There is not one gentleman or gentlewoman of our acquaintance who does not wonder at the happy marriage my beautiful Lizaveta and I have had for some years. But none knows the story of how we were brought together by a young peasant girl named Akulina. Since such is the case, I intend to relate that story for it is a charming tale. It began in 1816 when I returned from the University of St. Petersburg. My father, Ivan Petrovich Berestov, had been living alone on the estate since I had left for the university. My mother Vasilisa Ivanovna had died at my birth, and I was their only child. My father consoled himself by taking care of the estate, establishing a mill, and building our modest house. This preoccupation with such affairs, which resulted in the tripling of the estate's revenues, caused me to be alone for much of my childhood. I was brought up by a nursemaid named Masha... Masha Dimitrovna Lyubov as she insisted I call her when Father was not around. She insisted on many such things to, in her words, "promote my respect for the fairer gender." Since I inherited the estate and she is now nursemaid to my sons, I make sure they call her "Masha" at all times. This, happily, causes her no end of consternation. But as a child I lived in fear of turning and seeing her pinched eyes, yellowing teeth, and pasty white face behind me in dark rooms. I escaped her totally only when she was replaced by my manservant, Igor. Igor and I had grown up together. Since there were no other children of my age and station for many versts in any direction, I played with him whenever I was allowed to do such things. We would escape Masha for gunless "hunts" in the woods of Father's estate. Igor went to St. Petersburg with me, but I believe that we were both glad to return to our own corner of the countryside.
I stepped out of the carriage on my return and into my father's arms.
“Alyosha!" He said kissing my cheeks, "Alyosha! You look so much older. It is good that you are back." He smiled and hugged me and patted me on the back repeatedly as he led me toward the horses.
Sbogar, my favorite hunting dog, was yapping excitedly about our legs as we walked. I was almost as glad to see that old friend as I was to see my father. All along the ride home, Father was relating all that had happened on the estate and in his affairs since I had last been home. I was surprised at the warmth of the welcome until I remembered how seldom Father saw anyone but his servants. Our nearest neighbor, Grigory Ivanovich Muromsky, was a rabid Anglomaniac. He had done everything to make his estate seem more British, and Father did not approve in the least of the extravagances in which Grigory Ivanovich was prone to indulge. There was a second reason I was surprised at the warmth of Father's welcome: he and I had been disagreeing of late as to my future plans. I wanted to enter the military. He would not consent. He intended to enter me into the civil service. Neither of us would give in to the other. I needed the excitement of the military life. He had been in the Guard but would not allow me to join. So I was to live what some would call a life of luxury on Father's estate. I would call it boring and planned to make my feelings known.
Just so he knew I had not changed my plans, I had begun to grow a mustache.
Moments after I had arrived at home and we were seated having a warm cup of tea, Father began to criticize Grigory Ivanovich for his "English folly." Father berated the man in his absence for his expensive English garden, for growing corn by the English method, and even for calling his daughter "Betsy" when her name was Lizaveta. He ended his tirade by saying, "What need have we for English style, when we have enough trouble keeping the wolf from the door in the Russian style?"
"Father," I said as one of the maids entered the room. She must have been startled, I suppose, at the serious expressions on our faces, because she scampered out the way she had come, "the servants do talk. You should not be so zealous and loud about your disapproval. It's certain that Grigory Ivanovich hears of it."
"Fine that he does," he retorted sharply squinting and shaking his finger at me, "I do not care what that one does or thinks."
Thankfully, the conversation turned to a lighter vein. By dinner time, I felt I had never left. At dinner Father asked if I had met any young women in St.Petersburg. I started to say that it was not good for a military man to leave a wife behind when he first joins up, but I thought better of it. I told him instead that the young ladies of St. Petersburg were only interested in those young men who modeled themselves after the English writer Byron.
He mumbled something about the effect of St. Petersburg and its Westernizers on the minds of good Russians and stared at his plate. Secretly, I think, I had assented to returning to the estate for two reasons.
One: to attempt to convince my father that a life in the military was the life for me.
And two: to perfect a role for myself to play much like the true self of Byron in hopes of attracting the most discriminating of young ladies. I had the shape for it, for I was tall and slender. I had an ebony ring with a death's head on it. On the trip home, I had worked at inventing a series of gloomy stories about my childhood... the truth of Masha offered excellent material. I had stories, too, of lost loves and dead friends in St. Petersburg and across the country. I had even made special arrangements with a friend in Moscow. I would write to him in care of his widowed aunt. And I would address the letters thusly: "To Akulina Petrovna Kurochinkina in Moscow, opposite the Alexeyevsky Monastery, in the house of the coppersmith Savelyev, with the request that she hand this letter to A.N.R." My friend, Anton Nickoliaevich Rostovev, would then write me back, and I would be most careful not to let anyone actually read the letters. But I would also be most careful to see that the address found its way into the hands of the greatest gossip among my father's servants.
With such preparations and such an air of gloomy, blighted mystery I thought I could not fail to win any number of young ladies. So the months passed, and I began to slip back into the life of the estate and the countryside. Of course, I never let my Byron-like mask drop when I was in public. I found my plans had indeed worked well. From what Igor heard from the servants a couple of months into my stay, I was the talk of the province.
I had discovered, though, that I did not want to attract these bumbling, backwards country girls. Only one woman interested me, Lizaveta Grigoryevna Muromsky. I thought that any daughter of a dedicated westernizer like Grigory Ivanovich must share my love of things from the west. But our fathers were at odds; we could never meet. It happened, however, that on the name day of the wife of our cook some of the servants from the Muromsky estate were coming to join in the celebration and games. Now, I had planned to join the lot of them since with them I could be myself... there was no need to relate depressing and false stories about my blighted childhood or to flash my black ring or to pull faces resembling death masks. But I could hardly begin questioning the Muromsky servants outright. So I told Igor to find out what he could, and we both went down to join in the festivities.
I had a rollicking time. After the dinner, at which I, of course, made no appearance, they played tag on the lawn. I joined in. It was great fun. When I was IT and I caught one of the pretty young maids, I would kiss her squarely on the lips. Afterwards Igor and I met in my room to discuss what he had found out.
“I have it on very good authority," Igor began, "from Lizaveta Grigoryevna's own maid, Nastya, that her mistress is quite unlike any gentlewoman in the province..."
"Yes," I said letting my Byronic role get the best of me, "she is probably as Anglomanical as her father. She has probably painted herself white from the crown of her head to her very feet."
"Nothing of the sort," Igor said, "Nastya said her mistress was darkly beautiful. Nastya said she does not hold her father's views of what is best. Why are you always jumping ahead of the hunt and expecting the worst?"
I ignored his question and continued my speculations, "Oh, then she is most likely against all Westernization. She is probably as backward as these other country girls."
"On the contrary, Nastya says her mistress is well read in Western literature and would like to someday visit the west."
I let the conversation end there and retired for the evening. It was my practice to go hunting with only Sbogar to keep me company. A couple of mornings later we did that very thing, but I was thinking more of Lizaveta Grigoryevna than of the grouse I was after. Sbogar was his usual helpful self, rushing at bushes and startling the birds into flight. But I was not in a mood for shooting. How could I get to meet such an interesting young lady when our fathers hated each other so? I was not entirely sure I would find her as wonderful as she sounded, but I was more than willing to try.
It was a lovely spring morning, and Sbogar had gotten the idea, since I was not shooting at anything he was scaring up for me, that it was all right for him to stop rushing at the grouse. He merely walked along at my side. Suddenly as we passed a grove on the outskirts of my father's estate, Sbogar growled fiercely and rushed in among the trees. I heard a squeal and ran to see what had happened. I called to my dog, "Tout beau, Sbogar, ici..." I pushed a clump of bushes out of my way and stepped into a clearing. And there before me was the most beautiful young woman I'd ever seen. Dark chestnut hair, almost almond colored skin, and eyes the color of good tea. I began to ask what she was doing out at such an early hour when I noticed her dress. She was wearing a simple, blue blouse and sarafan and bast sandals. She was only a peasant.
I decided to make the best of the situation, "Don't be afraid, my dear," I said, "my dog does not bite."
She still looked frightened, but I could have sworn she was looking at me seductively through wisps of her hair that had fallen into her face. "But sir, I am so afraid; he looks so feirce--he might fly at me again."
I looked down at Sbogar. His tongue was lolling out of one side of his mouth as he sat next to me looking more like a lap dog than a hunting dog. "I will accompany you if you are afraid," I said looking up at the young maid who was cowering next to a large rowan tree, "Will you allow me to walk with you?" I was not about to pass up the opportunity to walk with such a beauty, and I was not about to let this girl get away until I had figured out what was amiss. Why was I so bothered by the whole situation?
"Who is to hinder you?" she said. "A free man may do as he likes the road is everybody's."
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"From Priluchino; I am the daughter of Vassily the black-smith, and I am going to gather mushrooms." She indicated the basket over her arm. "And you, sir? From Tugilovo, I have no doubt."
She was a long way from Priluchino to be gathering mushrooms. "Exactly so, I am the young master's valet." I wanted her to at least think that we were on equal footing.
"That is a fib," she said. "I am not such a fool as you may think. I see very well that you are the young master himself."
I was surprised, "Why do you think so?"
"I think so for a great many reasons."
She was nothing like I'd ever encountered in a girl before. “But--" I began.
"As if it were not possible to tell the master from the servant! You are not dressed like a servant, you do not speak like one, and you do not call your dog the way we do."
I began liking this girl more and more despite the oddness of her demeanor. So I moved to embrace her.
She drew back violently and her warm tea-colored eyes turned to ice, "If you wish that we should remain good friends, be good enough not to forget yourself."
I could do nothing but laugh. I had never been talked to in such a way by a servant before, but I was willing to put up with it for a time to be near such a beauty, "Who taught you to be so clever?" I asked her if it was Nastya, her mistress’s maid.
She assured me she had never been in the manor-house and started to leave to go and pick her mushrooms.
I was not going to let her get away until I at least knew her name. I took her hand, "What is your name, my dear?"
"Akulina," she replied, worming her way out of my grasp. “It is time for me to go home."
"Well, Akulina, I shall certainly pay your father a visit someday soon." I had completely forgotten the young girl's mistress. Akulina seemed infinitely more exciting.
She got very excited at that comment, and told me her father would beat her if he were to find out about our walk.
"But I must see you again," I said.
"Well, then come here tomorrow and I shall be here gathering mushrooms again."
After I made sure she was not deceiving me just to get rid of me, we parted. I was utterly intrigued by this girl, and I could not say why. I can see now that I was, after only one meeting, falling in love with her. But she was only a peasant, and at the time I thought what I felt could be no more than intrigue and perhaps lust.
We met many times over the next few months on morning walks. I became amazed at times that a simple peasant girl held me under such a spell. She was so new and so strange. Without knowing it I had fallen deeply, passionately in love with her. Perhaps I did not allow myself to know it because behind these thoughts and feelings, I was ever aware of the distance that separated the two of us.
About this time without my knowing it, my father and Grigory Ivanovich met by chance and found each other palatable. In fact, Grigory Ivanovich invited my father and me to dinner at his house. The thought of meeting Lizaveta Grigoryevna was not entirely distasteful to me, but memories of Akulina kept surfacing in my mind. By the time I arrived at the Muromsky manor house, I found that I did not care whether Lizaveta Grigoryevna was a westernizer or an Anglophile or a stoat.
Father and I entered the house and were cordially greeted by Grigory Ivanovich. We were led through his rooms and shown his prized possessions, and I could not remember a one of them the next day, for my mind was elsewhere. We seated ourselves in the parlor to await the appearance of Grigory Ivanovich's daughter. And while Father and our host reminisced about the days of their youth, I sat back and tried to come up with a face I could use when meeting the young mistress. I settled on a cold indifferent mask, for I was not ready to deal with another woman until I had sorted out my problems with Akulina. The door opened. I was ready with an expression that would have wilted the strongest tree, but the woman that entered was only Lizaveta Grigoryevna's governess. The old English woman curtseyed and moved to take a seat.
Before I could recover my coquette-wilting expression, the young mistress herself entered the room. I was aghast. Her skirt had so many hoops under it I was surprised she had made it through the door without showing us all her underclothing. I swear she was covered with enough jewels and bangles to weigh down the hardiest of young women. Her waist was corseted so tightly that she looked more like an hourglass than a human being, and on her head was a white powdered thing I took to be a wig. Worst of all she had painted her face whiter than a corpse's so that it was the same pasty hue as Masha Dimitrovna Lyubov's face. I kissed her hand though I would rather have kissed Sbogar.
She would only speak in French; and when she spoke, she spoke through her teeth in a grating, whiny, sing-song voice. Needless to say that the dinner was interminable, and I was so glad to see my horse when we left that I nearly hugged him. I went directly home and to bed; I had an appointment with my Akulina the next morning.
I had scarcely finished greeting her when she said, "You were at our master's yesterday. What did you think of our young mistress?"
"I barely noticed she was in the room," I replied trying to remember a good feature of Lizaveta Grigoryevna I could relate to my Akulina.
"That's a pity!" She exclaimed.
"How so?"
"I wanted to ask you if what they say is true. They say that I am very much like her."
"What! That is nonsense! She is a perfect freak compared to you."
"Oh, sir, it is wrong of you to speak of her like that. Our young mistress is so fair and so stylish! How could I compare with her?"
I shook my head, "My darling Akulina, you are far more beautiful in many ways." I attempted to describe the young lady, but I fear it sounded as if I were describing Baba Yaga.
Akulina began to laugh, "She may be ridiculous, but I am a poor ignorant thing compare to her."
"Oh!" I said. "Is that anything to break your heart about? If you wish it, I will soon teach you to read and write."
She said she did wish it, so we began lessons the next morning. I could not believe the rate at which she learned the letters and the words. By the third day she had begun to spell her way through Natalya the Boyar's Daughter . After a week we set up a correspondence on days we could not get together... a peasant family can only use so many mushrooms.
Igor ran my letters to an old oak tree. There he left my letter in a hollow in the tree and picked up any that Akulina had left there for me. It was a happy time, for I enjoyed her childish letters. But it was also a time of great confusion. I don't know when I realised it, but I soon realised that every spare moment of the day I was thinking of Akulina. I didn't think of her the way I had thought of other peasant girls who had caught my fancy. I thought of her much more seriously.
At this time a horrid thing happened because of Father and Grigory Ivanovich's renewed friendship. One evening as I had just sent Igor off with a letter to Akulina, Father sent for me. He was sitting in his favorite chair and smoking his pipe with a look of great seriousness on his face, "Well, Alyosha, you have said nothing for a long time about the military service. Has the Hussar uniform lost its charm for you?"
I fingered my mustache, "No, Father, but I see that you do not like the idea of my joining the Hussars, and it is my duty to obey you."
"Good," he said puffing smoke rings, "I see that you are an obedient son; that is a consolation to me... On my side, I do not wish to compel you to enter... the civil service... at once, but in the meantime, I intend you to get married."
My stomach turned to lead. I could not believe my ears, "To whom, Father?"
"To Lizaveta Grigoryevna Muromsky," Father replied each syllable sounding like a death knell, "she is a fine bride, is she not?"
I was to find out later that Father and Grigory Ivanovich had gotten together and planned to marry the two of us off.
Far from it, I wanted to say, she is a hideous bride. But instead I said, "Father, I have not thought of marriage yet." I stressed the yet. I wanted to wait to think about such things until Lizaveta Grigoryevna was safely married.
"You have not thought of it, so I have thought of it for you."
"As you please, but I do not care for in the least," I said trying to keep my composure.
"You will get to like her afterwards. Love comes with time."
I wondered how much time this love would take to come. "I do not feel capable of making her happy," I said.
"Don't worry about making her happy," he said getting angry. "Is this the way you respect your father's wishes?"
"I do not wish to marry her, and I will not marry her," there I had said it.
"You will marry her, or I will curse you. And you will get none of my estate. I shall sell out and squander everything. You have three days to decide." He sent me out of the room.
I knew now that he had the idea in his head I would never be able to get it out. What am I to do? I wondered. I went into my room to think these horrible events through. To inherit my estate I had to marry a woman more hideous than Masha. But in doing so I would also lose my Akulina. She would have to become no more than any other peasant girl to me. I would have to watch her grow old and never have the chance to love her. It was at this point that I realized just how passionately I loved that woman. The prospect of leaving behind my life in the manor house and living by what I could get out of the soil suddenly looked better than my other choices. I sat down at my desk and composed a letter that must have been wildly incomprehensible. I told her of the misfortune that had befallen me, and I offered Akulina my hand in marriage. I took the letter to the tree myself and went home to bed.
The next day in the light of morning, I saw that there might be some way to retain my fortune if I could get Muromsky on my side. I rode over immediately and pounded on the front door. I am sure I looked a sight, for my hair was still wild from a fitful night of sleep. And I hadn't taken the time to tidy myself up.
"Is Grigory Ivanovich at home?" I asked the servant who answered the door.
"No, sir," he replied, "he rode out early this morning and has yet to return."
"Damn!" Then in a flash of despair-ridden inspiration I said, "Is Lizaveta Grigoryevna at home?"
"Yes, sir."
I was past the servant, in the door, and banging around the house in search of my hideous bride-to-be in seconds. I knew that all was to be decided in the next few minutes. I had to confront Lizaveta Grigoryevna with the truth of my situation, and beg her to help me. I entered the parlor... and stopped short, petrified.
Akulina sat in the window seat reading the letter I had written the evening before. Beautiful, dark-skinned, tea-eyed Akulina.
I did not wonder what she was doing in the house. I cried out and leapt across the room scooping her up in my arms, "Akulina! Akulina!" I could say nothing else.
Then strange things began to occur. At least they seemed strange to me at the time.
Akulina began to beat at me and curse at me in French, "Laissez-moi, monsieur! Etes-vous fou?!"
I ignored my confusion. In fact, I think I attributed my hearing French to an overly passionate state of mind. I began kissing her hands while she was still in my arms, "Oh, my dear Akulina!"
The door creaked open, and Grigory Ivanovich stepped in. "Aha!" He said.
I nearly soiled my linen.
It seems," he continued, "as if the two of you have arranged matters between you all by yourself." He then turned and left the room with a smile like none I have seen on a man's face since.
I did not know which way was up; my confusion was complete. But it was swiftly cleared up by a whisper in my ear from my Akulina.
For the reader who has yet to guess it... Akulina and Lizaveta were one in the same. Lizaveta had been pretending to be a peasant to attract me. I hardly need to say that it worked like a charm.
Certainly you can guess the rest.