I could report the whole of this interview in detail, as I have often heard it fully described by Alexyéi Stepanitch himself; but part of it would be a repetition of what we know already, and I am afraid of wearying my readers. The important points are these. M. Zubin questioned the young man about his family, his means, and his intentions with regard to his profession and place of residence; he said that Sofya Nikolayevna would have nothing but her portion of 10,000 roubles, two families of serfs as servants, and 3000 roubles in cash for initial expenses; and he added: "Though I am quite sure that you, as a dutiful son, would not have made such a proposal without the consent of your parents, yet they may change their minds; and social usage requires that they should write to me personally on the subject; and I cannot give you a positive answer till I receive a letter to that effect." Alexyéi Stepanitch got up repeatedly, bowed, and sat down again. He agreed to everything and promised to write that very day to his parents. In half an hour the invalid said that he was tired—which was perfectly true—and dismissed the young man rather drily. The moment he left, Sofya Nikolayevna entered her father's study; he was lying with closed eyes, and his face expressed weariness and also anxiety. Hearing his daughter's approach, he threw an imploring glance at her, pressed his hands to his breast, and ejaculated: "Is it possible, Sonitchka, that you intend to marry him!" But Sofya Nikolayevna had anticipated the result of the interview and was prepared for an even worse impression. "I warned you, father," she said in a gentle but firm voice, "that Alexyéi Stepanitch, owing to utter ignorance of society, awkwardness, and timidity, was bound to appear to you at first somewhat of a simpleton; but I, who have seen him often and had long conversations with him, will vouch for it that he is no fool and has more sense than most people. I beg you to have two more interviews with him; and I am sure you will agree with me." M. Zubin looked long at his daughter with a keen and penetrating gaze, as if he wished to read some secret hidden in her heart; then he sighed heavily and consented to do what she asked.
By the next post Alexyéi Stepanitch sent a very affectionate and respectful letter to his parents. He thanked them for having given him life a second time, and humbly begged them to write at once to M. Zubin and request the hand of his daughter for their son; he added that this was the regular custom, and without such a letter the father would not give a positive answer. The fulfilment of this simple request gave some trouble to the old people at Bagrovo. They were no hands at composition, and, for want of previous experience, had no idea how to set about it, while they were exceedingly loath to commit themselves before the Governor's Deputy and their future relation, who was sure to be a skilful man of business and a practised writer. It took them a whole week to compose their letter; at last it got written somehow and was dispatched to Alexyéi Stepanitch. It was not a skilful production, having none of those polite phrases and expressions of affection which are indispensable in such cases.
While waiting for the answer from home, Alexyéi Stepanitch received two more invitations from M. Zubin. The second visit did not remove the unfavourable impression produced by the first. On the next occasion, however, Sofya Nikolayevna was present. Returning from a call earlier than usual, she walked into her father's room, as if she did not know that her suitor was sitting there. Her presence made all the difference. She could make him talk and knew what he could talk about, so as to display to advantage his natural good sense, high principle, and goodness of heart. M. Zubin was obviously pleased: he spoke kindly to the young man and invited him to come to the house as often as he could. When they were alone, the old man embraced his daughter with tears, called her by many fond names, and said she was a witch whose spells could draw out a man's good qualities, even when they were so deeply hidden that no one suspected their existence. She too was much pleased; for she had not dared to hope that Alexyéi Stepanitch would do so much to support her favourable opinion and justify the character she had given him.
The letter containing the formal proposal arrived at last, and Alexyéi Stepanitch delivered it in person to M. Zubin. Alas! without the magic presence and aid of Sofya Nikolayevna the suitor failed again to please his future father-in-law, who was also far from satisfied with the letter. Next day he had a long conversation with his daughter, in which he set before her all the disadvantages of marrying a man inferior to herself in intelligence, education, and force of character; he said that the Bagroff family would not take her to their hearts—they would be much more likely to hate her, because coarse and cruel ignorance always hates refinement; he warned her not to rely on the promises of a lover; for these as a rule are not kept after marriage, and Alexyéi Stepanitch, even if he wished, would not have the power to keep them. To all this sage advice, drawn directly from the experience of life, she had an answer of surprising adroitness; and at the same time she depicted in such lively colours the advantages of marrying a man who, if he lacked energy and refinement, was at least kind-hearted, honourable, loving, and no fool, that her father was carried away by her confidence and gave his full consent. She clasped her father in her arms and kissed his wasted hands; then she gave him the ikon and received his blessing,[40] kneeling by his bed and weeping. "Father," she cried in her excitement, "with God's help, I hope that in a year's time Alexyéi Stepanitch will be a different creature: the reading of good books, the society of clever people, and constant conversation with his wife—these will make up for defects of education; his bashfulness will pass away, and the power to take a place in society will come of itself." "May it be so!" he answered. "Now send for the priest. I wish that we should pray together for your happiness."
That same evening Alexyéi Stepanitch was invited to the house, with Mme. Alakayeff and some old friends of the Zubins'—M. Anitchkoff and the Misailoffs; and the favourable answer was given. The young man's bliss no words can describe: Sofya Nikolayevna, even in extreme old age, used to speak of his joy at that moment. He threw himself at M. Zubin's feet and kissed his hands, cried and sobbed like a child, and nearly fainted from the effect of this immense good-fortune which down to the last moment had seemed beyond his reach. She too was deeply moved by such a frank expression of ardent and entire devotion.
The official betrothal came two days later, and all the town was invited to the ceremony. There was general surprise, because many had disbelieved the reports of the engagement. But all sceptics were convinced at last, and came to express their congratulations and good wishes. Alexyéi Stepanitch was radiant with happiness; he was quite unaware of any hidden meaning in congratulations, of any mockery in looks and smiles. But Sofya Nikolayevna let nothing pass unnoticed: she saw everything and heard everything, though, in speaking to her, every one was cautious and polite. Though she knew beforehand the view society would take of her action, she could not help being vexed by this expression of their opinion. But no one detected her vexation; for she was cheerful and affectionate with every one and especially with her suitor, and seemed perfectly happy and content with her choice. The pair were soon summoned into M. Zubin's study, and the betrothal took place there before a few witnesses. While the priest read the prayers, the old man shed tears; when the rite was over, he told the bridegroom to kiss the bride and embraced them both himself with a great effort; then he gazed earnestly at Alexyéi Stepanitch and said, "Love her always as you do now; God is giving you such a treasure ..." and then he broke down. The engaged couple and the witnesses returned to the drawing-room, where all the men embraced the bridegroom and kissed the bride's hand, while all the ladies embraced the bride and had their hands kissed by the bridegroom. When this fuss was over, the pair were made to sit on a sofa side by side, and exchange kisses again; and then the company, holding glasses in their hands, repeated their congratulations and good wishes. Anitchkoff acted as host, and Mme. Alakayeff as hostess. Alexyéi Stepanitch, who had never in his life drunk anything but water, was forced to take a glass of wine, and the unfamiliar stimulant had a strong effect upon him, weakened as he was by recent illness and constant agitation. He became uncommonly lively, laughed and cried, and talked a great deal, to the amusement of the company and the mortification of the bride. The guests soon grew merry: glass followed glass, and a fine supper was served. All ate and drank heartily, and at last the party broke up amid noise and merriment. The bridegroom's head was beginning to ache; and Mme. Alakayeff took him home in her carriage.
M. Zubin felt that he was in great danger and therefore wished to have the wedding as soon as possible; but, as he also wished his daughter's outfit to be rich and splendid, it was necessary to postpone the ceremony for some months. Her mother's diamonds and emeralds had to be sent to Moscow, to be reset and restrung in the newest fashion; silver had to be ordered from Moscow, and some dresses and presents; the other dresses, curtains for the state bed, and a sumptuous black-brown fur cloak which cost 500 roubles then and could not be bought now for 5000—all these were made in Kazan; a quantity of table-linen and Holland sheets were also provided. Ten thousand roubles, the amount fixed for the dowry, was a great sum in those days; and, as many valuable things were provided as well, the inventory of the bride's outfit assumed such splendid proportions, that when I read it now I can hardly believe in the simple life of our ancestors at the end of last century.
The first business after the formal betrothal was to send complimentary letters to all relations on both sides. One of Sofya Nikolayevna's gifts was her remarkable skill in letter-writing; and her letter to her future husband's parents was such that Stepan Mihailovitch, though no letter-writer himself, set a high value on it. First he listened to it with great attention; then he took it out of Tanyusha's hand, praised the distinct handwriting, and read it through twice himself. "Well, she's a clever girl," he said, "and I make sure she has a warm heart." This enraged the family, but they had the sense to keep silent. Alexandra alone could not restrain herself: her gooseberry eyes flashed with rage as she said: "She can write a fine letter, father, I admit; but all is not gold that glitters." The old man scowled at her and said in his dangerous voice: "How do you know? You're snarling at her already, and you've never even seen her! Take care! Keep your tongue from wagging, and don't stir up the rest!" All sat as silent as mice, and, of course, hated Sofya Nikolayevna worse than ever. Meanwhile Stepan Mihailovitch, under the influence of that warm and affectionate letter, took the pen himself and wrote as follows, in defiance of all established etiquette:—
"My dear, precious, sensible Daughter-in-Law to be,
"If you, without seeing us, have learnt to love and respect us old people, we feel the same for you. And when, by God's blessing, we meet, we shall love you still better; and you will be to us as our own daughter, and we shall rejoice in the happiness of our son Alexyéi."
"My dear, precious, sensible Daughter-in-Law to be,