Chapter VII: Part 7

The young couple were escorted to their room by the lady of the house and her eldest daughter, who sat there a few minutes; and then it was the turn of Alexyei Stepanitch to escort his mother and sister to rest. Sofya Nikolayevna hastily dismissed her maid and sat down by one of the open windows fronting the river, which was fringed at that point by a thick border of osier and alder. It was a lovely night: the freshness from the river and the scent of the young leaves came through the open windows, together with the trills and calls of the nightingales. But Sofya Nikolayevna had something else to think of. As a clever woman who knew in advance what awaited her in her husband's family, she had naturally formed a plan of action beforehand. She had always lived in a town and had no conception of the sort of life led by landowners of moderate means on their scattered estates in that vast country. She had not expected much, but the reality was far worse than she had imagined. Nothing was to her taste, neither house, nor garden, nor wood, nor island. In the neighbourhood of Ufa she had been accustomed to admire noble views from the mountainous bank of the river Byelaya; and this little village in a hollow, the time-stained and weather-beaten wooden house, the pond surrounded by swamps, and the unending clack of the mill--all this seemed to her actually repulsive. And the people were no better: from her husband's family to the peasants' children, she could love none of them. But there was one exception, and that was Stepan Mihailovitch. But for him, she would have been in despair. She had formed a favourable opinion of him from the beginning; then, when she first saw him, she was frightened by his rough exterior; but she soon read in his intelligent eyes and kindly smile, and heard in his voice, that this old man had a tender heart which beat kindly to her, that he was ready to love her and would love her. Knowing from the first that all her hopes depended upon him, she had firmly resolved to gain his love by all means; but now she had learnt to love him herself, and her deliberate plan coincided with the impulse of her heart. In this respect Sofya Nikolayevna was satisfied with herself: she saw that she had reached her goal at once. But she was distressed by the thought that by her impetuosity she had hurt her kind husband. She waited impatiently for him, but, as if to spite her, he did not return. Had she known where he was, she would have hurried off in search of him long ago. She longed to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness with tears, and to remove the last trace of dissatisfaction from his mind by a torrent of loving words and caresses. But Alexyei Stepanitch still did not return; and the happy moment, when she was penitent and loving and filled with a passionate desire to atone for her fault, went by to no purpose. An impulse soon passes, and Sofya Nikolayevna first grew alarmed and then angry at her husband's long absence. When he came in at last, looking rather upset and distressed, instead of rushing into his arms and begging to be forgiven, his wife called out to him in an excited and somewhat irritated voice, as soon as he crossed the threshold: "Where on earth have you been? Why did you leave me alone? I am quite worn out with waiting for you two whole hours!" "I sat a quarter of an hour or so with my mother and sisters," he answered. "And that was time enough for them to complain of me and invent calumnies against me, and you believed them! Why are you so depressed and sad?" Sofya Nikolayevna's face expressed strong emotion, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. The young husband was startled and even alarmed; he was beginning to dread her tears. "Sonitchka," he said, "calm yourself; no one complained of you; why should they, when you have injured no one?" This was not quite a true statement. If nobody had complained openly or attacked her in plain terms, they had implied by hints and allusions that his wife was singling out her father-in-law to pay court to, with the object of trampling on the rest of the family; but they saw through her tricks, and so would her husband some day when he found himself under her feet! Alexyei Stepanitch did not believe these innuendoes; but the feeling of sadness, which had never left him since the scene on the island, became heavier and lay like lead on his kind heart. He only said, "It is no use talking like that," and left the room. But, instead of returning at once to his bedroom, he spent some time in walking alone up and down the parlour which was now dark and empty. Through the seven open windows he looked at the Jackdaw Wood sleeping in darkness, and at the dark line of trees by the river, the scene of his childhood's amusements and occupations; and he listened to the sound of the mill, the whistles of the nightingales, and the screeching of the owls. Feeling somewhat relieved, he went off to the bedroom, entirely unconscious of the reception he was to meet there.

But Sofya Nikolayevna soon grew calmer: the voice of penitence began to speak again in her heart, though not with the same force as before; she changed her tone and turned to her husband with a genuine feeling of love and pity; she caressed him and begged his forgiveness. She spoke with unfeigned warmth of her happiness in finding that she loved his father, and begged him to be perfectly frank with her: frankness, she said, was essential between them. Her husband was soothed and comforted; and in the fullness of his heart he told her all he had determined to keep secret at all costs, lest he should make a quarrel between his wife and his sisters. He lay down and went to sleep at once, but Sofya Nikolayevna lay awake for long, and her brain worked busily. At last she remembered that she had to get up early, because she intended to join her father-in-law on the stoop at sunrise, long before the family assembled; she wished to cheer the old man by her presence and to speak her mind to him at leisure. At last, with a strong effort, she fell asleep.

Sofya Nikolayevna woke with the first rays of the sun. Though she had not slept long, she rose fresh and vigorous. She dressed quickly, kissed her husband and told him she was going to his father and he might sleep on another hour or so, and then hurried off. Stepan Mihailovitch, after sleeping longer than usual, had just washed himself and gone out to the stoop. It was a lovely May morning, with all the charm of late spring, fresh and yet deliciously warm; all living things sang together for joy, and the long morning shadows still hid the coolness and moisture from the conquering rays of the sun. The feeling of the morning took hold of Sofya Nikolayevna and breathed life into her, though she was not accustomed to be moved by natural beauty or the charms of the country. Her father-in-law was surprised and pleased to see her. Her fresh face and shining eyes, her neat hair and pretty dress, made it impossible to guess that she had sprung out of bed after little sleep and had spent but little time over her toilet before she hurried out. Stepan Mihailovitch liked people to be lively and quick and clever; and all these requirements he was pleased to find in Sofya Nikolayevna. He kissed her and said good-humouredly: "What made you get up so early? You can't have had your sleep out. I'm sure you're not accustomed to rise so early; you will have a headache." "No, _batyushka_," she replied, embracing the old man with genuine tenderness; "I am used to early rising. From childhood I have had much to do and many cares, with a sick father and a whole family to look after. Of late I have been spoilt and have lain in bed longer. But I woke early this morning, and Alexyei told me"--here the old man frowned--"that you were up already; so I came out here, hoping that you would not drive me away but allow me to give you your tea." The words were ordinary enough, but they came from the heart and were spoken so earnestly that the old man was touched. He kissed her forehead and said: "Well, in that case, thank you, my dear child. You shall give me my tea, and we shall have a leisurely talk together." Aksyutka had already set the _samovar_ on the table. Stepan Mihailovitch gave orders that no one else should be called, and Sofya Nikolayevna began to arrange about the tea. All her actions were as quick and neat as if she had done nothing else all her life. The old man was pleased, as he watched that young and pretty figure so unlike what he was accustomed to, and those busy active fingers. The tea was made strong, and served exactly as he liked it: that is, the teapot, covered with a napkin, was placed on the top of the _samovar_; his cup was filled close up to the brim; Sofya Nikolayevna handed it without spilling a single drop in the saucer; and the fragrant beverage was so hot that it burnt his lips. The old man took his cup and tasted the tea. With surprise and pleasure he said: "I declare you are a witch: you know all my tastes and fancies. Well, if you make yourself as pleasant to your husband, he will be a happy man." He generally drank his tea alone, and the family did not begin theirs till he had finished; but this morning, when he had got his second cup, he told his daughter-in-law to pour one out for herself and drink it sitting beside him. "I never drink more than two, but I will take a third cup to-day; the tea tastes better somehow," he said in the kindest of tones. And indeed, the pleasure which Sofya Nikolayevna felt in her occupation was so visible on her expressive face that it could not but communicate itself to the susceptible nature of Stepan Mihailovitch; and his spirits rose unusually high. He made her take a second cup and eat a scone, of the kind for which the ovens at Bagrovo were long famous. The tea was cleared away, and a conversation began, most lively and animated, most frank and affectionate. Sofya Nikolayevna gave free course to her eager feelings; she talked easily and charmingly; her conquest of the old man was complete. In the middle of their talk he suddenly asked, "What of your husband? Is he asleep?" "Alexyei was waking when I left him," she said quickly; "but I told him to sleep on." The old man frowned severely and was silent. After a moment's reflexion, he spoke, not angrily but seriously. "Listen to me, my dear little daughter-in-law; you are so clever that I can tell you the truth without beating about the bush. I don't like to keep a thing on my mind. If you take my advice--well and good; if you don't--well, you are not my daughter and can please yourself. I don't like your calling your husband 'Alexyei,' as his parents might; he has got another name;[43] 'Alexyei' is a name you might address to a servant. A wife must treat her husband with respect if she wishes other people to respect him. There was another thing yesterday I did not like: you sent him to fetch the presents, and he stood there holding the tray like a footman. Then again just now, you said you had 'told' him to go to sleep. A wife ought not to give orders to her husband; if she does, mischief comes of it. That may be the fashion with you in the town, but, according to our old-fashioned country notions, all that is a great mistake." Sofya Nikolayevna listened respectfully, and then she spoke, so frankly and feelingly, that every word made its way to the old man's heart: "I thank you, _batyushka_, for not keeping back from me what displeased you. I shall gladly do what you wish, and I begin to see myself that I was wrong. I am still young, _batyushka_, and I have had no one to guide me: my own father has not left his bed for six years. I caught up that way of addressing my husband from others; but it shall never happen again, either in your presence or behind your back. _Batyushka_," she went on, and the large tears welled from her eyes, "I have come to love you like a father; treat me always as a daughter: stop me, scold me, whenever I do wrong, but forgive me and do not keep displeasure in your heart against me. I am young and hasty, and I may go wrong at every step. Remember that I am a stranger in this house, where nobody knows me and I know nobody. Do not you fail me." Then she fell on his neck and embraced him like a daughter, kissing his breast and even his hands; and the old man's own eyes filled with tears. He let her keep hold of his hands and said, "Well, that is all right." As we know already, Stepan Mihailovitch had a natural sagacity which divined the presence of evil and was attracted by goodness; and he never made a mistake in either case. He had taken a fancy to his daughter-in-law at first sight; and now that he understood her and appreciated her, he loved her for better and for worse. That love was exposed to many trials in later years, and any other man might have wavered, but he never wavered in his love for her to his last breath.

[43] _I.e._ Stepanitch, son of Stephen, which should be used in public
by the wife.

Alexyei Stepanitch soon appeared, and was followed by all the family. Her daughters had urged Arina Vassilyevna to go out long before, but she did not dare to appear, because, when Stepan Mihailovitch gave orders "that no one should be called," it was taken to mean that he did not wish to see any one. She only came out now because her husband had told Mazan to summon all the family. There was no trace of tears on Sofya Nikolayevna's face; and she greeted the newcomers with more than usual cordiality. Nor could one tell from Stepan Mihailovitch that anything unusual had happened; but the bride could not conceal her high spirits, and the two sisters-in-law noticed this at once and guessed the alarming truth pretty accurately.

Stepan Mihailovitch had settled that the young couple were to visit their relations in order of seniority; and it was therefore arranged that they should go to Aksinya's house next day. Aksinya herself went home that afternoon, accompanied by her sister Elizabeth, who was to help her in entertaining the guests. The distance was only 50 _versts_, and the strong Bagrovo horses could go all the way without baiting. The start was fixed for six o'clock next morning.

Stepan Mihailovitch did not in the least conceal his feelings towards his daughter-in-law. He kept her beside him and talked with her repeatedly, asking questions about her family affairs, or making her speak of her life at Ufa; and he listened to her with attentive interest, now and then giving his opinion in some pithy phrase. She eagerly caught up his pertinent remarks; but it was clear that she was moved, not by obsequious concurrence with the old man's ways of thinking, but by a full comprehension of his words and a conviction of their truth. Then in his turn he initiated her into the past and present history of her new relations; and his whole description was so simple and true, so frank and lifelike, that she realised it as few could have done, and was charmed by it. Never in her life had she met his equal. Her own father was intelligent and kind, emotional and unselfish; but at the same time he was weak, falling in with the prevailing tone of his surroundings, and bearing the stamp of the evasive time-serving official who had worked his way up from a clerk's stool to the position of Governor's Deputy. Here she saw before her an old man of little education and uncouth exterior, and report said of him that he was ruthless when angry; and yet he was sensible, kind, and honest, and inflexible in his clear judgment of right and wrong--a man who was upright in all his actions and truthful in every word he spoke. Her quick intellect conceived a noble type of manly worth, which set aside her old ideas and opened up new possibilities. And what happiness that this man was her husband's father! On him depended her peace of mind in her husband's family, and perhaps even the happiness of her marriage!

Dinner was a much more lively and cheerful affair than on the previous day. The bride sat as before between her husband and her father-in-law; but Arina Vassilyevna now took her usual place opposite Stepan Mihailovitch. Immediately after dinner, Aksinya left, accompanied by her sister Elizabeth. As the old man was lying down to rest as usual, he said, "Well, Arisha, I think God has given us a splendid daughter-in-law; it would be a sin not to take her to our hearts." "True indeed, Stepan Mihailovitch," she answered; "if you approve of Sofya Nikolayevna, of course I do." The old man made a wry face but said nothing; and she hurried away, fearing to make a slip of the tongue, and anxious to report to her daughters the remarkable words of Stepan Mihailovitch, which must be accepted as law and obeyed, in appearance at least, to the letter.

Though she had slept little at night, Sofya Nikolayevna could not sleep after dinner. She went out with her husband, and they walked, by his wish, to the old beech-wood, where the jackdaws built, and down the course of the river. There was no repetition of the old disagreements. She had been charmed and captivated by her father-in-law, and she now tried to convey to her husband the feelings of her own eager impressionable mind. As all people of her temperament are apt to do, she transferred to her handsome young husband some part of the merits she had found in his father, and loved him more than ever. He listened with surprise and pleasure to the enthusiasm of his beautiful wife, and said to himself, "Thank God that my father and she have become such friends! There will be no further trouble." He kissed her hands, and said that he was the happiest man on all the earth, and she a peerless goddess before whom all should bow down. He did not quite understand his wife nor appreciate her estimate of his father, so acute and profound; he only felt, as he had always felt, perfectly convinced that Stepan Mihailovitch was the kind of man whom all must respect and even fear. This time Sofya Nikolayevna found no faults: his feelings were her feelings and his language hers: she praised the deep river and the beech-wood with all its uneven stumps; even of her sisters-in-law she spoke kindly.

When he woke up in the afternoon, Stepan Mihailovitch at once summoned all the family. It was a long time since he had been seen in such a bright and gentle mood: whether it was due to a good sleep or to happy feelings, it was clear to every one that the old master was satisfied and cheerful beyond his wont. After their father's pronouncement, Alexandra and Elizabeth were on their guard, while Tanyusha (as she was always called) and her mother were very willing to be more friendly and conversational. At a sign from his wife Karatayeff began with more boldness to echo what was said, even when he was not addressed; but his brother-in-law, the General, persisted in his gloomy silence and frowned significantly. The conversation became unusually brisk and animated. The old man expressed a wish to have his tea early, in the shade near the stoop, of course; and the privilege of pouring it out was conferred on Sofya Nikolayevna exclusively. Tanyusha was quite willing to hand over the office. After tea Stepan Mihailovitch ordered two cars to be brought round, took his daughter-in-law in one, and drove off with all his family to the mill. It should be said that a mill was a special hobby of my grandfather's, and that he understood the working of it thoroughly. The mill itself was not much to look at, and the weed grew round it in an untidy way; but the stones did their work thoroughly well. He liked to show off his mill, and now displayed it in detail to his daughter-in-law, taking pleasure in her utter ignorance and astonishment, which sometimes turned to fear, when he suddenly turned on a strong current of water upon all the four wheels, till the machinery began to move and swing and rattle, the stones to whirl round, creaking and whizzing, and the building, filled with flour-dust, to quiver and shake under foot. All this was an entire novelty to Sofya Nikolayevna, and she did not like it at all, though out of politeness she asked many questions and expressed surprise and admiration at everything. He was much pleased, and kept her there a long time. When the pair went out upon the dam, where Alexyei Stepanitch and his sisters were fishing, they were hailed with laughter by the anglers: they were both covered with flour. Stepan Mihailovitch was accustomed to this; besides he had given a shake and a brush to his clothes on leaving the mill; but Sofya Nikolayevna had no suspicion that she was so completely and artistically powdered. When he looked at her, her father-in-law himself laughed heartily; and she laughed more than any one, and was very merry, regretting only that she had no looking-glass to consult, to find out if her ball-dress became her. Seeing the anglers intent upon their sport, Stepan Mihailovitch next drove his companion round the pond and over the bridge; and, after visiting the stream higher up, he came back along the dam to the place where the anglers were engaged, while Arina Vassilyevna, who was very stout, sat on the ground and watched them. The whole course of their drive was over bog and swamp; it was hardly safe to cross the crazy little bridge, and difficult to make way over the dam which was made of manure and sank under the wheels. Though Sofya Nikolayevna found all this distasteful, it was impossible for Stepan Mihailovitch to detect her. He saw neither mire nor swamp, and he was impervious to the unpleasant smell from the stagnant water and the material of the dam. He had planned and constructed it all himself, and he enjoyed it all. It grew damp at sunset, and all set off for home in good spirits. The anglers carried their spoil with them, perch and other kinds. The bailiff was waiting for his master by the stoop; and orders were given about work on the land, while the bride put her dress in order. Meanwhile the fish was boiled or fried in sour cream, while the largest perch were baked in their skins and scales; and all these were pronounced very good at supper.

So the second day passed, and the party broke up early, because the young couple had to make an early start next morning for their visit. When alone with her mother and youngest sister, Alexandra threw off the mask with relief and gave full play to her infernal temper and cruel tongue. She saw perfectly that all was lost and all her forebodings realised: that her father was taken in the toils and infatuated with the adventuress, and there was nothing to be done now except to dismiss the pair to Ufa as soon as possible and devise some scheme in their absence. She abused her mother and sister for being too affectionate: "But for me," she said, "you would have been taken in too by that dressed-up doll, that pauper with a Cossack for her grandfather."

At six exactly next morning the young couple started in their English coach drawn by six of the fine horses bred at Bagrovo. Sofya Nikolayevna was up in time to give his tea to her father-in-law; and he embraced her at starting, and even signed her with the Cross, because she was to be absent for the night. They drove down the river and across it, and then uphill to the little town of Boogoorooslan. Without a halt our travellers crossed the river Great Kinel, and the horses trotted at the rate of ten _versts_ an hour along the rutty road on the flat side of the river, where the grass grew tall and thick and there was no sign of habitation. It was long since Alexyei Stepanitch had been across the Kinel; and he was delighted by the greenness and fragrance of the steppe. Bustards constantly rose off the road, and solitary snipe kept up with the carriage, wheeling over it and flying on ahead, or perching on the guide-posts and filling the air with their notes. Alexyei Stepanitch was very sorry that he had not taken his gun. In those days the steppe was alive with birds of every kind, and the sound of their myriad voices was so attractive to him, and indeed absorbed his attention so completely, that his ears were generally deaf to the lively and clever conversation of his wife. She soon noticed this and became thoughtful; her high spirits gave place to displeasure, and she began to talk to her maid, Parasha, who was with them in the coach. After crossing a district of high level land, they arrived at their destination exactly at noon. The little wooden house, an even greater contrast than Bagrovo to the houses of Ufa, stood on the flat bank of the Little Kinel, divided from it only by a kitchen-garden containing a few sunflowers and young vegetables and rows of peeled pea-stakes. I still recall with pleasure this unpretending spot, which I first saw ten years after this time; and I understand why my father liked it and my mother was bound to dislike it. It was a bare empty spot, quite flat and fully exposed to the sun, without a bush or a tree; the level steppe with its marmot-burrows lay all round; and the quiet river flowed by, deep in places and overgrown with reeds. It had nothing striking or picturesque to attract any one; yet Alexyei Stepanitch preferred it even to Bagrovo. I don't agree with him, but I had a strong liking for that quiet little house on the river-bank, the clear stream, the weed swaying in the current, the wide stretch of grassy steppe, and the ferry which started from close to the door and took you across to a yet wilder steppe, where the prairie-grass stretched straight southwards to what seemed an illimitable distance.

The hostess, with her two little boys and a daughter of two years old, met her guests at the door; her sister Elizabeth and her husband were there also. In spite of the unpromising aspect of the simple rooms, everything was very clean and nice, much more so indeed than at Bagrovo. Though "Miss Simplicity," as her sisters called her, was a widow with small children, there was a neatness and order in the place which showed that it was managed entirely by a female hand. I have said already that Aksinya was a kind woman and had taken a fancy to her sister-in-law; it was therefore very natural that she did honour to her guests and received them with cordiality in her own house. This had been foreseen at Bagrovo, and Elizabeth had been sent on purpose to restrain the excessive friendliness of her sister by means of her superior intelligence and higher position in society, due to her husband's rank. But that simple soul held out against her clever, cunning sister: to all her urgent admonitions her answer was short and plain: "Do as you please at Bagrovo; you may hate and abuse Sofya Nikolayevna, but I like her; she has always been polite and kind to me, and therefore I intend to make her and my brother happy in my house." And she carried out her purpose with sincere affection and satisfaction, showing every attention to her sister-in-law and pressing her good things on both guests. But the proud Elizabeth and even her husband--though he drank so much towards evening that he had to be shut up in an empty bath-house--were much colder and more distant in their behaviour than at Bagrovo. Sofya Nikolayevna took no notice of them, and was charming to her hostess and the children. After dinner the party rested for a little and then went out for a walk by the river; they crossed by a ferry to the far bank and drank tea there. Sofya Nikolayevna was asked to fish, but she declined, saying that she hated fishing and was quite happy sitting with her sisters-in-law. But Alexyei Stepanitch, much pleased to see how well his wife got on with his eldest sister, eagerly accepted the proposal and sat till supper-time on the bank, hidden in the thick reeds; he landed several of the large bream which abounded in the quiet waters of the Kinel. The servants used constantly to fish for their own amusement and for that of their young masters. The guests determined to start next morning at six, and were half inclined to depart even earlier, so as not to keep Stepan Mihailovitch waiting for his dinner. Their hostess and her sister were to wait till the evening, spending a night at Boogoorooslan to rest the horses, and reaching Bagrovo the following day.

Sofya Nikolayevna was still a little vexed with her husband. For all her intelligence she could not understand how a man who loved her dearly could also love his damp Bagrovo, with its stump-strewn woods, unsavoury dam, and stagnant pools; how he could gaze with delight at the tiresome steppe with its stupid snipe; and, above all, how he could desert his wife for hours for the sake of a fishing-rod and those bream which smelt so damp and disgusting! So she felt almost offended when Alexyei Stepanitch tried to communicate to her his delight in nature and in sport. She was wise enough, however, not to start upon explanations or reproofs this time; the scene on the island was still fresh in her memory.

The young couple passed a peaceful night in Aksinya's own bedroom which she had given up to them; and she had done it up for them to the best of her ability, undeterred by the caustic remarks of her sister. They left the house half an hour earlier than the time originally fixed; and nothing particular happened on their way back, except that Alexyei Stepanitch was not quite so much absorbed by the steppe and the snipe, and did not call out quite so loud when bustards rose off the road, so that he could listen with more attention to his wife and look at her more tenderly. They reached Bagrovo before they were expected. But preparations were making for dinner, and Alexandra had had time to say: "Poor papa will have to wait for dinner to-day; but how can you expect town-people to get up so early several days running?" The old man saw through this perfectly. He astonished them all by saying very good-humouredly, "Well, never mind; we can wait for our guests." This caused a sensation, because Stepan Mihailovitch had never in his life sat down to dinner later than twelve o'clock, though sometimes, when he felt hungry, he had it earlier, and the slightest delay or unpunctuality made him exceedingly angry. "You see what Sofya Nikolayevna can do," whispered Alexandra to her mother and youngest sister; "if _she_ keeps him waiting, there is no complaint; but if you had come back from Nyeklyoodovo late for dinner, you would never have heard the end of it, nor should we." The malicious whisper was hardly ended when the carriage dashed up to the steps; while the tired horses snorted, the old man kissed his daughter-in-law and praised her for being in time; then his voice rang through the house, "Mazan, Tanaichonok, dinner at once!"

The day passed off as before. After tea Stepan Mihailovitch, whose affection for his daughter-in-law seemed to grow with every hour, ordered the drove of horses to be driven in from the steppe. He wished to show it to Sofya Nikolayevna, who happened to say that she had never seen such a thing and would like to see it. When the animals were driven into the yard, the old man took his daughter-in-law round himself, pointing out the best brood-mares, the yearlings and two-year-olds and young geldings, all fat and healthy from the steppe where they grazed together all summer. He gave her two fine mares with foals at foot, and hoped she would have good fortune with their stock. Sofya Nikolayevna was much pleased by the foals, and liked to watch them as they started and bounded and then nuzzled against their mothers; and she expressed much gratitude for the gift. Then Stepan Mihailovitch gave strict orders to his head groom, Spirka: "See," he said, "that special care is taken of Sofya Nikolayevna's mares; and we shall put a special mark on the foals by splitting one ear rather lower; and later we must make a brand with the young mistress's name on it." Then he turned to her: "I wish you were a lover of horses, my dear," he went on; "Alexyei does not care for them in the least." The old man was very fond of them himself, and, though he was not rich, by endless trouble he had got together a large stud and owned a breed which was the admiration of fanciers and good judges. He was pleased by her interest in his stud; though her only motive was to please him, he believed that she meant what she said, and carried her off to see how the carriage-horses, his own and those of his guests, were fed; of the latter there were often a large number in the stables at Bagrovo.

I am afraid of wearying the reader by such a minute description of the young couple's visit, and shall only say that the next day, which was the fifth, was spent just like the preceding day. According to the order of seniority the next formal visit should have been to the Yerlykins; but, as their estate was 170 _versts_ from Bagrovo and much nearer Ufa, it was settled to take them on the return journey to the town. There was this other reason, that General Yerlykin, Elizabeth's silent, gloomy husband, having broken out at Aksinya's house, had started on one of his regular drinking bouts which generally lasted at least a week, so that his wife had been forced to leave him with some friends at Boogoorooslan, and give out that he was ill. So Alexandra was to receive the next visit, and started off home with her husband on the previous day; with her father's consent, she invited the oldest and youngest of the sisters for the occasion, while Elizabeth remained behind, ostensibly to be near her sick husband, though her real object was to bring her influence to bear on her parents. The Karatayeffs lived about 50 _versts_ from Bagrovo; the distance was the same as to Aksinya's house, but the road ran in the opposite direction, due north, and passed through woods and hills in the second half of the journey. The visitors started after an early lunch. As the road was little used and heavy for the horses, they halted half-way for two hours in the open field, and reached Karatayevka about tea-time. The house was infinitely worse than Aksinya's: the small dark windows caught the eye at once; the floors were uneven, riddled with rat-holes, and so dirty as to defy soap and water. Sofya Nikolayevna felt fear and disgust as she entered this inhospitable and repulsive dwelling. Alexandra was haughty in her reception of them; she was profuse in sarcastic apologies of this kind: "We are glad to see our guests and bid them welcome; my brother, I know, will not be critical, but I doubt if Sofya Nikolayevna will deign to enter our poor house after her father's grand mansion at Ufa. Of course we are poor people, with no official rank; living on our own property, _we_ have no lucrative salaries to maintain us." But Sofya Nikolayevna gave as good as she got: she replied that the way people lived depended as much on their tastes as on their money, and that it was all one to her where her husband's relations lived and how they lived. When supper was over, the young couple were shown to their bedroom, which was the so-called drawing-room. As soon as the candle was out, a great disturbance began in the room; the pattering and noise increased, and swarms of rats soon assailed them with such boldness that the poor bride lay awake all night, shaking with fear and disgust. Alexyei Stepanitch was forced to light a candle and arm himself with a window-prop for the defence of the bed, on which the rats kept jumping up as long as it was dark. He felt neither fear nor disgust; it was no novelty to him; at first he was rather amused by the ceaseless activity and bold springs of the repulsive creatures, and then he fell asleep, lying across the bed and still holding the window-prop. But his wife woke him again and again and only fell asleep herself at sunrise, when the enemy sought the concealment of his trenches. She got up with a headache, but her hostess only laughed at the fright the rats had given her, and added that they only attacked strangers, and the people of the house were used to them. Tanyusha was afraid of rats herself; and she and Aksinya could not look unmoved at the signs of suffering on their sister-in-law's face. They expressed sympathy with her, and Aksinya even scolded Alexandra for not taking the ordinary precautions by placing the bed in the centre of the room, attaching curtains to it, and tucking the ends under the mattress; but the hostess said with an angry laugh, "It is a pity they did not bite off her nose." "You had better look out!" said her sister; "if this gets to our father's ears, you will catch it."

Karatayevka was situated on the slope of a hill, above a little spring-fed stream which was dammed up at the end of the village and turned a small mill. The position was not bad, but the owners and all their ways were so objectionable that the place had no attraction for any one. M. Karatayeff, who was afraid of Stepan Mihailovitch at Bagrovo and of his wife at home, would have liked to pay some attentions to Sofya Nikolayevna when his wife was out of the room; but he only found courage to ask leave from time to time to kiss her hand, and generally added that she was the most beautiful creature in the world. When he repeated his request, it was refused. His was a strange existence. Most of his summer was spent in visiting wandering Bashkir tribes, and drinking _koumiss_ every day till he was intoxicated; he spoke the Bashkir language like a native; he rode on horseback whole days without dismounting, and had become as bow-legged as a Bashkir; he had their skill with the bow and could smash an egg at long range with the best of them. All the rest of the year he spent in a kind of lumber-room warmed by a stove, near the house-door; he wore a skin coat, and kept the little window always open even in the hardest frosts; and there he remained all day with his head stuck out of the window, humming Bashkir songs and taking a sip now and then of Bashkir mead or some decoction of herbs. Why Karatayeff looked out of his window over the empty yard with a rough path running across it, what he saw and noted there, what thoughts passed through the brain at the top of that big body--these are problems which no ingenuity can solve. Sometimes, it is true, his philosophic meditations were disturbed: when some plump woman or girl appeared from the servants' quarters and walked mincingly along the path towards the cattle-shed, then a pantomime of nods and signals took place between the window and the yard; but soon the fair vision turned out of sight and vanished like a ghost, and Karatayeff was left staring into empty void.

Sofya Nikolayevna was eager to escape from this horrible place: after an early dinner, during which the horses were already standing at the door, they said "good-bye" at once and started. The hostess kissed her sister-in-law on both cheeks and on the shoulders, and thanked her significantly for her kind visit; and Sofya Nikolayevna, just as significantly, thanked the lady for her kind hospitality.

When alone with her husband in the carriage, Sofya Nikolayevna gave vent to her anger. Aksinya in her simplicity had let out accidentally that the hostess had purposely taken no precautions against the rats; and the bride, though she had refrained from an outburst in her enemy's house, was unable any longer to control her excitable nature. Forgetting that Alexandra was her husband's sister, and that Parasha was in the carriage with them, she was lavish in her terms of abuse. Alexyei Stepanitch, a straightforward and kindly man himself, could not believe that there was any intention on the part of his sister: attributing what had happened to mere carelessness, he was hurt by his wife's violent language which was really inexcusable under any provocation. The young husband was angry for the first time with his young wife: saying that she should be ashamed to speak so, he turned from her and was silent. Such was their state of mind when they arrived at Mertovshchina, where Mme. Myortvavo, a remarkably intelligent old lady, was then living with her daughter Katherine who had lately been married to Peter Chichagoff. Sofya Nikolayevna was warmly attached to both the Chichagoffs. She did not in the least expect to find them there, and soon forgot all her displeasure in this agreeable surprise; she became very lively and cheerful, but no one could fail to notice that Alexyei Stepanitch remained silent and sad.

Chichagoff's history, and especially his second marriage, is quite a romance; and I shall tell it as briefly as I can, because we shall often come across this family in future, and especially because the life of the young Bagroffs was a good deal influenced by this pair. Peter Chichagoff was a man of exceptional ability or, I should rather say, exceptional acuteness, and had received what was for those days an advanced education in many subjects: he knew several languages, could draw and understood architecture, and wrote both in prose and verse. In his hot youth he fell in love at Moscow with a young lady of the Rimsko-Korsakoff family, and went so far as to misrepresent his position, in order to win her hand. This was discovered after the marriage, and he was banished to Ufa. His wife soon died. Within a year he consoled himself and fell in love with Katherine Myortvavo, who was attracted by his gay and amiable temper, his intelligence and acquirements; his face was so very plain that it could exercise no attraction. She was no longer a girl and had too strong a character to be controlled by her mother and brothers: they let her marry Chichagoff, and he was pardoned soon afterwards but not allowed to leave the Government of Ufa. Sofya Nikolayevna liked him for two reasons: because he was the husband of her dearest friend, and perhaps still more for his own cleverness and wide information. Mme. Myortvavo had just settled to leave Ufa and live in the country, and the Chichagoffs had come on purpose to help her in building a house and a church. After a week's experience of her husband's relations, this meeting was a spring in the desert to Sofya Nikolayevna; it was like a breath of fresh air in which her heart and quick intelligence expanded; she talked on with her friends till near midnight. But Alexyei Stepanitch would have sat there in silence and solitude, had not the old lady grasped the situation and entertained him by her pleasant talk. After supper, however, he said "good-night," and went off to the bedroom allotted to the visitors; when Sofya Nikolayevna came she found him fast asleep. They started for Bagrovo early next day without disturbing their hosts.

During their drive Alexyei Stepanitch was still sullen and silent. In reply to direct questions from his wife, his answers were so cold and short that she gave up speaking to him. Her lively and impatient temper resented this treatment, but she did not care to clear up matters in Parasha's presence, preferring to wait till the after-dinner rest when she would be alone with her husband. For the present she started a conversation with her maid about their life at Ufa, while Alexyei Stepanitch squeezed into a corner of the carriage and either fell asleep or pretended to. They reached Bagrovo two hours before dinner. Stepan Mihailovitch was obviously pleased to see his daughter-in-law again, and even said that he had missed her. "My dear," he added; "you really must not stay here too long, or I shan't be able to let you go; as it is, I shall miss you, likely enough." He made her give him a minute account of their expedition. He praised Mme. Myortvavo whom he knew well, and said that he would send her an invitation next day to come with her daughter and son-in-law and dine at Bagrovo; he fixed on the following Sunday, which was four days ahead, for the entertainment. "You must visit the Kalpinskys and Lupenevskys the day after to-morrow," he said; "and then you can invite them too for Sunday; and then, three days later, you had better be off home to Ufa. Your father has never been parted from you before, and must miss you terribly; and I am sure, my dear, that you are even more anxious to see him, poor suffering old man!"

Stepan Mihailovitch was not long in finding out that something disagreeable had happened on this expedition. In the course of conversation, he said, "Well, were the Karatayeffs glad to see you?" The answer was of course in the affirmative; but Sofya Nikolayevna happened to mention that she had been kept awake all night by rats. This surprised the old man: he had only been there once, long ago, and had heard nothing of the kind. But here Arina Vassilyevna unsuspiciously joined in, in spite of the warning signs of her daughter Elizabeth; she suffered for it afterwards, poor lady, at the hands of her daughters. "O yes, yes, _batyushka_ Stepan Mihailovitch!" she cried; "the rats there are perfectly awful! Without bed-curtains, it's impossible to get a wink of sleep." "Had you no curtains to your bed, then?" asked the old man, and there was an ominous change in his voice as he spoke. "No," was the only possible answer. "An excellent hostess!" he said, and looked at his wife and daughter in such a way that a cold shiver ran down their backs.

The Karatayeff party had not yet returned, but were expected by tea-time. Dinner was not a cheerful meal: all were out of spirits, and each had his or her own reasons. Arina Vassilyevna and Elizabeth were conscious of the approaching storm, and feared that the thunderbolt might smite them also. It was long since Stepan Mihailovitch had been in a rage, and the prospect was more alarming to them because they had become unused to such outbreaks. Sofya Nikolayevna noted the frown on her father-in-law's face; she did not object to his giving a good fright to his daughter, whom she detested as her avowed enemy; but she feared she might somehow get involved herself. She had no unkind intention in speaking about the rats: she never supposed that her father-in-law would take any special notice of this circumstance or attach serious importance to it. Nevertheless, a stone lay on her heart also: she could not determine how to act towards her husband. He had been angry with her for the first time, when she used insulting language about his sister: was it best to wait till he appealed to her voluntarily, or to put an end to the uncomfortable situation by begging him to forgive her? Her love and her tender caresses might then cause him to forget her regrettable impulsiveness. And she certainly would have chosen this course; for she was passionately in love with her kind young husband. She blamed herself severely: she ought to have foreseen everything and been prepared for everything. She knew that Alexyei Stepanitch would not hesitate to die for her, but she knew also that she ought not to demand of him what he could not give--a tender and constant observation, and a full comprehension of all the trifling occurrences that might give her pain. And this was hard for her, with her hot blood and sensitive nerves, her eager, excitable brain and impressionable nature. Such were the poor woman's thoughts and feelings as she walked up and down her room waiting for her husband; his mother had stopped him on his way there after dinner and asked him to come to her bedroom. The minutes seemed to her like hours. The thought that he was loitering on purpose, fearing a scene and unwilling to be alone with her; the thought, that without relieving her heart of its many troubles and without a reconciliation with her husband, she would see him again in the presence of her enemies and must play a part the whole evening--this thought oppressed her heart and threw her into a fever. Suddenly the door opened, and Alexyei Stepanitch walked in. There was no hesitation in his movements; he was no longer timid and sad, but fearless and even displeased. He began at once to reproach her for complaining to his father and getting Alexandra into trouble. "They are all trembling and crying now, and God only knows what will come of it," he said, primed with all that his mother and sister had been impressing upon him. "It is wrong and a sin on your part to cause trouble and quarrels in your husband's family. I told you what my father is like when he is angry; and you, knowing this and seeing his love for you, took advantage of it!" Sofya Nikolayevna's patience snapped instantly, and she fired up at once; love was silent, and of pity and contrition not a trace was left; and her poor husband discovered that Stepan Mihailovitch was not the only person who could fly into a passion. An irresistible flood of complaints, accusations, and reproaches poured down upon him. He was utterly crushed and confounded; he could make no defence, and was all but a monster in his own eyes. Soon he was kneeling at her feet and begging forgiveness with tears. It was not surprising that Alexyei Stepanitch was powerless before that volcanic eruption of feeling and intelligence, that heartfelt conviction and wonderful power of eloquence. A man entirely in the right, a man much more resolute than Alexyei Stepanitch, would have pleaded guilty before the youth and beauty of a woman whom he loved. And Alexyei Stepanitch was certainly not in the right.