No More Learning

? The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Daughter of the Commandant, by Alexksandr
Sergeevich Pushkin, Translated by Mrs. Milne Home


This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www. gutenberg. net





Title: The Daughter of the Commandant

Author: Alexksandr Sergeevich Pushkin

Release Date: September 22, 2004 [eBook #13511]
Date last updated: September 13, 2006
Last updated: February 6, 2013

Language: English


***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAUGHTER OF THE COMMANDANT***


E-text prepared by Robert Shimmin, Gene Smethers, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team



THE DAUGHTER OF THE COMMANDANT

A Russian Romance

by

ALEXKSANDR POUSHKIN

Translated by Mrs. Milne Home

Authoress of "Mamma's Black Nurse Stories," "West Indian Folklore"







PREFACE.


ALEXKSANDR POUSHKIN, the Poet, was born at Petersburg in 1799 of good
family, and died before he was forty, in the prime of his genius. The
novel here offered to the public is considered by Russians his best
prose work. Others are _Boris Godunof_, a dramatic sketch, but never
intended to be put on the stage, and _The Prisoner of the Caucasus_.
Among his poems are "The Gipsies," "Ruslan and Ludmilla," "The Fountain
of Tears," and "Evgeni Oneghin. " The last, if I mistake not, was
translated into English some years ago. Some of Poushkin's writings
having drawn suspicion on him he was banished to a distant part of the
Empire, where he filled sundry administrative posts. The Tzar Nicholai,
on his accession in 1825, recalled him to Petersburg and made him
Historiographer. The works of the poet were much admired in society, but
he was not happy in his domestic life. His outspoken language made him
many enemies, and disgraceful reports were purposely spread abroad
concerning him, which resulted in a duel in which he was mortally
wounded by his brother-in-law, George Danthes. His death was mourned
publicly by all Russia.

M. P. M. H.

April, 1891.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

I. Sergeant of the Guards
II. The Guide
III. The Little Fort
IV. The Duel
V. Love
VI. Pugatchef
VII. The Assault
VIII. The Unexpected Visit
IX. The Parting
X. The Siege
XI. The Rebel Camp
XII. The Orphan
XIII. The Arrest
XIV. The Trial




CHAPTER I.

SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS.


My father, Andrej Petrovitch Grineff, after serving in his youth under
Count Munich,[1] had retired in 17--with the rank of senior major. Since
that time he had always lived on his estate in the district of Simbirsk,
where he married Avdotia, the eldest daughter of a poor gentleman in the
neighbourhood. Of the nine children born of this union I alone survived;
all my brothers and sisters died young. I had been enrolled as sergeant
in the Semenofsky regiment by favour of the major of the Guard, Prince
Banojik, our near relation. I was supposed to be away on leave till my
education was finished. At that time we were brought up in another
manner than is usual now.

From five years old I was given over to the care of the huntsman,
Saveliitch,[2] who from his steadiness and sobriety was considered
worthy of becoming my attendant. Thanks to his care, at twelve years old
I could read and write, and was considered a good judge of the points of
a greyhound. At this time, to complete my education, my father hired a
Frenchman, M. Beaupre, who was imported from Moscow at the same time as
the annual provision of wine and Provence oil. His arrival displeased
Saveliitch very much.

"It seems to me, thank heaven," murmured he, "the child was washed,
combed, and fed. What was the good of spending money and hiring a
'_moussie_,' as if there were not enough servants in the house? "

Beaupre, in his native country, had been a hairdresser, then a soldier
in Prussia, and then had come to Russia to be "_outchitel_," without
very well knowing the meaning of this word. [3] He was a good creature,
but wonderfully absent and hare-brained. His greatest weakness was a
love of the fair sex. Neither, as he said himself, was he averse to the
bottle, that is, as we say in Russia, that his passion was drink. But,
as in our house the wine only appeared at table, and then only in
_liqueur_ glasses, and as on these occasions it somehow never came to
the turn of the "_outchitel_" to be served at all, my Beaupre soon
accustomed himself to the Russian brandy, and ended by even preferring
it to all the wines of his native country as much better for the
stomach. We became great friends, and though, according to the contract,
he had engaged himself to teach me _French, German, and all the
sciences_, he liked better learning of me to chatter Russian
indifferently. Each of us busied himself with our own affairs; our
friendship was firm, and I did not wish for a better mentor. But Fate
soon parted us, and it was through an event which I am going to relate.

The washerwoman, Polashka, a fat girl, pitted with small-pox, and the
one-eyed cow-girl, Akoulka, came one fine day to my mother with such
stories against the "_moussie_," that she, who did not at all like these
kind of jokes, in her turn complained to my father, who, a man of hasty
temperament, instantly sent for that _rascal of a Frenchman_. He was
answered humbly that the "_moussie_" was giving me a lesson. My father
ran to my room. Beaupre was sleeping on his bed the sleep of the just.
As for me, I was absorbed in a deeply interesting occupation. A map had
been procured for me from Moscow, which hung against the wall without
ever being used, and which had been tempting me for a long time from the
size and strength of its paper. I had at last resolved to make a kite of
it, and, taking advantage of Beaupre's slumbers, I had set to work.

My father came in just at the very moment when I was tying a tail to the
Cape of Good Hope.

At the sight of my geographical studies he boxed my ears sharply, sprang
forward to Beaupre's bed, and, awaking him without any consideration, he
began to assail him with reproaches. In his trouble and confusion
Beaupre vainly strove to rise; the poor "_outchitel_" was dead drunk.
My father pulled him up by the collar of his coat, kicked him out of the
room, and dismissed him the same day, to the inexpressible joy of
Saveliitch.

Thus was my education finished.

I lived like a stay-at-home son (_nedoross'l_),[4] amusing myself by
scaring the pigeons on the roofs, and playing leapfrog with the lads of
the courtyard,[5] till I was past the age of sixteen. But at this age my
life underwent a great change.

One autumn day, my mother was making honey jam in her parlour, while,
licking my lips, I was watching the operations, and occasionally tasting
the boiling liquid. My father, seated by the window, had just opened the
_Court Almanack_, which he received every year. He was very fond of
this book; he never read it except with great attention, and it had the
power of upsetting his temper very much. My mother, who knew all his
whims and habits by heart, generally tried to keep the unlucky book
hidden, so that sometimes whole months passed without the _Court
Almanack_ falling beneath his eye. On the other hand, when he did chance
to find it, he never left it for hours together. He was now reading it,
frequently shrugging his shoulders, and muttering, half aloud--

"General! He was sergeant in my company. Knight of the Orders of Russia!
Was it so long ago that we--"

At last my father threw the _Almanack_ away from him on the sofa, and
remained deep in a brown study, which never betokened anything good.

"Avdotia Vassilieva,"[6] said he, sharply addressing my mother, "how
old is Petrousha? "[7]

"His seventeenth year has just begun," replied my mother. "Petrousha was
born the same year our Aunt Anastasia Garasimofna[8] lost an eye, and
that--"

"All right," resumed my father; "it is time he should serve. 'Tis time
he should cease running in and out of the maids' rooms and climbing into
the dovecote. "

The thought of a coming separation made such an impression on my mother
that she dropped her spoon into her saucepan, and her eyes filled with
tears. As for me, it is difficult to express the joy which took
possession of me. The idea of service was mingled in my mind with the
liberty and pleasures offered by the town of Petersburg. I already saw
myself officer of the Guard, which was, in my opinion, the height of
human happiness.

My father neither liked to change his plans, nor to defer the execution
of them. The day of my departure was at once fixed. The evening before
my father told me that he was going to give me a letter for my future
superior officer, and bid me bring him pen and paper.

"Don't forget, Andrej Petrovitch," said my mother, "to remember me to
Prince Banojik; tell him I hope he will do all he can for my Petrousha. "

"What nonsense! " cried my father, frowning. "Why do you wish me to write
to Prince Banojik? "

"But you have just told us you are good enough to write to Petrousha's
superior officer. "

"Well, what of that? "

"But Prince Banojik is Petrousha's superior officer. You know very well
he is on the roll of the Semenofsky regiment. "

"On the roll! What is it to me whether he be on the roll or no?
Petrousha shall not go to Petersburg! What would he learn there? To
spend money and commit follies. No, he shall serve with the army, he
shall smell powder, he shall become a soldier and not an idler of the
Guard, he shall wear out the straps of his knapsack. Where is his
commission? Give it to me. "

My mother went to find my commission, which she kept in a box with my
christening clothes, and gave it to my father with, a trembling hand. My
father read it with attention, laid it before him on the table, and
began his letter.

Curiosity pricked me.

"Where shall I be sent," thought I, "if not to Petersburg? "

I never took my eyes off my father's pen as it travelled slowly over the
paper. At last he finished his letter, put it with my commission into
the same cover, took off his spectacles, called me, and said--

"This letter is addressed to Andrej Karlovitch R. , my old friend and
comrade. You are to go to Orenburg[9] to serve under him. "

All my brilliant expectations and high hopes vanished. Instead of the
gay and lively life of Petersburg, I was doomed to a dull life in a far
and wild country. Military service, which a moment before I thought
would be delightful, now seemed horrible to me. But there was nothing
for it but resignation. On the morning of the following day a travelling
_kibitka_ stood before the hall door. There were packed in it a trunk
and a box containing a tea service, and some napkins tied up full of
rolls and little cakes, the last I should get of home pampering.

My parents gave me their blessing, and my father said to me--

"Good-bye, Petr'; serve faithfully he to whom you have sworn fidelity;
obey your superiors; do not seek for favours; do not struggle after
active service, but do not refuse it either, and remember the proverb,
'Take care of your coat while it is new, and of your honour while it is
young. '"

My mother tearfully begged me not to neglect my health, and bade
Saveliitch take great care of the darling. I was dressed in a short
"_touloup_"[10] of hareskin, and over it a thick pelisse of foxskin. I
seated myself in the _kibitka_ with Saveliitch, and started for my
destination, crying bitterly.

I arrived at Simbirsk during the night, where I was to stay twenty-four
hours, that Saveliitch might do sundry commissions entrusted to him. I
remained at an inn, while Saveliitch went out to get what he wanted.
Tired of looking out at the windows upon a dirty lane, I began wandering
about the rooms of the inn. I went into the billiard room. I found there
a tall gentleman, about forty years of age, with long, black
moustachios, in a dressing-gown, a cue in his hand, and a pipe in his
mouth. He was playing with the marker, who was to have a glass of brandy
if he won, and, if he lost, was to crawl under the table on all fours. I
stayed to watch them; the longer their games lasted, the more frequent
became the all-fours performance, till at last the marker remained
entirely under the table. The gentleman addressed to him some strong
remarks, as a funeral sermon, and proposed that I should play a game
with him. I replied that I did not know how to play billiards. Probably
it seemed to him very odd. He looked at me with a sort of pity.
Nevertheless, he continued talking to me. I learnt that his name was
Ivan Ivanovitch[11] Zourine, that he commanded a troop in the ----th
Hussars, that he was recruiting just now at Simbirsk, and that he had
established himself at the same inn as myself. Zourine asked me to lunch
with him, soldier fashion, and, as we say, on what Heaven provides. I
accepted with pleasure; we sat down to table; Zourine drank a great
deal, and pressed me to drink, telling me I must get accustomed to the
service. He told good stories, which made me roar with laughter, and we
got up from table the best of friends. Then he proposed to teach me
billiards.

"It is," said he, "a necessity for soldiers like us. Suppose, for
instance, you come to a little town; what are you to do? One cannot
always find a Jew to afford one sport. In short, you must go to the inn
and play billiards, and to play you must know how to play. "

These reasons completely convinced me, and with great ardour I began
taking my lesson. Zourine encouraged me loudly; he was surprised at my
rapid progress, and after a few lessons he proposed that we should play
for money, were it only for a "_groch_" (two kopeks),[12] not for the
profit, but that we might not play for nothing, which, according to him,
was a very bad habit.

I agreed to this, and Zourine called for punch; then he advised me to
taste it, always repeating that I must get accustomed to the service.

"And what," said he, "would the service be without punch? "

I followed his advice. We continued playing, and the more I sipped my
glass, the bolder I became. My balls flew beyond the cushions. I got
angry; I was impertinent to the marker who scored for us. I raised the
stake; in short, I behaved like a little boy just set free from school.
Thus the time passed very quickly. At last Zourine glanced at the clock,
put down his cue, and told me I had lost a hundred roubles. [13] This
disconcerted me very much; my money was in the hands of Saveliitch. I
was beginning to mumble excuses, when Zourine said--

"But don't trouble yourself; I can wait, and now let us go to
Arinushka's. "

What could you expect? I finished my day as foolishly as I had begun it.
We supped with this Arinushka. Zourine always filled up my glass,
repeating that I must get accustomed to the service.

Upon leaving the table I could scarcely stand. At midnight Zourine took
me back to the inn.

Saveliitch came to meet us at the door.

"What has befallen you? " he said to me in a melancholy voice, when he
saw the undoubted signs of my zeal for the service. "Where did you thus
swill yourself? Oh! good heavens! such a misfortune never happened
before. "

"Hold your tongue, old owl," I replied, stammering; "I am sure you are
drunk. Go to bed, . . . but first help me to bed. "

The next day I awoke with a bad headache. I only remembered confusedly
the occurrences of the past evening. My meditations were broken by
Saveliitch, who came into my room with a cup of tea.

"You begin early making free, Petr' Andrejitch," he said to me, shaking
his head. "Well, where do you get it from? It seems to me that neither
your father nor your grandfather were drunkards. We needn't talk of
your mother; she has never touched a drop of anything since she was
born, except '_kvass_. '[14] So whose fault is it? Whose but the
confounded '_moussie_;' he taught you fine things, that son of a dog,
and well worth the trouble of taking a Pagan for your servant, as if our
master had not had enough servants of his own! "

I was ashamed. I turned round and said to him--

"Go away, Saveliitch; I don't want any tea. "

But it was impossible to quiet Saveliitch when once he had begun to
sermonize.

"Do you see now, Petr' Andrejitch," said he, "what it is to commit
follies? You have a headache; you won't take anything. A man who gets
drunk is good for nothing. Do take a little pickled cucumber with honey
or half a glass of brandy to sober you. What do you think? "

At this moment a little boy came in, who brought me a note from Zourine.
I unfolded it and read as follows:--

"DEAR PETR' ANDREJITCH,

"Oblige me by sending by bearer the hundred roubles you lost to me
yesterday. I want money dreadfully.
net





Title: The Daughter of the Commandant

Author: Alexksandr Sergeevich Pushkin

Release Date: September 22, 2004 [eBook #13511]
Date last updated: September 13, 2006
Last updated: February 6, 2013

Language: English


***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAUGHTER OF THE COMMANDANT***


E-text prepared by Robert Shimmin, Gene Smethers, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team



THE DAUGHTER OF THE COMMANDANT

A Russian Romance

by

ALEXKSANDR POUSHKIN

Translated by Mrs. Milne Home

Authoress of "Mamma's Black Nurse Stories," "West Indian Folklore"







PREFACE.


ALEXKSANDR POUSHKIN, the Poet, was born at Petersburg in 1799 of good
family, and died before he was forty, in the prime of his genius. The
novel here offered to the public is considered by Russians his best
prose work. Others are _Boris Godunof_, a dramatic sketch, but never
intended to be put on the stage, and _The Prisoner of the Caucasus_.
Among his poems are "The Gipsies," "Ruslan and Ludmilla," "The Fountain
of Tears," and "Evgeni Oneghin. " The last, if I mistake not, was
translated into English some years ago. Some of Poushkin's writings
having drawn suspicion on him he was banished to a distant part of the
Empire, where he filled sundry administrative posts. The Tzar Nicholai,
on his accession in 1825, recalled him to Petersburg and made him
Historiographer. The works of the poet were much admired in society, but
he was not happy in his domestic life. His outspoken language made him
many enemies, and disgraceful reports were purposely spread abroad
concerning him, which resulted in a duel in which he was mortally
wounded by his brother-in-law, George Danthes. His death was mourned
publicly by all Russia.

M. P. M. H.

April, 1891.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

I. Sergeant of the Guards
II. The Guide
III. The Little Fort
IV. The Duel
V. Love
VI. Pugatchef
VII. The Assault
VIII. The Unexpected Visit
IX. The Parting
X. The Siege
XI. The Rebel Camp
XII. The Orphan
XIII. The Arrest
XIV. The Trial




CHAPTER I.

SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS.


My father, Andrej Petrovitch Grineff, after serving in his youth under
Count Munich,[1] had retired in 17--with the rank of senior major. Since
that time he had always lived on his estate in the district of Simbirsk,
where he married Avdotia, the eldest daughter of a poor gentleman in the
neighbourhood. Of the nine children born of this union I alone survived;
all my brothers and sisters died young. I had been enrolled as sergeant
in the Semenofsky regiment by favour of the major of the Guard, Prince
Banojik, our near relation. I was supposed to be away on leave till my
education was finished. At that time we were brought up in another
manner than is usual now.

From five years old I was given over to the care of the huntsman,
Saveliitch,[2] who from his steadiness and sobriety was considered
worthy of becoming my attendant. Thanks to his care, at twelve years old
I could read and write, and was considered a good judge of the points of
a greyhound. At this time, to complete my education, my father hired a
Frenchman, M. Beaupre, who was imported from Moscow at the same time as
the annual provision of wine and Provence oil. His arrival displeased
Saveliitch very much.

"It seems to me, thank heaven," murmured he, "the child was washed,
combed, and fed. What was the good of spending money and hiring a
'_moussie_,' as if there were not enough servants in the house? "

Beaupre, in his native country, had been a hairdresser, then a soldier
in Prussia, and then had come to Russia to be "_outchitel_," without
very well knowing the meaning of this word. [3] He was a good creature,
but wonderfully absent and hare-brained. His greatest weakness was a
love of the fair sex. Neither, as he said himself, was he averse to the
bottle, that is, as we say in Russia, that his passion was drink. But,
as in our house the wine only appeared at table, and then only in
_liqueur_ glasses, and as on these occasions it somehow never came to
the turn of the "_outchitel_" to be served at all, my Beaupre soon
accustomed himself to the Russian brandy, and ended by even preferring
it to all the wines of his native country as much better for the
stomach. We became great friends, and though, according to the contract,
he had engaged himself to teach me _French, German, and all the
sciences_, he liked better learning of me to chatter Russian
indifferently. Each of us busied himself with our own affairs; our
friendship was firm, and I did not wish for a better mentor. But Fate
soon parted us, and it was through an event which I am going to relate.

The washerwoman, Polashka, a fat girl, pitted with small-pox, and the
one-eyed cow-girl, Akoulka, came one fine day to my mother with such
stories against the "_moussie_," that she, who did not at all like these
kind of jokes, in her turn complained to my father, who, a man of hasty
temperament, instantly sent for that _rascal of a Frenchman_. He was
answered humbly that the "_moussie_" was giving me a lesson. My father
ran to my room. Beaupre was sleeping on his bed the sleep of the just.
As for me, I was absorbed in a deeply interesting occupation. A map had
been procured for me from Moscow, which hung against the wall without
ever being used, and which had been tempting me for a long time from the
size and strength of its paper. I had at last resolved to make a kite of
it, and, taking advantage of Beaupre's slumbers, I had set to work.

My father came in just at the very moment when I was tying a tail to the
Cape of Good Hope.

At the sight of my geographical studies he boxed my ears sharply, sprang
forward to Beaupre's bed, and, awaking him without any consideration, he
began to assail him with reproaches. In his trouble and confusion
Beaupre vainly strove to rise; the poor "_outchitel_" was dead drunk.
My father pulled him up by the collar of his coat, kicked him out of the
room, and dismissed him the same day, to the inexpressible joy of
Saveliitch.

Thus was my education finished.

I lived like a stay-at-home son (_nedoross'l_),[4] amusing myself by
scaring the pigeons on the roofs, and playing leapfrog with the lads of
the courtyard,[5] till I was past the age of sixteen. But at this age my
life underwent a great change.

One autumn day, my mother was making honey jam in her parlour, while,
licking my lips, I was watching the operations, and occasionally tasting
the boiling liquid. My father, seated by the window, had just opened the
_Court Almanack_, which he received every year. He was very fond of
this book; he never read it except with great attention, and it had the
power of upsetting his temper very much. My mother, who knew all his
whims and habits by heart, generally tried to keep the unlucky book
hidden, so that sometimes whole months passed without the _Court
Almanack_ falling beneath his eye. On the other hand, when he did chance
to find it, he never left it for hours together. He was now reading it,
frequently shrugging his shoulders, and muttering, half aloud--

"General! He was sergeant in my company. Knight of the Orders of Russia!
Was it so long ago that we--"

At last my father threw the _Almanack_ away from him on the sofa, and
remained deep in a brown study, which never betokened anything good.

"Avdotia Vassilieva,"[6] said he, sharply addressing my mother, "how
old is Petrousha? "[7]

"His seventeenth year has just begun," replied my mother. "Petrousha was
born the same year our Aunt Anastasia Garasimofna[8] lost an eye, and
that--"

"All right," resumed my father; "it is time he should serve. 'Tis time
he should cease running in and out of the maids' rooms and climbing into
the dovecote. "

The thought of a coming separation made such an impression on my mother
that she dropped her spoon into her saucepan, and her eyes filled with
tears. As for me, it is difficult to express the joy which took
possession of me. The idea of service was mingled in my mind with the
liberty and pleasures offered by the town of Petersburg. I already saw
myself officer of the Guard, which was, in my opinion, the height of
human happiness.

My father neither liked to change his plans, nor to defer the execution
of them. The day of my departure was at once fixed. The evening before
my father told me that he was going to give me a letter for my future
superior officer, and bid me bring him pen and paper.

"Don't forget, Andrej Petrovitch," said my mother, "to remember me to
Prince Banojik; tell him I hope he will do all he can for my Petrousha. "

"What nonsense! " cried my father, frowning. "Why do you wish me to write
to Prince Banojik? "

"But you have just told us you are good enough to write to Petrousha's
superior officer. "

"Well, what of that? "

"But Prince Banojik is Petrousha's superior officer. You know very well
he is on the roll of the Semenofsky regiment. "

"On the roll! What is it to me whether he be on the roll or no?
Petrousha shall not go to Petersburg! What would he learn there? To
spend money and commit follies. No, he shall serve with the army, he
shall smell powder, he shall become a soldier and not an idler of the
Guard, he shall wear out the straps of his knapsack. Where is his
commission? Give it to me. "

My mother went to find my commission, which she kept in a box with my
christening clothes, and gave it to my father with, a trembling hand. My
father read it with attention, laid it before him on the table, and
began his letter.

Curiosity pricked me.

"Where shall I be sent," thought I, "if not to Petersburg? "

I never took my eyes off my father's pen as it travelled slowly over the
paper. At last he finished his letter, put it with my commission into
the same cover, took off his spectacles, called me, and said--

"This letter is addressed to Andrej Karlovitch R. , my old friend and
comrade. You are to go to Orenburg[9] to serve under him. "

All my brilliant expectations and high hopes vanished. Instead of the
gay and lively life of Petersburg, I was doomed to a dull life in a far
and wild country. Military service, which a moment before I thought
would be delightful, now seemed horrible to me. But there was nothing
for it but resignation. On the morning of the following day a travelling
_kibitka_ stood before the hall door. There were packed in it a trunk
and a box containing a tea service, and some napkins tied up full of
rolls and little cakes, the last I should get of home pampering.

My parents gave me their blessing, and my father said to me--

"Good-bye, Petr'; serve faithfully he to whom you have sworn fidelity;
obey your superiors; do not seek for favours; do not struggle after
active service, but do not refuse it either, and remember the proverb,
'Take care of your coat while it is new, and of your honour while it is
young. '"

My mother tearfully begged me not to neglect my health, and bade
Saveliitch take great care of the darling. I was dressed in a short
"_touloup_"[10] of hareskin, and over it a thick pelisse of foxskin. I
seated myself in the _kibitka_ with Saveliitch, and started for my
destination, crying bitterly.

I arrived at Simbirsk during the night, where I was to stay twenty-four
hours, that Saveliitch might do sundry commissions entrusted to him. I
remained at an inn, while Saveliitch went out to get what he wanted.
Tired of looking out at the windows upon a dirty lane, I began wandering
about the rooms of the inn. I went into the billiard room. I found there
a tall gentleman, about forty years of age, with long, black
moustachios, in a dressing-gown, a cue in his hand, and a pipe in his
mouth. He was playing with the marker, who was to have a glass of brandy
if he won, and, if he lost, was to crawl under the table on all fours. I
stayed to watch them; the longer their games lasted, the more frequent
became the all-fours performance, till at last the marker remained
entirely under the table. The gentleman addressed to him some strong
remarks, as a funeral sermon, and proposed that I should play a game
with him. I replied that I did not know how to play billiards. Probably
it seemed to him very odd. He looked at me with a sort of pity.
Nevertheless, he continued talking to me. I learnt that his name was
Ivan Ivanovitch[11] Zourine, that he commanded a troop in the ----th
Hussars, that he was recruiting just now at Simbirsk, and that he had
established himself at the same inn as myself. Zourine asked me to lunch
with him, soldier fashion, and, as we say, on what Heaven provides. I
accepted with pleasure; we sat down to table; Zourine drank a great
deal, and pressed me to drink, telling me I must get accustomed to the
service. He told good stories, which made me roar with laughter, and we
got up from table the best of friends. Then he proposed to teach me
billiards.

"It is," said he, "a necessity for soldiers like us. Suppose, for
instance, you come to a little town; what are you to do? One cannot
always find a Jew to afford one sport. In short, you must go to the inn
and play billiards, and to play you must know how to play. "

These reasons completely convinced me, and with great ardour I began
taking my lesson. Zourine encouraged me loudly; he was surprised at my
rapid progress, and after a few lessons he proposed that we should play
for money, were it only for a "_groch_" (two kopeks),[12] not for the
profit, but that we might not play for nothing, which, according to him,
was a very bad habit.

I agreed to this, and Zourine called for punch; then he advised me to
taste it, always repeating that I must get accustomed to the service.

"And what," said he, "would the service be without punch? "

I followed his advice. We continued playing, and the more I sipped my
glass, the bolder I became. My balls flew beyond the cushions. I got
angry; I was impertinent to the marker who scored for us. I raised the
stake; in short, I behaved like a little boy just set free from school.
Thus the time passed very quickly. At last Zourine glanced at the clock,
put down his cue, and told me I had lost a hundred roubles. [13] This
disconcerted me very much; my money was in the hands of Saveliitch. I
was beginning to mumble excuses, when Zourine said--

"But don't trouble yourself; I can wait, and now let us go to
Arinushka's. "

What could you expect? I finished my day as foolishly as I had begun it.
We supped with this Arinushka. Zourine always filled up my glass,
repeating that I must get accustomed to the service.

Upon leaving the table I could scarcely stand. At midnight Zourine took
me back to the inn.

Saveliitch came to meet us at the door.

"What has befallen you? " he said to me in a melancholy voice, when he
saw the undoubted signs of my zeal for the service. "Where did you thus
swill yourself? Oh! good heavens! such a misfortune never happened
before. "

"Hold your tongue, old owl," I replied, stammering; "I am sure you are
drunk. Go to bed, . . . but first help me to bed. "

The next day I awoke with a bad headache. I only remembered confusedly
the occurrences of the past evening. My meditations were broken by
Saveliitch, who came into my room with a cup of tea.

"You begin early making free, Petr' Andrejitch," he said to me, shaking
his head. "Well, where do you get it from? It seems to me that neither
your father nor your grandfather were drunkards. We needn't talk of
your mother; she has never touched a drop of anything since she was
born, except '_kvass_. '[14] So whose fault is it? Whose but the
confounded '_moussie_;' he taught you fine things, that son of a dog,
and well worth the trouble of taking a Pagan for your servant, as if our
master had not had enough servants of his own! "

I was ashamed. I turned round and said to him--

"Go away, Saveliitch; I don't want any tea. "

But it was impossible to quiet Saveliitch when once he had begun to
sermonize.

"Do you see now, Petr' Andrejitch," said he, "what it is to commit
follies? You have a headache; you won't take anything. A man who gets
drunk is good for nothing. Do take a little pickled cucumber with honey
or half a glass of brandy to sober you. What do you think? "

At this moment a little boy came in, who brought me a note from Zourine.
I unfolded it and read as follows:--

"DEAR PETR' ANDREJITCH,

"Oblige me by sending by bearer the hundred roubles you lost to me
yesterday. I want money dreadfully.

"Your devoted

"IVAN ZOURINE. "

There was nothing for it. I assumed a look of indifference, and,
addressing myself to Saveliitch, I bid him hand over a hundred roubles
to the little boy.

"What--why? " he asked me in great surprise.

"I owe them to him," I answered as coldly as possible.