Part 20

Twenty-nine _versts_ to the south-west of Ufa, on the road to Kazan, where the Uza falls into that noble river, the Dyoma, there lay in a rich valley a little Tatar village called by the Russians Alkino, surrounded by forests. The houses nestled in picturesque disorder at the foot of a hill called Bairam-Tau[49] which gave them shelter from the north; and another hill, Zein-Tau,[50] rose on the west. The Uza, fringed with bushes, flowed to the south-west; the forest-glades were fragrant with grasses and flowers; and, all round, oaks and limes and maples cleft the air and imparted to it an invigorating virtue. To this charming spot Alexyei Stepanitch brought his wife, weak and pale and thin, a mere shadow of her old self; Avenarius, their friend and doctor, came with them, and they had some difficulty in getting the patient to the end of the journey. The owner of the village received them with cordial hospitality; he had a comfortable house, but Sofya Nikolayevna was unwilling to install herself there, and one of the outbuildings was cleared out for her occupation. The family were only too kind in their attentions to her, so that the doctor was obliged to forbid their visits for a time. They spoke Russian fairly well, though they professed the Mohammedan creed; and, though their dress and habits were then partly Russian and partly Tatar, _koumiss_ was their invariable drink from morning till night. For Sofya Nikolayevna, the health-giving beverage was prepared in a cleanly, civilised manner: the mare's milk was fermented in a clean, new wooden bucket and not in the usual bag of raw horse-hide. The natives declared that _koumiss_ made in their fashion tasted better, and was more effective; but Sofya Nikolayevna felt an unconquerable aversion to the horse-hide bag. When the doctor had laid down rules for the cure, he went back to Ufa, leaving Alexyei Stepanitch, with Parasha and Annushka, in charge of the invalid. The air and the _koumiss_, of which small doses were taken at first; the daily drives with Alexyei Stepanitch through the forest which surrounded the village--Yevseitch, who was now a favourite with Sofya Nikolayevna, acted as coachman; the woods, where the patient lay for whole hours in the cool shade on a leather mattress with pillows, breathing the fragrant air into her lungs, listening sometimes to an entertaining book, and often sinking into refreshing sleep--the whole life was so beneficial to Sofya Nikolayevna that in a fortnight she was able to get up and could walk about. When Avenarius came again he was delighted by the effect of the _koumiss_, and increased the doses; but, as the patient could not endure it in large quantities, he thought it necessary to prescribe vigorous exercise in the form of riding on horseback. For a Russian lady to ride was in those days a startling novelty: Alexyei Stepanitch did not like it, and Sofya Nikolayevna herself was shocked by the notion. Their host's daughters presented an instructive example, for they constantly rode far and wide over the country on their Bashkir ponies; but Sofya Nikolayevna turned a deaf ear for long to all persuasions, and even to the entreaties of her husband, whom the doctor had speedily and completely convinced of the necessity of the exercise. At last the Chichagoffs came on a visit to Alkino, and Sofya Nikolayevna's resistance was overcome by a joint effort. What appealed to her most strongly was the example of Mme. Chichagoff, who, in the spirit of true friendship, sacrificed her own prejudices and began to ride, at first alone, and then with the patient. This hard exercise required a change of diet; and fat mutton, which Sofya Nikolayevna did not like either, was prescribed. Avenarius probably took a hint from the habits of the Bashkirs and Tatars, who, while moving from place to place throughout the summer, drink _koumiss_ and eat hardly anything but fat mutton, not even bread; and they ride all day long over the broad steppes, until the prairie grass turns from green to grey and veils itself with a soft, silvery down. The treatment answered admirably. They sometimes rode out in a large party with the sons and daughters of their host. There was a potash factory which they sometimes visited, about two _versts_ from Alkino, situated in the depth of the forest and on the bank of a stream; and Sofya Nikolayevna looked with interest at the iron cauldrons full of burning wood-ash, the wooden troughs in which the dross was deposited, and the furnaces in which the product was refined and converted into porous white lumps of the vegetable salt called "potash." She admired the rapidity with which the work was carried on, and the activity of the Tatars, whose skull-caps were a novelty to her, and also the long shirts which came down to their feet and yet left them free command of their limbs. In general her hosts were very kind, and tried to amuse their guest by making the natives sing and dance before her, or wrestle, or run races on horseback.

[49] Hill of Feasting.

[50] Hill of Meeting.

At first Alexyei Stepanitch was always present at these expeditions and entertainments; but, when he ceased to feel anxious about his wife's health, and saw her surrounded by troops of attentive friends, he began by degrees to find some time on his hands. Country life and country air, with the beauty of that landscape, roused in him a desire for his old amusements. He made fishing-lines and began to angle for the wily trout in the clear mountain streams round Alkino; and he went out sometimes to catch quails with a net. Theodore, Parasha's young husband, was a capital hand at this sport and could make pipes to decoy the birds. With sportsmen in general, netting for quails does not rank high; but really I do not know why they despise it. To lie on the fragrant meadow grass with your net hanging in front of you on the tall stalks; to hear the quails calling beside you and at a distance; to imitate their low, sweet note on the pipe; to hear the excited birds reply and watch them run, or even fly, from all sides towards you; to watch their curious antics, and to get excited yourself over the success or failure of your strategy--all this gave me much pleasure at one time, and even now I cannot recall it with indifference. But it was impossible to make this pleasure intelligible to Sofya Nikolayevna.

In two months she was well on the way to recovery: her face filled out, and a bright colour began to play again upon her cheeks. When Avenarius paid a third visit, he was entirely satisfied; and he had a perfect right to triumph; for he was the first to prescribe _koumiss_ and directed the treatment himself. He had always been attached to his patient; and now that he had succeeded in saving her life, he loved her like a daughter.

Alexyei Stepanitch sent a weekly bulletin to his father at Bagrovo. Stepan Mihailovitch was glad to hear that his daughter-in-law was getting better; but of course he disbelieved in the healing power of the _koumiss_, and was very angry about the riding, which they were rash enough to mention in writing to him. His wife and daughters made use of this opportunity, and the sneering remarks, which they let fall on purpose in the course of conversation, worked him up to such a pitch that he wrote his son a rather offensive letter which gave pain to Sofya Nikolayevna. But, when he was convinced that his daughter-in-law had quite recovered and had even grown stout, pleasing hopes began to stir again in his breast, and he grew reconciled in some degree to the _koumiss_ and the riding.

The young Bagroffs returned to Ufa at the beginning of autumn. Old M. Zubin was very far gone by that time, and his daughter's wonderful recovery produced no sort of impression on him. All his earthly business was done, and all ties broken; every thread that held him to life was severed, and the soul could hardly find shelter in the disruption of the body.

The normal course of relations between the young couple had been, so to speak, arrested in its development by a number of events: first, by the birth of the child and the mother's extravagant devotion to it; then, by the child's death which nearly deprived the mother of her reason and her life; and, finally, by the long course of treatment and residence in the Tatar village. In the stormy season of her distress and sickness, Sofya Nikolayevna had ever before her eyes the genuine love and self-sacrifice of her husband. At that time there were none of those collisions, which constantly occur at ordinary times between ill-matched characters; and, even if there were occasions for such misunderstandings, they passed unnoticed. When gold is in circulation, small change is of little importance. In exceptional circumstances and critical moments, nothing but gold passes; but the daily expenditure of uneventful life is mainly carried on with small change. Now Alexyei Stepanitch, though he was not poor in gold, was often hard up for small change. When a man, if he sees distress and danger threatening the health and life of one whom he loves, himself suffers in every fibre of his being; when he forgets sleep and food and himself altogether; when the nerves are strung up and the moral nature uplifted--at such times there is no room for small exactions, no room for small services and attentions. But when the time of tragic events has gone by, everything quiets down again; the nerves are relaxed and the spirit contracts; the material life of flesh and blood asserts itself, in all its triviality; habits resume their lost power; and then comes the turn of those exactions and demands we spoke of, the turn of small services and polite attentions and all the other trifles which make up the web of actual ordinary life. Time will again apply the test and bring back the necessity of self-sacrifice; but meanwhile life runs on without a stop in the ordinary groove, and its peace and adornment and pleasure--what we call happiness, in fact--is made up entirely of trivial things, of small change.

For these reasons, when Sofya Nikolayevna began to recover and Alexyei Stepanitch ceased to fear for her life and health, there began by degrees to reappear, on one side, the old exacting temper, and, on the other side, the old incapacity to satisfy its demands. Gentle reproaches and expostulations had become tiresome to the husband, and fierce explosions frightened him. Fear at once banished perfect frankness, and loss of frankness between husband and wife, especially in the less assertive and independent of the two, leads straight to the destruction of domestic happiness. After the return to Ufa, this evil would probably have grown worse in the trivial, idle atmosphere of town life; but Sofya Nikolayevna's father was now actually dying, and his sad, suffering condition banished all other anxieties and monopolised his daughter's; thoughts and feelings. Obedient to the law of her moral nature, she gave herself up without reserves to her duty as a daughter. Thus the process which was unveiling every corner of their domestic life, was again brought to a standstill. Sofya Nikolayevna spent her days and nights with her father. Nikolai, as before, waited on his sick master, nursing him with wonderful devotion and indefatigable care; and, as before, he kept out of sight of Sofya; Nikolayevna, though he had now the right and the power to appear before her with impunity. Touched by his behaviour, she had sent for him; a reconciliation took place, and she gave him leave to be present with her in the sick-room. The dying man, in spite of his apparent insensibility to all around him, noticed this change: he pressed his daughter's hand in his feeble grasp, and said in a hardly audible whisper, "I thank you." Sofya Nikolayevna never left her father after this time.

I said that when Stepan Mihailovitch received the good news of his daughter-in-law's recovery, fond hopes awoke once more in his breast. They were not disappointed: before long Sofya Nikolayevna wrote to him herself, that she hoped, if God was good to her, to give birth to a son, to be the comfort of his old age. At the instant Stepan Mihailovitch was overjoyed, but he soon controlled his feelings and hid his happiness from his womankind. Perhaps it occurred to him that this second child might be a daughter, that Sofya Nikolayevna and the doctors between them might kill it too with too much love and too much medicine, and that the mother might lose her health over again; or perhaps Stepan Mihailovitch was like many other people, who deliberately prophesy calamities with a secret hope that fortune will reverse their prognostications. He pretended that he was not in the least glad, and said coolly: "No, no! I'm too old a bird to look at _that_ chaff. When the thing happens, it will be time enough to believe it and rejoice over it." His family were surprised to hear him speak so, and said nothing in reply. But, as a matter of fact, the old man for some unknown reason became convinced once more in his heart that he would have a grandson: he gave instructions again to Father Vassili to repeat in church the prayer for "women labouring of child"; and he fished out once more the family tree from its hiding-place, and kept it always beside him.

Meanwhile M. Zubin's last hour on earth came quietly on. He had suffered much for many years; it seemed hardly natural that life should linger on in a body which had lost all force and motion; and the ending of such a bare and pitiful existence could distress no one. Even Sofya Nikolayevna had only one prayer--that her father's soul might depart in peace. And there _was_ peace, and even happiness, at the moment of death. The face of the dying man lit up suddenly, and this expression remained long upon the features, though the eyes were shut and the body had grown cold. The funeral was a solemn and splendid ceremony. M. Zubin had once been very popular; but he had become forgotten by degrees, and sympathy for his suffering had become gradually weaker. But now, when the news of his death flew round the town, old memories revived and evoked a fresh feeling of love and pity for him. On the day of his funeral every house was empty, and all the population of Ufa lined the streets between the Church of the Assumption and the cemetery. May he rest in peace! If he had the weakness of human nature, he had also its goodness.

After M. Zubin's death, guardians were appointed for the children of his two marriages; and Alexyei Stepanitch became guardian of his wife's two brothers, who, before finishing their education at the Moscow boarding-school, were summoned to Petersburg to enter the Guards. I forgot to mention that M. Zubin, shortly before his death, was successful in obtaining for Alexyei Stepanitch his promotion to a higher office at the law-courts.

Sofya Nikolayevna wept and prayed for a long time, and Alexyei Stepanitch wept and prayed at her side; but those tears and prayers were not painful or violent and had no ill effect on the recently restored health of Sofya Nikolayevna. Her husband's entreaties and the advice of her friends and doctors prevailed with her, and she began to take care of herself and to pay due attention to her condition. They convinced her that the health and even the life of the unborn child depended on the state of her own health and spirits. Their arguments were confirmed by bitter experience, and she resolutely submitted to all that was required of her. When her father-in-law wrote to her and expressed in simple words his sympathy with her loss and his fear that she might again injure her own health by excess of grief, she sent a very reassuring letter in reply; and she did in fact attend carefully to her bodily health and composure of mind. A regular but not monotonous plan of life was laid down. The two doctors, Klauss--who was becoming very intimate with the Bagroffs--and Avenarius, made her go out every day before dinner, and sometimes on foot; and each evening they had an unceremonious party of pleasant people at home, or went out themselves, generally to the Chichagoffs' house. Mme. Chichagoff's brothers became great friends of the Bagroffs, especially the younger, Dmitri, who asked that, when the time came, he might stand godfather. Both brothers were well-bred men and well-educated, according to the standards of the time; and they came often to the house and passed the time there with pleasure. In the Bagroffs' house, reading aloud was a favourite occupation. But, as no one can read or listen to reading without intervals, Sofya Nikolayevna was taught to play cards. Klauss took the chief part in initiating her into this science; and, whenever the Bagroffs were alone of an evening, he never failed to make up their table. Avenarius could not take part in this pastime, because he never in his life knew the difference between the five and the ace.

Spring set in early that year, but in all its beauty. The ice on the Byelaya broke up, and the blocks were carried down by the stream; the river broke its banks and spread till it was six _versts_ across. The whole of this expanse could be clearly seen from the windows of the Bagroffs' little house; their orchard burst into leaf and flower, and the fragrance of bird-cherries and apple-blossom filled the air. They used this orchard as a drawing-room, and the warm weather did good to Sofya Nikolayevna and made her stronger.

At this time an event happened at Ufa which caused a great sensation there and was especially interesting to the young Bagroffs, because the hero of the story was an intimate friend of theirs, and, if I am not mistaken, distantly related to Alexyei Stepanitch. Sofya Nikolayevna, as one would expect from her character, took a lively interest in such a romantic affair. A young man, named Timasheff, one of the most prominent and richest nobles of the district, fell in love with a Tatar girl, the daughter of a rich Tatar landowner. Her family, just like the Alkins, had altered their way of living to a certain extent in conformity with European customs, and they spoke Russian well; but they strictly observed the Moslem faith in all its purity. The beautiful Salme returned the love of the handsome Russian officer, who was a captain in the regiment stationed near Ufa. As she could not be married to a Russian without changing her religion, it was perfectly certain that her parents and grown-up brothers would never give their consent to such a union. Salme struggled long against her love, and love burns more fiercely in the hearts of women of Asia. At last, as is the rule in such cases, Mahomet was defeated, and Salme made up her mind to elope with her lover, meaning to be baptised first and then married. The commander of Timasheff's regiment was General Mansuroff, a universal favourite and the kindest of men, who gained distinction afterwards when he crossed "The Devil's Bridge" in the Alps with Suvoroff. He had lately married for love himself, and he knew and sympathised with Timasheff's enterprise, and promised to take the lovers under his protection. One dark, rainy night Salme sallied forth from her father's house, and found Timasheff waiting for her in a wood close by with a pair of saddle-horses; they had to gallop about 100 _versts_ to reach Ufa. Salme was a skilful rider; every ten or fifteen _versts_ they found fresh horses, guarded by soldiers of Timasheff's regiment; he was very popular with his men. Thus the fugitives flew along "on the wings of love," as a poet of that day would infallibly have said. Meanwhile Salme's absence was quickly noticed: her passion for Timasheff had long been suspected, and a strict watch was kept over her movements. A band of armed Tatars assembled instantly, and followed the enraged father[51] and brothers in furious pursuit of the lovers, uttering fierce shouts and threats of vengeance. They took the right track and would probably have captured the fugitives--at any rate blood would have been spilt, because a number of soldiers, eagerly interested in the affair, were posted at different points along the road--had not the pursuit been delayed by a stratagem. The bridge over a deep and dangerous river was broken down behind the lovers; and the Tatars were forced to swim across, and thus lost some two hours. Even so, the boat which carried Timasheff and Salme across the Byelaya under the walls of Ufa, had hardly reached mid-stream, when the old Tatar galloped up to the bank, attended by his sons and half of his faithful company; the other half had stopped when their horses fell dead under them. A whole regiment of Russian soldiers were in possession of all the punts and ferry-boats, on the pretence of crossing to the town. The unhappy father gnashed his teeth in fury, cursed his daughter, and rode off home. Half dead with weariness and fear, Salme was placed in a carriage and taken to the house of Timasheff's mother. The affair now assumed a legal and official character: here was a Mahometan woman asking of her own free will to be received into the Christian Church, and the authorities of the town took her under their protection, informed the _mufti_, who lived at Ufa and was always called "the Tatar bishop," of all that had passed, and called upon him to stop the injured family or any other Mahometans from all attempts to recover by violence a person who had deliberately preferred the Christian faith. In a few days the clergy prepared the convert to receive the sacraments of baptism and unction. The rite was celebrated with great pomp in the Cathedral: Salme was christened Seraphima, and immediately afterwards, without leaving the church, the young lovers were married. All Ufa was interested in the affair. The young people and all the men naturally stood up for the beautiful Salme; but the women, some of whom, perhaps, had personal reasons for disappointment, judged her conduct severely. Very few stretched out the hand of sincere friendship to the convert, whom her husband's station admitted to the inner circle of Ufa society. The young couple had no warmer sympathisers than Sofya Nikolayevna and Alexyei Stepanitch; and they were actively assisted by the wife of General Mansuroff, an amiable young woman whose maiden name was Bulgakoff. Before long the Timasheffs had a firm footing in their new sphere. The bride's education was taken in hand; she had much natural ability, and soon became a success in society, where she aroused both sympathy and envy, due in some degree to her beauty and the peculiarity of her position. Sofya Nikolayevna kept up a steady friendship with Seraphima Timasheff till death divided them. To the general regret, Mme. Timasheff died of consumption three years after her marriage. She left two sons; her husband nearly went out of his mind with grief; he left the Army, gave up his life to the care of his children, and never married again. It was currently reported, though I cannot vouch for the truth of the reports, that her illness and death were due to secret pining after the kinsfolk she had abandoned and remorse for her change of religion.

[51] Another version of the story tells that the mother led the pursuit. (_Author's note_.)