A Russian Gentleman

by S. T. Aksakov

The stackyard at Bagrovo was at the top of a hill, and now the high carriage was seen emerging from behind it. The cry, "They're coming! they're coming!" flew from room to room, and house-servants and labourers soon gathered in the large courtyard, while the young people and children ran to meet the carriage. The master and mistress, attended by all their family, came out upon the steps. Arina Vassilyevna wore a silk jacket and skirt and a silk handkerchief adorned with gold sprigs upon her head; Stepan Mihailovitch was clean-shaved and wore an old-fashioned frock-coat and a stock round his neck. Husband and wife stood on the top step; and he held in his hands an ikon representing the Presentation of the Virgin, while she carried a loaf of bread and a silver salt-cellar. Their daughters and two sons-in-law were grouped round them. The carriage drove up to the steps. The young couple got out, knelt down before the old people, and received their blessing; then they exchanged embraces with each member of the family. Hardly had the bride completed this ceremony and turned again towards her father-in-law, when he caught her by the hand and looked keenly at her eyes from which the tears were falling. His own eyes grew wet; he clasped her in a tight embrace, kissed her, and said, "I thank God. Let us go and thank Him together!" He took her by the hand and led her through the crowd of people into the parlour. There he made her sit near him; and the priest, who was waiting for them with his robes on, pronounced the solemn words—

"We praise thee, O God: we acknowledge thee to be the Lord."

[FRAGMENT IV: THE YOUNG COUPLE AT BAGROVO]

Stepan Mihailovitch joined fervently in the prayers, and so did his daughter-in-law. When the service was over, all kissed the Cross, and the priest sprinkled the young pair and the rest of the company with holy water. Then the kissing and embracing began over again, with the phrases customary on such occasions—"We beg that you will regard us as relations and love us," and so on—said of course by those to whom the bride was still a stranger. Stepan Mihailovitch said nothing: he only looked affectionately at the tearful eyes and flaming cheeks of Sofya Nikolayevna, listened attentively to every word she spoke, and noted her every movement. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the drawing-room, where he sat down on the sofa and made the pair sit near him. Arina Vassilyevna seated herself next to her son at the other end of the sofa, while her daughters with their husbands sat round the central group. It should be said that Stepan Mihailovitch never sat in the drawing-room: he entered it very seldom and never stayed long. There were only two parts of the house which he used—his own room, and the outside stoop, a very simple contrivance of beams and boards; there he was thoroughly at home, but in the drawing-room he was never quite at his ease. For once he put constraint upon himself and carried on a friendly conversation with his daughter-in-law. He began by asking about her father's health, and expressed sincere regret on hearing that he grew weaker daily: "In that case, my dear," he said, "I must not keep you too long at Bagrovo." It need not be said that the bride was at no loss for words: she was not merely polite, but cordial and eager to make a good impression. Arina Vassilyevna, naturally a very simple woman, took her tone from her husband, as far as her intelligence and her dread of disobeying her daughters would let her. She was friendly to her son's wife and had taken a real liking to her at first sight; but the others were silent, and it was not hard to guess their feelings from their faces. After half an hour the bride whispered to her husband, who rose at once and went to the bedroom which had been specially prepared for them, near the drawing-room. Stepan Mihailovitch looked on with surprise; but the bride's lively talk engaged his attention, and he was so much interested by it that he was startled when presently the folding doors of the bedroom opened and his son came in, holding a large silver salver so loaded with presents for the family that it actually bent under their weight. Sofya Nikolayevna sprang to her feet; she took from the salver and presented to her father-in-law a piece of fine English broadcloth, and a waistcoat of watered silk, richly laced with gold thread and embroidered all over with spangles; and she told him quite truly that she had worked it all with her own hands. Stepan Mihailovitch looked uneasily at his son standing with the salver in his arms, but he accepted the presents graciously and kissed his daughter-in-law. Next, Arina Vassilyevna was presented with a silk handkerchief covered with gold embroidery, to wear over her head, and a complete length of excellent China silk, which even then was considered a rarity; each sister-in-law received a piece of costly silk, and each of their husbands a piece of English broadcloth; but these presents were naturally rather less valuable. All got up, kissed the hands of the donor, and bowed their thanks. Meanwhile the door leading to the parlour was cracking with the pressure of curious spectators of both sexes, and the well-oiled heads of the maids kept peeping timidly out of the bedroom door, which they had to themselves, because none of the outdoor servants dared to enter the elegant apartment of the young couple. In the parlour there was a great noise; for the menservants were prevented by the intruders from laying the table, and were unable to turn them out. Stepan Mihailovitch guessed what was going on; he got up and glanced through the door; one look and one quiet word was enough: "Off," he said, and the parlour was empty in a moment.

The dinner passed off in the usual fashion. The young pair sat side by side between the old couple; there were a great many courses, one richer and more indigestible than another; the cook Stepan had been lavish with his spice, cloves, and pepper, and especially with his butter. The bride ate the dainties pressed upon her by Stepan Mihailovitch, and prayed that she might not die in the night. There was little talking, partly because every mouth was otherwise occupied, and also because the party were not good at conversation. Indeed they were all uncomfortable in their own ways. Yerlykin in his sober intervals drank nothing but water, and hardly spoke at all at such times, which gained him a reputation for exceptional intelligence; and Karatayeff dared not open his mouth in the presence of Stepan Mihailovitch except to answer a question, and went no further than repeating the last words of other people's remarks. If they said: "The hay crop will be good, if we get no rain," or "The rye made a good start till that sudden frost came"—Karatayeff came in like an echo, "if we get no rain," "till the frost came"; and his repetitions were sometimes ill-timed. As the hosts had not thought of procuring sparkling wine from Ufa, the health of the bride and bridegroom was drunk in strawberry wine, three years old and as thick as oil, which diffused about the room the delicious perfume of the wild strawberry. Mazan, with long boots smelling of tar on his feet, and wearing a long coat which made him look like a bear dressed up in sacking, handed round the loving-cup; it was ornamented with a white pattern and had a dark-blue spiral inside its glass stalk. When the young pair had to return thanks, Sofya Nikolayevna was not much pleased to drink from the cup which had just left Karatayeff's greasy lips; but she made no wry faces. Indeed she was intending to drain the cup, when her father-in-law stopped her: "Don't drink it all, my dear," he said; "the liquor is good and sweet but strong; you are not accustomed to it, and your little head would ache." She declared that such a noble drink could not hurt her, and begged to be allowed a little more, till Stepan Mihailovitch allowed her one sip from the cup which he held in his hands.

It was clear to all the family that the old man was pleased with his daughter-in-law and liked all that she said. And she could see this herself, though she had been surprised twice over by a shadow of displeasure passing over his face. But more than once during the meal she had encountered his expressive look, as his eyes rested with satisfaction on her. At last the long and solemn dinner came to an end. Sofya Nikolayevna, unlike the rest, had found this rustic feast very wearisome, but she had done her best to enliven it by cheerful conversation. When they rose from table, his son and daughters kissed their father's hand, and Sofya Nikolayevna tried to do so too, but the old man embraced and kissed her instead. It was the second time this had happened, and Sofya Nikolayevna, with her natural impulsiveness, asked him in a lively affectionate tone: "Why do you not give me your hand, batyushka? I am your daughter too, and I wish to kiss your hand out of love and respect, like the rest." The old man looked at her keenly and attentively; then he said in a kind voice: "I love you, my dear, but I am not a priest,[⁴²] and no one kisses my hand except my own children."

The party went back to the drawing-room and sat down where they were before. The maid Aksyutka brought in coffee, which was only served on very solemn occasions; the old man did not drink it, but all his family were very fond of it; they always called it "coff," never "coffee." When it was swallowed, Stepan Mihailovitch rose and said: "Now it is time to have a good sleep, and the young people too would be none the worse of a rest after their journey"; then he went off to his own room, escorted by his son and daughter-in-law. "This is my den, my dear," said the old man cheerfully; "sit down and be my guest. As your husband knows, it was an exception for me to sit in the drawing-room with you all, with this bearing-rein on, as well," and he pointed to his stock: "and in future, if any one wants my society, I shall welcome them here." Then he kissed her, gave his hand to his son to kiss, and let them go. When alone, he undressed and lay down, to rest from the unusual bodily exertions and mental excitement of the day. He was soon sound asleep; and his powerful snoring echoed through the house and swayed to and fro the curtains which Mazan had drawn round his old master.

His example was followed by the rest. Yerlykin and Karatayeff went off to the stable to lie down on the haymow; both their faces showed that they had done well at dinner, and Karatayeff had also drunk too much. The daughters assembled in their mother's room which was separate from their father's; and now began such a debate and discussion, carried on in whispers, that not one of the party even lay down to sleep that afternoon. Poor Sofya Nikolayevna was their theme, and her sisters-in-law simply tore her to pieces; they were enraged beyond all bounds by their father's evident partiality for her. But there was one kind heart there—Aksinya, the eldest sister, who was now a widow for the second time; she stood up for Sofya Nikolayevna and brought down their wrath on her own head: they turned her out of the room and banished her for the future from their family councils; and to her old nickname of "Miss Simplicity," they now added another offensive title which she still bore in advanced old age. Yet, for all the persecution of her sisters, her kind heart never swerved from its devotion to her sister-in-law.

Meanwhile the young pair went off to their own fine bedroom. With the help of her own maid Parasha, a brisk, black-eyed girl, Sofya Nikolayevna unpacked the large number of boxes and trunks which the English coach had brought from Ufa. Parasha was able already to run through a list of outdoor servants and old people among the peasants who deserved special notice; and her mistress, who had brought with her a goodly store of trifles, fixed the present to be given to each, taking account of their age and services, and the respect which their owners had for them. The husband and wife were not tired and did not think it necessary to rest. Sofya Nikolayevna changed into a simpler dress, and left Parasha to finish the unpacking and arrangement of the bedroom, while she went out with her young husband, who was very anxious, in spite of the heat, to show her all his favourite haunts—the beech-wood, the island with its lime-trees just coming into leaf, and the transparent waters of the river where it made a bend round the island. And how delightful it was there at that season, when the freshness of spring combines with the warmth of summer! Alexyéi Stepanitch was passionately in love with his adored wife, and time had not yet blunted the edge of his happiness; but he was disconcerted to find that she was not charmed either by wood or island, and indeed took little notice of either. She sat down in the shade on the bank of the rapid river, and began at once to speak to her husband of his relations. She discussed their reception. "I like your father so much," she went on, "and I could see at the first glance that he liked me; perhaps your mother liked me, but she seemed afraid to show it. Aksinya seems the kindest of them, but she is afraid of something too. Oh, I understand it all perfectly; I know in what quarter the damp wood is smouldering. I did not miss a single word or a single glance; I know what I am bound to expect. God will judge your sisters, Elizabeth and Alexandra!" But Alexyéi Stepanitch was hardly listening to her words. The fresh shade, the green of the boughs bending over the stream, the low ripple of the running water, the fish jumping, his adored wife sitting beside him with one arm round his waist—in such surroundings how was it possible to find fault or make objections or express discontent? How was it possible even to take in what was said? And in fact Alexyéi Stepanitch did not take in what his young wife was saying to him: he was so happy that nothing but silence and oblivion of the world around him could serve as a full expression of his intoxicating bliss. But Sofya Nikolayevna went on: she said a great deal, with warmth and feeling; and then she noticed that her husband was not listening and was nearly asleep. She sprang up at once, and then followed a scene of conflict and mutual misunderstanding, more pronounced than any they had ever had before, though there had been premonitory symptoms once or twice already. Sofya Nikolayevna kept nothing back this time: the tears rushed from her eyes as she poured forth a torrent of reproaches for his indifference and inattention. Alexyéi Stepanitch was puzzled and distressed: he felt as if he had fallen from the skies or awakened from a delightful dream. Thinking to calm his wife, he assured her with perfect sincerity, that there was nothing wrong at all, that it was all her imagination, and that all the family loved her; how could any one help loving her, he asked. That he was honestly convinced of this was clear as day; and his eyes and face and voice all expressed his devoted love to his wife; yet Sofya Nikolayevna, for all her cleverness and lively sensibility, did not understand her husband, and found in his words only a fresh proof of the same indifference and inattention. Statements and explanations went on with increasing heat, and I do not know how far they would have gone; but suddenly Alexyéi Stepanitch caught sight of his sister Tatyana's maid crossing the high gangway and hastening towards them. He guessed that they were being searched for because his father had got up, and told his wife at once what he feared. She regained her self-control in a moment, caught his arm, and hastened home with him; but he was not in good spirits as he walked behind her.

Preparations had been made beforehand at Bagrovo to celebrate the day of the young people's arrival by an entertainment given to the outdoor servants and all the serfs on the estate; and, if serfs from neighbouring estates chose to come on foot or on wheels, they were welcome too. A quantity of beer had been brewed, and some twenty buckets of strong home-made spirits distilled; and drinking vessels of all kinds were ready. Before he lay down after dinner, Stepan Mihailovitch had asked whether many had come from the neighbouring villages. When he was told that the whole population, from the old men and women to the babies, had assembled, he smiled and said, "Well, we shall not stint them; tell the housekeeper and steward to have everything ready." He did not sleep long, but he woke in even better spirits than when he lay down. "Is all ready?" he asked at once, and was told that all was ready long ago. The old man dressed quickly; instead of his ceremonial frock-coat, he put on his familiar dressing-gown of fine camel's hair, and went out to the stoop to superintend the entertainment in person. On the broad lawn which was not fenced off from the road, tables had been put up on trestles, and the tables were laden with barrels of beer, casks of whisky, and piles of buns to eat with the liquor; these buns, made of wheat-flour, were cut in halves. The outdoor servants stood in a group apart near the house; a great crowd of serfs and their wives stood further off, and beyond them a still greater crowd of Mordvinians of both sexes. Stepan Mihailovitch threw a hasty glance over the scene, saw that all was in order, and went back to his stoop. The family had collected round him, and he was just going to ask where the young couple were, when they appeared together. He greeted his daughter-in-law even more affectionately than before, and treated her with no more formality than if she had been his own daughter. "Now then, Alosha," he said, "take your wife's arm and lead her round to greet the people; they are all anxious to see her and kiss the hand of their young mistress. Let us start!" He went in front himself; then came Alexyéi Stepanitch, leading his wife, and last, at a little distance, Arina Vassilyevna with her daughters and their husbands. The sisters-in-law, except Aksinya, found it hard to restrain their wrath. The signs of growing affection on their father's part, his mention of Sofya Nikolayevna as "the young mistress," the triumph of this hated intruder, her beauty and pretty clothes, her ready easy tongue, her charming respect and affection for her father-in-law—all these things rankled in their jealous bosoms. They felt at once that they had sunk in importance. "It matters less to us," whispered Alexandra; "we are severed branches; but I can't look at Tanyusha without crying. She is nothing now in the household but Sofya Nikolayevna's maid. And you, mother—no one will respect you any more: the servants will all look to her for orders." Her voice shook, and the tears gathered in her round rolling eyes. Meanwhile Stepan Mihailovitch had got to the outdoor servants and was calling the peasants to come nearer: "Why don't you all stand together? You all belong to the same family. Well," he went on, "here you see your young mistress; the young master you know already. When the time comes, serve them as faithfully and zealously as you have served me and Arina Vassilyevna, and you will earn their love and favour." All the people bowed to the ground. The bride, unaccustomed to such demonstrations, felt disconcerted, not knowing where to go or what to do. Noticing this, her father-in-law said: "Don't be frightened! Their heads may bend, but they won't come off. Well, my friends, first kiss your young mistress's hand, and then drink to her health." The people all got up and came near Sofya Nikolayevna. She looked round and signed to her man Theodore and handy Parasha, who were standing at one side, holding the presents. In a moment they handed her a large parcel and a well-filled box. It felt strange to her to stretch out her hand to be kissed while standing motionless as a statue; and she began to kiss them all herself. This ceremony was repeated, as each received a gift from her hands. But Stepan Mihailovitch interfered at this point: he saw that at that rate he would not get his tea till supper-time. "My dear," he said, "you can't possibly kiss them all once, let alone twice! There are too many. The old people are a different matter; but it will be enough if they kiss your hand." This simplified and shortened the rather tiresome ceremony, but even so it lasted a long time. Stepan Mihailovitch sometimes spun it out himself, because he could not refrain from naming some of the people and praising them to her. Many of the old people spoke some simple words of love and devotion, some shed tears, and all looked at the bride with pleasure and cordiality. Sofya Nikolayevna was much moved. "These good people are ready to love me, and some love me already," she thought; "how have I deserved it?" At last, when young and old had kissed her hand and she had kissed some of them, and when all had received handsome presents, Stepan Mihailovitch took her hand and led her to the crowd of Mordvinians. "I am glad to see you, neighbours," he cried in a hearty cheerful voice; "and thank you for coming. I ask your goodwill for this young lady who is coming to live near you. You are welcome to eat and drink what God has given us." The Mordvinians showed their pleasure by shouting, "Many thanks, Stepan Mihailovitch! Thank God, for giving such a wife to your son! You deserve such luck for your goodness, Stepan Mihailovitch."