A Russian Gentleman

by S. T. Aksakov

When Sofya Nikolayevna recovered from her swoon and her eyes fell on the pale anxious face of Alexyéi Stepanitch, she realised that there was one creature on earth who loved her: she threw her arms round her husband, and floods of tears gave relief to her heart. She told him all that had passed between her and her father. The narrative revived the smart of her wounded feelings, and brought out more clearly the difficulty of her position; and she would have despaired, but for the support of her kind husband. Though weaker in character and less far-sighted than she was, he never ran into extremes and never lost presence of mind and power of judgment in the trying hours of life. It may seem strange that Alexyéi Stepanitch could give moral support to Sofya Nikolayevna; but, for all her exceptional intelligence and apparent strength of will, the effect of a sudden shock to her feelings was to make her lose courage and become utterly bewildered. As an honest chronicler of oral tradition, I am bound to add that she was too sensitive to the opinion of society and paid it too much deference, in spite of her own superiority to the people among whom she lived. What would be said by people at Ufa, and especially by the ladies who took the lead in society there? What would be thought by her husband's family? What, above all, would be said by Stepan Mihailovitch when he heard that she had left her father? As she asked herself these questions, the injury to her pride gave her as much pain as the wound to her feelings as a daughter. To her it seemed equally terrible that her father should be blamed for ingratitude to his daughter, or that she should be blamed for failing in affection to a dying father. One or other alternative was bound to be chosen; and either he or she was bound to be condemned.

Alexyéi Stepanitch felt deep pity for her as he watched these sufferings, and he felt puzzled also. It was no easy task to administer consolation to Sofya Nikolayevna: her eager fancy painted appalling pictures of disaster, and her ready tongue gave them lively expression. She was prepared to brush aside every attempt to find an issue from the situation, and to trample on every suggestion of a settlement. But Alexyéi Stepanitch had love to teach him, and also that sanity and simplicity of mind which was wanting in his wife. He waited till the first irrepressible outburst was over, the first outcry of the wounded heart; and then he began to speak. The words were very ordinary, but they came from a kind, simple heart; and if they did not calm Sofya Nikolayevna, they did at least by degrees make it possible for her to understand what was said. He told her that she had always done her duty as a loving daughter, and that she must continue to do it by falling in with her father's wishes. It was probably no sudden decision: her father might have wished for a long time that they should live apart. For a sick and dying man it was difficult or even impossible to part from the regular attendant who nursed him so faithfully. Stepan Mihailovitch must be told the whole truth; but to acquaintances it would be enough to say that her father had always intended to set up the young couple in a house of their own during his lifetime. She would be able to visit her father twice a day and attend to him almost as much as before. Of course people in the town would find out in time the real reason of the separation—they had probably some idea already of the facts—but they would only pity her and abuse Nikolai. "Besides," he added, "though your father talked like that, when it comes to acting, he may shrink from the separation. Talk it over with him, and lay all your case before him." Sofya Nikolayevna made no reply: during a long silence her eyes rested with a curious, puzzled gaze on her husband. The truth of his simple words and his plain way of looking at things—these breathed peace and comfort into her heart. His plan seemed to her new and ingenious, and she wondered she had never thought of it herself. With a heart full of love and gratitude she embraced her husband.

So it was settled that Sofya Nikolayevna should appeal to her father to alter his decision and let them stay on in the house, at all events until she had entirely recovered from her confinement; their household arrangements would be quite separate, and all collisions with Nikolai would be avoided. In favour of this suggestion, there was one very pressing argument—that, while it was bad for Sofya Nikolayevna in her present condition to be jolted over the ill-paved streets of the town, no risk to herself would prevent her from paying a daily visit to her father. But the explanation with her father was unsuccessful. The old man told her calmly but firmly that his decision had been carefully considered and was no impulse of the moment. "My dear Sonitchka," he said, "I knew beforehand that after your marriage you could not live under the same roof as Nikolai. You are not able to judge him coolly, and I don't blame you for it: he sinned deeply against you in old days, and, though you forgave him, you were unable to forget his conduct. I know that he does not behave properly to you even now; but you take an exaggerated view of it all." At this point Sofya Nikolayevna tried to break in, but he stopped her and said: "Wait and hear to the end what I have to say. Let us suppose that he is as guilty as you take him to be: that makes it all the more impossible for you to live in the same house with him; but I cannot face parting from him. Have pity on my helpless and suffering condition. I am no longer a man, but a lifeless corpse; you know that Nikolai has to move me in bed ten times a day; no one can take his place. All I ask is peace of mind. Death is hovering over me, and every moment I must prepare for the change to eternity. I was constantly made wretched by the thought that Nikolai was giving offence to you. Our parting is inevitable; go, my dear, and live in a house of your own. When you come to visit me you shall not see the object of your dislike: he will be only too glad to keep out of the way. He has gained his object and got you out of the house, and now he will be able to rob me at his leisure. I know and see it all, but I forgive him everything for his unwearied nursing of me day and night. What he undergoes in his attendance on me is beyond the power of human endurance. Do not distress me, but take the money and buy a house for yourselves."

I shall not describe all the phases through which Sofya Nikolayevna passed—her doubts and hesitations, her mental conflicts, her tears and sufferings, her ups and downs of feeling from day to day. It is enough to say that the money was accepted and the house bought, and husband and wife were settled there before a fortnight had passed. The little house was new and clean, and had never been occupied before. Sofya Nikolayevna began with her usual ardour to put her house in order and to settle the course of their daily life; but her health, much affected by her condition, and still more by all the agitation she had gone through, soon broke down altogether. She was confined to bed for a fortnight, and did not see her father for a whole month. Their first interview was a touching and pitiful sight. He had grown much weaker; missing his daughter and blaming himself for her illness, he had suffered much by her absence. Their meeting gave happiness to both, but it cost them tears. He was especially grieved to see her so terribly thin and so altered in looks; but this was due, not so much to grief and illness as to her condition. The features of some women look different and even ugly during pregnancy; and Sofya Nikolayevna was a case in point. In course of time things settled down and her relations with her father became easy; Nikolai never ventured to appear when she was present. There was just one person who could not reconcile himself to the thought that she had left a dying father to settle in a house of her own; and that was Stepan Mihailovitch. She quite anticipated this, and wrote him a very frank letter just before she was taken ill, in which she tried to explain her father's action and defend it as far as possible. She might have saved herself the trouble, for Stepan Mihailovitch blamed her and not her father, and said that it was her duty to bear without a sign of displeasure all the misconduct of "that scoundrel" Nikolai. He wrote to his son to reprove him for allowing his wife to abandon her father to the hands of servants. But Stepan Mihailovitch did not realise, either that the separation was necessary to preserve the peace of a dying man, or that a wife could act without the permission of her husband. In the present case, however, husband and wife were entirely of one mind.

To put the finishing touches to the new house and modest household arrangements, Sofya Nikolayevna called in the assistance of a widow whom she knew, who lived in a humble position at Ufa. This was Mme. Cheprunoff, a very simple and kind-hearted creature. She owned a little house in the suburbs, and a small but productive garden, which brought her in a trifle. She had other means of maintaining herself and her adored only child, a little one-eyed boy called Andrusha: she hawked about small wares of different kinds, and even sold cakes in the market. But her chief source of income was the sale of Bokhara muslin, which she went to Orenburg every year to buy. Sofya Nikolayevna was related through her mother to this woman; but she had the weakness to conceal the relationship, though every one in the town knew it. Mme. Cheprunoff was devoted to her brilliant and distinguished kinswoman. She used to pay secret visits to Sofya Nikolayevna during the time when she was persecuted and humiliated by her stepmother; and Sofya Nikolayevna, when her time of triumph and influence came, became the avowed benefactress of Mme. Cheprunoff. When they were alone together, Sofya Nikolayevna lavished caresses upon her unselfish and devoted kinswoman; but, when other people were present, the one was the great lady and the other the poor protégée who sold cakes in the streets. This treatment did not offend Mme. Cheprunoff: on the contrary, she insisted on it. She loved and admired her beautiful cousin with all her heart, and looked on her as a superior being, and would never have forgiven herself if she had thrown a shadow on the brilliant position of Sofya Nikolayevna. The secret was revealed, as it had to be, to Alexyéi Stepanitch; and he, in spite of the ancient lineage which his sisters were always dinning into his ears, received this humble friend as his wife's worthy kinswoman, and treated her with affection and respect all his life; he even tried to kiss the work-worn hand of the cake-seller, but she would never allow it. He was only prevented by his wife's earnest entreaties from speaking of this relationship in his own family and in the circle of their acquaintance. This conduct earned him the love of the simple-minded woman; and whenever there were differences in the household in later years, she was his ardent champion and defender. She knew all the shops and was a great hand at a bargain; and so, with her help, Sofya Nikolayevna did her furnishing quickly and well.

When the young Bagroffs bought a house and started housekeeping by themselves, there was much talk and gossip in the town; and at first many exaggerations and inventions were current. But Alexyéi Stepanitch had spoken the truth: the real reason came out before long. This was due chiefly to Nikolai, who boasted among his friends that he had ousted the pettish young lady, and took the opportunity to give a lively description of her character. So the talk and gossip soon quieted down.

Husband and wife had at last a house entirely to themselves. In the morning, Alexyéi Stepanitch drove down to his work at the law-courts, dropping his wife at her father's house; and on his return he spent some time every day with his father-in-law, before taking his wife home. A modest dinner awaited them there. To sit alone together, at a meal of their own ordering, in their own house, was a charming sensation for a time; but nothing is a novelty for long, and this charm could not last for ever. In spite of her bad health and small means, Sofya Nikolayevna's clever hands made her little house as dainty as a toy. Taste and care are a substitute for money; and many of their visitors thought the furnishing splendid. The hardest problem was to arrange about their servants. Sofya Nikolayevna had brought two servants as part of her portion—a man named Theodore and a black-eyed maid called Parasha; these two were now married to one another; and at the same time Annushka, a young laundress belonging to Sofya Nikolayevna, was married to Yephrem Yevséitch, a young servant who had been brought from Bagrovo. This man was honest and good-natured and much attached to his young mistress, which cannot be said of the other servants. She returned his affection, and he well deserved it: he was one in a thousand, and his devotion to her was proved by his whole life.

Yevséitch (as he was always called in the family) became later the attendant of her eldest son,[⁴⁸] and watched over him like a father. I knew this worthy man well. Fifteen years ago I saw him for the last time; he was then blind and spending his last days in the Government of Penza on an estate belonging to one of the grandsons of Stepan Mihailovitch. I spent a whole month there in the summer; and every morning I went to fish in a pool where the stream of Kakarma falls into the river Niza. The cottage where Yevséitch was living stood right on the bank of this pool; and every day as I came up I saw him leaning against the angle of the cottage and facing the rising sun. He was bent and decrepit, and his hair had turned perfectly white; pressing a long staff to his breast, he leaned upon it with the knotted fingers of both hands, and turned his sightless eyes towards the sun's rays. Though he could not see the light, he could feel its warmth, so pleasant in the fresh morning air, and his face expressed both pleasure and sadness. His ear was so quick that he heard my step at some distance, and he always hailed me as an old fisherman might hail a schoolboy, though I was then myself over fifty years old. "Ah, it's you, my little falcon!"—he used to call me this when I was a child—"you're late this morning! God send you a full basket!" He died two years later in the arms of his son and daughter and his wife, who survived him several years.

Meantime life at Ufa took a very regular and unvarying course. Owing to her state of health and spirits, Sofya Nikolayevna paid few visits and only to intimate friends, whose small number was made smaller by the absence of the Chichagoffs. Autumn was nearly over before those dearest of friends returned from the country with Mme. Myortvavo. The disordered nerves and consequent low spirits of his wife were at first a source of great uneasiness to Alexyéi Stepanitch. He was completely puzzled: he had never in his life met people who were ill without anything definite the matter, or sad with no cause for sadness; he could make nothing of illness due to some inexplicable grief, or grief due to some imaginary or imperceptible illness. But he saw that there was no serious danger, and his anxiety calmed down by degrees. He was convinced that it was all the effect of imagination, which had always been his way of accounting for his wife's moods of excitement and distress, whenever he found it impossible to arrive at any reason within his comprehension. If he ceased to be uneasy, he began to be rather bored at times; and this was very natural, in spite of his love for his wife and pity for her constant suffering. To listen for whole hours every day to constant complaints about her condition, which was not after all so very exceptional; to hear gloomy presentiments, or even prophecies, of the fatal results which were sure to follow (and Sofya Nikolayevna, thanks to her reading of medical works, was extraordinarily ingenious in discovering ominous symptoms); to endure her reproaches and constant demands for those trifling services which a man can seldom render—all this was wearisome enough. Sofya Nikolayevna saw what he felt, and was deeply hurt. If she had found him in general incapable of deep feeling and strong passion, she would have reconciled herself sooner to her situation. She used often to say herself, "A man cannot give you what he has not got"; and she would have recognised the truth of the saying and submitted to her fate. But the misfortune was that she remembered the depth and ardour of her husband's passion in the days of his courtship, and believed that he might have continued to love her in the same fashion, had not something occurred to cool his feelings. This unlucky notion by degrees took hold of her imagination, and her ingenuity soon discovered many reasons to account for this coolness and much evidence of its truth. As to reasons—there was the hostile influence of his family, her own ill-health, and, worst of all, her loss of beauty; for her looking-glass forced upon her the sad change in her appearance. Her proofs were these—that her husband was not disquieted by her danger, took insufficient notice of her condition, did not try to cheer and interest her, and, above all, found more pleasure in talking to other women. And then a passion, which hitherto had lurked unrecognised, the torturing passion of jealousy, as keen-sighted as it is blind, flashed up like gunpowder in her heart. Every day there were scenes—tears and reproaches, quarrels and reconciliations. And all the time Alexyéi Stepanitch was entirely innocent. To the insinuations of his sisters he paid no attention at all; to his father's opinion he attached great importance, and that was so favourable to Sofya Nikolayevna that she had even risen in her husband's eyes in consequence. He was sincerely, if not deeply, distressed about her sufferings; and her loss of beauty he regarded as temporary, and looked forward with pleasure to the time when his young wife would get back her good looks. Though the sight of her suffering distressed him, he could not sympathise with all her presentiments and prognostications which he believed to be quite imaginary. He was incapable, as most men would be, of paying her the sort of attention she expected. It was really a ticklish business to administer consolation to Sofya Nikolayevna in her present condition: you were quite likely to put your foot in it and make matters worse; it required much tact and dexterity, and these were qualities which her husband did not possess. If he found more pleasure in talking to other women, it was probably because he was not afraid that some casual remark might cause annoyance and irritation.

But Sofya Nikolayevna could not look at the matter in this light. Her view of it was dictated by her nature, whose fine qualities were apt to run to extremes. But what was to be done, if the nerves of one were tough and strong and those of the other sensitive and morbid, if hers were jarred by what had no effect upon his? The Chichagoffs alone understood the causes of this uncomfortable situation; and, though they received no confidences from either husband or wife, they took a warm interest in both and did much to calm Sofya Nikolayevna's excitement by their friendship, their frequent visits, and their rational and sensible conversation. Both husband and wife owed much to them at this period.