Part 17

But it is time to go back to the guests arriving at Bagrovo. The mayor's _kaftan_[44] and the judge's uniform were equally remarkable; but the best sight of all was Kalpinsky: on each side of him stood a female scarecrow in the person of his wife and of her sister, while he himself wore an embroidered coat of French cut, a pair of watch-chains, a number of rings, silk stockings and shoes with gold buckles. All the family wore their best bib and tucker, and even Stepan Mihailovitch was forced to smarten himself up. M. Chichagoff, who had a critical, satirical turn of mind, made fun with much effect of the motley assembly and especially of his friend Kalpinsky; he was talking all the time to his wife and to her inseparable companion, Sofya Nikolayevna, who sat together and apart from the rest. Sofya Nikolayevna had hard work to keep from laughing: she tried not to listen, and begged Chichagoff either to hold his tongue or to start a conversation with Stepan Mihailovitch, whom he would find worthy of respect. He did so, and soon took a great fancy to the old man; and his feeling was reciprocated. But Stepan Mihailovitch disliked Kalpinsky, both as an upstart and also as an unbeliever and loose-liver.

[44] The kaftan is a long cloth coat belted in at the waist.

The splendour of the banquet may be imagined. Stepan Mihailovitch for once resigned all his favourite dishes--haggis, roast ribs of pork, and porridge made of green rye. A _chef_ had been procured, of special skill in the culinary art. Materials of all sorts were provided in abundance--a six-weeks-old calf, a pig fed to monstrous proportions, fat sheep, and poultry of all kinds. It was the custom then to place all the courses at once on the cloth; and the table at Bagrovo could hardly hold them all or support their weight. Cold dishes came first--smoked hams seasoned with garlic; next came green cabbage soup and crayfish soup, with forcemeat balls and rolls of different kinds; then fish-salad on ice, sturgeon kippered and sturgeon dried, and a dish heaped mountain-high with crayfish tails. Of entrees there were only two: salted quails _aux choux_, and stuffed ducks with a red sauce containing raisins, plums, peaches, and apricots. These entrees were a concession to modern fashion; Stepan Mihailovitch did not like them and called them "kickshaws." They were followed by a turkey of enormous size and fatness, and a hindquarter of veal; the accessories were preserved melons and gourds, apple chips, and pickled mushrooms. The dinner ended up with round jam-tarts and raised apple pies served with thick cream. All this was washed down with home-made liquors, home-brewed March beer, iced _kvass_, and foaming mead.

Such were the meals which our heroic grandfathers and grandmothers consumed without leaving out a single course, and even managed to digest satisfactorily! But they took their time over it, and the meal went on for hours. The dishes were solid, substantial affairs, as we have seen, and there were plenty of them; and the servants also, both those of the house and those whom the guests brought with them, had no idea of waiting: they bustled about and collided with one another and seemed likely at every moment to spill the sauce or the gravy over some lady's dress.

The dinner was a cheerful meal. The master of the house had Mme. Myortvavo on his right, and on his left Chichagoff, who steadily rose in his host's good graces and was quite capable, unaided, of enlivening the dullest of parties. The young couple were near the head of the table, with Mme. Chichagoff and Kalpinsky; the latter, while paying constant attentions to the two young women and exchanging an occasional jest with Alexyei Stepanitch, ate for two all the time, to make up for the voluntary abstinence which he practised at home, in his eagerness to save money. Yerlykin sat next to Chichagoff; unlike the rest of the party, he ate little and drank nothing but cold water; he never spoke, but looked gloomy and profound. The lady of the house had her daughters and nieces with other guests near her at table. The party next adjourned to the drawing-room, where there were two tables set out with sweetmeats. On one stood a round cabinet of Chinese porcelain resting on a round metal stand which was gilt and painted in bright colours. The cabinet contained a number of closely-fitting trays, each of which held a different sort of preserved fruit--raspberries, strawberries, cherries, gooseberries, and blackberries; and there were crystallised rose-petals in a small round receptacle at the top. This cabinet, which would be considered very rare and precious nowadays, was a present sent by the bride's father to Stepan Mihailovitch. Small plates were set out on the other table, filled with black and white currants, apricots, peaches, dates, raisins, nuts of many kinds, and almonds in the shell.

Stepan Mihailovitch rose from table in such good spirits that he did not even wish to lie down and rest. All could see--and indeed he wished it to be seen--his pride in his daughter-in-law and his affection for her; and her love and respect for him were as plain to see. During dinner he often turned towards her and asked her to do him some trifling service--to hand something, or pour out something. "Please help me yourself," he would say, "for you and I agree in our tastes"--or, "Just remind me of what I said to you the other day"--or, "Do repeat what you told me yesterday; I seem to have forgotten it." After dinner it was the same: he often asked her to give some order, or to hand him something, and so on. The form of his address was always plain and unpretentious, sometimes even unceremonious; but the tone of affection in which these appeals were expressed left no doubt in the mind of any spectator that he was entirely captivated by his daughter-in-law. And she, I need hardly say, replied with love and gratitude to every token of the stern old man's love for her--tokens often so slight that many would have missed them. Stepan Mihailovitch, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, tried to make Mme. Lupenevsky talk: pretending ignorance, he asked in a loud voice, "Well, Flona, what say you of my daughter-in-law?" The lady's enthusiasm had been raised to a higher pitch by the ale and strong waters she had been drinking. She declared most positively and solemnly that she had fallen in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and rather preferred her to her own daughter, Lizanka; and that Alexyei Stepanitch was the most fortunate of men. "It used to be quite another story," said the old man significantly; "don't change back again, my dear!" But now Sofya Nikolayevna, perhaps from a dislike for this topic, strongly urged her father-in-law to go and lie down, if only for a short time. He consented, and she went with him and drew his curtains with her own hand; he asked her to see to the entertainment of the party, and she hurried back, pleased and flattered by this commission. While some lay down to rest, the others crossed to the island and sat on the river-bank in the shade of the trees. Sofya Nikolayevna was reminded of the scene that had taken place there so recently--her unreasonable excitement and the unjust reproaches which had rankled in the mind of her husband. Her heart was full; and, though she saw him now, in perfect content and happiness, laughing loudly at a story which Kalpinsky was telling, she drew him aside, threw her arms round him, and said with tears in her eyes, "Forgive me, my dear, and bury in oblivion all that happened here on the day we came!" Alexyei Stepanitch had a strong objection to tears; but he kissed both her hands and said good-humouredly, "How can you recall such a trifle, my darling? You are quite wrong to trouble yourself." Then he hurried back to hear the end of the story, which was very amusing as Kalpinsky told it. Though there was really no cause for distress, Sofya Nikolayevna felt a momentary heartache.

The master of the house soon woke and summoned all the party to join him by the stoop. Tables and chairs were placed in the broad thick shadow cast by the house; and the _samovar_ was soon hissing. Tea was poured out by Sofya Nikolayevna; there were rolls and scones and cream so thick that it had a golden tinge on it; and for all this some at least of the guests still found room. The Kalpinskys and Mme. Lupenevsky went off after tea: there was positively no room for them to sleep at Bagrovo, and they had not far to go, only fifteen _versts_. The guests from Boogoorooslan also took their leave.

Mme. Myortvavo and her party left early next morning, and the Yerlykins after dinner, to prepare for a visit from the young couple on their way back to Ufa. The same evening Stepan Mihailovitch announced quite frankly that the time had come for the rest of the party to disperse: he wished to spend the last days alone with his son and daughter-in-law, and to enjoy their society without interruption. As a matter of course, his wishes were carried out. Alexandra said "good-bye" to her sister-in-law as graciously as she could, and the sister-in-law said "good-bye" to her with unfeigned satisfaction. Her secret wish to spend some days without the hateful presence of Elizabeth and Alexandra had been divined by Stepan Mihailovitch; and she blessed him in her thoughts for his power of intuition. Aksinya was quite different; and Sofya Nikolayevna parted from her with feelings of gratitude and real affection. None of this escaped the old man's keen eyes. Tanyusha and her mother caused no constraint, partly because they were more good-tempered and friendly to their guest, and also because they often withdrew and left the others to their own devices.

The three remaining days were spent at Bagrovo in perfect peace of mind, untroubled by malevolent observation or pretences of affection or venomous innuendoes. The strain on Sofya Nikolayevna's nerves was relaxed, and she was able to take her bearings with less prejudice and study the peculiarities of the little world in which she found herself. In spite of their complete unlikeness to herself, she could now understand her mother-in-law and Tanyusha better, and make allowances for them; she could form a cooler judgment of Stepan Mihailovitch, and could understand how her husband came to be what he was. To some extent she realised that Alexyei could not be entirely changed, and that the time was distant--perhaps it would never come--when misunderstandings between them would cease. But this last thought passed too lightly through her mind; and the old dream, that she could educate her husband over again and make a new man of him, took fresh hold of her eager imagination. What happens to most young wives in the course of life was happening now to Sofya Nikolayevna: she found in her husband a certain inferiority, certain limitations of feeling and perception; and though her love for him was none the less passionate on that account, she was beginning to feel vaguely dissatisfied with his love for her, because he found room in his heart for other things--the pond and the island, the steppe and its population of snipe, the river and those horrid fish! A feeling of jealousy, though directed to no definite object as yet, was lurking at her heart; and she felt a dim presentiment of coming disaster.

Stepan Mihailovitch also had been somewhat taken up hitherto by constant observation of the feelings and actions of his daughters; but now he was more at leisure to attend to his daughter-in-law and his son also. For all his want of education and rough-and-ready way of expressing himself, his natural sagacity and power of intuition revealed to him the whole difference of character between the two; and he found here matter for serious reflexion. Their present love for one another was a pleasant sight to him, and he felt happy when he saw Sofya Nikolayevna's eyes constantly fixed on her husband and her eager desire to please him; but his happiness had a shade of fear and of disbelief in the solidity and permanence of a state of things in itself so charming. He would have liked to speak his mind on the subject, to give them some hints or some useful advice; but, whenever he began, he could not find the right words for thoughts and feelings which he could not make clear even to himself; and he went no further than those trivial commonplaces which, for all their triviality, have been bequeathed to us by the practical wisdom of past generations and are verified by our own experience. His failure troubled him, and he said so frankly to his daughter-in-law. She was a clever woman, yet she failed to understand the thoughts which the old man was turning over in his brain, and the feeling hidden in his heart. To his son he said: "Your wife is very clever and very excitable. Her tongue will probably run away with her at times; if so, don't be weak with her: stop her at once, and make her see her mistake. Scold her, but forgive her at once; if she displeases you, don't be sullen or keep up resentment; have it all out with her at once. But trust her absolutely; she is as true as steel." Again, when he was alone with Sofya Nikolayevna, he said to her: "My dear daughter-in-law, God has given you many good gifts. I have only one thing to say to you: don't give the reins to your impetuous temper. Your husband is honest and kind; his temper is mild, and he will never willingly hurt your feelings; don't you hurt his. Honour him and treat him with respect. If you cease to respect your husband, things will go wrong. Suppose he says or does something you don't like, then say nothing; don't be too exacting, and don't expect perfection. I can see you through and through, and I love you dearly. For God's sake, don't fill the cup till it runs over: anything can be overdone, even a wife's devotion to her husband."

The advice was received as always by his son with profound respect, and by Sofya Nikolayevna with the ardent gratitude of a daughter. There was much talk on other subjects--their future life at Ufa, the husband's prospects in his profession, and the means of defraying their expenditure. Definite arrangements were made on all points, and all parties were satisfied.

And now the day came for their departure. The silk curtains in the bedroom were taken down; the muslin and satin pillow-cases with broad lace edging were taken off the pillows; and all this finery was packed up and dispatched to Ufa. Pies of different kinds were baked for the travellers. Father Vassili was summoned once more, and the prayers for those "travelling by land or by water" were said. Fresh horses were to be in readiness at Korovino, forty _versts_ away; to that point they were to be taken by the Bagrovo horses, the same fine team of six which had conveyed the pair on their ceremonial visits. They dined together for the last time; and for the last time Stepan Mihailovitch pressed his favourite dishes on his daughter-in-law. The carriage was already standing at the steps. When the party rose from table, they went to the drawing-room and sat there in silence for some minutes. Then Stepan Mihailovitch crossed himself and rose to his feet; the rest followed his example, said a prayer,[45] and began their good-byes. All shed tears except Stepan Mihailovitch, and even he had hard work to refrain. He embraced his daughter-in-law and gave her his blessing; then he whispered in her ear, "Mind, I look forward to a little grandson." She blushed up to the ears and kissed his hands without speaking; and now he did not resist her doing so. All the outdoor servants and most of the peasants were standing by the steps. Some of them had half a mind to come forward and say farewell to their young master and mistress; but Stepan Mihailovitch, who hated good-byes and parting scenes, called out, "What are you up to there? Make your bow, and that will be enough!" Sofya Nikolayevna had only time to exchange greetings with one or two of the people. They took their seats quickly, and the strong horses started off with the carriage as if it had been a mere feather. Stepan Mihailovitch shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand; for some minutes he tried to make out the moving carriage in the cloud of dust which followed it; and, when it had reached the stackyard at the top of the hill, he went back to his own room and lay down to sleep.

[45] In prayers of this kind, nothing is said aloud: the worshipper turns towards the _ikons_ on the wall and crosses himself.

FRAGMENT V: LIFE AT UFA

During the first few minutes Sofya Nikolayevna felt sorry for her father-in-law and sad to part with him. The image of the old man who had learnt to love her and was suffering now from the separation, came vividly before her. But before long the easy motion of the carriage, with the fleeting glimpses of fields and coppices and the outline of the hills along which they were driving, had a soothing effect upon her mind; and she began to feel heartily glad that she had left Bagrovo. Her joy was too great to be concealed, though she realised that her husband would not like it. He, she thought, was sadder than he had any business to be. Some explanations might possibly have followed, but were fortunately prevented by the presence of Parasha. The carriage rolled quickly through the village of Noikino, where it was saluted by hearty shouts from the Mordvinians, and then crossed the river Nasyagai by a crazy bridge. They crossed the same river again and passed through the village of Polibino, and came at last to Korovino, where a fresh team was waiting for their arrival; their own horses were to rest there for some hours and return to Bagrovo in the evening.

Sofya Nikolayevna had provided herself with writing materials, and now she wrote a warm letter of thanks to her husband's parents. It was intended especially for Stepan Mihailovitch; and he understood this perfectly and hid the letter in the secret drawer of the modest writing-desk which satisfied his needs; and there Sofya Nikolayevna came upon her own letter unexpectedly eight years afterwards, when the old man was in his grave. The horses were put to, good-byes were said to the coachman and postilion--long-legged Tanaichonok was acting as postilion on this occasion--and the pair resumed their journey. Fortune was kind at this point to Sofya Nikolayevna: it proved impossible to get to the Yerlykins' house, and thus she was saved from a most tiresome and oppressive visit. A deep river on the way had to be crossed, and the bridge had rotted and collapsed. As it would take a long time to mend it, the young couple could keep straight on towards Ufa. As they got near the town, Sofya Nikolayevna could think of nothing but her sick father, who had not seen her for more than a fortnight; he had been left in the care of servants and must be feeling lonely and eager for his daughter's return. The travellers took a full hour to cross the river Byelaya in a crazy ferry-boat; and the ascent of the steep hill on the other side took time. Before it was over, Sofya Nikolayevna was very impatient and in great agitation. At last she got to the house. In a fever of excitement she hurried to her father's room and softly opened the door. He was lying in his usual position; and near him, on the very armchair which was usually occupied by Sofya Nikolayevna herself, his servant Nikolai was sitting.

This man was a Kalmuck, and I must tell something of his history. In those distant times it was a common practice in the district of Ufa to buy native boys and girls, either Kalmucks or Kirghizes, from their parents or relations, and to make use of them later as serfs. Forty years before the date of my story, M. Zubin had bought two Kalmuck boys. He had them baptized, became fond of them, and made pets of them. He had them taught to read and write; and, when they grew up, they became his personal servants. Both of them were intelligent and neat-handed and appeared to be very devoted; but, when Pugatchoff[46] raised the standard of revolt, they both ran off and joined the rebels. One of them soon lost his life; but the other, who had been his master's favourite and was called Nikolai, now became the favourite of one Chika, who was prominent among the rebels and stood high in the favour of Pugatchoff himself. It is well known that one band of the revolters was encamped for a long time near Ufa, on the opposite bank of the river Byelaya. Nikolai was in this camp and had by this time been promoted to a position of some authority. It was said that he was fiercer than any of them and breathed fire and slaughter against no one so much as his old master who had brought him up. Tradition tells that, whenever the rebels were preparing to cross the river and fall upon the defenceless town, they saw a great army march out to defend the heights on the opposite bank, and an ancient warrior at their head, riding on a snow-white horse, and holding a spear in one hand and a Cross in the other. The cowardly band of outlaws were terrified by this vision and desisted from all their attempts; and they had done nothing when the news came that Pugatchoff was defeated. Of course they scattered at once. The revolt came to an end, and the scattered rabble were seized and brought to trial. Nikolai, who was one of these, was condemned to the gallows. I cannot vouch for the truth of this; but I have been assured that, after his trial at Ufa, the noose was actually round his neck, when M. Zubin claimed the privilege which he possessed as a landholder, pardoned his old favourite, and took him home, undertaking to be responsible himself for the criminal's behaviour. Nikolai seemed penitent and tried by zeal and devotion to atone for his crime. By degrees he contrived to get back into his master's confidence; and, when Sofya Nikolayevna, after her stepmother's death, took over the management of the household, she found Nikolai established as butler; he had been a favourite with her stepmother, and this now became a passport to her father's goodwill. Nikolai had been guilty of much insolence to his young mistress during her time of humiliation; but he was a very cunning fellow and quite realised his present position. He played the part of the repentant sinner, throwing all the guilt on the stepmother, and blaming himself for the slavish spirit in which he had carried out her orders. It would have been quite easy for Sofya Nikolayevna to get rid of him for good and all; but her youth and generous nature made her believe that his repentance was genuine. She pardoned him, and actually begged her father to leave him in his old position. As time went on, she was sometimes vexed by the way in which he settled things without consulting her, and she felt doubts about his honesty. She noticed also that his intimacy with her father, though concealed from her, was closer than she liked. But he was very zealous in his attendance upon his sick master, sleeping always in the same room, and also found time to do his work as butler exceedingly well. She was therefore content with mild reproofs, and the man was left free to take root at leisure in his double office. When she became engaged, she had to see herself to the buying of her wedding-clothes and to spend much time with her future husband; and so she was less with her father and gave less attention to household affairs. Nikolai took full advantage of this opportunity, and his power over the old invalid increased daily. Hoping soon to get rid of his mistress and to become master of the house himself, he grew more insolent and less careful to conceal his power. Sofya Nikolayevna sometimes snubbed him sharply; she was grieved to see her father's increasing dependence on this man and abdication of his own authority.

[46] See note to p. 67 (Transcriber: note 33).