When the drinking began, Stepan Mihailovitch surrounded by his family hastened back to his beloved stoop. He was conscious that his tea-time was long past: it was now past seven, and tea was invariably served at six. The long shadow of the house was sloping towards the south, and its edges touched the storehouse and stable; the samovar had long been hissing on a large table close to the stoop, and Aksyutka was in attendance. While the rest sat down round the table, Stepan Mihailovitch stuck to his favourite place: he first spread out his invariable woollen mat to sit on, and then sat down on the stoop. Tatyana, assisted by Aksyutka, poured out tea. Then Sofya Nikolayevna asked leave of her father-in-law to sit beside him, and he consented with obvious satisfaction. She sprang up from the table, carried her half-finished cup of tea to the stoop, and sat down beside the old man. He caressed her and ordered a mat to be put down for her, that she might not spoil her dress. Then they began a lively, cheerful talk; but at the tea-table angry looks and even whispers were exchanged, in spite of the presence of the young husband. He could not help noticing this, and his spirits, which had not been high before, fell yet lower. Suddenly the old man's loud voice rang out: "Come and join us, Alosha; it's livelier over here." Alosha started; but the change of place seemed to improve his spirits. When tea was over, they remained where they were and went on talking till supper, which was served at nine—an hour later than usual. All the time the loud singing and hearty laughter of the revellers rang out far and wide as the darkness slowly gathered round; but they all departed to their own homes as soon as the family had finished supper. On saying "good night" Sofya Nikolayevna asked her father-in-law to give her his blessing, and the old man at once signed her with the Cross and kissed her with a father's tenderness.
The young couple were escorted to their room by the lady of the house and her eldest daughter, who sat there a few minutes; and then it was the turn of Alexyéi Stepanitch to escort his mother and sister to rest. Sofya Nikolayevna hastily dismissed her maid and sat down by one of the open windows fronting the river, which was fringed at that point by a thick border of osier and alder. It was a lovely night: the freshness from the river and the scent of the young leaves came through the open windows, together with the trills and calls of the nightingales. But Sofya Nikolayevna had something else to think of. As a clever woman who knew in advance what awaited her in her husband's family, she had naturally formed a plan of action beforehand. She had always lived in a town and had no conception of the sort of life led by landowners of moderate means on their scattered estates in that vast country. She had not expected much, but the reality was far worse than she had imagined. Nothing was to her taste, neither house, nor garden, nor wood, nor island. In the neighbourhood of Ufa she had been accustomed to admire noble views from the mountainous bank of the river Byélaya; and this little village in a hollow, the time-stained and weather-beaten wooden house, the pond surrounded by swamps, and the unending clack of the mill—all this seemed to her actually repulsive. And the people were no better: from her husband's family to the peasants' children, she could love none of them. But there was one exception, and that was Stepan Mihailovitch. But for him, she would have been in despair. She had formed a favourable opinion of him from the beginning; then, when she first saw him, she was frightened by his rough exterior; but she soon read in his intelligent eyes and kindly smile, and heard in his voice, that this old man had a tender heart which beat kindly to her, that he was ready to love her and would love her. Knowing from the first that all her hopes depended upon him, she had firmly resolved to gain his love by all means; but now she had learnt to love him herself, and her deliberate plan coincided with the impulse of her heart. In this respect Sofya Nikolayevna was satisfied with herself: she saw that she had reached her goal at once. But she was distressed by the thought that by her impetuosity she had hurt her kind husband. She waited impatiently for him, but, as if to spite her, he did not return. Had she known where he was, she would have hurried off in search of him long ago. She longed to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness with tears, and to remove the last trace of dissatisfaction from his mind by a torrent of loving words and caresses. But Alexyéi Stepanitch still did not return; and the happy moment, when she was penitent and loving and filled with a passionate desire to atone for her fault, went by to no purpose. An impulse soon passes, and Sofya Nikolayevna first grew alarmed and then angry at her husband's long absence. When he came in at last, looking rather upset and distressed, instead of rushing into his arms and begging to be forgiven, his wife called out to him in an excited and somewhat irritated voice, as soon as he crossed the threshold: "Where on earth have you been? Why did you leave me alone? I am quite worn out with waiting for you two whole hours!" "I sat a quarter of an hour or so with my mother and sisters," he answered. "And that was time enough for them to complain of me and invent calumnies against me, and you believed them! Why are you so depressed and sad?" Sofya Nikolayevna's face expressed strong emotion, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. The young husband was startled and even alarmed; he was beginning to dread her tears. "Sonitchka," he said, "calm yourself; no one complained of you; why should they, when you have injured no one?" This was not quite a true statement. If nobody had complained openly or attacked her in plain terms, they had implied by hints and allusions that his wife was singling out her father-in-law to pay court to, with the object of trampling on the rest of the family; but they saw through her tricks, and so would her husband some day when he found himself under her feet! Alexyéi Stepanitch did not believe these innuendoes; but the feeling of sadness, which had never left him since the scene on the island, became heavier and lay like lead on his kind heart. He only said, "It is no use talking like that," and left the room. But, instead of returning at once to his bedroom, he spent some time in walking alone up and down the parlour which was now dark and empty. Through the seven open windows he looked at the Jackdaw Wood sleeping in darkness, and at the dark line of trees by the river, the scene of his childhood's amusements and occupations; and he listened to the sound of the mill, the whistles of the nightingales, and the screeching of the owls. Feeling somewhat relieved, he went off to the bedroom, entirely unconscious of the reception he was to meet there.
But Sofya Nikolayevna soon grew calmer: the voice of penitence began to speak again in her heart, though not with the same force as before; she changed her tone and turned to her husband with a genuine feeling of love and pity; she caressed him and begged his forgiveness. She spoke with unfeigned warmth of her happiness in finding that she loved his father, and begged him to be perfectly frank with her: frankness, she said, was essential between them. Her husband was soothed and comforted; and in the fullness of his heart he told her all he had determined to keep secret at all costs, lest he should make a quarrel between his wife and his sisters. He lay down and went to sleep at once, but Sofya Nikolayevna lay awake for long, and her brain worked busily. At last she remembered that she had to get up early, because she intended to join her father-in-law on the stoop at sunrise, long before the family assembled; she wished to cheer the old man by her presence and to speak her mind to him at leisure. At last, with a strong effort, she fell asleep.
Sofya Nikolayevna woke with the first rays of the sun. Though she had not slept long, she rose fresh and vigorous. She dressed quickly, kissed her husband and told him she was going to his father and he might sleep on another hour or so, and then hurried off. Stepan Mihailovitch, after sleeping longer than usual, had just washed himself and gone out to the stoop. It was a lovely May morning, with all the charm of late spring, fresh and yet deliciously warm; all living things sang together for joy, and the long morning shadows still hid the coolness and moisture from the conquering rays of the sun. The feeling of the morning took hold of Sofya Nikolayevna and breathed life into her, though she was not accustomed to be moved by natural beauty or the charms of the country. Her father-in-law was surprised and pleased to see her. Her fresh face and shining eyes, her neat hair and pretty dress, made it impossible to guess that she had sprung out of bed after little sleep and had spent but little time over her toilet before she hurried out. Stepan Mihailovitch liked people to be lively and quick and clever; and all these requirements he was pleased to find in Sofya Nikolayevna. He kissed her and said good-humouredly: "What made you get up so early? You can't have had your sleep out. I'm sure you're not accustomed to rise so early; you will have a headache." "No, batyushka," she replied, embracing the old man with genuine tenderness; "I am used to early rising. From childhood I have had much to do and many cares, with a sick father and a whole family to look after. Of late I have been spoilt and have lain in bed longer. But I woke early this morning, and Alexyéi told me"—here the old man frowned—"that you were up already; so I came out here, hoping that you would not drive me away but allow me to give you your tea." The words were ordinary enough, but they came from the heart and were spoken so earnestly that the old man was touched. He kissed her forehead and said: "Well, in that case, thank you, my dear child. You shall give me my tea, and we shall have a leisurely talk together." Aksyutka had already set the samovar on the table. Stepan Mihailovitch gave orders that no one else should be called, and Sofya Nikolayevna began to arrange about the tea. All her actions were as quick and neat as if she had done nothing else all her life. The old man was pleased, as he watched that young and pretty figure so unlike what he was accustomed to, and those busy active fingers. The tea was made strong, and served exactly as he liked it: that is, the teapot, covered with a napkin, was placed on the top of the samovar; his cup was filled close up to the brim; Sofya Nikolayevna handed it without spilling a single drop in the saucer; and the fragrant beverage was so hot that it burnt his lips. The old man took his cup and tasted the tea. With surprise and pleasure he said: "I declare you are a witch: you know all my tastes and fancies. Well, if you make yourself as pleasant to your husband, he will be a happy man." He generally drank his tea alone, and the family did not begin theirs till he had finished; but this morning, when he had got his second cup, he told his daughter-in-law to pour one out for herself and drink it sitting beside him. "I never drink more than two, but I will take a third cup to-day; the tea tastes better somehow," he said in the kindest of tones. And indeed, the pleasure which Sofya Nikolayevna felt in her occupation was so visible on her expressive face that it could not but communicate itself to the susceptible nature of Stepan Mihailovitch; and his spirits rose unusually high. He made her take a second cup and eat a scone, of the kind for which the ovens at Bagrovo were long famous. The tea was cleared away, and a conversation began, most lively and animated, most frank and affectionate. Sofya Nikolayevna gave free course to her eager feelings; she talked easily and charmingly; her conquest of the old man was complete. In the middle of their talk he suddenly asked, "What of your husband? Is he asleep?" "Alexyéi was waking when I left him," she said quickly; "but I told him to sleep on." The old man frowned severely and was silent. After a moment's reflexion, he spoke, not angrily but seriously. "Listen to me, my dear little daughter-in-law; you are so clever that I can tell you the truth without beating about the bush. I don't like to keep a thing on my mind. If you take my advice—well and good; if you don't—well, you are not my daughter and can please yourself. I don't like your calling your husband 'Alexyéi,' as his parents might; he has got another name;[43] 'Alexyéi' is a name you might address to a servant. A wife must treat her husband with respect if she wishes other people to respect him. There was another thing yesterday I did not like: you sent him to fetch the presents, and he stood there holding the tray like a footman. Then again just now, you said you had 'told' him to go to sleep. A wife ought not to give orders to her husband; if she does, mischief comes of it. That may be the fashion with you in the town, but, according to our old-fashioned country notions, all that is a great mistake." Sofya Nikolayevna listened respectfully, and then she spoke, so frankly and feelingly, that every word made its way to the old man's heart: "I thank you, batyushka, for not keeping back from me what displeased you. I shall gladly do what you wish, and I begin to see myself that I was wrong. I am still young, batyushka, and I have had no one to guide me: my own father has not left his bed for six years. I caught up that way of addressing my husband from others; but it shall never happen again, either in your presence or behind your back. Batyushka," she went on, and the large tears welled from her eyes, "I have come to love you like a father; treat me always as a daughter: stop me, scold me, whenever I do wrong, but forgive me and do not keep displeasure in your heart against me. I am young and hasty, and I may go wrong at every step. Remember that I am a stranger in this house, where nobody knows me and I know nobody. Do not you fail me." Then she fell on his neck and embraced him like a daughter, kissing his breast and even his hands; and the old man's own eyes filled with tears. He let her keep hold of his hands and said, "Well, that is all right." As we know already, Stepan Mihailovitch had a natural sagacity which divined the presence of evil and was attracted by goodness; and he never made a mistake in either case. He had taken a fancy to his daughter-in-law at first sight; and now that he understood her and appreciated her, he loved her for better and for worse. That love was exposed to many trials in later years, and any other man might have wavered, but he never wavered in his love for her to his last breath.
Alexyéi Stepanitch soon appeared, and was followed by all the family. Her daughters had urged Arina Vassilyevna to go out long before, but she did not dare to appear, because, when Stepan Mihailovitch gave orders "that no one should be called," it was taken to mean that he did not wish to see any one. She only came out now because her husband had told Mazan to summon all the family. There was no trace of tears on Sofya Nikolayevna's face; and she greeted the newcomers with more than usual cordiality. Nor could one tell from Stepan Mihailovitch that anything unusual had happened; but the bride could not conceal her high spirits, and the two sisters-in-law noticed this at once and guessed the alarming truth pretty accurately.
Stepan Mihailovitch had settled that the young couple were to visit their relations in order of seniority; and it was therefore arranged that they should go to Aksinya's house next day. Aksinya herself went home that afternoon, accompanied by her sister Elizabeth, who was to help her in entertaining the guests. The distance was only 50 versts, and the strong Bagrovo horses could go all the way without baiting. The start was fixed for six o'clock next morning.
Stepan Mihailovitch did not in the least conceal his feelings towards his daughter-in-law. He kept her beside him and talked with her repeatedly, asking questions about her family affairs, or making her speak of her life at Ufa; and he listened to her with attentive interest, now and then giving his opinion in some pithy phrase. She eagerly caught up his pertinent remarks; but it was clear that she was moved, not by obsequious concurrence with the old man's ways of thinking, but by a full comprehension of his words and a conviction of their truth. Then in his turn he initiated her into the past and present history of her new relations; and his whole description was so simple and true, so frank and lifelike, that she realised it as few could have done, and was charmed by it. Never in her life had she met his equal. Her own father was intelligent and kind, emotional and unselfish; but at the same time he was weak, falling in with the prevailing tone of his surroundings, and bearing the stamp of the evasive time-serving official who had worked his way up from a clerk's stool to the position of Governor's Deputy. Here she saw before her an old man of little education and uncouth exterior, and report said of him that he was ruthless when angry; and yet he was sensible, kind, and honest, and inflexible in his clear judgment of right and wrong—a man who was upright in all his actions and truthful in every word he spoke. Her quick intellect conceived a noble type of manly worth, which set aside her old ideas and opened up new possibilities. And what happiness that this man was her husband's father! On him depended her peace of mind in her husband's family, and perhaps even the happiness of her marriage!
Dinner was a much more lively and cheerful affair than on the previous day. The bride sat as before between her husband and her father-in-law; but Arina Vassilyevna now took her usual place opposite Stepan Mihailovitch. Immediately after dinner, Aksinya left, accompanied by her sister Elizabeth. As the old man was lying down to rest as usual, he said, "Well, Arisha, I think God has given us a splendid daughter-in-law; it would be a sin not to take her to our hearts." "True indeed, Stepan Mihailovitch," she answered; "if you approve of Sofya Nikolayevna, of course I do." The old man made a wry face but said nothing; and she hurried away, fearing to make a slip of the tongue, and anxious to report to her daughters the remarkable words of Stepan Mihailovitch, which must be accepted as law and obeyed, in appearance at least, to the letter.
Though she had slept little at night, Sofya Nikolayevna could not sleep after dinner. She went out with her husband, and they walked, by his wish, to the old beech-wood, where the jackdaws built, and down the course of the river. There was no repetition of the old disagreements. She had been charmed and captivated by her father-in-law, and she now tried to convey to her husband the feelings of her own eager impressionable mind. As all people of her temperament are apt to do, she transferred to her handsome young husband some part of the merits she had found in his father, and loved him more than ever. He listened with surprise and pleasure to the enthusiasm of his beautiful wife, and said to himself, "Thank God that my father and she have become such friends! There will be no further trouble." He kissed her hands, and said that he was the happiest man on all the earth, and she a peerless goddess before whom all should bow down. He did not quite understand his wife nor appreciate her estimate of his father, so acute and profound; he only felt, as he had always felt, perfectly convinced that Stepan Mihailovitch was the kind of man whom all must respect and even fear. This time Sofya Nikolayevna found no faults: his feelings were her feelings and his language hers: she praised the deep river and the beech-wood with all its uneven stumps; even of her sisters-in-law she spoke kindly.
When he woke up in the afternoon, Stepan Mihailovitch at once summoned all the family. It was a long time since he had been seen in such a bright and gentle mood: whether it was due to a good sleep or to happy feelings, it was clear to every one that the old master was satisfied and cheerful beyond his wont. After their father's pronouncement, Alexandra and Elizabeth were on their guard, while Tanyusha (as she was always called) and her mother were very willing to be more friendly and conversational. At a sign from his wife Karatayeff began with more boldness to echo what was said, even when he was not addressed; but his brother-in-law, the General, persisted in his gloomy silence and frowned significantly. The conversation became unusually brisk and animated. The old man expressed a wish to have his tea early, in the shade near the stoop, of course; and the privilege of pouring it out was conferred on Sofya Nikolayevna exclusively. Tanyusha was quite willing to hand over the office. After tea Stepan Mihailovitch ordered two cars to be brought round, took his daughter-in-law in one, and drove off with all his family to the mill. It should be said that a mill was a special hobby of my grandfather's, and that he understood the working of it thoroughly. The mill itself was not much to look at, and the weed grew round it in an untidy way; but the stones did their work thoroughly well. He liked to show off his mill, and now displayed it in detail to his daughter-in-law, taking pleasure in her utter ignorance and astonishment, which sometimes turned to fear, when he suddenly turned on a strong current of water upon all the four wheels, till the machinery began to move and swing and rattle, the stones to whirl round, creaking and whizzing, and the building, filled with flour-dust, to quiver and shake under foot. All this was an entire novelty to Sofya Nikolayevna, and she did not like it at all, though out of politeness she asked many questions and expressed surprise and admiration at everything. He was much pleased, and kept her there a long time. When the pair went out upon the dam, where Alexyéi Stepanitch and his sisters were fishing, they were hailed with laughter by the anglers: they were both covered with flour. Stepan Mihailovitch was accustomed to this; besides he had given a shake and a brush to his clothes on leaving the mill; but Sofya Nikolayevna had no suspicion that she was so completely and artistically powdered. When he looked at her, her father-in-law himself laughed heartily; and she laughed more than any one, and was very merry, regretting only that she had no looking-glass to consult, to find out if her ball-dress became her. Seeing the anglers intent upon their sport, Stepan Mihailovitch next drove his companion round the pond and over the bridge; and, after visiting the stream higher up, he came back along the dam to the place where the anglers were engaged, while Arina Vassilyevna, who was very stout, sat on the ground and watched them. The whole course of their drive was over bog and swamp; it was hardly safe to cross the crazy little bridge, and difficult to make way over the dam which was made of manure and sank under the wheels. Though Sofya Nikolayevna found all this distasteful, it was impossible for Stepan Mihailovitch to detect her. He saw neither mire nor swamp, and he was impervious to the unpleasant smell from the stagnant water and the material of the dam. He had planned and constructed it all himself, and he enjoyed it all. It grew damp at sunset, and all set off for home in good spirits. The anglers carried their spoil with them, perch and other kinds. The bailiff was waiting for his master by the stoop; and orders were given about work on the land, while the bride put her dress in order. Meanwhile the fish was boiled or fried in sour cream, while the largest perch were baked in their skins and scales; and all these were pronounced very good at supper.