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able; that there was plenty of everything, everything was cheap, every-
thing could be got, and children were happy. But now coming to the
country as the head of a family, she perceived that it was all utterly
unlike what she had fancied.
The day after their arrival there was a heavy fall of rain and in the
night the water came through in the corridor and in the nursery, so that
the beds had to be carried into the drawing room. There was no
kitchen maid to be found; of the nine cows, it appeared from the words
of the cowherd-woman that some were about to calve, others had just
calved, others were old, and others again hard-uddered; there was not
butter nor milk enough even for the children. There were no eggs.
They could get no fowls; old, purplish, stringy cocks were all they had
for roasting and boiling. Impossible to get women to scrub the floors—
all were potato-hoeing. Driving was out of the question, because one
of the horses was restive, and bolted in the shafts. There was no place
where they could bathe; the whole of the river-bank was trampled by
the cattle and open to the road; even walks were impossible, for the
cattle strayed into the garden through a gap in the hedge, and there
was one terrible bull, who bellowed, and therefore might be expected
to gore somebody. There were no proper cupboards for their clothes;
what cupboards there were either would not close at all, or burst open
whenever anyone passed by them. There were no pots and pans;
there was no copper in the washhouse, nor even an ironing-board in
the maids’ room.
Finding instead of peace and rest all these, from her point of view,
fearful calamities, Darya Alexandrovna was at first in despair. She
exerted herself to the utmost, felt the hopelessness of the position, and
was every instant suppressing the tears that started into her eyes. The
bailiff, a retired quartermaster, whom Stepan Arkadyevitch had taken
a fancy to and had appointed bailiff on account of his handsome and
respectful appearance as a hall-porter, showed no sympathy for Darya
Alexandrovna’s woes. He said respectfully, “nothing can be done, the
peasants are such a wretched lot,” and did nothing to help her.
The position seemed hopeless. But in the Oblonskys’ household,
as in all families indeed, there was one inconspicuous but most valu-
able and useful person, Marya Philimonovna. She soothed her mis-
tress, assured her that everything would come round (it was her ex-
pression, and Matvey had borrowed it from her), and without fuss or
hurry proceeded to set to work herself. She had immediately made
friends with the bailiff ’s wife, and on the very first day she drank tea
with her and the bailiff under the acacias, and reviewed all the circum-
stances of the position. Very soon Marya Philimonovna had estab-
lished her club, so to say, under the acacias, and there it was, in this
club, consisting of the bailiff ’s wife, the village elder, and the counting
house clerk, that the difficulties of existence were gradually smoothed
away, and in a week’s time everything actually had come round. The
roof was mended, a kitchen maid was found—a crony of the village
elder’s—hens were bought, the cows began giving milk, the garden
hedge was stopped up with stakes, the carpenter made a mangle,
hooks were put in the cupboards, and they ceased to burst open spon-
taneously, and an ironing-board covered with army cloth was placed
across from the arm of a chair to the chest of drawers, and there was a
smell of flatirons in the maids’ room.
“Just see, now, and you were quite in despair,” said Marya
Philimonovna, pointing to the ironing-board. They even rigged up a
bathing-shed of straw hurdles. Lily began to bathe, and Darya
Alexandrovna began to realize, if only in part, her expectations, if not
of a peaceful, at least of a comfortable, life in the country. Peaceful with