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Kurolyessoff was little known in the Government of Simbirsk. But "rumour runs all over the earth," and perhaps the young officer on leave permitted himself some "distractions" as they are called; or perhaps the soldier servant whom he brought with him, in spite of his master's severity, let something leak out at odd times. Whatever the reason, an opinion gradually took shape about him, which may be summed up in the following statements--"Toe the line, when you parade before the Major"--"Mind your P's and Q's, when talking to Kurolyessoff"--"When one of his men is caught out, he shows no mercy, though he may try to shield him"--"When he says a thing, he means it"--"He's the very devil when his temper's up." People called him "a dark horse" and "a rum customer"; but every one admitted his ability as a man of business. There were also rumours, probably proceeding from the same sources, that the Major had certain weaknesses, which, however, he gratified with due regard to time and place. But these failings were excused by the charitable proverbs--"A young man must sow his wild oats," and "It's no crime in a man to drink," and "The man who drinks and keeps his head, Scores two points, it must be said." So Kurolyessoff had not a positively bad reputation; on the contrary many people thought highly of him. Insinuating and courteous in his address, and respectful to all persons of rank and position, he was a welcome guest in every house. As he was a near neighbour of the Bakt?yeff family, and indeed a distant connexion, he soon managed to make his way into their good graces; they took a great liking to him and sounded his praises everywhere. At first he had no special object, but was merely following his invariable rule--to make himself agreeable to persons of rank and wealth; but later, when he met in their house Praskovya Ivanovna, lively, laughing, and rich, and looking quite old enough to be married, he formed a plan of marrying her himself and getting her wealth into his hands. With this definite object in view, he redoubled his attentions to her grandmother and aunt, till the two ladies quite lost their heads about him; and at the same time he paid court so cleverly to the girl herself, that she soon had a liking for him, as she naturally would for a man who agreed to everything she said, gave her everything she asked, and spoiled her in every possible way. Next he showed his hand to her relations: he professed that he had fallen in love with the orphan girl, and they believed that he was suffering all a passionate lover's pangs, mad with longing, and haunted by his darling's image day and night. They approved of his plan and took the poor victim of love under their protection. The favour and connivance of her relations made it easy for him to proceed along his path: he did everything he could to entertain and amuse the child--taking her out for drives behind his spirited horses, pushing her in the swing and sitting beside her in it himself, singing with her the popular songs which he sang very well, giving her many trifling presents, and ordering amusing toys for her from Moscow.

With the taste of this rebuff in his mouth, Kurolyessoff went back and told Mme. Bakt?yeff of his failure. The people there knew my grandfather well, and at once abandoned all hope that he would give his consent. Long consideration brought no solution of the difficulty. The bold Major suggested that her grandmother should invite the girl on a visit, and that the marriage should take place without the consent of Stepan Mihailovitch; but both Mme. Bakt?yeff and her daughter, Mme. Kurmysheff, were convinced that Stepan Mihailovitch would not let his cousin go alone, or, if he did, would be slow about it, and the Major's leave was nearly at an end. Then he proposed a desperate scheme--to induce Praskovya Ivanovna to elope with him, and to get married in the nearest church; but her relations would not hear of such a scandalous expedient, and Kurolyessoff went back to his regiment. The ways of Providence are past finding out, and we cannot judge why it came about that this nefarious scheme was crowned with success. Six months later, Mme. Bakt?yeff heard one day that Stepan Mihailovitch was called away to some distance by very important business and would not return for some time. His destination and errand I do not know; but it was some distant place, Astrakhan or Moscow, and the business was certainly legal, because he took with him his man of business. A letter was sent at once to Stepan Mihailovitch, begging that the child, during the absence of her cousin and guardian, might stay with her grandmother. A curt answer was received--that Parasha was very well where she was, and, if they wished to see her, they were welcome to visit Bagrovo and stay as long as they liked. Stepan Mihailovitch sent this plain answer, and gave the strictest injunctions to his always submissive wife, that she was to watch Parasha as the apple of her eye and never let her out of the house alone; and then he started on his journey.

Mme. Bakt?yeff was constantly sending letters and messages to Praskovya Ivanovna and my grandfather's womankind; and she sent news of his departure at once to Kurolyessoff, adding that the absence would be a long one, and asking whether the Major could not come on leave, to take a personal share in the promotion of their scheme. She herself and her daughter went at once to Bagrovo. She had always been on friendly terms with Arina Vassilyevna, and now, on discovering that she also liked Kurolyessoff, revealed the fact that the young officer was passionately in love with Parasha; she launched out into praise of the suitor, and said, "There is nothing I wish so much as to see the poor little orphan comfortably settled in my lifetime; I am sure she will be happy. I feel that I have not long to live, and therefore I should like to hurry on the business." Arina Vassilyevna, on her side, entirely approved of the plan but expressed doubts whether Stepan Mihailovitch would consent: "Heaven knows why," she said, "but he took a strong dislike to that delightful Kurolyessoff." Arina Vassilyevna's elder daughters were summoned to a council presided over by Mme. Bakt?yeff and her daughter, a strong partisan of the Major's; and it was settled that the grandmother, as the girl's nearest relation, should manage the affair, without involving Arina Vassilyevna and her daughters; it was to appear that they knew nothing about it and took no hand in it. I have said already that Arina Vassilyevna was a kind-hearted and very simple woman; her daughters sympathised entirely with Mme. Bakt?yeff, and it is not surprising that she was persuaded by them to promote a scheme which was sure to provoke the furious rage of Stepan Mihailovitch.

Though Arina Vassilyevna and her daughters knew what the end must be, yet the news of the marriage, which came sooner than they expected, filled them with horror. The scales fell from their eyes, and they now realised what they had been about, and that neither the grandmother's sham illness nor her letter would serve to cover them from the just wrath of Stepan Mihailovitch. Before she heard of the marriage, Arina Vassilyevna had written to her husband that she had taken the child to her grandmother: "It was quite necessary," she wrote, "because the old lady was in a dying state. I stayed there a whole week, and mercifully the invalid took a good turn; but they insisted on keeping Parasha till her grandmother got well. I was helpless: I could not take her by force, so I agreed against my will and hurried back to our own children, who were quite alone at Bagrovo. And now I am afraid that you will be angry." In answering, he said she had done a foolish thing and told her to go back and fetch Parasha home at all costs. Arina Vassilyevna sighed and shed tears over this letter, and was puzzled how to act. The young couple soon came to pay her a visit. Parasha seemed perfectly happy and cheerful, though some of her childish gaiety had gone. Her husband seemed happy too, and at the same time so composed and sensible that his clever arguments had power to lull Arina Vassilyevna's fears to rest. He proved to her convincingly that her husband's wrath must all fall upon the grandmother: "And she," said he, "owing to that dangerous illness--though now, thank God! she is better--had a perfect right not to wait for the consent of Stepan Mihailovitch; she knew that he would be slow in giving it, though of course he must have given it in time. It was impossible for her to delay, owing to her critical condition, and it would have been hard for her to die without seeing her orphan grand-daughter settled in life; her place could not be filled even by a brother, far less by a mere cousin." Many soothing assurances of this kind were forthcoming, backed by some very handsome presents which were received by the Bagrovo ladies with great satisfaction and some sinking of heart. Other presents were left, to be given to Stepan Mihailovitch. Kurolyessoff advised Arina Vassilyevna not to write to her husband till he answered the letter of intimation from the young couple; and he assured her that he and his wife would write this at once. He did not really dream of writing: his sole object was to delay the explosion and get time to take root in his new position. Immediately after his marriage, he applied for leave to retire from the Army, and got it very soon. He then began by paying a round of visits with his bride to all the relations and friends on both sides. At Simbirsk he began by calling on the Governor and neglected no one of any importance who could be useful to him. All were enthusiastic in praise of the handsome young couple, and they were so popular everywhere, that the marriage was soon sanctioned by public opinion. Thus several months passed away.

?? A short form of Praskovya, which itself represents the Greek name Paraskeva.

"You lie, you old swindler!" roared my grandfather; "you deceived my wife by pretending that you were dying! Kurolyessoff has bewitched you and your daughter by the power of the devil, and you have sold your grand-daughter into his hands!"

This was too much for Mme. Bakt?yeff, and she let out in her rage that Arina Vassilyevna and her daughters were in league with her and had themselves accepted presents at different times from Kurolyessoff. This disclosure turned the whole force of my grandfather's rage back upon his own family. He threatened that he would dissolve the marriage on the ground that Parasha was not of age, and then started home. On the way he turned aside to visit the priest who had performed the ceremony, and called him to account. But the priest met his attack very coolly, and showed him with no hesitation the certificate of affinity, the signatures of the grandmother, the bride, and the witnesses, and also the baptismal certificate which alleged that Praskovya Ivanovna was seventeen. This was a fresh blow to my grandfather, for it deprived him of all hope of breaking the hateful marriage; and it increased enormously his anger against his wife and daughters. I shall not dwell upon his behaviour when he got home: it would be too painful and repulsive. Thirty years later, my aunts could never speak of that day without trembling. I shall only say, that the culprits made a full confession, that he sent back all the presents, including those intended for himself, to Mme. Bakt?yeff, to be forwarded to the proper quarter, that the elder daughters long kept their beds, and that my grandmother lost all her hair and went about for a whole year with her head bandaged. He sent a message to the Kurolyessoffs forbidding them to dare to appear before him, and ordered that their names should never be mentioned in his house.

Time rolled on, healing wounds whether of mind or body, and calming passions. Within a year Arina Vassilyevna's head was healed, and the anger in the heart of Stepan Mihailovitch had cooled. At first he refused either to see or hear of the Kurolyessoffs, and would not even write to Praskovya Ivanovna; but, when a year had passed and he heard from all quarters good accounts of her way of life, and was told that she had suddenly become sensible beyond her years, his heart softened and he became anxious to see the cousin whom he had loved. He reasoned that she, as a perfect child, was less to blame than any of the rest, and gave her leave to come, without her husband, to Bagrovo; and, as a matter of course, she came at once. The reports were true: one year of marriage had wrought such a change in Praskovya Ivanovna, that Stepan Mihailovitch could hardly believe it. It was puzzling also, that she now showed towards her cousin a kind of love and gratitude which she had never felt in her girlhood, and was still less likely, one would think, to feel after her marriage. In his eyes, which filled with tears when they met, did she read how much love was concealed under that harsh exterior and that arbitrary violence? Had she any dark foreboding of the future, or did she dimly realise that here was her one support and stay? Or did she feel unconsciously, that the rough cousin who had opposed her happiness and still disliked her husband, loved her better than all the women who had indulged her by falling in with all her childish wishes? I cannot answer these questions; but all were struck by the change. In her careless childhood she had been indifferent to her cousin, thinking little of his rights and her duties; and now she had every reason to resent his treatment of her grandmother; yet she felt to him now as a devoted daughter feels to a tender father when both have long known and loved one another. Whatever the cause of it, this sudden feeling ended only with her life.

But what was the remarkable change that had come over so young a woman as Praskovya Ivanovna, after one year of married life? The foolish child had turned into a sensible but cheerful woman. She frankly confessed that they had all behaved badly to Stepan Mihailovitch. For herself only she pleaded youth and ignorance, and, for her grandmother, her husband, and the rest, their blind devotion to her. She did not ask him to pardon the chief criminal at once; but she hoped that in time, when he saw her happiness and the unwearied care with which her husband managed her property and looked after her estates, her cousin would forgive the culprit and admit him at Bagrovo. My grandfather, though he made no answer at the time, was completely conquered by this appeal. He did not keep his "clever cousin"--as he now began to call her--long at his house; he said that her place was now elsewhere, and soon sent her back to her husband. At parting, he said: "If you are as well satisfied with your husband a year hence, and if he behaves as well to you as he does now, I shall be reconciled to him." A year later, as he knew that Kurolyessoff was behaving well and paying the utmost attention to the management of his wife's property, and found his cousin, when he saw her, looking healthy and happy and cheerful, Stepan Mihailovitch told her to bring her husband with her to Bagrovo. He received Kurolyessoff cordially, frankly confessed his former doubts, and ended by promising to treat him as a kinsman and friend, on condition of continued good conduct. The guest behaved very cleverly: he was less furtive and less insinuating than he used to be, but just as respectful, attentive, and tactful. His bearing was clearly more confident and self-assured; he was giving the closest attention to agricultural problems, on which he asked advice from my grandfather--advice which he took in very quickly and followed with remarkable skill. He was connected in some distant way with Stepan Mihailovitch, and addressed him as "uncle" and treated the rest of the family as relations. Even before the scene of reconciliation or forgiveness, he had rendered a service of some kind to Stepan Mihailovitch; my grandfather was aware of this and thanked him for it now; he even gave him a similar commission to execute. In fact, the visit passed off very well. But, though all the circumstances seemed to speak in favour of Kurolyessoff, my grandfather still said: "The lad is all right: he is clever and sensible; but somehow I don't take to him."

Little by little, certain rumours began to spread abroad and gain strength. According to these reports, the Major was not merely strict, as was said before, but cruel; in the privacy of his estates at Ufa he gave himself up to drink and debauchery; he had gathered round him a band, with whom he drank and committed excesses of every kind; and, worse still, several victims had already been killed by him in the fury of his drunken violence. The police and magistrates of the district, it was said, were all his creatures: he had bribed some with money and others with drink and terrorised them all. The small landowners and inferior officials went in terror of their lives: if any dared to act or speak against him, they were seized in broad daylight and imprisoned in cellars or corn-kilns, where they were fed on bread and water and suffered the pangs of cold and hunger; and some were unmercifully flogged with an instrument called a "cat." Kurolyessoff had a special fancy for this implement, which was merely a leather whip with seven tails and knots at the end of each tail. They remained for some time after Kurolyessoff's death in a store-room at Parashino, for show, not for use; and I saw them there myself; they were burnt by my father when he inherited the property. These reports were only too well founded: the reality far surpassed the timid whisper of rumour. Kurolyessoff's thirst for blood, inflamed to madness by strong drink, grew unchecked to its full proportions, till it presented one of those horrible spectacles at which humanity shudders and turns sick. The instinct of the tiger is terrible indeed, when combined with the reasoning power of a man.

At last the rumours were changed into certain knowledge; and of all the people with whom Praskovya Ivanovna lived--relations, neighbours, and servants, every one knew the real truth about Kurolyessoff. When he returned to Choorassovo from the scene of his exploits, he always showed the same respect to rank, the same friendly attention to his equals, the same anxiety to please his wife. She had now got over her loss and had recovered health and spirits; the house was as full of visitors as it used to be, and something was always going on. At Choorassovo, Kurolyessoff never struck any of the servants, leaving the bailiff and the butler in sole possession of this amusement; but they all knew about him and trembled at a mere look. Even relations and intimate friends showed some discomfort and embarrassment in his company. But Praskovya Ivanovna noticed nothing, or, if she did, ascribed it to a quite different cause--the involuntary respect which every one felt for her husband's remarkable success as a landowner, his splendid establishment, and his general intelligence and firmness of purpose. Sensible people who loved Praskovya Ivanovna, when they saw her perfectly composed and happy, were glad of her ignorance and hoped it might last as long as possible. There were, no doubt, some women among her dependants and humble neighbours whose tongues itched uncommonly, and who felt a strong desire to pay the Major out for his contemptuous treatment of them, by disclosing the truth; but, apart from the fear they could not help feeling, which would probably not have deterred them, there was another obstacle which prevented the fulfilment of their kind intentions. It was simply impossible to bring any tales against her husband to Praskovya Ivanovna. She was clever, keen-sighted, and determined; and, as soon as she detected any hidden innuendo to the detriment of Kurolyessoff, she knitted her dark eyebrows and said in her downright way that any offence of the kind would be punished by perpetual exclusion from her house. As the natural result of such a significant warning, nobody ventured to interfere in what was not their business. There were two servants in the house, a favourite attendant of her late father's and her own old nurse, whom she specially favoured, though they were not admitted to such close intimacy as old servants often were in those days; but they too were powerless. To them it was a matter of life and death that their mistress should know the real truth about her husband; for they had near relations who were personal attendants of Kurolyessoff's and were suffering beyond endurance from their master's cruelty. At last they determined to tell the whole story to their mistress. They chose a time when she was alone, and went together to her room; but the old nurse had hardly mentioned Kurolyessoff's name, when Praskovya Ivanovna flew into a violent passion. She told the woman that, if she ever again ventured to open her mouth against her master, she would banish her from her presence for ever and send her to live at Parashino. Thus all possible channels were blocked, and all mouths were stopped, that might have informed against the criminal. Praskovya Ivanovna loved her husband and trusted him absolutely. She knew that people like to meddle with what does not concern them, and like to trouble the water, that they may catch fish; and she had made up her mind at once and laid down an absolute rule, to listen to no tales against her husband. It is an excellent rule, and indispensable for the preservation of domestic peace. But there is no rule that does not admit of exceptions; and perhaps, in the present case, the resolute temper and strong will of the wife, added to the fact that all the wealth belonged to her, might have checked the husband at the outset of his career. As a sensible man, he would not have cared to deprive himself of all the advantages of a luxurious life; he would not have gone to such extremes or given such free play to his monstrous passions. It is more likely that, like many other men, he would have taken his pleasures in moderation and with precaution.

Thus several years went by, during which Kurolyessoff gave himself up without restraint to his evil tendencies. His degeneration was rapid, and at last he began to commit incredible crimes, and always with impunity. I shall not describe in detail the kind of life he led on his estates, especially at Parashino, and also in the villages of the district; the story would be too repulsive. I shall say no more than is necessary to convey a true conception of this formidable man. During the early years when his whole attention was given to organising his wife's estates, he deserved to be called the most far-seeing, practical, and watchful of agents. To all the infinitely various and troublesome business, involved in removing peasants and settling them down in distant holdings, he gave his personal and unremitting attention. He kept constantly in view one object only, the well-being of his dependants. He could spend money where it was needed; he saw that it came to hand at the right time and in the right quantity; he anticipated all the wants and requirements of the settlers. He accompanied them himself for a great part of their journey, and met them himself at the end of it, where they found everything prepared for their reception. It is true that he was too severe and even cruel in the punishment of culprits; but he was just, and could keep his eyes shut at times. From time to time he allowed himself a little relaxation, when he disappeared for a day or two to amuse himself; but he could throw off the effects of his debauchery like water off a duck's back, and come to work again with fresh vigour.

So long as he had the burden of his work upon his shoulders, it took up all his powers of mind and kept him from the fatal passion for drink, which robbed him of his senses and removed the curb from his monstrous inhuman passions. Work was his salvation; but, when he had got both the new estates, Kurolyessovo and Parashino, into order, and built manor-houses at both, with a second smaller house at Parashino, then came the season of little work and much leisure. Drunkenness, with its usual consequences, and violence, gained complete mastery over him, and developed by degrees into an insatiable thirst for human blood and human suffering. Encouraged by the passive fear of all around him, he soon ceased to set any limit to his arbitrary violence. He chose from among his dependants a score of ruffians, fit instruments for his purposes, and formed them into a band of robbers. They saw that their master bore a charmed life, and believed in his power; drunken and debauched themselves, they carried out all his insane orders willingly and boldly. If any man offended Kurolyessoff by the slightest independence in word or action--if, for example, he failed to turn up when invited to one of their drunken revels--the gang set off at once at a sign from their master, seized the culprit either secretly or openly wherever they found him, and brought him back to Parashino, where he was treated with insult and chained up in a cellar underground or flogged by their master's orders. Kurolyessoff was a man of taste: he liked good horses, and he liked good pictures--he thought them good at least--to adorn his walls. If anything of the kind took his fancy in a neighbour's house or in any house where he happened to be, he at once proposed an exchange; in case of a refusal, he would sometimes, if he was in a good humour, offer money; but, if this also was refused, he gave warning that he would take it and give nothing for it. And he did actually turn up with his gang a short time after, pack up whatever he wanted, and carry it off. Complaints were made, and the preliminary steps for an inquiry were taken. But Kurolyessoff saw this must be stopped at once. He sent a message to the district magistrate, that he would flay with the "cat" any officer of the law who dared to present himself; and he remained master of the situation. Meantime the man who had dared to complain was seized and beaten, on his own estate and in his own house, with his wife and children kneeling round and imploring mercy. It was Kurolyessoff's custom to make it up with his victims after a time: sometimes he offered them pecuniary compensation, but more often he restored peace by terrorising them; in any case, the stolen goods remained his lawful property. During his carouses he liked to boast that he had taken "that pretty thing in the gilt frame" from so-and-so, and that inlaid writing-table from some one else; and often these very people were sitting at the table, pretending to be deaf or plucking up heart to laugh at their own losses. There were even worse acts of violence, but these also went scot free.

Kurolyessoff had a very powerful constitution: though he drank a great deal, it never disabled him but only put him on the move and roused a horrible activity in his clouded brain and inflamed body. One of his favourite amusements was to harness teams of spirited horses to a miscellaneous assortment of carriages, to pack the carriages with his ragtag and bobtail of men and women, and then scour over the fields and through the villages at full gallop, with the jingling of bells and the singing and shouting of his drunken rabble. He took a stock of liquor with him on these occasions and made every one he met, without regard to calling or sex or age, drink till they were intoxicated; and any one who dared to refuse was first flogged, and then tied to a tree or a post, though it might be raining or freezing at the time. Of more revolting acts of violence I say nothing. One day he was driving in this state of mind through a village, and, as he passed a threshing-floor, noticed a woman of remarkable beauty. "Stop!" he called out. "Petrushka, what do you think of that woman?" "She's uncommonly pretty," said Petrushka. "Would you like to marry her?" "How can I marry another man's wife?" asked Petrushka with a grin on his face. "I'll show you how! Seize her, my lads, and put her in the carriage beside me!" They did so; the woman was taken straight to the parish church, and there, though she protested that she had a husband living and two children, was married to Petrushka; and no complaints were made either in Kurolyessoff's lifetime or in that of his widow. When the estate came into my father's hands, he restored this woman with her husband and children to her former owner; her first husband had long been dead. My father also distributed various articles of property to their former owners when they asked for them; but many of the things had got worn out by tossing about in lumber-rooms. It is hard to believe that such things could happen in Russia, even eighty years ago; but the truth of the narrative it is impossible to dispute.

?? A diminutive form of Grig?ri .

Praskovya Ivanovna had now been married fourteen years. She noticed something strange about her husband, whom for two years she had only seen at long intervals for a few days at a time, but she did not even suspect anything like the truth. She went on with her easy cheerful way of life: in summer she gave great attention to her orchard and the water-springs which she left in their natural state and liked to clean out with her own hands; at other seasons she spent her time with her visitors and became a great lover of cards. Suddenly she received, by post or special messenger, a letter from an old lady for whom she had great respect, a distant relation of her husband's. This letter gave a full description of Kurolyessoff's life, and ended in this way, that it would be sinful not to open the eyes of the mistress of a thousand serfs, when they were suffering such monstrous cruelty and she could protect them by cancelling the legal authority she had given her husband to manage her estates. "Their blood cries to heaven," she wrote, "and at this moment a servant known to you, Ivan Onufrieff, is dying in consequence of cruel maltreatment. You have nothing to fear yourself from Kurolyessoff: he will not venture to show his face at Choorassovo, and your good neighbours and the Governor himself will protect you."

?? The asterisks apparently imply that the author is unwilling to report some details of this orgy.

But I shall be asked, "How did all this happen? did no one see it? what had become of Kurolyessoff and his trusty retainers? is it possible that he was unaware of it or absent at the time?" No: the liberation of Praskovya Ivanovna took place before many witnesses; and Kurolyessoff was at home and knew what was going on, but did not venture to show his face.

The explanation is quite simple. His men had spent the whole evening carousing with their master, and some of them were so drunk that they could not be roused. There was one sober man, a complete abstainer and a favourite. He wakened his master with some difficulty, and, trembling with fear, told him of the raid of Stepan Mihailovitch and the guns pointing straight at the windows. "But where are all our fellows?" asked Kurolyessoff. "Some are asleep, and others are hiding," said the man; but this was not true; for the drunken rabble was mustering near the outside steps. Kurolyessoff thought a moment; then with a gesture of despair he said, "Let her go, and the devil go with her! Lock the door, go to the window, and watch what happens." In a few minutes, the man cried out, "They are carrying away the mistress!--They're off!"--"Go to your bed," said his master; then he rolled himself up in his blankets and either fell asleep or made a pretence of it.

Yes, right has a moral strength before which wrong must bend, for all its boldness. Kurolyessoff knew the stout heart and fearless courage of Stepan Mihailovitch, and he knew that he himself was in the wrong; and therefore, in spite of his furious temper and unscrupulous impudence, he let his victim go without a struggle.

Tenderly and carefully Stepan Mihailovitch conveyed the sufferer, whom he had always loved and who now roused in him deep sympathy and a still greater affection. No question passed his lips on the journey; and, when he brought her in safety to Bagrovo, he forbade his womankind to trouble her with inquiries. But in a fortnight Praskovya Ivanovna was herself again, thanks to her strong constitution and high spirit; and then Stepan Mihailovitch determined to cross-examine her. In order to act, he must know the real truth, and he never trusted secondhand information. She told him the whole truth with perfect frankness, but begged that he would keep it from his family and that she should be asked no questions by any one else. She put herself altogether in his hands; but she feared his hot temper and implored him not to take vengeance on Kurolyessoff. She said positively that, on reflection, she had decided not to bring shame on her husband, or to stain the name which she must continue to bear throughout her life. She added that she now repented of the words which had burst from her lips at her first interview with Kurolyessoff at Parashino, and that nothing would induce her to make a complaint to the Governor against him. Yet she considered it her duty to rescue her serfs from his cruelty, and therefore intended to cancel the document which gave him authority over her estates. She asked Stepan Mihailovitch to take over the management himself, and also to write to Kurolyessoff demanding the document and stating that, if he refused to give it up, she would take legal steps to cancel it. She asked Stepan Mihailovitch to express this in plain terms but without any abusive epithets; and she offered to sign the letter herself, to make it more convincing. I should mention that she could hardly read and write her native language. Stepan Mihailovitch loved his cousin so well that he bridled his rage and assented to her wishes. But he would not hear of taking over the management. "No, my dear," he said; "I don't care to meddle in other people's affairs, and I don't want your relations to be saying that I feather my own nest while looking after your multitude of serfs. The land will be badly managed in your hands, I don't doubt; but you are rich and will have enough. I don't mind saying in the letter that I am to take over the management; that will give your sweet pet a turn! All the rest you ask shall be done."

Strict orders were accordingly issued to the womankind to ask no questions of the lady. My grandfather wrote the letter to Kurolyessoff with his own hand, Praskovya Ivanovna added her signature, and a special messenger was despatched with it to Parashino. But, while they were considering and wondering and writing at Bagrovo, all was already over at Parashino. The messenger returned on the fourth day and reported that, by God's will, Kurolyessoff had died suddenly and was already buried.

Stepan Mihailovitch heard the news first. Involuntarily he crossed himself and said, "Thank God!" And so said all his family: in spite of their former weakness for Kurolyessoff, they had long looked on him with horror as a criminal and a ruffian. With Praskovya Ivanovna it was different. Judging by their own feelings, they all supposed she would welcome the news, and told her at once. But, to the surprise of every one, she was utterly prostrated by it and became ill again; and, when her strength got the better of the illness, her depression and wretchedness were extreme: for some weeks she wept from morning till night, and she grew so thin that Stepan Mihailovitch was alarmed. No one could understand the cause of such intense sorrow for a husband whom she could not love and who had treated her so brutally--"a disgrace to human nature," as they called him. But there was an explanation, and this is it.

Many years later, my mother, who was a great favourite with Praskovya Ivanovna, was talking with her of past days--a thing which Praskovya Ivanovna generally avoided--and in the openhearted frankness of their conversation she asked: "Please tell me, aunt, why you took on so after your husband's death. In your place, I should have said a prayer for his soul, and felt quite cheerful." "You are a little fool, my dear," answered Praskovya Ivanovna: "I had loved him for fourteen years and could not unlearn my feeling in one month, even though I had found out what he was; and, above all, I grieved for his soul: he had no time to repent before he died."

?? From here to the end of the paragraph was removed by the censor from the early editions of the work.

I should not conceal the fact, that forty years later, when I became the owner of Parashino, I found the recollection of Kurolyessoff's management still fresh among the peasants, and they spoke of him with gratitude, because they felt every day the advantage of many of his arrangements. His cruelty they had forgotten, and they had felt it less than his personal attendants; but they remembered his power of distinguishing guilt and innocence, the honest workman and the shirker; they remembered his perfect knowledge of their needs and his constant readiness to give them help. The old men smiled as they told me that Kurolyessoff used often to say: "Steal and rob as you please, if you keep it dark; but, if I catch you, then look out!"

When she went back to Bagrovo, Praskovya Ivanovna, soothed by the sincere and tender love of her cousin and by the assiduous attentions of his womankind gradually got over the terrible blow she had suffered. Her good health came back, and her peace of mind; and at the end of a year she resolved to go back to Choorassovo. It was painful to Stepan Mihailovitch to part with his favourite: her whole nature appealed to him, and he had become thoroughly accustomed to her society. Not once in his whole life was he in a rage with Praskovya Ivanovna. But he did not try to keep her: on the contrary, he pressed her to go as soon as possible. "It's no sort of life for you here, my dear," he used to say; "it's a dull place, though we have got accustomed to it. You are young still"--she was thirty--"and rich and used to something different. You should go back to Choorassovo, and enjoy your fine house and splendid garden and the springs. You have plenty of kind neighbours there, rich people who live a gay life. It is possible that God will send you better fortune in a second venture; you won't want for offers." Praskovya Ivanovna put off her departure from day to day--so hard did she find it to part from the cousin who had saved her life and been her benefactor from her childhood. At last the day was fixed. Early on the previous morning, she came out to join Stepan Mihailovitch, who was sitting on his stoop and thinking sad thoughts. She kissed and embraced him; the tears came to her eyes as she said: "I feel all your love for me, and I love and respect you like a daughter. God sees my gratitude; but I wish that men should see it too. Will you let me bequeath to your family all my mother's property? What I have from my father will come to your son in any case. My relations on my mother's side are rich, and you know that they have given me no reason to reward them with my wealth. I shall never marry. I wish the Bagroff family to be rich. Say yes, my dear cousin, and you will comfort me and set my mind at rest." She threw herself at his feet and covered with kisses the hands with which he was trying to raise her up. "Listen, my dear," said Stepan Mihailovitch in a rather stern voice: "You don't know me aright. That I should covet what does not belong to me, and cut out the rightful heirs to your estates--no! that shall never be, and never shall any one be able to say that of Stepan Bagroff! Mind you don't ever mention it again. If you do, we shall quarrel; and it will be the first time in our lives."

Next day Praskovya Ivanovna left Bagrovo and began her own independent life at Choorassovo.

Many years passed by and much happened during that time--famine and plague, and the rebellion of Pugatchoff.?? The landowners of the Orenburg district scattered before the bands of the usurper, and Stepan Mihailovitch also made off with his family, first to Sam?ra, and then down the Volga to Saratoff and as far off as Astrakhan. But by degrees all disturbances passed over and calmed down and were forgotten. Children became boys, boys became men, and men came to grey hairs; and among these last was Stepan Mihailovitch. He saw this himself, but he hardly believed it. He would sometimes allude to the ravages of time, but he did so without uneasiness, as if there were no personal reference to himself. Yet my grandfather had ceased to be his old self: his herculean strength and tireless activity had gone for ever. This sometimes surprised him; but he went on living precisely in the old way--eating and drinking to his heart's content, and dressing with no regard to the weather, though he sometimes suffered for this neglect. Little by little, his keen clear eye became clouded and his great voice lost its power; his fits of anger were rarer, but so were his bright and happy moods. His elder daughters had all married, and the oldest had been dead some time, leaving a daughter of three years old. Aksinya,?? the second, had lost one husband and married again; Elizabeth, a clever but arrogant woman, had somehow married a General Yerlykin, who was old and poor and given to drinking; and Alexandra had found herself a husband in Ivan Karatayeff, well-born, young, and rich, but a passionate lover of the Bashkirs and their wandering life--a true Bashkir himself in mind and body. The youngest daughter, Tanyusha, had not married. The only son?? was now twenty-six, a handsome youth with a complexion of lilies and roses: his own father used to say of him, "Put a petticoat on him, and he'd be a prettier girl than any of his sisters!" Though his wife, Arina Vassilyevna, shed bitter tears and would not be comforted, Stepan Mihailovitch sent his son into the Army as soon as he was sixteen. He served for three years, and, owing to the influence of Mihail Kurolyessoff, acted as aide-de-camp for part of the time to Suv?roff. But Suv?roff left the district of Orenburg and was succeeded by a German general ; and he sentenced the young man to a severe flogging, from which his entire innocence, if not his noble birth, should have protected him. His mother nearly died of grief, when she heard it; and even my grandfather thought this was going too far. He withdrew his son from the Army and got him a place in the law court at Ufa, where he earned promotion by long and zealous service.

?? Pugatchoff was a Cossack, who raised a formidable rebellion in East Russia; taken prisoner by Suv?roff, he was executed at Moscow in 1775.

?? The popular form of Xenia; the diminutive is Aksyutka.

?? The author's father.

I cannot pass over in silence a strange fact that I have noticed: most of the Germans and foreigners in general who held posts in the Russian service in those days were notorious for their cruelty and love of inflicting corporal punishment. The German who punished young Bagroff so cruelly was a Lutheran himself, but at the same time a great stickler for all the rites and ceremonies of the Russian Church. This historic incident in the annals of the Bagroff family happened in the following way. The general ordered a service to be performed in the regimental chapel on the eve of some unimportant saint's-day; he was always present himself on these occasions, and all officers were expected to attend. It was summer, and the chapel windows were open. Suddenly, a voice in the street outside struck up a popular song. The general rushed to the window: three subalterns were walking along the street, and one of them was singing. He ordered them under arrest and sentenced each of them to 300 lashes. My unfortunate father, who was not singing but merely walking with his friends, pleaded his noble birth; but the general said with a sneer, "A noble is bound to show special respect to divine service"; and then the brute himself looked on till the last stripe was inflicted on the innocent youth. This took place in a room next the chapel, where the solemn singing of the choir could be distinctly heard; and the tyrant forbade his victim to cry out, "for fear of disturbing divine worship." After his punishment, he was carried off unconscious to hospital, where it was found necessary to cut off his uniform, owing to the swelling of his tender young body. It was two months before his back and shoulders healed up. What must it have cost his mother to hear such news of her only son whom she simply worshipped! My grandfather lodged a complaint in some quarter; and his son, who had sent in his papers at once, got his discharge from the Army before he left the hospital, and entered the Civil Service as an official of the fourteenth or lowest class. Eight years had now gone by, and the incident was by this time forgotten.

?? A pet name for Sofya . This is the author's mother, whose real name was M?rya.

Her death caused a complete reversal of affairs. M. Zubin also had a paralytic stroke, and, though he survived for some years, never left his bed again. The oppressed and ragged Cinderella, whom the servants--and especially those belonging to Mme. Zubin--had been mean enough to humiliate and insult to their heart's content, suddenly became the absolute mistress of the household, her sick father having put everything under her control. The reconciliation between the guilty father and the injured daughter was touching and even distressing to the daughter and all who saw it. For long, M. Zubin was wrung by remorse: his tears flowed day and night, and he repeated the same words over and over, "No, Sonitchka, it is impossible you should forgive me!" To each one of his acquaintance in the town he formally confessed his misconduct towards his daughter; and "Sofya Nikolayevna," as she was now called, became the object of general respect and admiration. Made wise by years of suffering, this girl of seventeen developed into a grown woman, a mother to the children, and the manager of the household. She even discharged public duties; for, owing to her father's illness, she received all heads of departments, officials, and private citizens; she discussed matters with them, wrote letters and official documents, and at last became the real manager of the business in her father's office. Sofya Nikolayevna nursed her father with anxious care and tenderness; she looked after her three brothers and two sisters, and even took trouble about the education of the elder children. Her own brothers, Sergh?i and Alexander, were now boys of twelve and ten; and she contrived to find teachers for them--a kind old Frenchman called Villemer, whom fortune had somehow stranded at Ufa, and a half-educated Little Russian who had been exiled to the town for an attempted fraud. She availed herself of the opportunity to study with her brothers, and worked so hard that she could soon understand a French book or conversation and even talk French a little herself. Eighteen months later she sent her brothers to Moscow for their education. Through a certain M. Anitchkoff who lived at Ufa, she had become acquainted with his cousin who lived at Moscow, and they often corresponded. The well-known writer, Novikoff, shared a house at Moscow with this M. Anitchkoff; and both friends were so struck by the letters from this young lady on the banks of the river By?laya, that they sent her regularly all new and important books in the way of Russian literature; and this did much for her mental development. This M. Anitchkoff had a special respect for her, and considered it an honour to carry out her request. He undertook to receive both her brothers and place them at a boarding-school connected with Moscow University, and performed his undertaking punctiliously. The boys got on well at school, but their studies were broken off when the summons came for them to enter the Guards, in which they had been enrolled while still in the cradle.

In spite of his enfeebled state, M. Zubin did not resign his office for several years. Twice a year he gave a ball; he did not appear himself, in order to welcome the ladies, but the men went to see him where he lay in his study; and the young hostess had to receive the whole town. Several times a year, her father insisted on her going out to balls in the houses of the leading people, and she yielded to his earnest entreaties and put in a short appearance at the ball. She wore fine dresses and was an excellent dancer in the fashion of the time. When she had gone through a Polish minuet and a single country-dance or schottische, she went away at once, after flashing through the room like a meteor. All who had the right to be so, were in love with Sofya Nikolayevna, but they sighed at a respectful distance; for this young lady gave none of them any encouragement whatever.

And with this peerless creature the son of Stepan Mihailovitch fell in love! He could not understand and appreciate her fully, but her appearance alone and her lively cheerful temper were enough to bewitch a man; and bewitched he accordingly was. He saw her first in church, and the first sight was enough for his susceptible heart. Alexy?i Stepanitch--henceforth we shall give him both his names--soon discovered that the fair lady received all officials who visited at her father's house; and, being himself an official in the law-court, he began to appear regularly in her drawing-room, to pay his respects on high days and holidays. He saw her every time, and his passion grew steadily. His calls were so regular and so prolonged--though he hardly opened his mouth--that they soon attracted general notice; and it is probable that the first person to notice them was the young hostess herself. Rapturous looks, flaming cheeks, helpless confusion--these are the symbols by which love has always spoken. A frank passion has been an object of ridicule from time immemorial, and all Ufa laughed at Alexy?i Stepanitch. He was humble and shy and as bashful as a country girl; and his only reply to all jests and allusions to the subject was to blush the colour of a peony. But Sofya Nikolayevna, so cold and even snubbing in her manner to her fashionable admirers, was surprisingly indulgent to this speechless worshipper. Perhaps she was sorry for this young man who had no armour against all the ridicule he suffered on her behalf; perhaps she understood that his was no idle or passing fancy and that his whole life was at stake; anyhow, the severe young beauty not only bowed graciously and looked kindly at him, but tried also to start conversation; and his timid, incoherent replies and agitated voice did not seem to her ridiculous or repulsive. I should say, however, that Sofya Nikolayevna, though she stood on her dignity with self-assertive people, was always kind and condescending to humility and modesty.

Things went on thus for some time. Suddenly, a bold thought flashed on the brain of Alexy?i Stepanitch--the thought of getting Sofya Nikolayevna for his wife. At first he was frightened by his own ambition, so bold and so unlikely to be realised. How could he raise his eyes to Sofya Nikolayevna, the chief personage in Ufa, and, in his opinion, the cleverest and most beautiful woman in the world? He abandoned his intention entirely for a time. But by degrees the lady's constant goodwill and attention, her friendly glances which seemed to him to hold out some encouragement, and, above all, the passion which mastered his whole being, recalled the abandoned ideal; and it soon grew familiar and became part of his life. There was an old lady called Mme. Alakayeff, then living at Ufa to look after a lawsuit, who used to visit at the Zubins' house; she was distantly related to Alexy?i Stepanitch and had always taken a great interest in him. He now began to visit her oftener, and did his best to please her; and at last he confessed his love for a certain person, and his intention to seek her hand. His love was the talk of the town and therefore no news to Mme. Alakayeff; but his intention of marrying her was a surprise. "She won't have you," said the old lady, shaking her head; "she's too clever, too proud, too highly educated. Plenty of people have been in love with her, but not one has ever dared to ask the question. You're a handsome lad, certainly, well-born and fairly well-off, and you will be rich in course of time--everybody knows that; but then you're a plain country fellow, no scholar or man of the world, and you're terribly bashful in society." Alexy?i Stepanitch was aware of all this himself; but love had entirely confused his brain, and a voice whispered in his ear day and night that Sofya Nikolayevna would accept him. Though the young man's hopes seemed to her unfounded, Mme. Alakayeff consented to go to Sofya Nikolayevna's house, where, without making any allusion to his wishes, she would turn the conversation on to him and take note of all that was said. She started at once, and Alexy?i Stepanitch remained in the house till she should come back. She was absent for some time, and the lover became so distressed and despondent that he began to cry and then fell asleep, tired out, with his head leaning against the window. When the old lady came back, she wakened him and said with a cheerful air: "Well, Alexy?i Stepanitch, there is really something in it! When I began to speak about you, and was rather hard upon you, Sofya Nikolayevna took up the cudgels in earnest on your behalf, and ended by saying that she was sure you were very kind and modest and gentle, and respectful to your parents; and she said that God sent his blessing on such people, and they were much better than your pert and forward talkers." Alexy?i Stepanitch was so enraptured by this report that he hardly knew where he was. Mme. Alakayeff gave him time to recover, and then said with decision: "If your mind is quite made up about this, I will tell you what you had better do. Go home at once, tell the whole story to your parents, and ask for their consent and blessing, before kind people put their oar in. If they give you one and the other, I don't refuse to work in your cause. Only don't be in a hurry: begin by getting on the soft side of your sisters; your mother won't go against your wishes. Of course, your father's consent matters most of all. I know him: he is masterful to a degree, but he has good sense; have a talk to him when he is in a good humour." Alexy?i Stepanitch did not see the need of all this caution and manoeuvring: he said that his parents would be delighted, and asked what possible flaw could be found in Sofya Nikolayevna. "Two terrible flaws," said the shrewd old lady: "she has only twopence to her fortune, and her grandfather was a simple sergeant in a Cossack regiment." The significance of her words was entirely lost upon Alexy?i Stepanitch, but the old lady was not wrong in her presentiment, and her warning came too late.

Within a week Alexy?i Stepanitch got leave of absence. He called on Sofya Nikolayevna to say "good-bye," and she treated him kindly, wishing him a pleasant journey, and hoping he might find his parents in good health and happy to see him. Her kind words encouraged him to hope, and off he went home. The old people were glad to see him, but they were puzzled by the time of his visit and looked at him inquiringly. His sisters--who lived near Bagrovo and came there in hot haste on a summons from their mother--kissed their brother and made much of him, but kept on smiling for some reason. The youngest sister, Tatyana, was his favourite, and he revealed his passion to her ears first. Being a rather romantic girl and fonder of her brother than the older sisters were, she listened to him with sympathy, and at last went so far as to confide to him a great secret: the family knew already of his love-affair and were opposed to it. It had happened in this way.

Two months before, Ivan Karatayeff had travelled to Ufa on business and brought back this piece of news to his wife. Alexandra Karatayeff--I have spoken already of her character--boiled over with rage and indignation. She took the lead in the family, and could twist them all, except, of course, her father, round her little finger. She set one of her brother's servants to spy on his master, and made him report to her every detail concerning his love-affair and his life at Ufa; and she found a female friend in the town, who first rummaged and ferreted about, and then, with the help of a discarded attorney's clerk, sent her a long letter composed of town talk and servants' gossip. As her chief authorities were the servants of the late Mme. Zubin, it is easy to guess the kind of portrait which these enemies drew of Sofya Nikolayevna.

It is a well-known fact that in the good old days of the Empress Catherine--perhaps it is the case still--there was little love lost between a man's wife and his sisters; and the case was worse when the sisters had only one brother, because his wife must become the sole and undisputed mistress of the household. A great deal of selfishness underlies human nature; it often works without our knowledge, and no one is exempt from it; honourable and kind people, not recognising selfish motives in themselves, quite honestly attribute their actions to other and more presentable causes; but they deceive themselves and others unintentionally. Where there is no kindness of heart or refinement of manners, selfishness shows itself without any concealment or apology; and so it was with the womankind of Stepan Mihailovitch. It was inevitable that they should all resent their brother's marriage, irrespective of his choice. "Alosha will change towards us and love us less than before; his bride will be a cuckoo in the nest and push out the birds born there"--such would certainly have been the language of the sisters, even if Alexy?i Stepanitch had chosen a bird of their own feather; but Sofya Nikolayevna was worse than anything they could imagine. Alexandra summoned her sister Elizabeth and hurried to Bagrovo, to communicate to her mother and sisters--of course, with suitable embellishments--all the information she had received of her brother's goings on. They believed every word she said, and their opinion of Sofya Nikolayevna was to the following effect. In the first place, the Zubin girl--this was her regular name in the secret meetings of the family council--was of mean birth: her grandfather had been a Ural Cossack, and her mother, Vyera Ivanovna Kandalintsoff, had belonged to the merchant class; the alliance was therefore a degradation to an ancient and noble family. In the second place, the Zubin girl was a mere pauper: if her father died or was dismissed from his post, she would depend on charity for her bread, and all her brothers and sisters would be a stone round her husband's neck. Thirdly, the Zubin girl was proud and fashionable, a crafty adventuress who was accustomed to lord it over the town of Ufa; and she would turn up her nose with no ceremony at plain people living in the country, however long their pedigree. Fourthly and lastly, the Zubin girl was a witch who used magic herbs to keep all the men running after her with their tongues hanging out; and their poor brother was one of her victims; she had scented out his future wealth and his easy temper, and had determined to marry into a noble family by hook or by crook. Alexandra managed the whole affair; her glib and wicked tongue frightened them all and soon proved to them, beyond all possibility of doubt, that such a marriage was a terrible misfortune for them. "Likely enough, she will get round Stepan Mihailovitch himself, and then we're all done for; we must leave no stone unturned to prevent the marriage." It was clearly of the first importance to impress upon Stepan Mihailovitch the worst possible opinion of Sofya Nikolayevna; but who was to bell the cat? Their conscience was not clear, and they dared not go to work openly. If their father suspected that they had any concealed purpose, he would not believe even the truth in that case; once before, when there had been some talk of choosing a daughter-in-law, he had seen through their repugnance to the scheme and had told them so plainly.

They had recourse therefore to the following stratagem. Arina Vassilyevna had a married niece living near; her name was Flona Lupenevsky; she was short and stout, a notorious fool and gossip, and not averse to strong liquors. She was instructed to come to Bagrovo as if on an ordinary visit, and to bring in, among other topics, the love-affairs of Alexy?i Stepanitch; she was, of course, to represent Sofya Nikolayevna in the most unfavourable light. Alexandra spent a long time coaching this lady in what she was to say and how she was to say it. When she had learnt it as well as she could, Mme. Lupenevsky turned up at Bagrovo and had dinner there; after dinner, hosts and guests slept for three hours and then assembled for tea. The master of the house was in good humour and himself gave his guest an opening to begin her performance. "Come now, Flona," he said, "tell us the news you got from the travellers to Ufa"--her sister, Mme. Kalpinsky, had just been there with her husband--"I warrant they brought home a good budget, and you will add as much more out of your own head."

"You will always have your joke, dear uncle," said the lady; "but they brought plenty of news, and I have no need to invent." Then off she started on a string of silly gossip, true and untrue, which I shall spare my readers. My grandfather pretended to disbelieve her throughout, even when she was telling the truth; he made fun of her stories, threw her out on purpose, and teased her till all the hearers laughed heartily. The stupid woman, who had taken a stiff glass on waking to give her courage, got vexed at last and said with some heat: "Uncle, why do you keep on laughing and believe nothing I say? Wait a moment; I have kept one special bit of news for the end, and that won't make you laugh, though you can't help believing it." The family exchanged glances, and my grandfather laughed. "Come, out with it!" he said coolly; "I shan't believe it; and, if I don't laugh at it, it's because I'm bored by your stories." "O uncle, uncle," she began, "you're quite in the dark about my dear cousin, Alexy?i Stepanitch. He's a perfect wreck: the witch of Ufa, the daughter of a great man there, Governor or Commander-in-Chief, I don't know which, has used devilish arts to fascinate him. She's a perfect beauty, they say, and has captivated all the men, young and old; she has bewitched them with magic herbs, and they all run after her. And my poor cousin, Alexy?i Stepanitch, is so bad that he can neither eat nor drink nor sleep. He's constantly sitting beside her, he can't take his eyes off her, he just looks and sighs; and at night he's always walking past her house, carrying a gun and a sword and keeping guard over her. They say that the Zubin girl is very sweet upon him; of course he's handsome and well-born; she knows what she's about and means to marry him. It's natural enough: she has no money, and her father is a Cossack's son who rose from the ranks; though he has worked his way up and held great posts, he has put nothing by; he has spent every penny on dinners and fine parties and dresses for his daughter. The old man is at death's door, and there is a swarm of children--half a dozen of them by his two wives. They will all settle on your shoulders, uncle, if my cousin marries her; she has no portion but the clothes she wears; they have silk to their backs but nothing to put in their bellies. And Alexy?i Stepanitch, they say, is changed out of all knowledge: he looks terrible; the very servants weep to see him and dare not inform you. Believe me, uncle, every single word is gospel truth. Question his servants, and they won't deny it."

?? In general, my grandfather had little belief in witchcraft. A wizard once told him that a gun was charmed and would not go off. He took out the shot secretly and fired at the wizard, who got a great fright. But he recovered and said that my grandfather himself was "a man of power"; and this was generally believed, except by Stepan Mihailovitch.

Alexy?i Stepanitch heard the whole of this story from Tatyana, and it made him very serious and uneasy. He was not by nature strong-willed, and had been brought up in blind obedience to his family and his father. In his alarm, he did not know what to do. At last he decided to speak to his mother. Arina Vassilyevna was devoted to her only son; but, as she was accustomed to look on him as still a child and convinced that this child had taken a fancy to a dangerous toy, she met his avowal of strong feeling with the words one would use to a child who begged to hold the hot poker; and, when this treatment brought the tears to his eyes, she tried to comfort him in the way that a child is comforted for the loss of a favourite toy. He might say what he pleased, he might try as he pleased to refute the slander brought against Sofya Nikolayevna--his mother either did not listen at all or listened without attending. Two more days passed by; the young man's heart was breaking; though his love and longing for Sofya Nikolayevna increased every hour, it is probable that he would not easily have plucked up courage to broach the subject to his father; but Stepan Mihailovitch took the first step. Early one fine morning, he was sitting as usual on his stoop, when Alexy?i Stepanitch, looking rather pale and worn after an almost sleepless night, came out to join his father. The old man was in a cheerful mood; he greeted his son affectionately, and then, looking attentively at his face, he read what was going on within. He gave him his hand to kiss, and then said, not in anger but with energy: "Listen to me, Alexy?i! I know the burden on your mind, and I see that this fancy has taken a strong hold of you. Just tell me the story now, the whole truth and nothing but the truth." Alexy?i Stepanitch felt more fear than love for his father, and was not in the way of speaking to him frankly; but his love for Sofya Nikolayevna lent him courage. He threw himself at his father's feet and repeated the whole story, omitting no details and keeping nothing back. Stepan Mihailovitch listened with patience and attention. When one of the family appeared in the distance and evidently meant to come and say "good morning," he waved his blackthorn staff with a significant gesture, and then nobody, not even Aksyutka with the tea, dared approach before he summoned them. Though his son's story was ill-arranged, confused, long, and unconvincing, yet Stepan Mihailovitch with his clear head made out the gist of the matter. But unfortunately he did not and could not approve of it. Of the romantic side of love he had small appreciation, and his masculine pride was offended by his son's susceptibility, which seemed to him degrading weakness in a man and a sign of worthlessness; and yet at the same time he saw that Sofya Nikolayevna was not in the least to blame, and that all the evil he had heard about her was merely malicious falsehood, due to the ill will of his own womankind. After a little reflection, he said, with no sign of anger, even affectionately, but firmly: "Listen to me, Alexy?i! You are just at the time of life when a pretty girl may easily take a man's fancy. In that there is no harm whatever; but I see that you have gone too far, and that does not do. I don't blame Sofya Nikolayevna in the least; she seems to me a very worthy girl; but she's not a good match for you, and she won't suit us. In the first place, her nobility dates from yesterday, while you are the descendant of an ancient and noble line. Then she is accustomed to town life, highly educated, and independent; since her stepmother died she has ruled a household; and, though poor herself, she is used to luxury; but we are plain country people, and you know yourself how we live. And you ought to know your own character; you're too compliant. But her cleverness is the chief objection to her; to marry a wife cleverer than one's self is a mistake; she is sure to rule her husband; and you are so much in love that you are certain to spoil her at first. Well, as your father, I now bid you clear your head of this notion. I confess I don't believe myself that Sofya Nikolayevna would accept you. Choose your shoe of the right size, and it won't pinch your foot. We will find out a wife for you here--some gentle, quiet girl, well-born and with some money. Then you can give up your office and live here in comfort. You know, my boy, we're not rolling in wealth. We get enough to eat, but very little money comes in. As to the Kurolyessoff legacy, about which people made such a noise, I never give it a thought; we can't count on it: Praskovya Ivanovna is young enough to marry and have children of her own. Now, mind what I say, Alosha: throw all this off like water off a duck's back, and don't let me hear again of Sofya Nikolayevna." Then Stepan Mihailovitch gave his hand graciously to his son, who kissed it as respectfully as usual. The old man ordered tea to be served and the family to be summoned; he was more than usually cheerful and friendly to them all, but Alexy?i Stepanitch was terribly depressed. No anger on his father's part would have produced such an effect; that was soon over and was always followed by indulgence and kindness, but the old man's quiet determination deprived him of all hope. There was a change in his expression, so sudden and complete, that his mother was frightened to see it and plied him with questions--"Was he unwell? What had happened to him?" His sisters noticed the change also, but they were more cunning and held their tongues. None of this was lost on Stepan Mihailovitch. He looked askance at Arina Vassilyevna and muttered through his teeth, "Don't worry the boy!" So they took no more notice of him but left him in peace, and the day went on with its usual routine.

The conversation with his father made a deep impression on Alexy?i Stepanitch; one may say that it crushed him. His appetite and sleep failed, he lost interest in everything, even his bodily strength was affected. His mother shed tears, and even his sisters were uneasy. Next day his mother found it difficult to get from him any account of the interview with his father. To all inquiries he returned the same answer: "My father won't hear of it; I am a lost man, and life will soon be over for me." And within a week he did really take to his bed; he was very weak and often half-conscious; and, though his skin was not hot, he was constantly delirious. No one could understand what was the matter with him; but it was simply a nervous fever. The family were terribly alarmed. As there were no doctors in the neighbourhood, they treated him with domestic remedies; but he grew steadily worse till he was so weak that his death was expected hourly. His mother and sisters screamed and tore their hair. Stepan Mihailovitch, though he shed no tears and was not always sitting by the bedside, probably suffered more than any one; he understood perfectly what had caused this illness. But youth at last asserted itself, and the turn came after exactly six weeks. Alexy?i Stepanitch woke up to life an absolute child, and life was slow in resuming its normal course with him; his convalescence lasted two months, and all the past seemed to have been blotted out from his memory. Everything that he saw, both indoors and out, pleased him as much as if it were new and strange. At last he got perfectly well; his face filled out and got back the healthy colour which it had lost for more than a year; he went out fishing and shooting quails, ate and drank heartily, and was in good spirits. His parents felt more joy than they could express, and were convinced that the illness had expelled all former thoughts and feelings from his head and heart. And perhaps this would really have been the case if they had taken him away from Ufa, kept him a whole year at home, and found a pretty girl for him to marry. But their fears were lulled to rest by his present condition, and they sent him back to the same place and the same duties after six months. This settled his fate once for all. The old passion revived and blazed up with far greater power. I do not know whether love came back to his heart all at once or by degrees; I only know that he went seldom at first to the Zubins' house, and then oftener, and at last as often as he could. I know also that his old friend, Mme. Alakayeff, continued her visits to Sofya Nikolayevna, sounding her cautiously as to her sentiments and bringing back favourable reports, which confirmed her own hope that the proud beauty was not indifferent to her humble worshipper. A few months after Alexy?i Stepanitch had returned to Ufa, a letter from him suddenly arrived at Bagrovo, in which he declared to his parents, with his usual affection and respect, but also with a firmness not characteristic of him, that he loved Sofya Nikolayevna more than his own life and could not live without her; he had hopes of her accepting him, and asked his parents to give him their blessing and their consent to the match. This letter was a great surprise and shock to the old people. Stepan Mihailovitch knitted his brows but did not express his feelings by a single word. The family all sat round in perfect silence till he dismissed them by a gesture. When he was alone, my grandfather sat there a long time, tracing patterns on the floor of his room with his blackthorn staff. He soon realised that it was a bad business, that they had been mistaken, and that no fever would cure the lad of his passion. His impulsive and kindly nature shook his resolve and made him inclined to give his consent, as may be inferred from what he said to his wife. When they were alone together next morning, he said: "Well, Arisha, what do you think of it? If we refuse, we shall see no more of Alosha than of our own ears. He will die of grief, or go off to the wars, or become a monk--and that's the end of the Bagroff family!" But Arina Vassilyevna had been primed already by her daughters, and she answered, as if her son ran no risk: "As you please, Stepan Mihailovitch; your will is mine too. But how can you hope they will respect you in future, if they resist your positive commands now?" This mean and cunning trick was successful: the old man's pride was touched, and he resolved to stand firm. He dictated a letter, in which he expressed surprise that his son should begin the old business over again, and repeated what he had already said by word of mouth. In short, the letter contained a positive refusal.

"In answer to my last letter, I had the misfortune to receive a refusal of my request, my dearest parents. I cannot go against your will; I submit to it, but I cannot long drag the burden of my life without my adored Sofya Nikolayevna; and therefore a fatal bullet shall ere long pierce the head of your unhappy son."??

?? I know the letter nearly by heart. It probably still exists among the old papers of one of my brothers. Some expressions in it are clearly borrowed from the novels which Alexy?i Stepanitch was fond of reading.

It is hard to imagine the thoughts that passed through his mind in the interval, the struggle that took place in that iron heart between love and prudence, and the final defeat of the stubborn spirit; but, when Mazan's voice was heard outside the door, announcing dinner, my grandfather came out of his room quite composed. His face was rather pale, but his wife and daughters, who were standing, each by her own chair, till he appeared, could not see the faintest sign of anger; on the contrary, he was quieter and more cheerful than he had been in the morning, and made a hearty meal. Arina Vassilyevna had to harden her heart and suit her conversation to his mood; she dared not even sigh, far less ask questions; in vain she tried to guess what was passing through her husband's mind; the little chestnut-brown eyes in her fat face might ask what questions they pleased, but the dark-blue eyes of Stepan Mihailovitch, for all their frank good-humoured expression, gave no answer. After dinner he lay down as usual, and woke in a still more cheerful mood, but not a syllable did he utter about his son or the letter. Yet it was clear that no wrath was brooding in the old man's heart. When he said "good night"; to his wife after supper, she ventured to say, "Please say something about Alosha." He smiled and answered: "Did I not say that morning thoughts are best? Go to sleep, and God bless you!"

"Your mother, Arina Vassilyevna, and I, give you our permission to marry Sofya Nikolayevna Zubin, if that be God's will, and we send you our blessing.

"Your father,

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