I promised to give a separate account of Mihail Maximovitch Kurolyessoff and his marriage with my grandfather's cousin, Praskovya Ivanovna Bagroff. This story begins about 1760, earlier than the time described in the First Fragment of this history, and ends much later. I shall now fulfil my promise.

Stepan Mihailovitch was the only son of Mihail Bagroff; Mihail had a brother Peter, whose only daughter was Praskovya Ivanovna. As she was his only cousin and the sole female representative of the Bagroff family in that generation, my grandfather was much attached to her. While still in the cradle she lost her mother, and her father died when she was ten. Her mother, one of the BaktÉyeff family, was very rich and left to her daughter 900 serfs, a quantity of money, and still more in silver and valuables; and her father's death added 300 serfs to her property. Praskovya Ivanovna was therefore a rich orphan, and would bring a great fortune to her future husband. After her father's death she lived at first with her grandmother, Mme. BaktÉyeff; then she paid a long visit to Bagrovo; and finally Stepan Mihailovitch took her to his house as a permanent inmate. He was quite as fond of his orphan cousin as of his daughters and was very affectionate to her in his own way. But she was too young, too babyish, one might say, to appreciate her cousin's love and tenderness, which never took the form of spoiling, while, under her grandmother's roof, where she had spent some time, she had grown accustomed to indulgence. So it is not surprising that she grew tired of Bagrovo and wished to go back to old Mme. BaktÉyeff. Praskovya Ivanovna, though she was not beautiful, had regular features and fine intelligent grey eyes; her dark eyebrows, long and rather thick, were a sign of her masculine strength of character; she was tall and well-made, and looked eighteen when she was only fourteen. But, in spite of her physical maturity, her mind and feelings were still those of a mere child: always lively and merry, she capered and frisked, gambolled and sang, from morning till night. She had a remarkable voice and was passionately fond of joining with the maids in their singing or dancing or swinging; or, when nothing of that kind was to be had, she played with her dolls all day, invariably accompanying her occupation with popular songs of all sorts, of which she knew even then an immense number.

A year before Praskovya Ivanovna went to live at Bagrovo, Mihail Kurolyessoff, an officer in the Army, came on leave to the Government of Simbirsk. He belonged to a noble family in the district, and was then twenty-eight years old. He was a fine-looking fellow, and many people called him handsome; but some said that, in spite of his regular features, there was something unpleasing about him; and I remember to have heard as a child debates on this point between my grandmother and her daughters. Entering the Army at fifteen, he had served in a regiment of high reputation in those days and had risen to the rank of major. He did not often come home on leave, and he had little reason to come, because the serfs—about 150 in all—who formed his property, owned little land and were scattered about. As a matter of course, he had received no proper education, but he had a ready tongue and wrote in an easy correct style. Many of his letters have passed through my hands; and they prove clearly that he was a man of sense and tact and also firm of purpose and business-like. I don't know his exact relationship to our immortal SuvÓroff;²⁶ but I found in the correspondence some letters from the great captain, which always begin thus—

"Dear Sir and cousin, Mihail Maximovitch,"

and end—

"With all proper respect for you and my worthy cousin, Praskovya Ivanovna,

"I have the honour to be," etc.

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 BaktÉyeff 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.

Kurolyessoff knew, however, that the consent of her cousin and guardian was a necessary preliminary to complete success, and therefore tried to get into the good graces of Stepan Mihailovitch. Under various pretexts and provided with introductory letters from Praskovya Ivanovna's relations, he paid a visit at Bagrovo; but the visit proved a failure. At first sight this may seem strange; for some of the young officer's qualities were likely to appeal to Stepan Mihailovitch. But my grandfather, as well as his quick eye and sound sense, had that instinct, peculiar to men who are perfectly honest and straightforward themselves, which is instantly conscious of the hidden guile and crooked ways even of a complete stranger—the instinct which detects evil under a plausible exterior and surmises its future development. Kurolyessoff's respectful manner and polite speeches did not take him in for a moment: he guessed at once that there was some knavery underneath. There were other objections. My grandfather's own life was very strict, and the reports of the Major's peccadilloes which had casually come to his ear, though many people treated them lightly enough, filled his honest breast with disgust; and, though he was himself capable of furious anger, he hated deliberate unkindness and cold cruelty. For all these reasons his reception of his guest was cool and dry, though Kurolyessoff talked in a sensible practical way on all subjects and especially the management of land. Praskovya Ivanovna had now come to live with my grandfather; and, when the Major began, on the strength of their old acquaintance, to pay her compliments which she accepted with pleasure, his host's head bent a little to one side, his eyebrows met, and he shot a look at his guest which was hardly hospitable. Arina Vassilyevna, on the contrary, and her daughters, had been charmed straight off by the young man's seductions and were quite inclined to say kind things to him; but the storm-signals on the face of Stepan Mihailovitch quenched their ardour and made them all hold their tongues. The guest tried to restore the harmony of the party and to resume their agreeable conversation. But it was no use: he received short answers from them all, and his host was not even quite polite. Though it was getting late and an invitation to stay the night would have been the natural thing, there was nothing for it but to take his leave. "The man is a knave and rotten all through," said Stepan Mihailovitch to his family; "but perhaps he won't come here again." No voice was raised to contradict him; but, behind his back, the women went on for a long time praising the dashing young officer; and one who liked to listen to his merits and to tell of them herself, was the orphan girl with the large fortune.

With the taste of this rebuff in his mouth, Kurolyessoff went back and told Mme. BaktÉyeff 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. BaktÉyeff 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. BaktÉyeff 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. BaktÉyeff 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. BaktÉyeff 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. BaktÉyeff, 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.

Meantime the innocent victim laughed and sang, with no suspicion that her fate was being decided. They often spoke of Kurolyessoff in her presence, praised him to the skies, and assured her that he loved her more than his own life, was constantly studying how to please her, and would certainly bring her a number of presents from Moscow on his next visit. All this she heard with pleasure, and often said that she loved Kurolyessoff better than any one in the world. While Mme. BaktÉyeff was at Bagrovo, she had a letter forwarded to her, in which Kurolyessoff assured her that he would come, as soon as he could get leave. Arina Vassilyevna promised to say nothing when writing to her husband, and also to send Parasha to her grandmother's house, in spite of her husband's strict orders to the contrary, on the pretext that her nearest relative was dangerously ill. When the two ladies left Bagrovo and went home, Praskovya Ivanovna cried and asked to go with them; the Major was expected soon, and that was an additional attraction; but permission was refused, out of respect, it was said, to her guardian's strict orders. Kurolyessoff had some difficulty in getting leave, and it was two months before he arrived. Immediately afterwards a special messenger was despatched to Bagrovo, with a letter from Mme. Kurmysheff to Arina Vassilyevna; the lady wrote that her mother was desperately ill and wished to see her grand-daughter and give her her blessing; she therefore asked that Parasha might be sent, with an escort. She also wrote that Stepan Mihailovitch would certainly have sent the child to see the last of her grandmother, and could not possibly resent this infraction of his commands. The letter was clearly intended to be shown by Arina Vassilyevna, in order to protect herself from her husband's displeasure. True to her promise and reassured by this letter, Arina Vassilyevna made her preparations at once and took Parasha herself to the place where the grandmother was supposed to be dying; she stayed there a week and returned home charmed by the politeness of Kurolyessoff and also by some presents which he had brought from Moscow for her, and for her daughters as well. Praskovya Ivanovna was very happy: her grandmother took a sudden turn for the better; that fairy godmother, the Major, had brought her a number of presents and toys from Moscow and stayed in the house continuously. He flattered her in every possible way, and soon took her fancy so completely, that, when her grandmother told her he wished to marry her, she was charmed. She ran up and down through the house like a perfect child, telling every one she met that she was going to marry the Major and would have capital fun—driving all day with him behind his fine trotters, swinging on a swing of immense height, singing, or playing with dolls, not little dolls, but big ones that were able to walk and bow. You can judge by this, how far the poor little bride realised her position. Fearing that reports might reach Stepan Mihailovitch, the plotters went to work quickly: they invited the neighbours to a formal betrothal, at which the pair exchanged rings and kisses, sat side by side at table, and had their healths drunk. At first, the bride got tired of the ceremony where she had to sit still so long and listen to so many congratulations; but, when she was allowed to have her new doll from Moscow beside her, she quite cheered up, introducing the doll to every one as her daughter, and making it curtsey when she did, in acknowledgment of their kind wishes. A week later, the marriage took place with all due formality; the bride's age was given as seventeen instead of fifteen, but no one would have guessed the truth, to look at her.

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.

Stepan Mihailovitch had had no news from home for a long time, and his lawsuit dragged on interminably. He was suddenly seized by a longing to see his family again, and returned one fine day to Bagrovo. Arina Vassilyevna trembled all over when she heard the awful words, "The master has come!" Hearing that all were alive and well, he entered his house in high spirits, kissed his Arisha and daughters and son, and then asked in an easy tone, "But where on earth is Parasha²⁷?" Encouraged by her husband's kind manner, Arina Vassilyevna answered: "I don't know for certain where she is; perhaps, with her grandmother. Of course you heard long ago, batyushka, that she was married." I shall not describe my grandfather's amazement and fury; but his fury became twice as hot, when he heard the name of the bridegroom. He was proceeding to settle accounts with his wife on the spot, when she and all her daughters fell at his feet and showed him Mme. BaktÉyeff's letter; thus she had time to convince him that she knew nothing about it and had been deceived herself. The fury of Stepan Mihailovitch was now diverted to Mme. BaktÉyeff; he ordered fresh horses to be ready, rested two hours, and then galloped straight off to her house. The battle royal that took place between the two may be imagined. The old lady stood his first torrent of unmeasured abuse without flinching; then she drew herself up, grew hot in her turn, and delivered her own attack upon my grandfather. "How dare you make this furious assault on me," she asked, "as if I was your bond-slave? Do you forget that my birth is quite as good as yours, and that my late husband held a much higher rank than you? I am a nearer relation to Parasha, I am her own grandmother, and her guardian as much as you are. I arranged for her settlement without waiting for your consent, because I was dangerously ill and did not wish to leave her dependent upon you. I knew your infernal temper; under your roof, the child would have had a taste of the stick some day. Kurolyessoff is an excellent match for her, and Parasha fell in love with him of herself. Everybody likes him and praises him. I know he did not take your fancy; but just ask your own family, and you will soon find out that they can't say enough in his praise!"

"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. BaktÉyeff, 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. BaktÉyeff, 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."

It was in the course of the next year that Stepan Mihailovitch made his move to the district of Ufa. For three years after his marriage, Kurolyessoff behaved with discretion and moderation, or at least concealed his conduct with such care that nothing got round. Besides, he was constantly moving about and spent little time at home. There was only one report, which spread everywhere with exaggeration—that the young landowner was a very strict master. During the next two years he did wonders in the way of improving his wife's property, and established his character for unceasing activity, bold enterprise, and steadfast perseverance in the execution of his schemes. The property had been mismanaged previously: the land had been injured by neglect, and the peasants brought in very little income, not because there was no market for their grain, but because they were spoilt and lazy, and had too little land; and another difficulty was that some of them belonged to three different owners—Mme. BaktÉyeff and her daughter as well as Praskovya Ivanovna. Kurolyessoff began by transferring some of the peasants to new ground, while he sold the old land at a good profit. He bought about 20,000 acres of steppe in the Government of Simbirsk (now SamÁra) and the district of Stavropolsk—excellent arable land, level and easy to plough, with over three feet of black soil. The land lay on the river Berlya, which had some coppices on its banks near the source; and there was also "Bear Hollow," which was left untouched for some time and is now the only forest on the property. He settled 350 serfs here. This estate turned out highly profitable, because it was only a hundred versts from SamÁra and about fifty from a number of ports on the Volga. It is well known that the value of an estate in our country depends entirely upon the market for grain.

Next, Kurolyessoff went off to the district of Ufa and bought from the Bashkirs 60,000 acres. The soil, though good, was not as productive as that in Simbirsk, but there was a considerable quantity of wood, not only firewood, but timber for building. He planted two colonies there, one of 450 serfs and the other of 50; and he called the larger "Parashino" and the smaller "Ivanovka." As the Simbirsk estate was called "Kurolyessovo," each of the properties bore one of the names of his wife. Such a romantic fancy has always seemed to me curious, considering the sort of man that Kurolyessoff turned out to be; but some will maintain that these inconsistencies are common enough. He also made a seat for himself and his wife in the village of Choorassovo, fifty versts from Simbirsk; this was a separate property of 350 serfs which his wife had inherited from her mother. He built there a splendid mansion, according to the ideas of those days, with all the usual appurtenances; it was finely decorated and furnished, and painted with frescoes inside and out; the chandeliers and bronzes, the silver plate and china, were a wonder to behold. The house was situated on the slope of a hill, from which more than twenty excellent springs came bubbling out. The house and the hill stood in the centre of an orchard, very large and productive, stocked with apple-trees and cherry-trees of every possible sort. The internal arrangements—the service and cooking, the horses and carriages—were luxurious and substantial. There was a constant succession of visitors at Choorassovo, either country neighbours, of whom there were a good many, or people from Simbirsk; they ate and drank, took walks and played cards, sang and talked, and were generally noisy and merry. Kurolyessoff dressed his wife up like a doll, anticipated all her wishes, and entertained her from morning till night, that is, when he happened to be at home. In short, after a few years, he had attained such a position all round, that good people admired him and bad people envied him. Nor did he forget the claims of religion: in place of an old tumbledown wooden erection, he built a new church of stone and equipped it splendidly; he even formed an excellent choir out of the household servants. Praskovya Ivanovna was quite contented and happy. She gave birth to a daughter in the fourth year of her marriage, and to a son a year later, but she soon lost them, the girl in infancy, and the boy when he was three. She had become so attached to the boy that this loss cost her dear. For a whole year her eyes were never dry, her excellent constitution was seriously affected, and she had no more children. Meanwhile her husband's reputation and influence grew by leaps and bounds. It is true that his behaviour to the small landowners was arbitrary and harsh; yet they, if they did not like him, were exceedingly afraid of him; and people of importance thought it only to his credit, that he made his inferiors know their proper place. His absences from home became more frequent and longer, from year to year, especially after the sad year in which Praskovya Ivanovna lost her son and would not be comforted. It is probable that he grew weary of tears and sighs and solitude; for she refused to have any visitors for a whole year. But indeed the most cheerful and noisy society at Choorassovo was no attraction to Kurolyessoff.

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.

This life of drunken and criminal violence, horrible and disgusting enough in itself, led on to worse, till the man's natural cruelty became a ferocious thirst for blood. To inflict torture became with him a necessity as well as a pleasure. On the days when he could not gratify this passion, he was depressed and listless, uneasy and even ill; and this was why his visits to Choorassovo grew steadily rarer and his stay there shorter. But, on his return to the solitude of Parashino, he made haste to reward himself for his abstinence. He had only to watch the labourers at their work, to secure a sufficient number of victims; no excuses were accepted, and it is always possible to find trifling cases of neglect on the land if you are determined to hunt for them. Yet it was the personal servants and people about the house who suffered most from his ferocity. He seldom flogged a peasant, unless the man had committed a serious offence or was personally known to him; but his bailiffs and clerks suffered as much at his hands as the household servants. He spared no one: every one of his favourites had, some time or other, been flogged within an inch of his life, and some of them many times. It is remarkable that, when Kurolyessoff got violently angry, which seldom happened, he did not use violence; but, when he had got hold of a man and intended to torture him for his own amusement, he would say in a quiet and even affectionate tone: "Well, my good friend GrigÓri Kuzmitch,"—Grishka²⁸ being his usual name—"it can't be helped; come, and I will settle accounts with you." Thus he would speak to his head-groom, who for some unknown reason was put to the torture more often than others. "Scratch him up a bit with the cat," said the master with a smile, and then the torture went on for hours, while the master drank tea with brandy in it, smoked his pipe, and from time to time passed jests on his victim till unconsciousness supervened. Trustworthy witnesses have assured me that only one expedient proved successful in saving life after such an ordeal: the lacerated body of the victim was wrapped up in sheepskins taken warm from the animals' backs as soon as they were slaughtered. Kurolyessoff would carefully examine his victim; then, if content, he would say, "Well, that's enough; take him away"—and then he became cheerful, jocular, and amiable for the whole day and sometimes for several days. In order to complete the portrait of this monster, I shall quote his own words which he repeated more than once among his boon-companions: "Don't talk to me of the knout or the stick! They kill a man before you mean it. The 'cat' is the thing for me: it gives pain without taking life!" I have told here only a tithe of what I know, but perhaps I have said enough. It is remarkable, as an instance of the inexplicable inconsistencies of corrupt human nature, that Kurolyessoff, at a time when he had reached the extreme limit of debauchery and cruelty, was zealously engaged in building a stone church at Parashino. At the time I am about to describe, the outside of the church was finished, and workmen had been hired for the internal decoration: carpenters, carvers, gilders, and ikon²⁹-painters had been at work for some months and were occupying all the smaller manor-house of Parashino.

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."

This letter fell like a thunderbolt on Praskovya Ivanovna. I have heard her say myself that she was quite stunned for some minutes; but she was supported by her firm faith in God and the uncommon strength of her will, and soon determined on a step from which most brave men would have shrunk. She ordered horses to be harnessed, saying that she was going to Simbirsk, and then, with one maid and a man and the coachman, drove straight to Parashino. It was a long journey of 400 versts, and she had plenty of leisure to think over what she was doing. She used to say herself that she had formed no plan of action whatever; she merely wished to see with her own eyes and find out for certain what her husband was doing and how he lived. She did not entirely trust the letter from his kinswoman, who lived at a distance and might have been deceived by false reports; and she did not choose to question her old nurse at Choorassovo. The thought of danger never entered her head: her husband had always been so gentle and respectful with her, that it seemed to her quite natural and quite possible to induce him to return in her carriage to Choorassovo. She timed herself to arrive at Parashino in the evening, left her carriage outside the village, and walked unrecognised—few of the people there knew her—accompanied by her maid and man, to the court of the mansion-house. She passed through the back entrance, made her way to a wing from which loud sounds of singing and laughter were issuing, and opened the door with a steady hand.

Fortune, as if on purpose, had brought together everything that could reveal at one flash the kind of life her husband was leading. More intoxicated than usual, he was carousing with his boon-companions. Dressed in a shirt of red silk, he held a glass of punch in one hand³⁰ while a tipsy herd of servants, retainers, and country women danced and sang before him. Praskovya Ivanovna nearly fainted at the sight. She understood all now. Unnoticed, because the room was crowded with people, she shut the door and left the house. On the steps she came face to face with one of Kurolyessoff's servants, not a young man, and, fortunately, sober. He recognised his mistress and was just calling out, "Matushka³¹ Praskovya Ivanovna, is it you?"—when she put her hand over his mouth and led him to the centre of the courtyard. She said in an ominous voice, "Is this the way you go on behind my back? The days of your feasting and dancing are done." The man fell at her feet weeping and said: "Matushka, do you suppose that we find pleasure in his goings-on, that we are responsible? God himself has brought you here." She told him to be silent and take her to see Ivan Onufrieff; she had heard that he was still living. She found him in a dying state, lying in a cow-byre in the backyard. He was too weak to tell her anything; but his brother, AlexyÉi, a mere lad, who had been flogged only the day before, crawled somehow from his pallet, fell on his knees, and told her what had befallen his brother and himself and others as well. Praskovya Ivanovna's heart swelled with pity and horror. She felt that she also was to blame, and she formed a firm resolve to put an end to the crimes and atrocities of Kurolyessoff. She thought there would be no difficulty. She gave strict orders that her presence should be kept secret. Then, as she heard that the smaller house, which had been built some years before, but, from some caprice of her husband's, never furnished, contained one habitable room unoccupied by the workmen, she went off, intending to pass the remainder of the night there and to speak next morning to her husband when he was sober. But the secret of her arrival was not strictly kept. The report reached the ear of one of the most desperate of Kurolyessoff's gang, and he, moved by devotion or by fear, whispered it to his master. Kurolyessoff was dumbfounded by the news; it sobered him in a moment; he felt uneasy and scented danger ahead. His wife's firm and masculine temper had found few opportunities to display itself hitherto, but he guessed that it was there. Dismissing his band of revellers, he had two buckets of cold water poured over his head; and then, braced up and invigorated by this expedient, he changed into ordinary clothing and went to see if his wife was asleep. He had had time to reflect and fix on a line of action. He guessed the truth, that Praskovya Ivanovna had received from some quarter information as to his way of life, but that she was incredulous and had come to Parashino to ascertain the truth herself. He knew that her eye had rested for a moment on his revels, but he did not know that she had seen Onufrieff and that AlexyÉi had told her the whole story. He intended to play the repentant sinner, to excuse himself as best he could for his riotous debauch, to pour oil on the troubled waters by his delicate attentions, and to take his wife away as soon as possible from Parashino.

It was morning by now, and the sun had actually risen. Kurolyessoff stole on tiptoe to the room occupied by Praskovya Ivanovna and softly opened the door. A bed had been made for her on the top of a chest, but the sheets were still smooth and no one had lain down on them. He looked all round the room and saw Praskovya Ivanovna. She was kneeling in prayer; there was no ikon in the room, and her eyes, full of tears, were fixed upon the Cross on the church, which was just opposite the window and glittered in the rays of the rising sun. He remained standing a few moments, and then said in a playful voice: "You have prayed long enough, my dear! I am delighted to see you. What made you think of coming?" Praskovya Ivanovna rose from her knees with no sign of confusion; she refused her husband's embrace; then, concealing the flame of her just anger under a cold determined manner, she told him that she knew all and had seen Ivan Onufrieff. She expressed in plain terms her aversion to the monster whom she could no longer regard as her husband, and she passed sentence upon him: he was to return the document which gave him authority over her estates, to leave Parashino at once, never to appear before her again, and never to set foot on any of her lands; if he refused, she would petition the Governor of the province, and reveal all his crimes; and his fate would be Siberia and penal servitude. Kurolyessoff was taken by surprise; he foamed at the mouth with rage and anger. "So that is the way you talk to me, my beauty! Then I shall change my tune too!" roared the infuriated ruffian. "You shall not leave Parashino till you sign a document transferring all your estates to me; if you refuse, I shall shut you up in a cellar and starve you to death." Then he caught up a stick from a corner of the room, felled his wife to the floor with his first blows, and went on beating her till she lost her senses. Next he ordered some of his trusted servants to carry their mistress to a stone cellar, which he locked with a huge padlock and put the key in his pocket. He was a formidable figure when he appeared before the assembled household; he had summoned them all, in order to discover the culprit who had led his mistress to the cow-byre; but the man had already sought safety in flight, accompanied by the coachman and manservant who had come from Choorassovo. The fugitives were pursued at once. Kurolyessoff did no injury to the maid, who had refused to desert her mistress: he gave her directions for exhorting the prisoner to submission, and then locked her up with his own hands in the same cellar. What did Kurolyessoff do next? He began to drink and riot more furiously than before. But alas! in vain did he swallow brandy like water, in vain did his revel rout dance and sing before him—he had turned gloomy and sullen. Yet this did not prevent him from working indefatigably for the attainment of his purpose. He procured from the local town a legal document by which Praskovya Ivanovna professed to sell Parashino and Kurolyessovo to one of his disreputable friends—Choorassovo he was kind enough to leave to her—and twice a day he went down to the cellar and pressed his wife to sign the paper; he begged pardon for his violence in the heat of the moment, promised that if she consented she should never see him again, and took an oath that he would restore all her property to her by his will. But Praskovya Ivanovna, though bruised and half-starved and suffering from fever, refused even to listen to any compromise whatever. So things went on for five days, and God only knows how it would all have ended.

All this time my grandfather Stepan Mihailovitch was living and prospering on his estate of New Bagrovo, which was 120 versts distant from Parashino. As I have mentioned already, he had frankly made it up with Kurolyessoff and was satisfied with him in general, though he felt no fancy for him. Kurolyessoff, on his side, showed great deference to Stepan Mihailovitch and all his family, and was ready to perform any services for them. When he had planted his colony at Parashino and was engaged in organising it, he came every year to Bagrovo and made himself very agreeable. He appealed to Stepan Mihailovitch, as a man of practical experience in colonising, for his advice; he received it gratefully, wrote it all down word for word, and really followed it. He even invited Stepan Mihailovitch twice to Parashino, to judge of his pupil's proficiency; and each time my grandfather approved entirely of what he saw; and on his last visit, when he had inspected the arable land and all the farming arrangements, he said to Kurolyessoff, "You are young, friend, but you've got on fast; I can teach you nothing." And, as a matter of fact, everything at Parashino was in excellent order. Of course the host received the old man as if he had been his own father, with all possible deference and attention. As years went on, ugly rumours about Kurolyessoff found their way to Bagrovo. As my grandfather disliked gossip, nothing was said to him at first; but the rumours grew steadily. The womankind at Bagrovo knew of them; and Arina Vassilyevna ventured at last to tell her husband that Kurolyessoff was leading a terribly wicked life. He would not believe it. He said: "Once you believe what people say, you will soon accuse your neighbour of robbing a church! I know what the BaktÉyeff servants were like—thieves and shirkers, to a man! And my cousin's serfs too got spoilt, with no master to look after them. It's not surprising if they're terrified of honest work and decent order. Friend Mihail may have gone to work too fast: what of that? they'll learn to bear it. As to his drinking—if he takes a glass after his work, a man's none the worse for that, provided he doesn't neglect his business. There are beastly things a man shouldn't do; but there, I fancy, they're lying. You women are too fond of listening to gossip." For a long time after this, Stepan Mihailovitch heard nothing more of the rumours. At last, some Bagroff serfs, who had been transferred from the Government of Simbirsk to Parashino together with the serfs of the BaktÉyeff family, came to visit their relations at New Bagrovo and told terrible stories of their master. Arina Vassilyevna again appealed to her husband, and begged that he would himself question one of these men who was now at Bagrovo; he was an old man with an established character for speaking the truth; and Stepan Mihailovitch had known him all his life. My grandfather consented. He sent for the man and questioned him, and heard a story which made his hair stand on end. He could not think what to do, or how to mend matters. Praskovya Ivanovna's occasional letters showed that she was quite happy and undisturbed; and he concluded that she knew nothing of her husband's conduct. In the old days he had warned her himself never to listen to tales against her husband; and he felt sure that she was following his advice only too well. He reflected, that, if she learnt the truth, it was doubtful if she could do anything; she would distress herself terribly, all to no purpose. It was therefore desirable that her eyes should never be opened. He could not now interfere; and he thought interference useless in the case of such a man. "I hope he will break his neck or be tried for a murder; he deserves it. No hand but God's can mend a man like that. He is not so hard upon his peasants and labourers, and the house-servants are a pack of scoundrels; let them suffer for their sins! I have no mind to soil my fingers with this dirty business." Thus Stepan Mihailovitch reasoned in his own way. He broke off all relations with Kurolyessoff, however, and ceased to answer his letters. This hint was understood, and the correspondence came to an end. But to Praskovya Ivanovna, Stepan Mihailovitch began to write oftener and more intimately than before.

So matters remained till the morning, when the three fugitives from Parashino made their appearance before my grandfather as he sat on his stoop. They had spent the first day concealed in an inaccessible swamp which joined on to the stackyards of Parashino; in the evening they learnt from some one in the village exactly what had happened, and made their way straight to Bagrovo, considering Stepan Mihailovitch as the only possible protector and champion of Praskovya Ivanovna. His feelings may be imagined when he heard what had happened at Parashino. He loved his one cousin not less, perhaps more, than his own daughters. The image of Parasha half-killed by her ruffian of a husband, of Parasha confined in a cellar for three days and perhaps dead already, presented itself so vividly to his lively imagination that he sprang up like one demented, and rushed down the courtyard and through the village, summoning his retainers and labourers in accents of frenzy. Those who were not in the cottages came running from the fields. When all were assembled, they were full of sympathy for their master's passionate despair, and cried with one voice that they would go on foot, if need be, to the rescue of Praskovya Ivanovna. In a short time three cars, drawn by teams of spirited horses from the stables of Bagrovo, and carrying a dozen men chosen for strength and courage, were galloping along the road to Parashino. The party included the fugitives from Parashino, and were armed with guns and swords, pikes and pitchforks. Later in the day two more cars followed to reinforce Stepan Mihailovitch; the men were armed in the same way; the horses were the best the peasants could produce. By the evening of the second day, the vanguard was within seven versts of Parashino. They fed the jaded horses, and in the first light of the summer dawn dashed into the wide courtyard and drove straight up to the cellar. It was close to the rooms occupied by Kurolyessoff. Stepan Mihailovitch jumped out and began to beat his fist against the wooden door of the cellar. A voice faintly asked, "Who is there?" My grandfather recognised his cousin's voice; dropping a tear of joy that he had found her alive, and crossing himself, he called out in a loud voice, "Thank God! It is your cousin, Stepan Mihailovitch; you are safe now!" He sent off the servants from Choorassovo to get ready Praskovya Ivanovna's carriage, and posted six armed men to defend the gate, while he himself and the rest of his men applied axes and crowbars to the cellar-door. It gave way in a moment; and Stepan Mihailovitch himself carried out Praskovya Ivanovna, placed her on a car between himself and her faithful maid, and drove unmolested out of the courtyard with all his retainers. The sun was rising as they drove past the church, and his first beams lit up the Cross on the roof. It was just six days since Praskovya Ivanovna had prayed with her eyes fixed on that Cross; and now she prayed again and thanked God for her deliverance. The carriage caught them up, when they were five versts from Parashino; and Stepan Mihailovitch moved his cousin into the carriage and drove with her back to Bagrovo.

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."

After six weeks, Praskovya Ivanovna's good sense mastered her grief to some extent; and she consented, or, I should rather say, did not refuse, to travel with all the Bagroff family to Parashino, in order to attend a memorial service at Kurolyessoff's grave. To the general surprise, she dropped no tear at Parashino or during the sad ceremony; but one may imagine how much this effort cost her, in her condition of sorrow and bodily weakness. By her wish, only a few hours were spent at Parashino, and she did not enter that part of the house where her husband had lived and died.

It is not difficult to guess the cause of Kurolyessoff's sudden death. When Stepan Mihailovitch had rescued his cousin from the cellar, the people at Parashino all plucked up heart, believing that the end of Kurolyessoff's rule had come. They all supposed that the owner of Bagrovo, who was in the position of a father to their mistress, would turn her husband neck and crop out of a place that did not belong to him. No one dreamed that their young mistress, insulted and beaten and half-starved in an underground cellar in her own house, would fail to appeal to the law for redress. Every day they expected an irruption from Stepan Mihailovitch with the sheriff at his back; but week followed week, and no one came. Kurolyessoff was as drunken and violent as ever: every one of his retainers he flogged till they were half-dead, for having betrayed him, not sparing even the sober man who had wakened him on the night of the rescue; and he boasted that Praskovya Ivanovna had given up to him the title-deeds of her estates. It was past the power of human endurance; and the future seemed hopeless.³² Two of the scoundrels, who had been favourites, and, strangely enough, two who had suffered less than the rest from his cruelty, ventured upon a horrible crime. They poisoned him with arsenic, putting it into a decanter of kvass, which Kurolyessoff generally emptied during the night; and they put in so much, that he was dead in two hours. As they had taken no one into their confidence, the catastrophe startled and terrified the whole household. The servants suspected one another, but the real criminals remained unknown for some time. Six months later one of them became desperately ill and confessed his crime before he died; and his accomplice, though the dying man had not betrayed him, made off and was never seen again.

The sudden death of Kurolyessoff would certainly have been followed by an inquest, but for the presence at Parashino of a young clerk called Mihaila Maximitch, who had only lately come to the place. By cleverness and good management, he contrived to get the affair hushed up. He became later Praskovya Ivanovna's man of business and the chief agent on all her estates, and enjoyed her full confidence. Under the name of "Mihailushka" he was known to all and sundry in the Governments of Simbirsk and Orenburg. He was a man of remarkable ability; though he made a large fortune, he lived discreetly and modestly for many years; but, when he received his freedom on the death of his mistress and lost his wife to whom he was much attached, he took to drinking and died in poverty. One of his sons, if I remember rightly, entered the official class and was eventually ennobled.

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 (whom she did not much like but who expected great favours and benefits from her) 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.