As soon as my grandfather's car was seen descending the hill, dinner was set on the table, and all the family stood on the steps to receive him. "Well, Arisha," he called out cheerfully, "what splendid crops God is giving us this year! Great is His goodness! And here are some strawberries for you; they are nearly ripe; the pickers must go out to-morrow." This attention was almost too much for my grandmother. As he spoke, he walked into the house, and the smell of the hot cabbage-soup came to meet him from the parlour. "Ah! I see dinner's ready; good!" said Stepan Mihailovitch more cheerfully than before, and walked straight into the parlour and sat down at table, without visiting his own room. I should mention that my grandfather had a rule: at whatever hour, early or late, he returned from the fields, dinner must be on the table, and Heaven help the women, if they did not notice him coming and failed to serve the meal in time! There were occasions when such neglect gave rise to sad consequences; but, on this happy day, everything went without a hitch. Behind my grandfather's chair stood a stout lad, holding a birch-bough with the leaves on, to drive away the flies. The hottest weather will not make a true Russian refuse cabbage-soup, and my grandfather supped his with a wooden spoon, because silver would have burnt his lips. Soup was followed by a fish-salad, made of kippered sturgeon, as yellow as wax, and shelled crayfish. All the courses were of this light kind, and were washed down with kvass[20] and home-made beer; the drinks were iced and so was the salad. There were days when dinner was eaten in terrible stillness and silent dread of an explosion; but this was a cheerful meal, with much loud talking and laughing. Every boy and girl about the place had heard that the master was in a cheerful temper, and they all crowded into the parlour in hopes of a "piece." He gave them all something good to eat; for there was five times as much food on the table as the family could eat.
Immediately after dinner he went to lie down. All flies were expelled from the bed-curtains, and the curtains drawn round him with the ends tucked under the mattress; and soon his mighty snoring proclaimed that the master was asleep. All the rest went to their rooms to lie down. Mazan and Tanaichonok, when they had had their dinner and swallowed their share of the remnants from the dining-room table, also lay down in the passage, close to the door of my grandfather's bedroom. Though they had slept before dinner, they went to sleep again at once; but they were soon wakened by the heat and the burning rays of the sun coming through the windows. They felt a strong desire to cool their parched throats with some of their master's iced beer; and the bold scamps managed to get it in the following way. My grandfather's dressing-gown and nightcap were lying on a chair near the half-open door of his room. Tanaichonok put them on and sat down on the stoop, while Mazan went off to the cellar with a jug and wakened the old housekeeper, who like every soul in the house was fast asleep. He said his master was awake and wanted an iced tankard at once. She was surprised at his waking so soon; but Mazan then pointed to the figure in the dressing-gown and nightcap sitting on the stoop. The beer was drawn at once and ice added; and Mazan went quickly back with his prize. The cronies shared the jug between them and then replaced the garments. An hour later their master awoke in excellent humour, and his first words were, "Iced beer!" This frightened the rascals; and, when Tanaichonok hurried off to the cellar, the housekeeper guessed at once where the previous jug had gone. She produced the liquor, but followed the messenger back herself, and found the real Simon Pure sitting on the stoop and wearing the dressing-gown. The truth came out at once; and Mazan and Tanaichonok shaking with fear fell at their master's feet. And what do you think my grandfather did? He burst out laughing, sent for his wife and daughters, and told them the story with loud bursts of laughter. The culprits breathed again, and one of them even ventured to grin. But Stepan Mihailovitch noticed this and very nearly grew angry: he frowned, but the composing effect of his good day was so strong that his face cleared up, and he said with a significant look, "Well, I forgive you this once; but, if it happens again ..."—there was no need to end the sentence.
It is certainly strange that the servants of a man so passionate and so violent in his moments of passion should dare to be so impudent. But I have often noticed in the course of my life that the strictest masters have the most venturesome and reckless servants. My grandfather had other experiences of a similar kind. This same servant, Mazan, was sweeping out his master's room one day and preparing to make the bed, when he was suddenly tempted by the soft down of the bedding and pillows. He thought he would like a little taste of luxury; so down he lay on his master's bed and fell asleep. My grandfather himself came upon him sound asleep, and only laughed! He did, indeed, give the man one good rap with his staff; but that was nothing—he only did it in order to see how frightened Mazan would be. Worse tricks than these were played upon Stepan Mihailovitch in his time. During his absence from home, his cousin and ward, Praskovya Ivanovna Bagroff, was given in marriage to a dangerous and disreputable man whom he detested; the girl, who was only fourteen and a great heiress, was an inmate of Bagrovo and very dear to its owner. It is true that the plot was executed by the girl's relations on her mother's side; but Arina Vassilyevna gave her consent, and her daughters were actively engaged in it. But I shall return to my narrative for the present and leave this incident to be told later.
He woke up at five in the afternoon and drank his iced beer. Soon afterwards he wanted his tea, in spite of the sultry heat of the day; for he believed that a very hot drink makes hot weather more bearable. But first he went down to bathe in the cool waters of the river, which flowed under the windows of the house. When he came back, the whole family were waiting for him at the tea-table—the same table set in the shade, with the same hissing teapot and the same Aksyutka. When he had drunk his fill of his favourite sudorific beverage, with cream so thick that the curd on it was yellow, my grandfather proposed that the whole party should make an expedition to the mill. The plan was received with joy; and Alexandra and Tatyana, who were fond of angling, took fishing-rods with them. Two cars were brought round in a minute. Stepan Mihailovitch and his wife took their seats on one, and placed between them their one boy,[21] the precious scion of their ancient and noble line; while the other carried the three daughters, with a boy to dig for worms on the mill-dam and bait their hooks for the young ladies. When they reached the mill, a seat was brought out for Arina Vassilyevna, and she sat down in the shade of the building, not far from the mill-race where her daughters were fishing. Meanwhile Elizabeth, the eldest, partly to please her father and partly from her own interest in such matters, went with Stepan Mihailovitch to inspect the mill and the pounding-machine. The little boy either watched his sisters fishing—he was not allowed to fish himself in deep places—or played beside his mother, who never took her eyes off him, in her fear that the child would somehow tumble in.
Both sets of millstones were at work, one making wheat-flour for the master's table, and the other grinding rye for a neighbour; and there was millet under the pounding-machine. My grandfather was well acquainted with all farming operations: he understood a mill thoroughly and explained all the details to his attentive and intelligent companion. He saw in a moment any defect in the machinery or mistake in the position of the stones. One of them he ordered to be lowered half a notch, and the rye-meal came out finer, to the great satisfaction of its owner. At the other stone, his ear detected at once that one of the cogs on the small wheel was getting worn. He stopped the current, and Boltunyónok,[22] the miller, jumped down beside the wheel. He looked at it and felt it and then said, "You are quite right, batyushka Stepan Mihailovitch! One of the cogs is a little worn." "A little you call it!"—said my grandfather, not at all vexed: "but for my coming, the wheel would have snapped this very night!" "I am sorry I did not notice it, Stepan Mihailovitch." "Well, never mind! Bring a new wheel, and take the worn cog off the other; and mind the new cog is neither thicker nor thinner than the rest; the whole secret lies in that." The new wheel, fitted and tested beforehand, was fixed at once and greased with tar; and the current was turned on by degrees, also by my grandfather's instructions; at once the stone began to hum and grind smoothly and evenly, with no stumbling or knocking. The visitors went next to the pounding-machine, where my grandfather took a handful of millet from the mortar. He blew the chaff away and said to the man who had brought the grain to the mill, a Mordvinian and an old acquaintance: "Have a care, friend Vaska! If you look, every grain is pounded already, and, if you go on, you will have less of it." Vaska tried it himself and saw that my grandfather was right. He said, "Thank you," ducked his head by way of bowing, and ran off to stop the current. Their last visit was to the poultry-yard, where a large number of ducks and geese, hens and turkeys, were looked after by an old woman and her little grand-daughter. Everything here was in excellent order. As a sign of special favour, my grandfather gave both of them his hand to kiss, and ordered that the hen-wife should get an extra allowance of 20 lbs. of wheat-flour every month to make pies with. Stepan Mihailovitch rejoined his wife in good spirits. Everything had gone right: his daughter had shown intelligence, the mill was working well, and the hen-wife, Tatyana Gorozhana,[23] was attending to her duties.
The heat had long been abating; coolness came from the water and from the approach of evening; a long cloud of dust drifted along the road and came nearer the village with the bleating of sheep and lowing of cattle; the sun was losing light and sinking behind the steep hill. Stepan Mihailovitch stood on the mill-dam and surveyed the wide mirror of the pond as it lay motionless in the frame of its sloping banks. A fish jumped from time to time; but my grandfather was no fisherman. "Time to go home, Arisha," he said at last: "I expect the bailiff is waiting for me." Seeing his good humour, his daughters asked leave to fish on: they said the fish would take better at sunset, and they would walk home in half an hour. Leave was given, and the old couple started for home on one of the cars, while Elizabeth took her little brother in the other. As Stepan Mihailovitch had expected, the bailiff was waiting for him by the stoop, and some peasants and their wives were there with him; they had got a hint from the bailiff, who knew already that his master was in the right mood, and now seized the opportunity to state some exceptional needs or prefer some exceptional requests. Not one of them was disappointed. To one my grandfather gave corn, and forgave an old debt which the man could have paid; another was allowed to marry his son before the winter[24] and to a girl of their own choosing; he gave leave to a soldier's wife,[25] who was to be turned out of the village for misconduct, to go on living with her father; and so on. Nor was that all: strong home-made spirits were offered to each of them, in a silver cup which held more than an ordinary dram. Then my grandfather gave his orders to the bailiff, shortly and clearly, and went off to his supper which had been standing ready some time. The evening meal did not differ much from the midday dinner; but the cooler air probably gave a keener edge to appetite. It was a custom with Stepan Mihailovitch to send his family off to bed and sit up for half an hour or so on the stoop, with nothing on but his shirt, for the sake of coolness. This day he stayed there longer than usual, laughing and jesting with Mazan and Tanaichonok; he made them wrestle and fight with their fists, and urged them on till they began to hit out in earnest and even clutched each other by the hair. He had laughed his fill; and now a word of command, and the tone it was spoken in, brought them to their senses and parted them.
All the landscape lay before him, still and wonderful, enfolded by the short summer night. The glow of sunset had not yet disappeared, and would go on till it gave place to the glow of dawn. Hour by hour, the depths of the vault of heaven grew darker; hour by hour, the stars flashed brighter, and the cries of the night birds grew louder, as if they were becoming more familiar with man; the clack of the mill sounded nearer in the misty damp of the night air. My grandfather rose from his stoop, and crossed himself once or twice, looking at the starry sky. Then, though the heat in his bedroom was stifling, he lay down on the hot feather-bed and ordered his curtains to be drawn round him.
[FRAGMENT II: MIHAIL MAXIMOVITCH KUROLYESSOFF]
I promised to give a separate account of Mihail Maximovitch Kurolyessoff and his marriage with my grandfather's cousin, Praskovya Ivanovna Bagroff. This story begins about 1760, earlier than the time described in the First Fragment of this history, and ends much later. I shall now fulfil my promise.
Stepan Mihailovitch was the only son of Mihail Bagroff; Mihail had a brother Peter, whose only daughter was Praskovya Ivanovna. As she was his only cousin and the sole female representative of the Bagroff family in that generation, my grandfather was much attached to her. While still in the cradle she lost her mother, and her father died when she was ten. Her mother, one of the Baktéyeff family, was very rich and left to her daughter 900 serfs, a quantity of money, and still more in silver and valuables; and her father's death added 300 serfs to her property. Praskovya Ivanovna was therefore a rich orphan, and would bring a great fortune to her future husband. After her father's death she lived at first with her grandmother, Mme. Baktéyeff; then she paid a long visit to Bagrovo; and finally Stepan Mihailovitch took her to his house as a permanent inmate. He was quite as fond of his orphan cousin as of his daughters and was very affectionate to her in his own way. But she was too young, too babyish, one might say, to appreciate her cousin's love and tenderness, which never took the form of spoiling, while, under her grandmother's roof, where she had spent some time, she had grown accustomed to indulgence. So it is not surprising that she grew tired of Bagrovo and wished to go back to old Mme. Baktéyeff. Praskovya Ivanovna, though she was not beautiful, had regular features and fine intelligent grey eyes; her dark eyebrows, long and rather thick, were a sign of her masculine strength of character; she was tall and well-made, and looked eighteen when she was only fourteen. But, in spite of her physical maturity, her mind and feelings were still those of a mere child: always lively and merry, she capered and frisked, gambolled and sang, from morning till night. She had a remarkable voice and was passionately fond of joining with the maids in their singing or dancing or swinging; or, when nothing of that kind was to be had, she played with her dolls all day, invariably accompanying her occupation with popular songs of all sorts, of which she knew even then an immense number.