displeasure against their enemy. It was a highly delicate operation; and Elizabeth and Alexandra could not trust it to any hands but their own.

My grandfather questioned them minutely about the wedding, the people they had seen there, the health of M. Zubin, and so on. They praised everything, but the poison under their praises could be smelt and tasted, and they failed to deceive their father. By way of a joke, and perhaps also for the sake of comparison, he turned to Karatayeff and said: "Well, now, friend Ivan, what say you of the daughter-in-law? As a man, you are a better judge of the point than the women are." Karatayeff, disregarding a signal from his wife, burst out with enthusiasm: "I do assure you, _batyushka_, that such another dazzler"--he always used this phrase of a beautiful woman--"as brother Alexyei has bagged is not to be found in the whole world. A look from her is as good as a shilling. And her cleverness! it's past all telling. But there's one thing, _batyushka_: she's proud; she can't stand a joke. When you try to have a little fun with her, she gives you a look that makes you bite off the end of your tongue." "I see, my friend, that she made short work with your nonsense," said the old man with an amused look; then he laughed and added, "Not much amiss there, so far." In fact, Stepan Mihailovitch, from what he had heard and the bride's letters and Karatayeff's description, had formed in his own mind a highly favourable opinion of Sofya Nikolayevna.

The expected visit of the young couple produced bustle and confusion in the quiet or, one might say, stagnant waters of life at Bagrovo. They had to bestir themselves, to clean things up, and bring out their best clothes. The bride was a fine town lady, poor, perhaps, but accustomed to live in luxury; she would be critical and contemptuous--so they all thought, and so they all said, except the master of the house. As there were no separate rooms in the house unoccupied, Tanyusha had to turn out of her bedroom, one corner of which overlooked the garden and the clear waters of the Boogoorooslan with its green bushes and loud nightingales. Tanyusha was very unwilling to move to the bath-house, but there was no other place: all her sisters were put up in the house, and Karatayeff and Yerlykin slept in the hayloft. The day before the visitors' arrival brought their state-bed and bed-hangings and curtains for the windows, and with them a man who knew how to put everything up properly. Tanyusha's room was completely furnished in a few hours. Stepan Mihailovitch came to see it and expressed his admiration, but the women bit their lips with envy. At last a messenger galloped up and announced that the couple had stopped at the village of Noikino, eight _versts_ from Bagrovo; they were to change their dress there and would arrive in two hours. This caused a general stir. The priest had been summoned hours before; but, as he had not yet arrived, Stepan Mihailovitch sent a mounted messenger to hasten his steps.

Meantime the following scene was taking place in the Mordvinian village of Noikino. The travellers were making their way along side roads and had always to send a man ahead to arrange about fresh horses. The people of Noikino had all known Alexyei Stepanitch from childhood, and had a great regard and respect for his father. Every one of the six hundred inhabitants of the village, men and women, old and young, gathered before the cottage where the young people were to make their halt. Sofya Nikolayevna had probably never seen people of this tribe close at hand; and therefore the dress of the women and the uncommonly tall stout girls--their white shifts embroidered with red wool, their black woollen girdles, and the silver coins and little bells which hung from their heads over their breasts and backs--was very interesting to her. But, when she heard them all break out into joyful greetings and compliments and good wishes, childish enough and expressed in bad Russian, but coming from the heart, then she both laughed and cried. "What a fine wife God has given you, Alosha! How glad our father Stepan Mihailovitch will be! Good luck! Good luck!" But, when the bride, arrayed in her fine city clothes, came out to take her seat in the carriage, there was such a roar of enthusiastic applause that the horses actually shied. The travellers made a present of ten _roubles_, to be spent on whisky, to the whole village, and went on their way.

The stackyard at Bagrovo was at the top of a hill, and now the high carriage was seen emerging from behind it. The cry, "They're coming! they're coming!" flew from room to room, and house-servants and labourers soon gathered in the large courtyard, while the young people and children ran to meet the carriage. The master and mistress, attended by all their family, came out upon the steps. Arina Vassilyevna wore a silk jacket and skirt and a silk handkerchief adorned with gold sprigs upon her head; Stepan Mihailovitch was clean-shaved and wore an old-fashioned frock-coat and a stock round his neck. Husband and wife stood on the top step; and he held in his hands an ikon representing the Presentation of the Virgin, while she carried a loaf of bread and a silver salt-cellar. Their daughters and two sons-in-law were grouped round them. The carriage drove up to the steps. The young couple got out, knelt down before the old people, and received their blessing; then they exchanged embraces with each member of the family. Hardly had the bride completed this ceremony and turned again towards her father-in-law, when he caught her by the hand and looked keenly at her eyes from which the tears were falling. His own eyes grew wet; he clasped her in a tight embrace, kissed her, and said, "I thank God. Let us go and thank Him together!" He took her by the hand and led her through the crowd of people into the parlour. There he made her sit near him; and the priest, who was waiting for them with his robes on, pronounced the solemn words--

"We praise thee, O God: we acknowledge thee to be the Lord."

FRAGMENT IV: THE YOUNG COUPLE AT BAGROVO

Stepan Mihailovitch joined fervently in the prayers, and so did his daughter-in-law. When the service was over, all kissed the Cross, and the priest sprinkled the young pair and the rest of the company with holy water. Then the kissing and embracing began over again, with the phrases customary on such occasions--"We beg that you will regard us as relations and love us," and so on--said of course by those to whom the bride was still a stranger. Stepan Mihailovitch said nothing: he only looked affectionately at the tearful eyes and flaming cheeks of Sofya Nikolayevna, listened attentively to every word she spoke, and noted her every movement. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the drawing-room, where he sat down on the sofa and made the pair sit near him. Arina Vassilyevna seated herself next to her son at the other end of the sofa, while her daughters with their husbands sat round the central group. It should be said that Stepan Mihailovitch never sat in the drawing-room: he entered it very seldom and never stayed long. There were only two parts of the house which he used--his own room, and the outside stoop, a very simple contrivance of beams and boards; there he was thoroughly at home, but in the drawing-room he was never quite at his ease. For once he put constraint upon himself and carried on a friendly conversation with his daughter-in-law. He began by asking about her father's health, and expressed sincere regret on hearing that he grew weaker daily: "In that case, my dear," he said, "I must not keep you too long at Bagrovo." It need not be said that the bride was at no loss for words: she was not merely polite, but cordial and eager to make a good impression. Arina Vassilyevna, naturally a very simple woman, took her tone from her husband, as far as her intelligence and her dread of disobeying her daughters would let her. She was friendly to her son's wife and had taken a real liking to her at first sight; but the others were silent, and it was not hard to guess their feelings from their faces. After half an hour the bride whispered to her husband, who rose at once and went to the bedroom which had been specially prepared for them, near the drawing-room. Stepan Mihailovitch looked on with surprise; but the bride's lively talk engaged his attention, and he was so much interested by it that he was startled when presently the folding doors of the bedroom opened and his son came in, holding a large silver salver so loaded with presents for the family that it actually bent under their weight. Sofya Nikolayevna sprang to her feet; she took from the salver and presented to her father-in-law a piece of fine English broadcloth, and a waistcoat of watered silk, richly laced with gold thread and embroidered all over with spangles; and she told him quite truly that she had worked it all with her own hands. Stepan Mihailovitch looked uneasily at his son standing with the salver in his arms, but he accepted the presents graciously and kissed his daughter-in-law. Next, Arina Vassilyevna was presented with a silk handkerchief covered with gold embroidery, to wear over her head, and a complete length of excellent China silk, which even then was considered a rarity; each sister-in-law received a piece of costly silk, and each of their husbands a piece of English broadcloth; but these presents were naturally rather less valuable. All got up, kissed the hands of the donor, and bowed their thanks. Meanwhile the door leading to the parlour was cracking with the pressure of curious spectators of both sexes, and the well-oiled heads of the maids kept peeping timidly out of the bedroom door, which they had to themselves, because none of the outdoor servants dared to enter the elegant apartment of the young couple. In the parlour there was a great noise; for the menservants were prevented by the intruders from laying the table, and were unable to turn them out. Stepan Mihailovitch guessed what was going on; he got up and glanced through the door; one look and one quiet word was enough: "Off," he said, and the parlour was empty in a moment.

The dinner passed off in the usual fashion. The young pair sat side by side between the old couple; there were a great many courses, one richer and more indigestible than another; the cook Stepan had been lavish with his spice, cloves, and pepper, and especially with his butter. The bride ate the dainties pressed upon her by Stepan Mihailovitch, and prayed that she might not die in the night. There was little talking, partly because every mouth was otherwise occupied, and also because the party were not good at conversation. Indeed they were all uncomfortable in their own ways. Yerlykin in his sober intervals drank nothing but water, and hardly spoke at all at such times, which gained him a reputation for exceptional intelligence; and Karatayeff dared not open his mouth in the presence of Stepan Mihailovitch except to answer a question, and went no further than repeating the last words of other people's remarks. If they said: "The hay crop will be good, if we get no rain," or "The rye made a good start till that sudden frost came"--Karatayeff came in like an echo, "if we get no rain," "till the frost came"; and his repetitions were sometimes ill-timed. As the hosts had not thought of procuring sparkling wine from Ufa, the health of the bride and bridegroom was drunk in strawberry wine, three years old and as thick as oil, which diffused about the room the delicious perfume of the wild strawberry. Mazan, with long boots smelling of tar on his feet, and wearing a long coat which made him look like a bear dressed up in sacking, handed round the loving-cup; it was ornamented with a white pattern and had a dark-blue spiral inside its glass stalk. When the young pair had to return thanks, Sofya Nikolayevna was not much pleased to drink from the cup which had just left Karatayeff's greasy lips; but she made no wry faces. Indeed she was intending to drain the cup, when her father-in-law stopped her: "Don't drink it all, my dear," he said; "the liquor is good and sweet but strong; you are not accustomed to it, and your little head would ache." She declared that such a noble drink could not hurt her, and begged to be allowed a little more, till Stepan Mihailovitch allowed her one sip from the cup which he held in his hands.

It was clear to all the family that the old man was pleased with his daughter-in-law and liked all that she said. And she could see this herself, though she had been surprised twice over by a shadow of displeasure passing over his face. But more than once during the meal she had encountered his expressive look, as his eyes rested with satisfaction on her. At last the long and solemn dinner came to an end. Sofya Nikolayevna, unlike the rest, had found this rustic feast very wearisome, but she had done her best to enliven it by cheerful conversation. When they rose from table, his son and daughters kissed their father's hand, and Sofya Nikolayevna tried to do so too, but the old man embraced and kissed her instead. It was the second time this had happened, and Sofya Nikolayevna, with her natural impulsiveness, asked him in a lively affectionate tone: "Why do you not give me your hand, _batyushka_? I am your daughter too, and I wish to kiss your hand out of love and respect, like the rest." The old man looked at her keenly and attentively; then he said in a kind voice: "I love you, my dear, but I am not a priest,[42] and no one kisses my hand except my own children."

[42] Devout Russians kiss a priest's hand.

The party went back to the drawing-room and sat down where they were before. The maid Aksyutka brought in coffee, which was only served on very solemn occasions; the old man did not drink it, but all his family were very fond of it; they always called it "coff," never "coffee." When it was swallowed, Stepan Mihailovitch rose and said: "Now it is time to have a good sleep, and the young people too would be none the worse of a rest after their journey"; then he went off to his own room, escorted by his son and daughter-in-law. "This is my den, my dear," said the old man cheerfully; "sit down and be my guest. As your husband knows, it was an exception for me to sit in the drawing-room with you all, with this bearing-rein on, as well," and he pointed to his stock: "and in future, if any one wants my society, I shall welcome them here." Then he kissed her, gave his hand to his son to kiss, and let them go. When alone, he undressed and lay down, to rest from the unusual bodily exertions and mental excitement of the day. He was soon sound asleep; and his powerful snoring echoed through the house and swayed to and fro the curtains which Mazan had drawn round his old master.

His example was followed by the rest. Yerlykin and Karatayeff went off to the stable to lie down on the haymow; both their faces showed that they had done well at dinner, and Karatayeff had also drunk too much. The daughters assembled in their mother's room which was separate from their father's; and now began such a debate and discussion, carried on in whispers, that not one of the party even lay down to sleep that afternoon. Poor Sofya Nikolayevna was their theme, and her sisters-in-law simply tore her to pieces; they were enraged beyond all bounds by their father's evident partiality for her. But there was one kind heart there--Aksinya, the eldest sister, who was now a widow for the second time; she stood up for Sofya Nikolayevna and brought down their wrath on her own head: they turned her out of the room and banished her for the future from their family councils; and to her old nickname of "Miss Simplicity," they now added another offensive title which she still bore in advanced old age. Yet, for all the persecution of her sisters, her kind heart never swerved from its devotion to her sister-in-law.

Meanwhile the young pair went off to their own fine bedroom. With the help of her own maid Parasha, a brisk, black-eyed girl, Sofya Nikolayevna unpacked the large number of boxes and trunks which the English coach had brought from Ufa. Parasha was able already to run through a list of outdoor servants and old people among the peasants who deserved special notice; and her mistress, who had brought with her a goodly store of trifles, fixed the present to be given to each, taking account of their age and services, and the respect which their owners had for them. The husband and wife were not tired and did not think it necessary to rest. Sofya Nikolayevna changed into a simpler dress, and left Parasha to finish the unpacking and arrangement of the bedroom, while she went out with her young husband, who was very anxious, in spite of the heat, to show her all his favourite haunts--the beech-wood, the island with its lime-trees just coming into leaf, and the transparent waters of the river where it made a bend round the island. And how delightful it was there at that season, when the freshness of spring combines with the warmth of summer! Alexyei Stepanitch was passionately in love with his adored wife, and time had not yet blunted the edge of his happiness; but he was disconcerted to find that she was not charmed either by wood or island, and indeed took little notice of either. She sat down in the shade on the bank of the rapid river, and began at once to speak to her husband of his relations. She discussed their reception. "I like your father so much," she went on, "and I could see at the first glance that he liked me; perhaps your mother liked me, but she seemed afraid to show it. Aksinya seems the kindest of them, but she is afraid of something too. Oh, I understand it all perfectly; I know in what quarter the damp wood is smouldering. I did not miss a single word or a single glance; I know what I am bound to expect. God will judge your sisters, Elizabeth and Alexandra!" But Alexyei Stepanitch was hardly listening to her words. The fresh shade, the green of the boughs bending over the stream, the low ripple of the running water, the fish jumping, his adored wife sitting beside him with one arm round his waist--in such surroundings how was it possible to find fault or make objections or express discontent? How was it possible even to take in what was said? And in fact Alexyei Stepanitch did not take in what his young wife was saying to him: he was so happy that nothing but silence and oblivion of the world around him could serve as a full expression of his intoxicating bliss. But Sofya Nikolayevna went on: she said a great deal, with warmth and feeling; and then she noticed that her husband was not listening and was nearly asleep. She sprang up at once, and then followed a scene of conflict and mutual misunderstanding, more pronounced than any they had ever had before, though there had been premonitory symptoms once or twice already. Sofya Nikolayevna kept nothing back this time: the tears rushed from her eyes as she poured forth a torrent of reproaches for his indifference and inattention. Alexyei Stepanitch was puzzled and distressed: he felt as if he had fallen from the skies or awakened from a delightful dream. Thinking to calm his wife, he assured her with perfect sincerity, that there was nothing wrong at all, that it was all her imagination, and that all the family loved her; how could any one help loving her, he asked. That he was honestly convinced of this was clear as day; and his eyes and face and voice all expressed his devoted love to his wife; yet Sofya Nikolayevna, for all her cleverness and lively sensibility, did not understand her husband, and found in his words only a fresh proof of the same indifference and inattention. Statements and explanations went on with increasing heat, and I do not know how far they would have gone; but suddenly Alexyei Stepanitch caught sight of his sister Tatyana's maid crossing the high gangway and hastening towards them. He guessed that they were being searched for because his father had got up, and told his wife at once what he feared. She regained her self-control in a moment, caught his arm, and hastened home with him; but he was not in good spirits as he walked behind her.

Preparations had been made beforehand at Bagrovo to celebrate the day of the young people's arrival by an entertainment given to the outdoor servants and all the serfs on the estate; and, if serfs from neighbouring estates chose to come on foot or on wheels, they were welcome too. A quantity of beer had been brewed, and some twenty buckets of strong home-made spirits distilled; and drinking vessels of all kinds were ready. Before he lay down after dinner, Stepan Mihailovitch had asked whether many had come from the neighbouring villages. When he was told that the whole population, from the old men and women to the babies, had assembled, he smiled and said, "Well, we shall not stint them; tell the housekeeper and steward to have everything ready." He did not sleep long, but he woke in even better spirits than when he lay down. "Is all ready?" he asked at once, and was told that all was ready long ago. The old man dressed quickly; instead of his ceremonial frock-coat, he put on his familiar dressing-gown of fine camel's hair, and went out to the stoop to superintend the entertainment in person. On the broad lawn which was not fenced off from the road, tables had been put up on trestles, and the tables were laden with barrels of beer, casks of whisky, and piles of buns to eat with the liquor; these buns, made of wheat-flour, were cut in halves. The outdoor servants stood in a group apart near the house; a great crowd of serfs and their wives stood further off, and beyond them a still greater crowd of Mordvinians of both sexes. Stepan Mihailovitch threw a hasty glance over the scene, saw that all was in order, and went back to his stoop. The family had collected round him, and he was just going to ask where the young couple were, when they appeared together. He greeted his daughter-in-law even more affectionately than before, and treated her with no more formality than if she had been his own daughter. "Now then, Alosha," he said, "take your wife's arm and lead her round to greet the people; they are all anxious to see her and kiss the hand of their young mistress. Let us start!" He went in front himself; then came Alexyei Stepanitch, leading his wife, and last, at a little distance, Arina Vassilyevna with her daughters and their husbands. The sisters-in-law, except Aksinya, found it hard to restrain their wrath. The signs of growing affection on their father's part, his mention of Sofya Nikolayevna as "the young mistress," the triumph of this hated intruder, her beauty and pretty clothes, her ready easy tongue, her charming respect and affection for her father-in-law--all these things rankled in their jealous bosoms. They felt at once that they had sunk in importance. "It matters less to us," whispered Alexandra; "we are severed branches; but I can't look at Tanyusha without crying. She is nothing now in the household but Sofya Nikolayevna's maid. And you, mother--no one will respect you any more: the servants will all look to her for orders." Her voice shook, and the tears gathered in her round rolling eyes. Meanwhile Stepan Mihailovitch had got to the outdoor servants and was calling the peasants to come nearer: "Why don't you all stand together? You all belong to the same family. Well," he went on, "here you see your young mistress; the young master you know already. When the time comes, serve them as faithfully and zealously as you have served me and Arina Vassilyevna, and you will earn their love and favour." All the people bowed to the ground. The bride, unaccustomed to such demonstrations, felt disconcerted, not knowing where to go or what to do. Noticing this, her father-in-law said: "Don't be frightened! Their heads may bend, but they won't come off. Well, my friends, first kiss your young mistress's hand, and then drink to her health." The people all got up and came near Sofya Nikolayevna. She looked round and signed to her man Theodore and handy Parasha, who were standing at one side, holding the presents. In a moment they handed her a large parcel and a well-filled box. It felt strange to her to stretch out her hand to be kissed while standing motionless as a statue; and she began to kiss them all herself. This ceremony was repeated, as each received a gift from her hands. But Stepan Mihailovitch interfered at this point: he saw that at that rate he would not get his tea till supper-time. "My dear," he said, "you can't possibly kiss them all once, let alone twice! There are too many. The old people are a different matter; but it will be enough if they kiss your hand." This simplified and shortened the rather tiresome ceremony, but even so it lasted a long time. Stepan Mihailovitch sometimes spun it out himself, because he could not refrain from naming some of the people and praising them to her. Many of the old people spoke some simple words of love and devotion, some shed tears, and all looked at the bride with pleasure and cordiality. Sofya Nikolayevna was much moved. "These good people are ready to love me, and some love me already," she thought; "how have I deserved it?" At last, when young and old had kissed her hand and she had kissed some of them, and when all had received handsome presents, Stepan Mihailovitch took her hand and led her to the crowd of Mordvinians. "I am glad to see you, neighbours," he cried in a hearty cheerful voice; "and thank you for coming. I ask your goodwill for this young lady who is coming to live near you. You are welcome to eat and drink what God has given us." The Mordvinians showed their pleasure by shouting, "Many thanks, Stepan Mihailovitch! Thank God, for giving such a wife to your son! You deserve such luck for your goodness, Stepan Mihailovitch."

When the drinking began, Stepan Mihailovitch surrounded by his family hastened back to his beloved stoop. He was conscious that his tea-time was long past: it was now past seven, and tea was invariably served at six. The long shadow of the house was sloping towards the south, and its edges touched the storehouse and stable; the _samovar_ had long been hissing on a large table close to the stoop, and Aksyutka was in attendance. While the rest sat down round the table, Stepan Mihailovitch stuck to his favourite place: he first spread out his invariable woollen mat to sit on, and then sat down on the stoop. Tatyana, assisted by Aksyutka, poured out tea. Then Sofya Nikolayevna asked leave of her father-in-law to sit beside him, and he consented with obvious satisfaction. She sprang up from the table, carried her half-finished cup of tea to the stoop, and sat down beside the old man. He caressed her and ordered a mat to be put down for her, that she might not spoil her dress. Then they began a lively, cheerful talk; but at the tea-table angry looks and even whispers were exchanged, in spite of the presence of the young husband. He could not help noticing this, and his spirits, which had not been high before, fell yet lower. Suddenly the old man's loud voice rang out: "Come and join us, Alosha; it's livelier over here." Alosha started; but the change of place seemed to improve his spirits. When tea was over, they remained where they were and went on talking till supper, which was served at nine--an hour later than usual. All the time the loud singing and hearty laughter of the revellers rang out far and wide as the darkness slowly gathered round; but they all departed to their own homes as soon as the family had finished supper. On saying "good night" Sofya Nikolayevna asked her father-in-law to give her his blessing, and the old man at once signed her with the Cross and kissed her with a father's tenderness.