Novels, Tales, Journeys

“Give me your word,” she said finally, “that you will never look for me in the village or make inquiries about me. Give me your word that you will not seek any other meetings with me than those I set up myself.”

Alexei was about to swear by Saint Friday, but Liza stopped him with a smile.

“I have no need of an oath,” she said. “Your promise is enough.”

After that they talked amiably, strolling together through the wood, until Liza said to him: “It’s time.” They parted, and Alexei, left alone, could not understand how it was that in two meetings a simple village girl had managed to gain real power over him. His relations with Akulina had the charm of novelty for him, and though the strange peasant girl’s prescriptions seemed burdensome to him, the thought of not keeping his word never even entered his head. The thing was that Alexei, despite the fatal ring, the mysterious correspondence, and the gloomy disillusionment, was a good and ardent lad and had a pure heart, capable of feeling the joys of innocence.

If I were to heed only my own wishes, I would certainly describe in full detail the young people’s meetings, their growing inclination for and trust in each other, their occupations, their conversations; but I know that the majority of my readers would not share my pleasure. Such details, generally, are bound to seem cloying, and so I will skip them, saying briefly that, before two months were out, my Alexei loved her to distraction, and Liza, though quieter, was no more indifferent than he was. They were both happy with the present and gave little thought to the future.

The thought of indissoluble bonds flashed through their minds quite often, but they never spoke of it to each other. The reason was clear: Alexei, attached as he was to his dear Akulina, always remembered the distance that existed between him and the poor peasant girl; while Liza knew what hatred existed between their fathers, and dared not hope for a mutual reconciliation. Besides that, her vanity was secretly piqued by the vague, romantic hope of finally seeing the Tugilovo landowner at the feet of the Priluchino blacksmith’s daughter. Suddenly a major event nearly altered their mutual relations.

One clear, cold morning (of the sort our Russian autumn is so rich in), Ivan Petrovich Berestov went out for a ride on horseback, taking along, just in case, three brace of borzois, a groom, and several serf boys with clappers. At the same time, Grigory Ivanovich Muromsky, tempted by the fine weather, ordered his bobtailed filly saddled and went trotting around his anglicized domain. Approaching the wood, he saw his neighbor, proudly sitting on his horse, in a Caucasian jacket lined with fox fur, waiting for a hare that the boys were trying to drive out of the bushes by shouting and clapping. If Grigory Ivanovich could have foreseen this encounter, he would certainly have turned aside; but he rode into Berestov quite unexpectedly and suddenly found himself within a pistol shot of him. There was nothing to be done. Muromsky, being an educated European, rode up to his adversary and greeted him politely. Berestov responded with all the diligence of a chained bear bowing to the “ladies and gentlemen” at his leader’s command. Just then a hare shot out of the wood and ran across the field. Berestov and his groom shouted at the top of their lungs, loosed the dogs, and galloped after them at top speed. Muromsky’s horse, who had never been at a hunt, took fright and bolted. Muromsky, who proclaimed himself an excellent horseman, gave her free rein and was inwardly pleased at the chance to rid himself of his obnoxious interlocutor. But the horse, coming to a gully she had not noticed before, suddenly swerved aside, and Muromsky was unseated. Falling rather heavily onto the frozen ground, he lay there cursing his bobtailed filly, who, as if coming to her senses, stopped at once, as soon as she felt herself riderless. Ivan Petrovich galloped over to him and asked if he was hurt. Meanwhile the groom brought the guilty horse, leading her by the bridle. He helped Muromsky to climb into the saddle, and Berestov invited him to his house. Muromsky could not refuse, for he felt himself obliged, and thus Berestov returned home in glory, having hunted down a hare and leading his adversary, wounded and almost a prisoner of war.

Over lunch the neighbors fell to talking quite amicably. Muromsky asked Berestov to lend him a droshky, for he confessed that on account of the pain he was in no condition to make it home on horseback. Berestov saw him off to the porch, and Muromsky left, but not before obtaining his word of honor that he would come the very next day (and with Alexei Ivanovich) for a friendly dinner in Priluchino. Thus an ancient and deeply rooted enmity seemed about to end owing to the shying of a bobtailed filly.

Liza ran out to meet Grigory Ivanovich.