A Russian Gentleman

by S. T. Aksakov

Chichagoff's history, and especially his second marriage, is quite a romance; and I shall tell it as briefly as I can, because we shall often come across this family in future, and especially because the life of the young Bagroffs was a good deal influenced by this pair. Peter Chichagoff was a man of exceptional ability or, I should rather say, exceptional acuteness, and had received what was for those days an advanced education in many subjects: he knew several languages, could draw and understood architecture, and wrote both in prose and verse. In his hot youth he fell in love at Moscow with a young lady of the Rimsko-Korsakoff family, and went so far as to misrepresent his position, in order to win her hand. This was discovered after the marriage, and he was banished to Ufa. His wife soon died. Within a year he consoled himself and fell in love with Katherine Myortvavo, who was attracted by his gay and amiable temper, his intelligence and acquirements; his face was so very plain that it could exercise no attraction. She was no longer a girl and had too strong a character to be controlled by her mother and brothers: they let her marry Chichagoff, and he was pardoned soon afterwards but not allowed to leave the Government of Ufa. Sofya Nikolayevna liked him for two reasons: because he was the husband of her dearest friend, and perhaps still more for his own cleverness and wide information. Mme. Myortvavo had just settled to leave Ufa and live in the country, and the Chichagoffs had come on purpose to help her in building a house and a church. After a week's experience of her husband's relations, this meeting was a spring in the desert to Sofya Nikolayevna; it was like a breath of fresh air in which her heart and quick intelligence expanded; she talked on with her friends till near midnight. But Alexyéi Stepanitch would have sat there in silence and solitude, had not the old lady grasped the situation and entertained him by her pleasant talk. After supper, however, he said "good-night," and went off to the bedroom allotted to the visitors; when Sofya Nikolayevna came she found him fast asleep. They started for Bagrovo early next day without disturbing their hosts.

During their drive Alexyéi Stepanitch was still sullen and silent. In reply to direct questions from his wife, his answers were so cold and short that she gave up speaking to him. Her lively and impatient temper resented this treatment, but she did not care to clear up matters in Parasha's presence, preferring to wait till the after-dinner rest when she would be alone with her husband. For the present she started a conversation with her maid about their life at Ufa, while Alexyéi Stepanitch squeezed into a corner of the carriage and either fell asleep or pretended to. They reached Bagrovo two hours before dinner. Stepan Mihailovitch was obviously pleased to see his daughter-in-law again, and even said that he had missed her. "My dear," he added; "you really must not stay here too long, or I shan't be able to let you go; as it is, I shall miss you, likely enough." He made her give him a minute account of their expedition. He praised Mme. Myortvavo whom he knew well, and said that he would send her an invitation next day to come with her daughter and son-in-law and dine at Bagrovo; he fixed on the following Sunday, which was four days ahead, for the entertainment. "You must visit the Kalpinskys and Lupenevskys the day after to-morrow," he said; "and then you can invite them too for Sunday; and then, three days later, you had better be off home to Ufa. Your father has never been parted from you before, and must miss you terribly; and I am sure, my dear, that you are even more anxious to see him, poor suffering old man!"

Stepan Mihailovitch was not long in finding out that something disagreeable had happened on this expedition. In the course of conversation, he said, "Well, were the Karatayeffs glad to see you?" The answer was of course in the affirmative; but Sofya Nikolayevna happened to mention that she had been kept awake all night by rats. This surprised the old man: he had only been there once, long ago, and had heard nothing of the kind. But here Arina Vassilyevna unsuspiciously joined in, in spite of the warning signs of her daughter Elizabeth; she suffered for it afterwards, poor lady, at the hands of her daughters. "O yes, yes, batyushka Stepan Mihailovitch!" she cried; "the rats there are perfectly awful! Without bed-curtains, it's impossible to get a wink of sleep." "Had you no curtains to your bed, then?" asked the old man, and there was an ominous change in his voice as he spoke. "No," was the only possible answer. "An excellent hostess!" he said, and looked at his wife and daughter in such a way that a cold shiver ran down their backs.

The Karatayeff party had not yet returned, but were expected by tea-time. Dinner was not a cheerful meal: all were out of spirits, and each had his or her own reasons. Arina Vassilyevna and Elizabeth were conscious of the approaching storm, and feared that the thunderbolt might smite them also. It was long since Stepan Mihailovitch had been in a rage, and the prospect was more alarming to them because they had become unused to such outbreaks. Sofya Nikolayevna noted the frown on her father-in-law's face; she did not object to his giving a good fright to his daughter, whom she detested as her avowed enemy; but she feared she might somehow get involved herself. She had no unkind intention in speaking about the rats: she never supposed that her father-in-law would take any special notice of this circumstance or attach serious importance to it. Nevertheless, a stone lay on her heart also: she could not determine how to act towards her husband. He had been angry with her for the first time, when she used insulting language about his sister: was it best to wait till he appealed to her voluntarily, or to put an end to the uncomfortable situation by begging him to forgive her? Her love and her tender caresses might then cause him to forget her regrettable impulsiveness. And she certainly would have chosen this course; for she was passionately in love with her kind young husband. She blamed herself severely: she ought to have foreseen everything and been prepared for everything. She knew that Alexyéi Stepanitch would not hesitate to die for her, but she knew also that she ought not to demand of him what he could not give—a tender and constant observation, and a full comprehension of all the trifling occurrences that might give her pain. And this was hard for her, with her hot blood and sensitive nerves, her eager, excitable brain and impressionable nature. Such were the poor woman's thoughts and feelings as she walked up and down her room waiting for her husband; his mother had stopped him on his way there after dinner and asked him to come to her bedroom. The minutes seemed to her like hours. The thought that he was loitering on purpose, fearing a scene and unwilling to be alone with her; the thought, that without relieving her heart of its many troubles and without a reconciliation with her husband, she would see him again in the presence of her enemies and must play a part the whole evening—this thought oppressed her heart and threw her into a fever. Suddenly the door opened, and Alexyéi Stepanitch walked in. There was no hesitation in his movements; he was no longer timid and sad, but fearless and even displeased. He began at once to reproach her for complaining to his father and getting Alexandra into trouble. "They are all trembling and crying now, and God only knows what will come of it," he said, primed with all that his mother and sister had been impressing upon him. "It is wrong and a sin on your part to cause trouble and quarrels in your husband's family. I told you what my father is like when he is angry; and you, knowing this and seeing his love for you, took advantage of it!" Sofya Nikolayevna's patience snapped instantly, and she fired up at once; love was silent, and of pity and contrition not a trace was left; and her poor husband discovered that Stepan Mihailovitch was not the only person who could fly into a passion. An irresistible flood of complaints, accusations, and reproaches poured down upon him. He was utterly crushed and confounded; he could make no defence, and was all but a monster in his own eyes. Soon he was kneeling at her feet and begging forgiveness with tears. It was not surprising that Alexyéi Stepanitch was powerless before that volcanic eruption of feeling and intelligence, that heartfelt conviction and wonderful power of eloquence. A man entirely in the right, a man much more resolute than Alexyéi Stepanitch, would have pleaded guilty before the youth and beauty of a woman whom he loved. And Alexyéi Stepanitch was certainly not in the right.

When the storm had calmed down in the bedroom of the young couple, it was still brewing at the other end of the house, in the smallish room which belonged to Stepan Mihailovitch. Sleep had not brought peace to him or smoothed the frown from his high forehead. He sat for some time across his bed in gloomy silence, and then called out, "Mazan!" Mazan had long been lying outside the door, breathing heavily according to his wont, and looking in through a chink; he had been placed there as a sentry, while the family were sitting in the parlour, full of gloomy apprehensions. He called out at the top of his voice, "What is your pleasure, sir?"—and hurried into the room. "Has my daughter Alexandra arrived? Yes? Then bring her here." Alexandra entered on his heels, for on such occasions delay was more dangerous than anything. "How dared you, Madam," began the old man in the voice she knew and dreaded—"how dared you set rats on your brother and his wife?" "I am sorry, father," humbly answered Alexandra, while her knees trembled beneath her, and fear kept down her own infernal temper. "I put my guests on purpose in the drawing-room, and I never thought of putting curtains to their bed. I was so busy and so glad to see them that it slipped my memory." "You were so glad to see them! Do you expect me to believe that? How did you dare to act so to your brother and to me? How did you dare to bring shame on your father in his old age?" The affair would perhaps have gone no further than angry words and loud threats and possibly a rap from his fist; but Alexandra, stung by the thought that she was suffering on account of Sofya Nikolayevna, and hoping that the storm would still blow over, forgot that any sort of answer was a new offence. She could not resist saying, "I am punished for nothing on her account." A fresh and terrible fit of rage seized Stepan Mihailovitch, that rage which invariably ended in painful and shocking violence. Words of fury were on the point of rushing from his lips, when Arina Vassilyevna, with her daughters Aksinya and Tanyusha, ran into the room and fell at the old man's feet, with tears and cries; they had been standing outside the door and had seen what was coming. Karatayeff had been standing there with them; but he ran out of the house and into the wood, where he slashed furiously at the innocent birch-branches with his stick, punishing them for the wrong done to his wife. Elizabeth did not venture to enter the room, knowing that her own conscience was not clear, and that her father was quite aware of the part she had played. "Batyushka Stepan Mihailovitch!" cried Arina Vassilyevna, "your will is law, you are our master, do what pleases you! Only do not shame us and disgrace your family in the sight of your daughter-in-law! You will frighten her out of her life; all this is new to her." The words seemed to have some effect on the old man. He was silent for a moment; then he pushed Alexandra from him with his foot, crying, "Begone, and don't venture to show yourself till I send for you!" No one waited for any further orders: in a moment the room was cleared, and all was silence round Stepan Mihailovitch; but his blue eyes long remained dark and clouded, and his chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, as he restrained his passionate anger which had been aroused and not satisfied.

The samovar had long been hissing on the drawing-room table, not in the shade of the stoop, because heavy rain had just ceased falling and it was damp out of doors. Nature seemed to sympathise with what was passing in the house of Bagrovo. Soon after dinner two clouds of intense blackness had met in the zenith and long remained there motionless, emitting from time to time flashes of lightning and shaking the air with peals of thunder. At last the rain came down in torrents, the clouds shifted to the east, and the setting sun shone out. Fields and woods smelt sweeter, refreshed by the rain, and the birds began to sing louder; but alas! the storms of human passion are not followed by such a calm.

Alexandra pretended illness, but the other daughters came with their mother to the drawing-room; Karatayeff also was there, but Yerlykin was still absent from the house, on the pretext of ill-health. Stepan Mihailovitch had tea in his room and gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. The door of the young couple's room was locked; after a short delay, tapping was tried and brought them out at once. Sofya Nikolayevna looked cheerful, and her husband really was more cheerful than before; but it was easy to guess from their faces that something unusual had been happening in their room. Of what had passed in the bedroom of Stepan Mihailovitch, they knew nothing. As for Arina Vassilyevna and her daughters, they looked like people who had just been pulled out of the water or snatched from the fire. It is a pity that there was no one to observe the scene; for it is certain that the different expressions on the faces of the company would have afforded an entertaining spectacle. All attempts to keep up a conversation were unsuccessful. The absence of the father and of one daughter puzzled Sofya Nikolayevna beyond endurance: she invented some pretext for going to her own room, where she summoned Parasha and got to the bottom of the mystery. They knew all about it in the maids' room: not only had Mazan and Tanaichonok been listening all the time, but the old lady and her daughter were in the habit of keeping nothing back from their waiting-women. Thus Parasha was able to give her mistress an exact and detailed report. Sofya Nikolayevna was much disturbed. She had never expected such alarming consequences; she heartily regretted having told her father-in-law about the wretched rats; and she was sincerely sorry for Alexandra. She went back to the drawing-room and asked leave to visit the invalid, but was told she was asleep. During her absence, Alexyéi Stepanitch had heard the whole story. After a hasty supper they separated to their rooms at ten o'clock. When alone with her husband, Sofya Nikolayevna, with much agitation and many tears, fell on his neck, and again asked his forgiveness with heartfelt penitence, blaming herself much more than she really deserved. But he did not understand the delicacy of feeling which prompted her genuine grief and drew from her tears. He was only sorry to see her distress herself about trifles; and he tried to console her by saying that all was well that ends well, that the family were accustomed to such scenes, that his father would wake in a good temper to-morrow and forgive Alexandra, and all would go on as well as at first. Only he begged her not to have any explanations with any of the family, and not to beg pardon, as she wished to do, for her unintentional slip; and he advised her not to visit his father in the morning but to wait till he sent for her. Sofya Nikolayevna understood her husband's character better than she had ever done before; and the knowledge hurt her deeply. While he slept peacefully all night, she never closed an eye.

Stepan Mihailovitch was the worse for his fit of anger and also disliked the thought that his daughter-in-law might have heard of it. His honest nature resented every underhand action and deliberate unkindness; and also he saw, in what his daughter had done, disregard to his own authority and position. He was on the brink of an illness; he ate no supper, stayed indoors instead of going to sit on the stoop, and, when he should have seen his bailiff, sent his orders by a servant. But the benign darkness of night which gives light to the eye of our mind, the stillness, and then sleep, which calms the passions of men and rains down blessings upon them—all these did their kindly office. Early next day he summoned Arina Vassilyevna and gave her his instructions to convey to his daughters—they were intended mainly for Alexandra, but in part also for Elizabeth—that Sofya Nikolayevna was not to know of any unpleasantness, and they were to behave accordingly. In a short time the samovar was placed on the table, and all the family summoned. Arina Vassilyevna fortunately had time to send a message by her son to Sofya Nikolayevna, begging her to do her best to cheer up the master of the house: "He is not quite well," she said, "and in low spirits for some reason." In spite of her sleepless night and the aching of her own heart, Sofya Nikolayevna carried out this request to admiration; all the party, and she herself more than any, were anxious that it should be done.

Sofya Nikolayevna was an astonishing woman! Lively, impressionable, and excitable, she could be carried away in a moment by impulses of the head or heart, and was capable of very sudden and complete transformations of behaviour. In later years stupid people accused her of insincerity on this ground, but no one else did. It was really a kind of artistic power, which enabled her to adapt herself instantly to a new atmosphere and a new position, and to act absolutely in accordance with her immediate purpose; and this purpose, being entirely sincere, acted like a spell on others. In this case, she laid herself out to calm the agitation of her father-in-law, for whom she had conceived a warm affection, and who had championed her cause at the cost of his peace of mind and at the risk of his health; and she wished to relieve her husband and his family, who had been terrified and assailed owing to her slip of the tongue. Her imagination and feelings were so completely mastered by this purpose that she exercised a kind of magical power over the party and soon subdued them all by the irresistible spell of her personality. She poured out tea herself and handed the cups herself, first to her father-in-law and then to the rest; she talked to every one so easily and pleasantly and brightly that the old man, quite convinced that she had caught no glimpse of the skeleton in the cupboard, soon relaxed his features. Of him also it was true that his cheerfulness was infectious; and, before an hour had passed, all traces of the storm of yesterday had disappeared.

Immediately after dinner the young couple started off to pay two ceremonial visits—to Ilarion Kalpinsky and his wife Catherine at Nyeklyoodovo, and to our old acquaintance Mme. Lupenevsky, who lived within two versts of the Kalpinskys. Kalpinsky was in his own way a remarkable man: though he had received no regular education, he was very intelligent and well-read; his origin was obscure—it was said that he was of Mordvinian descent—but he had risen to a considerable rank in the public service, and had made a marriage of interest with the daughter of a country gentleman of good family. His present pursuit was farming, and his object to save money. He set up for a freethinker; and his few neighbours who had heard of Voltaire called him a Voltairian. He lived at home without taking any part in the life of the family, and reserved to himself complete freedom in the gratification of his somewhat Epicurean tastes and habits. Though she had heard of him, Sofya Nikolayevna had never seen him, because he had only recently removed to Orenburg from his public office at Petersburg. She was surprised to find in him a man possessed of intelligence and culture according to the standards of the time, and dressed like a gentleman living in the capital. She was pleased with him at first; but he soon began to show off before such an attractive visitor, and then his profanity and the shameless immorality of his family life made her feel a disgust for him which she never afterwards got over. His wife was far more intelligent than her sister, Mme. Lupenevsky, but not her superior in any other respect. The visit lasted for an hour, and was followed by a visit to Mme. Lupenevsky. In both houses tea was given to the guests and home-made jam, and the meal was seasoned with a kind of conversation which horrified Sofya Nikolayevna. Both families were invited to dine at Bagrovo on the following Sunday. By one of those striking inconsistencies in human nature which it is impossible to explain, Mme. Lupenevsky fell in love at first sight with Sofya Nikolayevna, and used such language to her at parting that her guest must needs either blush or laugh aloud; nevertheless her words were the expression of sincere and even enthusiastic attachment.