Part 16

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.

When the storm had calmed down in the bedroom of the young couple, it was still brewing at the other end of the house, in the smallish room which belonged to Stepan Mihailovitch. Sleep had not brought peace to him or smoothed the frown from his high forehead. He sat for some time across his bed in gloomy silence, and then called out, "Mazan!" Mazan had long been lying outside the door, breathing heavily according to his wont, and looking in through a chink; he had been placed there as a sentry, while the family were sitting in the parlour, full of gloomy apprehensions. He called out at the top of his voice, "What is your pleasure, sir?"--and hurried into the room. "Has my daughter Alexandra arrived? Yes? Then bring her here." Alexandra entered on his heels, for on such occasions delay was more dangerous than anything. "How dared you, Madam," began the old man in the voice she knew and dreaded--"how dared you set rats on your brother and his wife?" "I am sorry, father," humbly answered Alexandra, while her knees trembled beneath her, and fear kept down her own infernal temper. "I put my guests on purpose in the drawing-room, and I never thought of putting curtains to their bed. I was so busy and so glad to see them that it slipped my memory." "You were so glad to see them! Do you expect me to believe _that_? How did you dare to act so to your brother and to me? How did you dare to bring shame on your father in his old age?" The affair would perhaps have gone no further than angry words and loud threats and possibly a rap from his fist; but Alexandra, stung by the thought that she was suffering on account of Sofya Nikolayevna, and hoping that the storm would still blow over, forgot that any sort of answer was a new offence. She could not resist saying, "I am punished for nothing on her account." A fresh and terrible fit of rage seized Stepan Mihailovitch, that rage which invariably ended in painful and shocking violence. Words of fury were on the point of rushing from his lips, when Arina Vassilyevna, with her daughters Aksinya and Tanyusha, ran into the room and fell at the old man's feet, with tears and cries; they had been standing outside the door and had seen what was coming. Karatayeff had been standing there with them; but he ran out of the house and into the wood, where he slashed furiously at the innocent birch-branches with his stick, punishing them for the wrong done to his wife. Elizabeth did not venture to enter the room, knowing that her own conscience was not clear, and that her father was quite aware of the part she had played. "_Batyushka_ Stepan Mihailovitch!" cried Arina Vassilyevna, "your will is law, you are our master, do what pleases you! Only do not shame us and disgrace your family in the sight of your daughter-in-law! You will frighten her out of her life; all this is new to her." The words seemed to have some effect on the old man. He was silent for a moment; then he pushed Alexandra from him with his foot, crying, "Begone, and don't venture to show yourself till I send for you!" No one waited for any further orders: in a moment the room was cleared, and all was silence round Stepan Mihailovitch; but his blue eyes long remained dark and clouded, and his chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, as he restrained his passionate anger which had been aroused and not satisfied.

The _samovar_ had long been hissing on the drawing-room table, not in the shade of the stoop, because heavy rain had just ceased falling and it was damp out of doors. Nature seemed to sympathise with what was passing in the house of Bagrovo. Soon after dinner two clouds of intense blackness had met in the zenith and long remained there motionless, emitting from time to time flashes of lightning and shaking the air with peals of thunder. At last the rain came down in torrents, the clouds shifted to the east, and the setting sun shone out. Fields and woods smelt sweeter, refreshed by the rain, and the birds began to sing louder; but alas! the storms of human passion are not followed by such a calm.

Alexandra pretended illness, but the other daughters came with their mother to the drawing-room; Karatayeff also was there, but Yerlykin was still absent from the house, on the pretext of ill-health. Stepan Mihailovitch had tea in his room and gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. The door of the young couple's room was locked; after a short delay, tapping was tried and brought them out at once. Sofya Nikolayevna looked cheerful, and her husband really was more cheerful than before; but it was easy to guess from their faces that something unusual had been happening in their room. Of what had passed in the bedroom of Stepan Mihailovitch, they knew nothing. As for Arina Vassilyevna and her daughters, they looked like people who had just been pulled out of the water or snatched from the fire. It is a pity that there was no one to observe the scene; for it is certain that the different expressions on the faces of the company would have afforded an entertaining spectacle. All attempts to keep up a conversation were unsuccessful. The absence of the father and of one daughter puzzled Sofya Nikolayevna beyond endurance: she invented some pretext for going to her own room, where she summoned Parasha and got to the bottom of the mystery. They knew all about it in the maids' room: not only had Mazan and Tanaichonok been listening all the time, but the old lady and her daughter were in the habit of keeping nothing back from their waiting-women. Thus Parasha was able to give her mistress an exact and detailed report. Sofya Nikolayevna was much disturbed. She had never expected such alarming consequences; she heartily regretted having told her father-in-law about the wretched rats; and she was sincerely sorry for Alexandra. She went back to the drawing-room and asked leave to visit the invalid, but was told she was asleep. During her absence, Alexyei Stepanitch had heard the whole story. After a hasty supper they separated to their rooms at ten o'clock. When alone with her husband, Sofya Nikolayevna, with much agitation and many tears, fell on his neck, and again asked his forgiveness with heartfelt penitence, blaming herself much more than she really deserved. But he did not understand the delicacy of feeling which prompted her genuine grief and drew from her tears. He was only sorry to see her distress herself about trifles; and he tried to console her by saying that all was well that ends well, that the family were accustomed to such scenes, that his father would wake in a good temper to-morrow and forgive Alexandra, and all would go on as well as at first. Only he begged her not to have any explanations with any of the family, and not to beg pardon, as she wished to do, for her unintentional slip; and he advised her not to visit his father in the morning but to wait till he sent for her. Sofya Nikolayevna understood her husband's character better than she had ever done before; and the knowledge hurt her deeply. While he slept peacefully all night, she never closed an eye.

Stepan Mihailovitch was the worse for his fit of anger and also disliked the thought that his daughter-in-law might have heard of it. His honest nature resented every underhand action and deliberate unkindness; and also he saw, in what his daughter had done, disregard to his own authority and position. He was on the brink of an illness; he ate no supper, stayed indoors instead of going to sit on the stoop, and, when he should have seen his bailiff, sent his orders by a servant. But the benign darkness of night which gives light to the eye of our mind, the stillness, and then sleep, which calms the passions of men and rains down blessings upon them--all these did their kindly office. Early next day he summoned Arina Vassilyevna and gave her his instructions to convey to his daughters--they were intended mainly for Alexandra, but in part also for Elizabeth--that Sofya Nikolayevna was not to know of any unpleasantness, and they were to behave accordingly. In a short time the _samovar_ was placed on the table, and all the family summoned. Arina Vassilyevna fortunately had time to send a message by her son to Sofya Nikolayevna, begging her to do her best to cheer up the master of the house: "He is not quite well," she said, "and in low spirits for some reason." In spite of her sleepless night and the aching of her own heart, Sofya Nikolayevna carried out this request to admiration; all the party, and she herself more than any, were anxious that it should be done.

Sofya Nikolayevna was an astonishing woman! Lively, impressionable, and excitable, she could be carried away in a moment by impulses of the head or heart, and was capable of very sudden and complete transformations of behaviour. In later years stupid people accused her of insincerity on this ground, but no one else did. It was really a kind of artistic power, which enabled her to adapt herself instantly to a new atmosphere and a new position, and to act absolutely in accordance with her immediate purpose; and this purpose, being entirely sincere, acted like a spell on others. In this case, she laid herself out to calm the agitation of her father-in-law, for whom she had conceived a warm affection, and who had championed her cause at the cost of his peace of mind and at the risk of his health; and she wished to relieve her husband and his family, who had been terrified and assailed owing to her slip of the tongue. Her imagination and feelings were so completely mastered by this purpose that she exercised a kind of magical power over the party and soon subdued them all by the irresistible spell of her personality. She poured out tea herself and handed the cups herself, first to her father-in-law and then to the rest; she talked to every one so easily and pleasantly and brightly that the old man, quite convinced that she had caught no glimpse of the skeleton in the cupboard, soon relaxed his features. Of him also it was true that his cheerfulness was infectious; and, before an hour had passed, all traces of the storm of yesterday had disappeared.

Immediately after dinner the young couple started off to pay two ceremonial visits--to Ilarion Kalpinsky and his wife Catherine at Nyeklyoodovo, and to our old acquaintance Mme. Lupenevsky, who lived within two _versts_ of the Kalpinskys. Kalpinsky was in his own way a remarkable man: though he had received no regular education, he was very intelligent and well-read; his origin was obscure--it was said that he was of Mordvinian descent--but he had risen to a considerable rank in the public service, and had made a marriage of interest with the daughter of a country gentleman of good family. His present pursuit was farming, and his object to save money. He set up for a freethinker; and his few neighbours who had heard of Voltaire called him a Voltairian. He lived at home without taking any part in the life of the family, and reserved to himself complete freedom in the gratification of his somewhat Epicurean tastes and habits. Though she had heard of him, Sofya Nikolayevna had never seen him, because he had only recently removed to Orenburg from his public office at Petersburg. She was surprised to find in him a man possessed of intelligence and culture according to the standards of the time, and dressed like a gentleman living in the capital. She was pleased with him at first; but he soon began to show off before such an attractive visitor, and then his profanity and the shameless immorality of his family life made her feel a disgust for him which she never afterwards got over. His wife was far more intelligent than her sister, Mme. Lupenevsky, but not her superior in any other respect. The visit lasted for an hour, and was followed by a visit to Mme. Lupenevsky. In both houses tea was given to the guests and home-made jam, and the meal was seasoned with a kind of conversation which horrified Sofya Nikolayevna. Both families were invited to dine at Bagrovo on the following Sunday. By one of those striking inconsistencies in human nature which it is impossible to explain, Mme. Lupenevsky fell in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and used such language to her at parting that her guest must needs either blush or laugh aloud; nevertheless her words were the expression of sincere and even enthusiastic attachment.

The pair reached home an hour before supper-time, and were welcomed with unusual cordiality and pleasure by Stepan Mihailovitch, whom they found sitting on the familiar stoop. He was much amused when he was told that Mme. Lupenevsky had conceived such a passion for his daughter-in-law, kissing her repeatedly, claiming that they were kindred spirits, and lavishing terms of affection upon her. Contrary to custom, the whole family went out again to the stoop after supper, and spent a long time there in cheerful conversation with the master of the household, in the cool of the night and under the starry sky. Stepan Mihailovitch, though he could not have explained why, was fond of the faint colourless light that follows the glow of sunset.

The solemn feast on the Sunday was to be something beyond what had ever been seen at Bagrovo, but nothing special happened on either of the intervening days. Yerlykin came back from Boogoorooslan looking yellow and ill, as he always did after a drinking-bout. Stepan Mihailovitch knew of his son-in-law's unfortunate weakness or disease, and tried to cure him by dosing him with unpalatable drinks, but without success. When sober, Yerlykin had a loathing for alcohol and could not raise a glass of wine to his lips without a shudder; but he was seized four times a year with a sudden and irresistible craving for spirits. If the attempt was made to keep drink from him, he became a most pitiable and wretched object, talking constantly and weeping, and begging abjectly for the poison; and if it was still refused, he became frantic and even capable of attempts at suicide. Sofya Nikolayevna, who had heard the whole story, was exceedingly sorry for him. She spoke kindly to him and tried to make him talk to her. But it was no good: the General persisted in his sullen silence and gloomy pride. Instead of being grateful to her sister-in-law, Elizabeth resented these advances to her husband, and expressed her resentment in bitter terms. But Stepan Mihailovitch noticed this and addressed a stern reproof to his clever daughter, who did not love her sister-in-law any the better in consequence.

Stepan Mihailovitch twice took his daughter-in-law out to see his crops of rye and spring-sown wheat, and drove with her to all his favourite water-springs in the hills, and the "Sacred Wood" where the trees had been protected from the axe by a religious service. The old man believed that all these sights were interesting and agreeable to her; but in fact she positively disliked them all. Her sole support was in the thought that she would soon leave Bagrovo and would do her best never to set eyes on it again. If any one had told her that she would spend most of her life there, grow old there, and even die there, she would not have believed it: she would have said that death was preferable, and would have meant what she said. But whatever God decrees, to that man can become accustomed, and that he can endure.

Sunday came and the guests began to assemble. Mme. Myortvavo came, and the Kalpinskys and Lupenevskys, and two old bachelors, the judge and the mayor of Boogoorooslan. Another guest was Afrosinya Andreyevna (her surname, which was never used, I forget), a spare little old lady and a great talker; she had a small estate near Bagrovo. She was famous for her powers of invention, and Stepan Mihailovitch liked at times to listen to her, as a grown man sometimes listens with pleasure to a fairy tale intended for children.

But Afrosinya Andreyevna deserves that the reader should have at least a bowing acquaintance with her. At one time in her life she had spent ten years in Petersburg to watch a lawsuit; when she won it, she came back to her little estate in the country. She brought back with her from Petersburg a store of anecdotes whose extravagance made Stepan Mihailovitch laugh till he cried. For instance, she used to represent herself as a bosom friend of the Empress Catherine, adding by way of explanation that two people could not live ten years in the same town without being thrown together. "I was in church one day"--she talked this way when she was in the vein--"the people were going out, and the Empress walked past me, and I made a low curtsey and ventured to congratulate her on the festival; and then Her Majesty was so very kind and condescending as to say: 'How are you, Afrosinya Andreyevna? How is your suit going? Why don't you come to see me of an evening and bring your knitting with you? We could chat together and pass the time pleasantly.' Of course I never missed an evening after that. I got to know the people about the court, and every one in the palace without a single exception knew me and liked me. Suppose a royal footman was sent anywhere, to buy something it might be, he never failed to look in at my house and tell me all about it. As a matter of course, I always offered him a glass of something good; I kept a bottle of whisky in the cupboard on purpose. I was sitting by my window one evening when I saw a royal footman in red uniform, with the coat of arms on it, ride past at a gallop; he was soon followed by a second and a third. That was too much for me: I threw up the window and called out, 'Philip Petrovitch! Philip Petrovitch! what are you all galloping for, and why don't you pay me a visit?' 'No time! Afrosinya Andreyevna!' was his answer; 'a terrible thing has happened: candles will soon be wanted at the palace, and we've run out of them!' 'Stop!' I cried out; 'I have 5 lbs. of candles laid in; you can come in and take them.' Philip Petrovitch was delighted; I carried out the candles with my own hands and relieved the people from their difficulty. So you see, _batyushka_ Stepan Mihailovitch, they simply couldn't help being fond of me."

Stepan Mihailovitch had many traits of character peculiar to himself; and this was one--though he was a sworn foe to deliberate lying of every kind, and detested the most trifling deception and even the kind of evasion which is sometimes quite excusable, yet he liked listening to the harmless fabrications and fictions of simple people, who were innocently carried away by the vividness of their imagination till they actually came to believe in their own incredible romancing. He liked talking to Afrosinya Andreyevna, not only at a merry party, but also when they were alone together, if he was in the right mood for it; and she spent whole hours in pouring out for his benefit the story of her life in Petersburg, which consisted entirely of such incidents as that which I have already quoted.