The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

At first, in the heat of his anger, our father threatened to send for the police and have Maria Vasilievna put in prison. But in view of the fact that she was already a middle-aged, sickly woman who had lived in our house for so many years, he soon softened and decided merely to dismiss her and send her back to Petersburg.

One might think that Maria Vasilievna herself should have been satisfied with this sentence. She was such an expert needlewoman that she need never have feared going hungry in Petersburg. And what kind of position could she have held in our household after such an episode? All the rest of the servants had previously envied and disliked her for her pride and arrogance. She was aware of this and knew also how cruelly she would have to atone for her former grandeur.

Strange as it may seem, however, she was not only unhappy with my father’s decision but, on the contrary, started begging his mercy. Some kind of feline attachment to our house came to the fore, perhaps, to her old familiar place in the world.

“I don’t have long to live—I feel that I shall die soon,” she said. “How can I go and live among strangers before I die?”

But Nanny, reminiscing with me many years later, when I was quite grown up, had an entirely different explanation. “It was just more than she could stand to leave us, because Filip Matveevich was staying on, and she knew that once she went away she would never see him again. If she, who lived her whole life as an honest woman, could do such a shabby thing in her old age, then she evidently loved him so much she couldn’t stand it!”

As far as Filip Matveevich was concerned, he managed to come out of the water quite dry. It may be that he was really telling the truth when he maintained that in accepting presents from Maria Vasilievna he had no knowledge of where they had come from. In any case, since it was difficult to find a good

36

Chapter Three

gardener and our garden and vegetable plot could not be left to the whim of fate, it was decided to keep him on, at least for a time.

I do not know whether Nanny was right about the reasons impelling Maria Vasilievna to cling so stubbornly to her place in our house. Be that as it may, she went to my father on the day designated for her departure and threw herself sobbing at his feet.

“Better to let me stay on without pay, punish me like a serf—but please don’t drive me away!”

My father was touched by this deep attachment to our household. But, on the other hand, he feared that if he forgave Maria Vasilievna, the rest of the servants would be demoralized. He was in great perplexity as to what to do when suddenly a plan came into his head.

“Listen here,” he told her. “Stealing is a great sin, but I could have forgiven you anyway if your guilt consisted only in your thievery. But an innocent girl suffered because of what you did. Just think of it! On account of you Feklusha was subjected to such shame—a public whipping! For her sake, I cannot forgive you. If you truly wish to stay on with us, I can give my consent only on one condition: that you beg Feklusha’s pardon and kiss her hand in the presence of all the servants. If you’re willing to go that far, all right then—stay here!”

No one believed that Maria Vasilievna would consent to such a condition. How could she, a proud one like her, apologize publicly to a serf and kiss her hand? But suddenly, to everyone’s astonishment, Maria Vasilievna agreed to do it.

Within an hour after her decision all the household was assembled in the entrance hall of our house to view the curious spectacle: Maria Vasilievna kissing Feklusha’s hand. My father had demanded precisely that: that the event should take place with solemnity and in public. There was a large crowd. Everyone wanted to watch. The master and mistress were there too, and we children also asked permission to come.

I will never forget the scene which followed. Feklusha, embarrassed by the honor which had so unexpectedly fallen to her lot and fearful, perhaps, that Maria Vasilievna might avenge herself later for this compulsory humiliation, went up to the master and begged him to relieve her and Maria Vasilievna of the hand-kissing.

“I’ve forgiven her without it,” she said, ready to cry. But my father, who had tuned himself up to a high key and convinced himself that he was behaving in accordance with the precepts of strict justice, only shouted at her. “Get moving, you little fool, and don’t stick your nose into other people’s business! It’s not for you that this is being done. If I had been guilty toward you—do you understand me? I myself, your master—then I, too, would have

Sofiia Kovalevskaia, A Thief in the House

37

to kiss your hand. You can’t understand that? Then hold your tongue and be quiet!”

The cowering Feklusha did not dare interpose any further objections. With her whole body shaking in terror, she went and stood in her place, awaiting her fate as if she had been the guilty one.