Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Three/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
At the time Stepan Arkadyevitch was off to Petersburg to fulfil the most natural of obligations, without which the service could not exist, unquestioned by all functionaries, however unimportant for non-functionaries—that of reporting to the ministry, and while fulfilling this obligation, being well supplied with money, was enjoying himself at the races and his friends' datchas, Dolly, with the children, was on her way to the country, in order to reduce the expenses as much as possible. She was going to their country-place at Yergushovo, an estate which had been a part of her dowry. It was where the wood had been sold in the spring, and was situated about fifty versts from Levin's Pokrovsky.
The large old mansion at Yergushovo had long been demolished, and the prince had contented himself with enlarging and repairing one of the wings. Twenty years before, when Dolly was a little girl, this wing was spacious and comfortable, though, in the manner of all wings, it stood sidewise as regarded the avenue and the south. But now this wing was old and out of repair. When Stepan Arkadyevitch went down in the spring to sell the wood, Dolly asked him to look over the house and have done to it whatever was necessary. Stepan Arkadyevitch, like all guilty husbands, being deeply concerned for his wife's comfort, inspected the house and made arrangements to have everything done that, in his opinion, was necessary. In his opinion it was necessary to have the furniture covered with cretonne, to hang curtains, to clear up the garden, to plant flowers, and to build a bridge across the pond; but he had overlooked many more essential matters, the lack of which afterwards caused Darya Aleksandrovna great annoyance.
Although Stepan strove to be a solicitous husband and father, he never could realize that he had a wife and children. His tastes remained those of a bachelor, and to them he conformed. When he got back to Moscow he proudly assured his wife that everything was in prime order, that the house would be perfection, and he advised her strongly to go there immediately. To Stepan Arkadyevitch his wife's departure to the country was delightful in many ways: it would be healthy for the children, expenses would be lessened, and he would be freer.
Darya Aleksandrovna, on her part, felt that a summer in the country was indispensable for the children, and especially for the youngest little girl, who gained very slowly after the scarlatina. Moreover, she would be freed from petty humiliations, from little duns of the butcher, the fish-dealer, and the baker, which troubled her.
And above all the departure was very pleasant to her for the especial reason that the happy thought had occurred to her to invite her sister Kitty, who was coming home from abroad about the middle of the summer and had been advised to take some cold baths. Kitty wrote her from the Spa that nothing would delight her so much as to spend the rest of the summer with her at Yergushovo, that place that was so full of happy childhood memories for both of them.
The first part of the time country life was very hard for Dolly. She had lived there when she was a child, and it had left the impression that it was a refuge from all the trials of the city, and if it was not very elegant,—and Dolly was willing to put up with that,—at least, it would be comfortable and inexpensive, and the children would be happy. But now, when she came there as mistress of the house, she found that things were not at all as she had expected.
"On the morning after their arrival, it began to rain in torrents, and by night the water was leaking in the corridor and the nursery, so that the little beds had to be brought down into the parlor. It was impossible to find a cook. Among the nine cows in the barn, according to the dairywoman's report, some were going to calve, some had their first calf, still others were too old, and the rest had trouble with their udders, consequently they could not have butter, or even milk for the children. Not an egg was to be had. It was impossible to find a hen. They had for roasting or broiling only tough old purple roosters. No women were to be found to do the washing—all were at work on the potatoes.
They could not go driving, because one of the horses was restive and pulled at the pole. There was no chance for bathing, because the bank of the river had been trodden into a quagmire by the cattle, and was visible from the road. They could not even go out walking, because the cattle had got into the garden, through the tumble-down fences, and there was a terrible bull which bellowed, and therefore, of course, tossed people with his horns. In the house, there was no clothes-press. The closet doors either would not shut, or flew open when any one passed. In the kitchen, there were no pots or kettles. In the laundry, there were no tubs, or even any scrubbing-boards for the domestics.
At first, therefore, finding herself plunged into what seemed to her such terrible straits, instead of the rest and peace which she expected, Darya Aleksandrovna was in despair. Though she exerted all her energies, she felt the helplessness of her situation, and could not keep back her tears.
The steward, who had been formerly a vakhmistr, or quartermaster in the army, and on account of his good looks and fine presence had been promoted by Stepan Arkadyevitch from his place as Swiss, showed no sympathy with Darya Aleksandrovna's tribulations, but simply said in his respectful way:—
"Nothing can be done, such a beastly peasantry!" and would not raise his hand to help.
The situation seemed hopeless; but in the Oblonsky household, as in all well-regulated homes, there was one humble but still important and useful member, Matriona Filimonovna. She calmed the baruinya, telling her that "all would come out right,"—that was her phrase, and Matveï had borrowed it from her,—and she went to work without fuss and without bother.
She had made the acquaintance of the overseer's wife, and on the very day of their arrival went to take tea with her and the overseer under the acacias, and discussed with them the state of affairs. A club was quickly organized by Matriona Filimonovna under the acacia; and then through this club, which was composed of the overseer's wife, the starosta, or village elder, and the bookkeeper, the difficulties, one by one, disappeared, and within a week everything, as Matriona said. "came out all right." The roof was patched up; a cook was found in a friend of the starosta's; chickens were bought; the cows began to give milk; the garden-fence was repaired; the carpenter made a mangle, and drove in hooks, and put latches on the closets, so that they would not keep flying open; the ironing-board, covered with a piece of soldiers' cloth, was stretched from the dresser across the back of a chair, and the smell of the ironing came up from below.
"There now," exclaimed Matriona Filimonovna, pointing to the ironing-board, "there is no need of worrying."
They even built a board bath-house. Lili began to bathe, and Darya Aleksandrovna's hope of a comfortable, if not a peaceful, country life became almost realized. Peaceful life was impossible to Darya Aleksandrovna with six children. If one had an ill turn, another was sure to follow suit, and something would happen to a third, and the fourth would show signs of a bad disposition, and so it went on. Rarely, rarely came even short periods of rest. But these very anxieties and troubles were the only chances of happiness that Darya Aleksandrovna had. If it had not been for this, she would have been alone with her thoughts about a husband who no longer loved her. But however cruel were the anxieties caused by the fear of illness, by the illnesses themselves, and by the grief a mother feels at the sight of evil tendencies in her children, these same children repaid her for her sorrows by their pleasures and enjoyments. Her joys were so small that they were almost invisible, like gold in sand; and in trying hours she saw only the sorrows, only the sand; but there were also happy moments, when she saw only the joys, only the gold.
Now, in the quiet of the country, she became more and more conscious of her joys. Often, as she looked on them, she made unheard-of efforts to persuade herself that she was mistaken, that she had a mother's partiality; but she could not help saying to herself that she had beautiful children, all six, all of them charming in their own ways,—such children as are rare to find. And she rejoiced in them, and was proud of them.