A Russian Gentleman

by S. T. Aksakov

The position of her lover really deserved pity. His feelings, which had been calmed and composed to some extent by frequent interviews with Sofya Nikolayevna, her simple friendly behaviour to him, and the near prospect of the marriage, had then been rather alarmed and abashed by the sneers of his sisters; and now they flamed up so fiercely, that at the present moment he was capable of any self-sacrifice, of any desperate action, a true knight-errant! His state of mind was clearly reflected on his handsome young face during those two endless days. The lovers met several times, and Sofya Nikolayevna could not look at his face without pain; but she had the firmness to support the test she had imposed. The agitation and pity which she felt were a surprise to herself. She felt that she did really love this simple, modest young man, who was absolutely devoted to her and would not have hesitated to put an end to his existence if she made up her mind to refuse him. At last the two long days were over. Early on the third day Alexyéi Stepanitch sat in the drawing-room, waiting for his mistress to appear. The door opened softly, and in she came, more beautiful, more charming than ever. She was smiling, and her eyes expressed such tenderness that, when he looked at her and saw her kind hand stretched out towards him, the excess of his emotion deprived him for an instant of the power of speech. He soon recovered, and then, instead of taking her hand, fell at her feet and poured forth a torrent of burning heartfelt eloquence. She interrupted him and raised him to his feet. Then she said: "I see and feel your love, and I share it; I believe all your promises; I put my fate in your hands without fear." She had never been so affectionate to him before, and she used words of tenderness which he had never before heard from her lips.

Only five days remained before the marriage. All their preparations were complete, and the lovers were free to spend most of their time together. For five whole months Sofya Nikolayevna had been true to her intention of educating her future husband over again. She never lost a suitable moment, but did her best to impart those ideals which he did not possess, to clear up and develop feelings of which he was dimly conscious, and to root out the notions which he had derived from his early surroundings. She even made him read, and discussed with him the books he had read, explaining what puzzled him, filling up gaps in his memory, and illustrating fiction from real life. But it is probable that she got on faster with her task during these five days than in the course of five long months; for the recent incident which I have described had raised her lover's mind to a higher level of refinement, and he was in an unusually receptive and impressionable mood. How far the teacher succeeded on the whole in impressing her ideas upon the pupil, I cannot venture to decide. It is hard to know how much weight to attach to the opinions of the two persons concerned; but it is certain that in later years they both maintained—and they appealed to the evidence of disinterested persons in confirmation of the statement—that a great change took place in Alexyéi Stepanitch, and even a complete transformation. I am very willing to believe it; but I have a proof that his proficiency in social etiquette left something to be desired. I know that he made his bride very angry the day before the marriage, and that her vehemence left a strong and painful impression on his mind. It happened in the following way. Two ladies were calling on Sofya Nikolayevna when a servant brought in a paper parcel and handed it to his mistress, with the explanation that Alexyéi Stepanitch had sent it by his coachman and wished her at once to make a cap for his sister Alexandra. Her lover had left her half an hour before without saying one word about this commission, and Sofya Nikolayevna was exceedingly annoyed. The ladies, who were of some importance, had supposed at first that the parcel contained a present from the bridegroom; and now they did not try to conceal their amusement. Sofya Nikolayevna lost patience: she ordered the parcel to be returned, with a message that Alexyéi Stepanitch had better apply to a milliner; it was no doubt a mistake to have brought the thing to her. The explanation was quite simple. On going home, he had found his sister in a great difficulty, because the milliner, who had engaged to make her a cap for the wedding, had fallen ill and returned the materials. As he had seen with his own eyes the skill with which Sofya Nikolayevna could trim hats and caps, he offered to help his sister out of her trouble, and told his servant to carry the parcel to his bride, with a humble request that she would trim a cap for Alexandra. But the servant was busy, and, instead of going himself, sent the coachman; and the humble request became, in the coachman's mouth, an imperious demand. Alexyéi Stepanitch hastened back to explain matters, and carried with him the same unlucky parcel. Sofya Nikolayevna had not yet cooled down, when she saw him coming into the room with the odious parcel under his arm; and she flared up worse than ever, and said many violent and unkind things which she had better have left unspoken. The culprit, utterly dumbfounded, tried to defend himself, but did it very badly; he was seriously hurt by this onslaught. She sent the materials for the cap to some milliner she knew of; and then, repenting of her violence, she tried to put matters right. But, to her surprise, Alexyéi Stepanitch could not get over it: he felt that he had been unjustly treated, and she had frightened him. He became very depressed, and her efforts to calm and cheer him were unsuccessful.

The wedding-day, the 10th of May, 1788, arrived, and the bridegroom paid an early visit to his bride. After her excitement of the previous day, she was distressed to see that Alexyéi Stepanitch still wore the same pained expression. She felt hurt; for she had always supposed that he would be in an ecstasy of joy on the day when he led her to the altar; and here he was, looking demure and even depressed! She expressed her feelings, and that made matters worse. Of course, he assured her that he considered himself the happiest man in the world, and so on; but the pompous and trivial phrases, which he had repeated many a time before and she had heard with satisfaction, were now distasteful to her ear, because they lacked the fire of inward conviction. They soon parted, to meet next in church, where the bridegroom was to be in waiting for her at six in the evening.

Sofya Nikolayevna was assailed by a terrible misgiving—would she be happy in her marriage? A host of dark forebodings passed before her heated imagination. She blamed herself for her hot temper and violent language; she recognised that the offence was trifling, and that she must expect many slips of the kind on her lover's part, and must take them calmly. They had happened often enough before; but, on this occasion, the unlucky combination of circumstances and the presence of the two unfriendly visitors had pricked her vanity and irritated her natural impetuosity. Conscious that she had frightened her lover, she repented of her fault; but at the same time she was aware in the depth of her heart that she was quite capable of committing the same fault again. And now she realised afresh all the difficulty of the tremendous task she had undertaken—the reformation and regeneration of a man of twenty-seven. Her whole life—and it might be long—must be spent with a husband whom she loved indeed but could not entirely respect; there would be constant collision between utterly different ideas and opposite qualities, and they would often misunderstand one another. Doubts of success, doubts of her own strength, doubts of her power to command the qualities of firmness and calmness so foreign to her nature—these rose before her for the first time in their appalling truth, and she shrank back in terror. But what could she do? If she broke off the marriage at the eleventh hour, what would be the consequences? It would be a terrible blow to her dying father, who took comfort in the conviction that his daughter would be happy in the care of a kind husband; her rivals in society and enemies would mock at her; she would be the talk of the town and the laughing-stock of the district, perhaps even a mark for calumny; and, above all, she would kill, literally kill, her devoted lover. And all for what? Merely because she was afraid she might lack firmness to carry out a purpose which she had deliberately formed and which was beginning to take shape with triumphant success. "No! that shall never be! God will help me; Our Lady of Smolensk will be my intercessor and will give me strength to conquer my impetuous nature." Thus Sofya Nikolayevna thought, and thus she decided. She wept and prayed and regained her stability.

The Church of the Assumption was quite close to the Zubins' house, and there was then an empty space round it. Long before six o'clock, it was surrounded by a crowd of curious spectators. The high steps projecting from the house into the street were blocked by the carriages of the privileged persons who had been invited to escort the bride. The bride was dressed, and her little brother, Nikolinka, whose birth had cost his mother her life three years before, put on the stockings and shoes, according to established custom, though of course the maids lent their assistance. By six the bride was ready; she received her father's blessing and came into the drawing-room. The rich bridal-dress lent an added lustre to her beauty. The bridegroom, on his way to church, had to pass right under the drawing-room windows, and Sofya Nikolayevna saw him drive past in the English carriage drawn by the four fine horses bred at Bagrovo; he had his head out and was looking up at the open windows; she smiled and nodded. Next came the bridegroom's sisters with Mme. Alakayeff, and all the men who were escorting him to church. She did not wish to keep him waiting, and insisted, in spite of various hindrances, that they should start at once. Sofya Nikolayevna was calm and composed when she entered the church; she gave her arm cheerfully and smilingly to the bridegroom; but she was vexed to see that his face still wore the same sad expression; and it was generally remarked that they both looked depressed during the ceremony. The church was brilliantly lighted and full of people; the cathedral choir did not spare their voices. Altogether, it was a dignified and splendid ceremony. When the rite was over, the young couple were escorted to the Zubins' house by the bridegroom's sisters, the whole train of friends and relations on both sides, and all the important people of Ufa. Dancing began at once and went on till an early but sumptuous supper was served. Privileged guests paid a visit to M. Zubin in his study and congratulated him on his daughter's marriage. The usual festivities took place on the next and following days—balls, dinners, and calls, in fact, the regular routine which we see nowadays even in Moscow and Petersburg.

The shade of sadness soon vanished from the faces of the young couple. They were perfectly happy. Kind people could not look at them without pleasure; and every one said, "What a handsome couple!" A week later, they prepared for a visit to Bagrovo; the bridegroom's sisters had gone back there three days after the wedding, and Sofya Nikolayevna had sent by them an affectionate letter to the old people.

Startled by their brother's explosion, Elizabeth and Alexandra had been cautious of late. They refrained from all hints and sneers and grimaces in his presence, and were even polite to Sofya Nikolayevna. She, of course, was not taken in by this; but their brother entirely believed in the sincerity of their devotion to his bride. At the wedding and the festivities which followed, they were, naturally, somewhat out of place, and therefore hastened their departure. On arriving at Bagrovo, they determined to do nothing rash and to hide their hostility towards Sofya Nikolayevna from their father; but to their mother and two sisters they described the marriage and events at Ufa in such a way as to fill their minds with a strong prejudice against the bride; and they did not forget to mention their brother's threats and his fury excited by their attacks upon Sofya Nikolayevna. It was agreed to treat her kindly in the presence of Stepan Mihailovitch, and to say nothing bad about her to him directly; at the same time they were to use every opportunity to excite by indirect means his displeasure against their enemy. It was a highly delicate operation; and Elizabeth and Alexandra could not trust it to any hands but their own.

My grandfather questioned them minutely about the wedding, the people they had seen there, the health of M. Zubin, and so on. They praised everything, but the poison under their praises could be smelt and tasted, and they failed to deceive their father. By way of a joke, and perhaps also for the sake of comparison, he turned to Karatayeff and said: "Well, now, friend Ivan, what say you of the daughter-in-law? As a man, you are a better judge of the point than the women are." Karatayeff, disregarding a signal from his wife, burst out with enthusiasm: "I do assure you, batyushka, that such another dazzler"—he always used this phrase of a beautiful woman—"as brother Alexyéi has bagged is not to be found in the whole world. A look from her is as good as a shilling. And her cleverness! it's past all telling. But there's one thing, batyushka: she's proud; she can't stand a joke. When you try to have a little fun with her, she gives you a look that makes you bite off the end of your tongue." "I see, my friend, that she made short work with your nonsense," said the old man with an amused look; then he laughed and added, "Not much amiss there, so far." In fact, Stepan Mihailovitch, from what he had heard and the bride's letters and Karatayeff's description, had formed in his own mind a highly favourable opinion of Sofya Nikolayevna.

The expected visit of the young couple produced bustle and confusion in the quiet or, one might say, stagnant waters of life at Bagrovo. They had to bestir themselves, to clean things up, and bring out their best clothes. The bride was a fine town lady, poor, perhaps, but accustomed to live in luxury; she would be critical and contemptuous—so they all thought, and so they all said, except the master of the house. As there were no separate rooms in the house unoccupied, Tanyusha had to turn out of her bedroom, one corner of which overlooked the garden and the clear waters of the Boogoorooslan with its green bushes and loud nightingales. Tanyusha was very unwilling to move to the bath-house, but there was no other place: all her sisters were put up in the house, and Karatayeff and Yerlykin slept in the hayloft. The day before the visitors' arrival brought their state-bed and bed-hangings and curtains for the windows, and with them a man who knew how to put everything up properly. Tanyusha's room was completely furnished in a few hours. Stepan Mihailovitch came to see it and expressed his admiration, but the women bit their lips with envy. At last a messenger galloped up and announced that the couple had stopped at the village of Noikino, eight versts from Bagrovo; they were to change their dress there and would arrive in two hours. This caused a general stir. The priest had been summoned hours before; but, as he had not yet arrived, Stepan Mihailovitch sent a mounted messenger to hasten his steps.

Meantime the following scene was taking place in the Mordvinian village of Noikino. The travellers were making their way along side roads and had always to send a man ahead to arrange about fresh horses. The people of Noikino had all known Alexyéi Stepanitch from childhood, and had a great regard and respect for his father. Every one of the six hundred inhabitants of the village, men and women, old and young, gathered before the cottage where the young people were to make their halt. Sofya Nikolayevna had probably never seen people of this tribe close at hand; and therefore the dress of the women and the uncommonly tall stout girls—their white shifts embroidered with red wool, their black woollen girdles, and the silver coins and little bells which hung from their heads over their breasts and backs—was very interesting to her. But, when she heard them all break out into joyful greetings and compliments and good wishes, childish enough and expressed in bad Russian, but coming from the heart, then she both laughed and cried. "What a fine wife God has given you, Alosha! How glad our father Stepan Mihailovitch will be! Good luck! Good luck!" But, when the bride, arrayed in her fine city clothes, came out to take her seat in the carriage, there was such a roar of enthusiastic applause that the horses actually shied. The travellers made a present of ten roubles, to be spent on whisky, to the whole village, and went on their way.