Novels, Tales, Journeys

“I don’t know, miss, but he looked at me quite a lot, and at Tanya, the clerk’s daughter, too; and at Pasha from Kolbino, and, it’s sinful to say it, but there’s nobody he left out—such a naughty boy.”

“That’s amazing! And what do the servants say about him?”

“An excellent master, they say: so kind, so cheerful. The only bad thing is that he’s too fond of chasing after the girls. But for me there’s no harm in that: he’ll settle down in time.”

“How I’d love to see him!” Liza said with a sigh.

“What’s so tricky about that? Tugilovo isn’t far from us, only two miles: take a stroll in that direction, or go on horseback; you’re sure to meet him. Every day, early in the morning, he takes his gun and goes hunting.”

“No, no good. He might think I was chasing after him. Besides, our fathers have quarreled, so it will be impossible for me to get acquainted with him…Ah, Nastya! You know what? I’ll dress up like a peasant girl!”

“That’s it! Put on a coarse shirt, a sarafan, and set out boldly for Tugilovo. I guarantee you Berestov won’t pass you by.”

“And I can talk perfectly the local way. Ah, Nastya, dear Nastya! What a fine idea!” And Liza lay down to sleep with the firm intention of carrying out her amusing proposal.

The next day she proceeded to carry out her plan. She sent to the market for coarse linen, simple blue cotton, and copper buttons; cut out a shirt and a sarafan with Nastya’s help, had all the maidservants sit down to sew, and by evening everything was ready. Liza tried on the new outfit and confessed before the mirror that she had never yet found herself so pretty. She practiced her role, making low bows as she walked, then wagging her head several times like a china cat, talked in peasant parlance, covered her face with her sleeve when she laughed, and earned Nastya’s full approval. One difficulty remained: she tried walking barefoot in the yard, but the grass pricked her tender feet, and she found sand and gravel unbearable. Nastya was of help here, too: she measured Liza’s foot, ran out to the fields to the shepherd Trofim, and ordered a pair of bast shoes to that measure. The next day Liza woke up bright and early. The whole house was still asleep. Nastya waited for the shepherd outside the gate. A horn sounded, and the village flock filed past the master’s yard. Trofim, walking by Nastya, gave her the motley little bast shoes and received a fifty-kopeck reward from her. Liza quietly dressed herself as a peasant, whispered her instructions to Nastya regarding Miss Jackson, left by the back porch, and ran through the kitchen garden to the fields.

Dawn shone in the east, and the golden ranks of clouds seemed to be awaiting the sun, the way courtiers await the sovereign; the clear sky, the morning freshness, the dew, the breeze, and the birds’ singing filled Liza’s heart with a childlike gaiety. Fearing to meet someone she knew, she seemed not to walk but to fly. Approaching the wood that stood at the boundary of her father’s property, Liza slowed her pace. Here she was to await Alexei. Her heart beat fast, not knowing why itself; but the fear that accompanies our youthful pranks is their chief delight. Liza entered the twilight of the wood. Its muted, rolling murmur greeted the girl. Her gaiety died down. She gradually abandoned herself to a sweet reverie. She was thinking…but is it possible to define precisely what a seventeen-year-old girl is thinking, alone, in a wood, at five o’clock on a spring morning? And so, she walked deep in thought down the road, shaded on both sides by tall trees, when suddenly a handsome pointer barked at her. Liza was frightened and cried out. Just then a voice said: “Tout beau, Sbogar, ici…”^*2—and a young hunter appeared from behind the bushes.

“Don’t be afraid, dear,” he said to Liza, “my dog doesn’t bite.”

Liza had already recovered from her fright and managed to take advantage of the circumstances.

“No, master,” she said, pretending to be half frightened, half shy, “I am afraid. See how vicious he is; he may go for me again.”

Alexei (the reader has already recognized him) meanwhile gazed intently at the young peasant girl.

“I’ll accompany you, if you’re afraid,” he said to her. “Will you allow me to walk beside you?”

“Who’s to stop you?” Liza replied. “Freedom is as freedom does, and the road’s for everybody.”

“Where are you from?”

“From Priluchino. I’m the blacksmith Vassily’s daughter; I’m gathering mushrooms.” (Liza was carrying a basket on a string.) “And you, master? From Tugilovo, is it?”

“That’s right,” Alexei replied, “I’m the young master’s valet.” Alexei wanted to smooth over their difference. But Liza looked at him and laughed.

“That’s a lie,” she said. “Don’t take me for a fool. I can see you’re the master himself.”

“Why do you think so?”

“From everything.”

“What, though?”

“Can’t I tell a master from a servant? You dress different, talk different, and you don’t call your dog the way we do.”