The
snowstorm
still raged, but less
violently.
violently.
Pushkin - Daughter of the Commandant
.
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.
"You owe them to him! " retorted Saveliitch, whose surprise became
greater. "When had you the time to run up such a debt? It is
impossible. Do what you please, excellency, but I will not give this
money. "
I then considered that, if in this decisive moment I did not oblige this
obstinate old man to obey me, it would be difficult for me in future to
free myself from his tutelage. Glancing at him haughtily, I said to
him--
"I am your master; you are my servant. The money is mine; I lost it
because I chose to lose it. I advise you not to be headstrong, and to
obey your orders. "
My words made such an impression on Saveliitch that he clasped his hands
and remained dumb and motionless.
"What are you standing there for like a stock? " I exclaimed, angrily.
Saveliitch began to weep.
"Oh! my father, Petr' Andrejitch," sobbed he, in a trembling voice; "do
not make me die of sorrow. Oh! my light, hearken to me who am old;
write to this robber that you were only joking, that we never had so
much money. A hundred roubles! Good heavens! Tell him your parents have
strictly forbidden you to play for anything but nuts. "
"Will you hold your tongue? " said I, hastily, interrupting him. "Hand
over the money, or I will kick you out of the place. "
Saveliitch looked at me with a deep expression of sorrow, and went to
fetch my money. I was sorry for the poor old man, but I wished to assert
myself, and prove that I was not a child. Zourine got his hundred
roubles.
Saveliitch was in haste to get me away from this unlucky inn; he came in
telling me the horses were harnessed. I left Simbirsk with an uneasy
conscience, and with some silent remorse, without taking leave of my
instructor, whom I little thought I should ever see again.
CHAPTER II.
THE GUIDE.
My reflections during the journey were not very pleasant. According to
the value of money at that time, my loss was of some importance. I could
not but confess to myself that my conduct at the Simbirsk Inn had been
most foolish, and I felt guilty toward Saveliitch. All this worried me.
The old man sat, in sulky silence, in the forepart of the sledge, with
his face averted, every now and then giving a cross little cough. I had
firmly resolved to make peace with him, but I did not know how to begin.
At last I said to him--
"Look here, Saveliitch, let us have done with all this; let us make
peace. "
"Oh! my little father, Petr' Andrejitch," he replied, with a deep sigh,
"I am angry with myself; it is I who am to blame for everything. What
possessed me to leave you alone in the inn? But what could I do; the
devil would have it so, else why did it occur to me to go and see my
gossip the deacon's wife, and thus it happened, as the proverb says, 'I
left the house and was taken to prison. ' What ill-luck! What ill-luck!
How shall I appear again before my master and mistress? What will they
say when they hear that their child is a drunkard and a gamester? "
To comfort poor Saveliitch, I gave him my word of honour that in future
I would not spend a single kopek without his consent. Gradually he
calmed down, though he still grumbled from time to time, shaking his
head--
"A hundred roubles, it is easy to talk! "
I was approaching my destination. Around me stretched a wild and dreary
desert, intersected by little hills and deep ravines. All was covered
with snow. The sun was setting. My _kibitka_ was following the narrow
road, or rather the track, left by the sledges of the peasants. All at
once my driver looked round, and addressing himself to me--
"Sir," said he, taking off his cap, "will you not order me to turn
back? "
"Why? "
"The weather is uncertain. There is already a little wind. Do you not
see how it is blowing about the surface snow. "
"Well, what does that matter? "
"And do you see what there is yonder? "
The driver pointed east with his whip.
"I see nothing more than the white steppe and the clear sky. "
"There, there; look, that little cloud! "
I did, in fact, perceive on the horizon a little white cloud which I
had at first taken for a distant hill. My driver explained to me that
this little cloud portended a "_bourane_. "[15] I had heard of the
snowstorms peculiar to these regions, and I knew of whole caravans
having been sometimes buried in the tremendous drifts of snow.
Saveliitch was of the same opinion as the driver, and advised me to turn
back, but the wind did not seem to me very violent, and hoping to reach
in time the next posting station, I bid him try and get on quickly. He
put his horses to a gallop, continually looking, however, towards the
east. But the wind increased in force, the little cloud rose rapidly,
became larger and thicker, at last covering the whole sky. The snow
began to fall lightly at first, but soon in large flakes. The wind
whistled and howled; in a moment the grey sky was lost in the whirlwind
of snow which the wind raised from the earth, hiding everything around
us.
"How unlucky we are, excellency," cried the driver; "it is the
_bourane_. "
I put my head out of the _kibitka_; all was darkness and confusion. The
wind blew with such ferocity that it was difficult not to think it an
animated being.
The snow drifted round and covered us. The horses went at a walk, and
soon stopped altogether.
"Why don't you go on? " I said, impatiently, to the driver.
"But where to? " he replied, getting out of the sledge. "Heaven only
knows where we are now. There is no longer any road, and it is all
dark. "
I began to scold him, but Saveliitch took his part.
"Why did you not listen to him? " he said to me, angrily. "You would have
gone back to the post-house; you would have had some tea; you could
have slept till morning; the storm would have blown over, and we should
have started. And why such haste? Had it been to get married, now! "
Saveliitch was right. What was there to do? The snow continued to
fall--a heap was rising around the _kibitka_. The horses stood
motionless, hanging their heads and shivering from time to time.
The driver walked round them, settling their harness, as if he had
nothing else to do. Saveliitch grumbled. I was looking all round in
hopes of perceiving some indication of a house or a road; but I could
not see anything but the confused whirling of the snowstorm.
All at once I thought I distinguished something black.
"Hullo, driver! " I exclaimed, "what is that black thing over there? "
The driver looked attentively in the direction I was pointing out.
"Heaven only knows, excellency," replied he, resuming his seat.
"It is not a sledge, it is not a tree, and it seems to me that it moves.
It must be a wolf or a man. "
I ordered him to move towards the unknown object, which came also to
meet us. In two minutes I saw it was a man, and we met.
"Hey, there, good man," the driver hailed him, "tell us, do you happen
to know the road? "
"This is the road," replied the traveller. "I am on firm ground; but
what the devil good does that do you? "
"Listen, my little peasant," said I to him, "do you know this part of
the country? Can you guide us to some place where we may pass the
night? "
"Do I know this country? Thank heaven," rejoined the stranger, "I have
travelled here, on horse and afoot, far and wide. But just look at this
weather! One cannot keep the road. Better stay here and wait; perhaps
the hurricane will cease and the sky will clear, and we shall find the
road by starlight. "
His coolness gave me courage, and I resigned myself to pass the night on
the steppe, commending myself to the care of Providence, when suddenly
the stranger, seating himself on the driver's seat, said--
"Grace be to God, there _is_ a house not far off. Turn to the right, and
go on. "
"Why should I go to the right? " retorted my driver, ill-humouredly.
"How do you know where the road is that you are so ready to say, 'Other
people's horses, other people's harness--whip away! '"
It seemed to me the driver was right.
"Why," said I to the stranger, "do you think a house is not far off? "
"The wind blew from that direction," replied he, "and I smelt smoke, a
sure sign that a house is near. "
His cleverness and the acuteness of his sense of smell alike astonished
me. I bid the driver go where the other wished. The horses ploughed
their way through the deep snow. The _kibitka_ advanced slowly,
sometimes upraised on a drift, sometimes precipitated into a ditch, and
swinging from side to side. It was very like a boat on a stormy sea.
Saveliitch groaned deeply as every moment he fell upon me. I lowered the
_tsinofka_,[16] I rolled myself up in my cloak and I went to sleep,
rocked by the whistle of the storm and the lurching of the sledge. I had
then a dream that I have never forgotten, and in which I still see
something prophetic, as I recall the strange events of my life. The
reader will forgive me if I relate it to him, as he knows, no doubt, by
experience how natural it is for man to retain a vestige of superstition
in spite of all the scorn for it he may think proper to assume.
I had reached the stage when the real and unreal begin to blend into the
first vague visions of drowsiness. It seemed to me that the snowstorm
continued, and that we were wandering in the snowy desert. All at once I
thought I saw a great gate, and we entered the courtyard of our house.
My first thought was a fear that my father would be angry at my
involuntary return to the paternal roof, and would attribute it to a
premeditated disobedience. Uneasy, I got out of my _kibitka_, and I saw
my mother come to meet me, looking very sad.
"Don't make a noise," she said to me. "Your father is on his death-bed,
and wishes to bid you farewell. "
Struck with horror, I followed her into the bedroom. I look round; the
room is nearly dark. Near the bed some people were standing, looking sad
and cast down. I approached on tiptoe. My mother raised the curtain, and
said--
"Andrej Petrovitch, Petrousha has come back; he came back having heard
of your illness. Give him your blessing. "
I knelt down. But to my astonishment instead of my father I saw in the
bed a black-bearded peasant, who regarded me with a merry look. Full of
surprise, I turned towards my mother.
"What does this mean? " I exclaimed. "It is not my father. Why do you
want me to ask this peasant's blessing? "
"It is the same thing, Petrousha," replied my mother. "That person is
your _godfather_. [17] Kiss his hand, and let him bless you. "
I would not consent to this. Whereupon the peasant sprang from the bed,
quickly drew his axe from his belt, and began to brandish it in all
directions. I wished to fly, but I could not. The room seemed to be
suddenly full of corpses. I stumbled against them; my feet slipped in
pools of blood. The terrible peasant called me gently, saying to me--
"Fear nothing, come near; come and let me bless you. "
Fear had stupified me. . . .
At this moment I awoke. The horses had stopped; Saveliitch had hold of
my hand.
"Get out, excellency," said he to me; "here we are. "
"Where? " I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"At our night's lodging. Heaven has helped us; we came by chance right
upon the hedge by the house. Get out, excellency, as quick as you can,
and let us see you get warm. "
I got out of the _kibitka_.
The snowstorm still raged, but less
violently. It was so dark that one might, as we say, have as well been
blind. The host received us near the entrance, holding a lantern beneath
the skirt of his caftan, and led us into a room, small but prettily
clean, lit by a _loutchina_. [18] On the wall hung a long carbine and a
high Cossack cap.
Our host, a Cossack of the Yaik,[19] was a peasant of about sixty, still
fresh and hale. Saveliitch brought the tea canister, and asked for a
fire that he might make me a cup or two of tea, of which, certainly, I
never had more need. The host hastened to wait upon him.
"What has become of our guide? Where is he? " I asked Saveliitch.
"Here, your excellency," replied a voice from above.
I raised my eyes to the recess above the stove, and I saw a black beard
and two sparkling eyes.
"Well, are you cold? "
"How could I not be cold," answered he, "in a little caftan all holes? I
had a _touloup_, but, it's no good hiding it, I left it yesterday in
pawn at the brandy shop; the cold did not seem to me then so keen. "
At this moment the host re-entered with the boiling _samovar_. [20] I
offered our guide a cup of tea. He at once jumped down.
I was struck by his appearance. He was a man about forty, middle height,
thin, but broad-shouldered. His black beard was beginning to turn grey;
his large quick eyes roved incessantly around. In his face there was an
expression rather pleasant, but slightly mischievous. His hair was cut
short. He wore a little torn _armak_,[21] and wide Tartar trousers.
I offered him a cup of tea; he tasted it, and made a wry face.
"Do me the favour, your excellency," said he to me, "to give me a glass
of brandy; we Cossacks do not generally drink tea. "
I willingly acceded to his desire. The host took from one of the shelves
of the press a jug and a glass, approached him, and, having looked him
well in the face--
"Well, well," said he, "so here you are again in our part of the world.
Where, in heaven's name, do you come from now? "
My guide winked in a meaning manner, and replied by the well-known
saying--
"The sparrow was flying about in the orchard; he was eating hempseed;
the grandmother threw a stone at him, and missed him. And you, how are
you all getting on? "
"How are we all getting on? " rejoined the host, still speaking in
proverbs.
"Vespers were beginning to ring, but the wife of the _pope_[22] forbid
it; the pope went away on a visit, and the devils are abroad in the
churchyard. "
"Shut up, uncle," retorted the vagabond. "When it rains there will be
mushrooms, and when you find mushrooms you will find a basket to put
them in. But now" (he winked a second time) "put your axe behind your
back,[23] the gamekeeper is abroad. To the health of your excellency. "
So saying he took the glass, made the sign of the cross, and swallowed
his brandy at one gulp, then, bowing to me, returned to his lair above
the stove.
I could not then understand a single word of the thieves' slang they
employed. It was only later on that I understood that they were talking
about the army of the Yaik, which had only just been reduced to
submission after the revolt of 1772. [24]
Saveliitch listened to them talking with a very discontented manner, and
cast suspicious glances, sometimes on the host and sometimes on the
guide.
The kind of inn where we had sought shelter stood in the very middle of
the steppe, far from the road and from any dwelling, and certainly was
by no means unlikely to be a robber resort. But what could we do? We
could not dream of resuming our journey. Saveliitch's uneasiness amused
me very much. I stretched myself on a bench. My old retainer at last
decided to get up on the top of the stove,[25] while the host lay down
on the floor. They all soon began to snore, and I myself soon fell dead
asleep.
When I awoke, somewhat late, on the morrow I saw that the storm was
over. The sun shone brightly; the snow stretched afar like a dazzling
sheet. The horses were already harnessed. I paid the host, who named
such a mere trifle as my reckoning that Saveliitch did not bargain as he
usually did. His suspicions of the evening before were quite gone. I
called the guide to thank him for what he had done for us, and I told
Saveliitch to give him half a rouble as a reward.
Saveliitch frowned.
"Half a rouble! " cried he. "Why? Because you were good enough to bring
him yourself to the inn? I will obey you, excellency, but we have no
half roubles to spare. If we take to giving gratuities to everybody we
shall end by dying of hunger. "
I could not dispute the point with Saveliitch; my money, according to my
solemn promise, was entirely at his disposal. Nevertheless, I was
annoyed that I was not able to reward a man who, if he had not brought
me out of fatal danger, had, at least, extricated me from an awkward
dilemma.
"Well," I said, coolly, to Saveliitch, "if you do not wish to give him
half a rouble give him one of my old coats; he is too thinly clad. Give
him my hareskin _touloup_. "
"Have mercy on me, my father, Petr' Andrejitch! " exclaimed Saveliitch.
"What need has he of your _touloup_? He will pawn it for drink, the
dog, in the first tavern he comes across. "
"That, my dear old fellow, is no longer your affair," said the vagabond,
"whether I drink it or whether I do not. His excellency honours me with
a coat off his own back. [26] It is his excellency's will, and it is your
duty as a serf not to kick against it, but to obey. "
"You don't fear heaven, robber that you are," said Saveliitch, angrily.
"You see the child is still young and foolish, and you are quite ready
to plunder him, thanks to his kind heart. What do you want with a
gentleman's _touloup_? You could not even put it across your cursed
broad shoulders. "
"I beg you will not play the wit," I said to my follower. "Get the cloak
quickly. "
"Oh! good heavens! " exclaimed Saveliitch, bemoaning himself. "A
_touloup_ of hareskin, and still quite new! And to whom is it
given? --to a drunkard in rags. "
However, the _touloup_ was brought. The vagabond began trying it on
directly. The _touloup_, which had already become somewhat too small for
me, was really too tight for him. Still, with some trouble, he succeeded
in getting it on, though he cracked all the seams. Saveliitch gave, as
it were, a subdued howl when he heard the threads snapping.
As to the vagabond, he was very pleased with my present. He ushered me
to my _kibitka_, and saying, with a low bow, "Thanks, your excellency;
may Heaven reward you for your goodness; I shall never forget, as long
as I live, your kindnesses," went his way, and I went mine, without
paying any attention to Saveliitch's sulkiness.
I soon forgot the snowstorm, the guide, and my hareskin _touloup_.
Upon arrival at Orenburg I immediately waited on the General. I found a
tall man, already bent by age. His long hair was quite white; his old
uniform reminded one of a soldier of Tzarina Anne's[27] time, and he
spoke with a strongly-marked German accent. I gave him my father's
letter. Upon reading his name he cast a quick glance at me.
"Ah," said he, "it was but a short time Andrej Petrovitch was your age,
and now he has got a fine fellow of a son. Well, well--time, time. "
He opened the letter, and began reading it half aloud, with a running
fire of remarks--
"'Sir, I hope your excellency'--What's all this ceremony? For shame! I
wonder he's not ashamed of himself! Of course, discipline before
everything; but is it thus one writes to an old comrade? 'Your
excellency will not have forgotten'--Humph! 'And when under the late
Field Marshal Munich during the campaign, as well as little
Caroline'--Eh! eh! _bruder_! So he still remembers our old pranks? 'Now
for business. I send you my rogue'--Hum! 'Hold him with gloves of
porcupine-skin'--What does that mean--'gloves of porcupine-skin? ' It
must be a Russian proverb.
"What does it mean, 'hold with gloves of porcupine-skin? '" resumed he,
turning to me.
"It means," I answered him, with the most innocent face in the world,
"to treat someone kindly, not too strictly, to leave him plenty of
liberty; that is what holding with gloves of porcupine-skin means. "
"Humph! I understand. "
"'And not give him any liberty'--No; it seems that porcupine-skin gloves
means something quite different. ' Enclosed is his commission'--Where is
it then? Ah! here it is! --'in the roll of the Semenofsky Regiment'--All
right; everything necessary shall be done. 'Allow me to salute you
without ceremony, and like an old friend and comrade'--Ah! he has at
last remembered it all," etc. , etc.
"Well, my little father," said he, after he had finished the letter and
put my commission aside, "all shall be done; you shall be an officer in
the ----th Regiment, and you shall go to-morrow to Fort Belogorsk, where
you will serve under the orders of Commandant Mironoff, a brave and
worthy man. There you will really serve and learn discipline. There is
nothing for you to do at Orenburg; amusement is bad for a young man.
To-day I invite you to dine with me. "
"Worse and worse," thought I to myself. "What good has it done me to
have been a sergeant in the Guard from my cradle? Where has it brought
me? To the ----th Regiment, and to a fort stranded on the frontier of
the Kirghiz-Kaisak Steppes! "
I dined at Andrej Karlovitch's, in the company of his old aide de camp.
Strict German economy was the rule at his table, and I think that the
dread of a frequent guest at his bachelor's table contributed not a
little to my being so promptly sent away to a distant garrison.
The next day I took leave of the General, and started for my
destination.
CHAPTER III.
THE LITTLE FORT.
The little fort of Belogorsk lay about forty versts[28] from Orenburg.
From this town the road followed along by the rugged banks of the R.
Yaik. The river was not yet frozen, and its lead-coloured waves looked
almost black contrasted with its banks white with snow. Before me
stretched the Kirghiz Steppes. I was lost in thought, and my reverie was
tinged with melancholy. Garrison life did not offer me much attraction.
I tried to imagine what my future chief, Commandant Mironoff, would be
like. I saw in my mind's eye a strict, morose old man, with no ideas
beyond the service, and prepared to put me under arrest for the smallest
trifle.
Twilight was coming on; we were driving rather quickly.
"Is it far from here to the fort? " I asked the driver.
"Why, you can see it from here," replied he.
I began looking all round, expecting to see high bastions, a wall, and a
ditch. I saw nothing but a little village, surrounded by a wooden
palisade. On one side three or four haystacks, half covered with snow;
on another a tumble-down windmill, whose sails, made of coarse limetree
bark, hung idly down.
"But where is the fort? " I asked, in surprise.
"There it is yonder, to be sure," rejoined the driver, pointing out to
me the village which we had just reached.
I noticed near the gateway an old iron cannon. The streets were narrow
and crooked, nearly all the _izbas_[29] were thatched. I ordered him to
take me to the Commandant, and almost directly my _kibitka_ stopped
before a wooden house, built on a knoll near the church, which was also
in wood.
No one came to meet me. From the steps I entered the ante-room. An old
pensioner, seated on a table, was busy sewing a blue patch on the elbow
of a green uniform. I begged him to announce me.
"Come in, my little father," he said to me; "we are all at home. "
I went into a room, very clean, but furnished in a very homely manner.
In one corner there stood a dresser with crockery on it. Against the
wall hung, framed and glazed, an officer's commission. Around this were
arranged some bark pictures,[30] representing the "Taking of Kustrin"
and of "Otchakof,"[31] "The Choice of the Betrothed," and the "Burial of
the Cat by the Mice. " Near the window sat an old woman wrapped in a
shawl, her head tied up in a handkerchief. She was busy winding thread,
which a little, old, one-eyed man in an officer's uniform was holding on
his outstretched hands.
"What do you want, my little father? " she said to me, continuing her
employment.
I answered that I had been ordered to join the service here, and that,
therefore, I had hastened to report myself to the Commandant. With these
words I turned towards the little, old, one-eyed man, whom I had taken
for the Commandant. But the good lady interrupted the speech with which
I had prepared myself.
"Ivan Kouzmitch[32] is not at home," said she. "He is gone to see Father
Garassim. But it's all the same, I am his wife. Be so good as to love us
and take us into favour. [33] Sit down, my little father. "
She called a servant, and bid her tell the "_ouriadnik_"[34] to come.
The little, old man was looking curiously at me with his one eye.
"Might I presume to ask you," said he to me, "in what regiment you have
deigned to serve? "
I satisfied his curiosity.
"And might I ask you," continued he, "why you have condescended to
exchange from the Guard into our garrison? "
I replied that it was by order of the authorities.
"Probably for conduct unbecoming an officer of the Guard? " rejoined my
indefatigable questioner.
"Will you be good enough to stop talking nonsense? " the wife of the
Commandant now said to him. "You can see very well that this young man
is tired with his journey. He has something else to do than to answer
your questions. Hold your hands better. And you, my little father," she
continued, turning to me, "do not bemoan yourself too much because you
have been shoved into our little hole of a place; you are not the first,
and you will not be the last. One may suffer, but one gets accustomed to
it. For instance, Chvabrine, Alexey Ivanytch,[35] was transferred to us
four years ago on account of a murder. Heaven knows what ill-luck befel
him. It happened one day he went out of the town with a lieutenant, and
they had taken swords, and they set to pinking one another, and Alexey
Ivanytch killed the lieutenant, and before a couple of witnesses. Well,
well, there's no heading ill-luck!
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.
"You owe them to him! " retorted Saveliitch, whose surprise became
greater. "When had you the time to run up such a debt? It is
impossible. Do what you please, excellency, but I will not give this
money. "
I then considered that, if in this decisive moment I did not oblige this
obstinate old man to obey me, it would be difficult for me in future to
free myself from his tutelage. Glancing at him haughtily, I said to
him--
"I am your master; you are my servant. The money is mine; I lost it
because I chose to lose it. I advise you not to be headstrong, and to
obey your orders. "
My words made such an impression on Saveliitch that he clasped his hands
and remained dumb and motionless.
"What are you standing there for like a stock? " I exclaimed, angrily.
Saveliitch began to weep.
"Oh! my father, Petr' Andrejitch," sobbed he, in a trembling voice; "do
not make me die of sorrow. Oh! my light, hearken to me who am old;
write to this robber that you were only joking, that we never had so
much money. A hundred roubles! Good heavens! Tell him your parents have
strictly forbidden you to play for anything but nuts. "
"Will you hold your tongue? " said I, hastily, interrupting him. "Hand
over the money, or I will kick you out of the place. "
Saveliitch looked at me with a deep expression of sorrow, and went to
fetch my money. I was sorry for the poor old man, but I wished to assert
myself, and prove that I was not a child. Zourine got his hundred
roubles.
Saveliitch was in haste to get me away from this unlucky inn; he came in
telling me the horses were harnessed. I left Simbirsk with an uneasy
conscience, and with some silent remorse, without taking leave of my
instructor, whom I little thought I should ever see again.
CHAPTER II.
THE GUIDE.
My reflections during the journey were not very pleasant. According to
the value of money at that time, my loss was of some importance. I could
not but confess to myself that my conduct at the Simbirsk Inn had been
most foolish, and I felt guilty toward Saveliitch. All this worried me.
The old man sat, in sulky silence, in the forepart of the sledge, with
his face averted, every now and then giving a cross little cough. I had
firmly resolved to make peace with him, but I did not know how to begin.
At last I said to him--
"Look here, Saveliitch, let us have done with all this; let us make
peace. "
"Oh! my little father, Petr' Andrejitch," he replied, with a deep sigh,
"I am angry with myself; it is I who am to blame for everything. What
possessed me to leave you alone in the inn? But what could I do; the
devil would have it so, else why did it occur to me to go and see my
gossip the deacon's wife, and thus it happened, as the proverb says, 'I
left the house and was taken to prison. ' What ill-luck! What ill-luck!
How shall I appear again before my master and mistress? What will they
say when they hear that their child is a drunkard and a gamester? "
To comfort poor Saveliitch, I gave him my word of honour that in future
I would not spend a single kopek without his consent. Gradually he
calmed down, though he still grumbled from time to time, shaking his
head--
"A hundred roubles, it is easy to talk! "
I was approaching my destination. Around me stretched a wild and dreary
desert, intersected by little hills and deep ravines. All was covered
with snow. The sun was setting. My _kibitka_ was following the narrow
road, or rather the track, left by the sledges of the peasants. All at
once my driver looked round, and addressing himself to me--
"Sir," said he, taking off his cap, "will you not order me to turn
back? "
"Why? "
"The weather is uncertain. There is already a little wind. Do you not
see how it is blowing about the surface snow. "
"Well, what does that matter? "
"And do you see what there is yonder? "
The driver pointed east with his whip.
"I see nothing more than the white steppe and the clear sky. "
"There, there; look, that little cloud! "
I did, in fact, perceive on the horizon a little white cloud which I
had at first taken for a distant hill. My driver explained to me that
this little cloud portended a "_bourane_. "[15] I had heard of the
snowstorms peculiar to these regions, and I knew of whole caravans
having been sometimes buried in the tremendous drifts of snow.
Saveliitch was of the same opinion as the driver, and advised me to turn
back, but the wind did not seem to me very violent, and hoping to reach
in time the next posting station, I bid him try and get on quickly. He
put his horses to a gallop, continually looking, however, towards the
east. But the wind increased in force, the little cloud rose rapidly,
became larger and thicker, at last covering the whole sky. The snow
began to fall lightly at first, but soon in large flakes. The wind
whistled and howled; in a moment the grey sky was lost in the whirlwind
of snow which the wind raised from the earth, hiding everything around
us.
"How unlucky we are, excellency," cried the driver; "it is the
_bourane_. "
I put my head out of the _kibitka_; all was darkness and confusion. The
wind blew with such ferocity that it was difficult not to think it an
animated being.
The snow drifted round and covered us. The horses went at a walk, and
soon stopped altogether.
"Why don't you go on? " I said, impatiently, to the driver.
"But where to? " he replied, getting out of the sledge. "Heaven only
knows where we are now. There is no longer any road, and it is all
dark. "
I began to scold him, but Saveliitch took his part.
"Why did you not listen to him? " he said to me, angrily. "You would have
gone back to the post-house; you would have had some tea; you could
have slept till morning; the storm would have blown over, and we should
have started. And why such haste? Had it been to get married, now! "
Saveliitch was right. What was there to do? The snow continued to
fall--a heap was rising around the _kibitka_. The horses stood
motionless, hanging their heads and shivering from time to time.
The driver walked round them, settling their harness, as if he had
nothing else to do. Saveliitch grumbled. I was looking all round in
hopes of perceiving some indication of a house or a road; but I could
not see anything but the confused whirling of the snowstorm.
All at once I thought I distinguished something black.
"Hullo, driver! " I exclaimed, "what is that black thing over there? "
The driver looked attentively in the direction I was pointing out.
"Heaven only knows, excellency," replied he, resuming his seat.
"It is not a sledge, it is not a tree, and it seems to me that it moves.
It must be a wolf or a man. "
I ordered him to move towards the unknown object, which came also to
meet us. In two minutes I saw it was a man, and we met.
"Hey, there, good man," the driver hailed him, "tell us, do you happen
to know the road? "
"This is the road," replied the traveller. "I am on firm ground; but
what the devil good does that do you? "
"Listen, my little peasant," said I to him, "do you know this part of
the country? Can you guide us to some place where we may pass the
night? "
"Do I know this country? Thank heaven," rejoined the stranger, "I have
travelled here, on horse and afoot, far and wide. But just look at this
weather! One cannot keep the road. Better stay here and wait; perhaps
the hurricane will cease and the sky will clear, and we shall find the
road by starlight. "
His coolness gave me courage, and I resigned myself to pass the night on
the steppe, commending myself to the care of Providence, when suddenly
the stranger, seating himself on the driver's seat, said--
"Grace be to God, there _is_ a house not far off. Turn to the right, and
go on. "
"Why should I go to the right? " retorted my driver, ill-humouredly.
"How do you know where the road is that you are so ready to say, 'Other
people's horses, other people's harness--whip away! '"
It seemed to me the driver was right.
"Why," said I to the stranger, "do you think a house is not far off? "
"The wind blew from that direction," replied he, "and I smelt smoke, a
sure sign that a house is near. "
His cleverness and the acuteness of his sense of smell alike astonished
me. I bid the driver go where the other wished. The horses ploughed
their way through the deep snow. The _kibitka_ advanced slowly,
sometimes upraised on a drift, sometimes precipitated into a ditch, and
swinging from side to side. It was very like a boat on a stormy sea.
Saveliitch groaned deeply as every moment he fell upon me. I lowered the
_tsinofka_,[16] I rolled myself up in my cloak and I went to sleep,
rocked by the whistle of the storm and the lurching of the sledge. I had
then a dream that I have never forgotten, and in which I still see
something prophetic, as I recall the strange events of my life. The
reader will forgive me if I relate it to him, as he knows, no doubt, by
experience how natural it is for man to retain a vestige of superstition
in spite of all the scorn for it he may think proper to assume.
I had reached the stage when the real and unreal begin to blend into the
first vague visions of drowsiness. It seemed to me that the snowstorm
continued, and that we were wandering in the snowy desert. All at once I
thought I saw a great gate, and we entered the courtyard of our house.
My first thought was a fear that my father would be angry at my
involuntary return to the paternal roof, and would attribute it to a
premeditated disobedience. Uneasy, I got out of my _kibitka_, and I saw
my mother come to meet me, looking very sad.
"Don't make a noise," she said to me. "Your father is on his death-bed,
and wishes to bid you farewell. "
Struck with horror, I followed her into the bedroom. I look round; the
room is nearly dark. Near the bed some people were standing, looking sad
and cast down. I approached on tiptoe. My mother raised the curtain, and
said--
"Andrej Petrovitch, Petrousha has come back; he came back having heard
of your illness. Give him your blessing. "
I knelt down. But to my astonishment instead of my father I saw in the
bed a black-bearded peasant, who regarded me with a merry look. Full of
surprise, I turned towards my mother.
"What does this mean? " I exclaimed. "It is not my father. Why do you
want me to ask this peasant's blessing? "
"It is the same thing, Petrousha," replied my mother. "That person is
your _godfather_. [17] Kiss his hand, and let him bless you. "
I would not consent to this. Whereupon the peasant sprang from the bed,
quickly drew his axe from his belt, and began to brandish it in all
directions. I wished to fly, but I could not. The room seemed to be
suddenly full of corpses. I stumbled against them; my feet slipped in
pools of blood. The terrible peasant called me gently, saying to me--
"Fear nothing, come near; come and let me bless you. "
Fear had stupified me. . . .
At this moment I awoke. The horses had stopped; Saveliitch had hold of
my hand.
"Get out, excellency," said he to me; "here we are. "
"Where? " I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"At our night's lodging. Heaven has helped us; we came by chance right
upon the hedge by the house. Get out, excellency, as quick as you can,
and let us see you get warm. "
I got out of the _kibitka_.
The snowstorm still raged, but less
violently. It was so dark that one might, as we say, have as well been
blind. The host received us near the entrance, holding a lantern beneath
the skirt of his caftan, and led us into a room, small but prettily
clean, lit by a _loutchina_. [18] On the wall hung a long carbine and a
high Cossack cap.
Our host, a Cossack of the Yaik,[19] was a peasant of about sixty, still
fresh and hale. Saveliitch brought the tea canister, and asked for a
fire that he might make me a cup or two of tea, of which, certainly, I
never had more need. The host hastened to wait upon him.
"What has become of our guide? Where is he? " I asked Saveliitch.
"Here, your excellency," replied a voice from above.
I raised my eyes to the recess above the stove, and I saw a black beard
and two sparkling eyes.
"Well, are you cold? "
"How could I not be cold," answered he, "in a little caftan all holes? I
had a _touloup_, but, it's no good hiding it, I left it yesterday in
pawn at the brandy shop; the cold did not seem to me then so keen. "
At this moment the host re-entered with the boiling _samovar_. [20] I
offered our guide a cup of tea. He at once jumped down.
I was struck by his appearance. He was a man about forty, middle height,
thin, but broad-shouldered. His black beard was beginning to turn grey;
his large quick eyes roved incessantly around. In his face there was an
expression rather pleasant, but slightly mischievous. His hair was cut
short. He wore a little torn _armak_,[21] and wide Tartar trousers.
I offered him a cup of tea; he tasted it, and made a wry face.
"Do me the favour, your excellency," said he to me, "to give me a glass
of brandy; we Cossacks do not generally drink tea. "
I willingly acceded to his desire. The host took from one of the shelves
of the press a jug and a glass, approached him, and, having looked him
well in the face--
"Well, well," said he, "so here you are again in our part of the world.
Where, in heaven's name, do you come from now? "
My guide winked in a meaning manner, and replied by the well-known
saying--
"The sparrow was flying about in the orchard; he was eating hempseed;
the grandmother threw a stone at him, and missed him. And you, how are
you all getting on? "
"How are we all getting on? " rejoined the host, still speaking in
proverbs.
"Vespers were beginning to ring, but the wife of the _pope_[22] forbid
it; the pope went away on a visit, and the devils are abroad in the
churchyard. "
"Shut up, uncle," retorted the vagabond. "When it rains there will be
mushrooms, and when you find mushrooms you will find a basket to put
them in. But now" (he winked a second time) "put your axe behind your
back,[23] the gamekeeper is abroad. To the health of your excellency. "
So saying he took the glass, made the sign of the cross, and swallowed
his brandy at one gulp, then, bowing to me, returned to his lair above
the stove.
I could not then understand a single word of the thieves' slang they
employed. It was only later on that I understood that they were talking
about the army of the Yaik, which had only just been reduced to
submission after the revolt of 1772. [24]
Saveliitch listened to them talking with a very discontented manner, and
cast suspicious glances, sometimes on the host and sometimes on the
guide.
The kind of inn where we had sought shelter stood in the very middle of
the steppe, far from the road and from any dwelling, and certainly was
by no means unlikely to be a robber resort. But what could we do? We
could not dream of resuming our journey. Saveliitch's uneasiness amused
me very much. I stretched myself on a bench. My old retainer at last
decided to get up on the top of the stove,[25] while the host lay down
on the floor. They all soon began to snore, and I myself soon fell dead
asleep.
When I awoke, somewhat late, on the morrow I saw that the storm was
over. The sun shone brightly; the snow stretched afar like a dazzling
sheet. The horses were already harnessed. I paid the host, who named
such a mere trifle as my reckoning that Saveliitch did not bargain as he
usually did. His suspicions of the evening before were quite gone. I
called the guide to thank him for what he had done for us, and I told
Saveliitch to give him half a rouble as a reward.
Saveliitch frowned.
"Half a rouble! " cried he. "Why? Because you were good enough to bring
him yourself to the inn? I will obey you, excellency, but we have no
half roubles to spare. If we take to giving gratuities to everybody we
shall end by dying of hunger. "
I could not dispute the point with Saveliitch; my money, according to my
solemn promise, was entirely at his disposal. Nevertheless, I was
annoyed that I was not able to reward a man who, if he had not brought
me out of fatal danger, had, at least, extricated me from an awkward
dilemma.
"Well," I said, coolly, to Saveliitch, "if you do not wish to give him
half a rouble give him one of my old coats; he is too thinly clad. Give
him my hareskin _touloup_. "
"Have mercy on me, my father, Petr' Andrejitch! " exclaimed Saveliitch.
"What need has he of your _touloup_? He will pawn it for drink, the
dog, in the first tavern he comes across. "
"That, my dear old fellow, is no longer your affair," said the vagabond,
"whether I drink it or whether I do not. His excellency honours me with
a coat off his own back. [26] It is his excellency's will, and it is your
duty as a serf not to kick against it, but to obey. "
"You don't fear heaven, robber that you are," said Saveliitch, angrily.
"You see the child is still young and foolish, and you are quite ready
to plunder him, thanks to his kind heart. What do you want with a
gentleman's _touloup_? You could not even put it across your cursed
broad shoulders. "
"I beg you will not play the wit," I said to my follower. "Get the cloak
quickly. "
"Oh! good heavens! " exclaimed Saveliitch, bemoaning himself. "A
_touloup_ of hareskin, and still quite new! And to whom is it
given? --to a drunkard in rags. "
However, the _touloup_ was brought. The vagabond began trying it on
directly. The _touloup_, which had already become somewhat too small for
me, was really too tight for him. Still, with some trouble, he succeeded
in getting it on, though he cracked all the seams. Saveliitch gave, as
it were, a subdued howl when he heard the threads snapping.
As to the vagabond, he was very pleased with my present. He ushered me
to my _kibitka_, and saying, with a low bow, "Thanks, your excellency;
may Heaven reward you for your goodness; I shall never forget, as long
as I live, your kindnesses," went his way, and I went mine, without
paying any attention to Saveliitch's sulkiness.
I soon forgot the snowstorm, the guide, and my hareskin _touloup_.
Upon arrival at Orenburg I immediately waited on the General. I found a
tall man, already bent by age. His long hair was quite white; his old
uniform reminded one of a soldier of Tzarina Anne's[27] time, and he
spoke with a strongly-marked German accent. I gave him my father's
letter. Upon reading his name he cast a quick glance at me.
"Ah," said he, "it was but a short time Andrej Petrovitch was your age,
and now he has got a fine fellow of a son. Well, well--time, time. "
He opened the letter, and began reading it half aloud, with a running
fire of remarks--
"'Sir, I hope your excellency'--What's all this ceremony? For shame! I
wonder he's not ashamed of himself! Of course, discipline before
everything; but is it thus one writes to an old comrade? 'Your
excellency will not have forgotten'--Humph! 'And when under the late
Field Marshal Munich during the campaign, as well as little
Caroline'--Eh! eh! _bruder_! So he still remembers our old pranks? 'Now
for business. I send you my rogue'--Hum! 'Hold him with gloves of
porcupine-skin'--What does that mean--'gloves of porcupine-skin? ' It
must be a Russian proverb.
"What does it mean, 'hold with gloves of porcupine-skin? '" resumed he,
turning to me.
"It means," I answered him, with the most innocent face in the world,
"to treat someone kindly, not too strictly, to leave him plenty of
liberty; that is what holding with gloves of porcupine-skin means. "
"Humph! I understand. "
"'And not give him any liberty'--No; it seems that porcupine-skin gloves
means something quite different. ' Enclosed is his commission'--Where is
it then? Ah! here it is! --'in the roll of the Semenofsky Regiment'--All
right; everything necessary shall be done. 'Allow me to salute you
without ceremony, and like an old friend and comrade'--Ah! he has at
last remembered it all," etc. , etc.
"Well, my little father," said he, after he had finished the letter and
put my commission aside, "all shall be done; you shall be an officer in
the ----th Regiment, and you shall go to-morrow to Fort Belogorsk, where
you will serve under the orders of Commandant Mironoff, a brave and
worthy man. There you will really serve and learn discipline. There is
nothing for you to do at Orenburg; amusement is bad for a young man.
To-day I invite you to dine with me. "
"Worse and worse," thought I to myself. "What good has it done me to
have been a sergeant in the Guard from my cradle? Where has it brought
me? To the ----th Regiment, and to a fort stranded on the frontier of
the Kirghiz-Kaisak Steppes! "
I dined at Andrej Karlovitch's, in the company of his old aide de camp.
Strict German economy was the rule at his table, and I think that the
dread of a frequent guest at his bachelor's table contributed not a
little to my being so promptly sent away to a distant garrison.
The next day I took leave of the General, and started for my
destination.
CHAPTER III.
THE LITTLE FORT.
The little fort of Belogorsk lay about forty versts[28] from Orenburg.
From this town the road followed along by the rugged banks of the R.
Yaik. The river was not yet frozen, and its lead-coloured waves looked
almost black contrasted with its banks white with snow. Before me
stretched the Kirghiz Steppes. I was lost in thought, and my reverie was
tinged with melancholy. Garrison life did not offer me much attraction.
I tried to imagine what my future chief, Commandant Mironoff, would be
like. I saw in my mind's eye a strict, morose old man, with no ideas
beyond the service, and prepared to put me under arrest for the smallest
trifle.
Twilight was coming on; we were driving rather quickly.
"Is it far from here to the fort? " I asked the driver.
"Why, you can see it from here," replied he.
I began looking all round, expecting to see high bastions, a wall, and a
ditch. I saw nothing but a little village, surrounded by a wooden
palisade. On one side three or four haystacks, half covered with snow;
on another a tumble-down windmill, whose sails, made of coarse limetree
bark, hung idly down.
"But where is the fort? " I asked, in surprise.
"There it is yonder, to be sure," rejoined the driver, pointing out to
me the village which we had just reached.
I noticed near the gateway an old iron cannon. The streets were narrow
and crooked, nearly all the _izbas_[29] were thatched. I ordered him to
take me to the Commandant, and almost directly my _kibitka_ stopped
before a wooden house, built on a knoll near the church, which was also
in wood.
No one came to meet me. From the steps I entered the ante-room. An old
pensioner, seated on a table, was busy sewing a blue patch on the elbow
of a green uniform. I begged him to announce me.
"Come in, my little father," he said to me; "we are all at home. "
I went into a room, very clean, but furnished in a very homely manner.
In one corner there stood a dresser with crockery on it. Against the
wall hung, framed and glazed, an officer's commission. Around this were
arranged some bark pictures,[30] representing the "Taking of Kustrin"
and of "Otchakof,"[31] "The Choice of the Betrothed," and the "Burial of
the Cat by the Mice. " Near the window sat an old woman wrapped in a
shawl, her head tied up in a handkerchief. She was busy winding thread,
which a little, old, one-eyed man in an officer's uniform was holding on
his outstretched hands.
"What do you want, my little father? " she said to me, continuing her
employment.
I answered that I had been ordered to join the service here, and that,
therefore, I had hastened to report myself to the Commandant. With these
words I turned towards the little, old, one-eyed man, whom I had taken
for the Commandant. But the good lady interrupted the speech with which
I had prepared myself.
"Ivan Kouzmitch[32] is not at home," said she. "He is gone to see Father
Garassim. But it's all the same, I am his wife. Be so good as to love us
and take us into favour. [33] Sit down, my little father. "
She called a servant, and bid her tell the "_ouriadnik_"[34] to come.
The little, old man was looking curiously at me with his one eye.
"Might I presume to ask you," said he to me, "in what regiment you have
deigned to serve? "
I satisfied his curiosity.
"And might I ask you," continued he, "why you have condescended to
exchange from the Guard into our garrison? "
I replied that it was by order of the authorities.
"Probably for conduct unbecoming an officer of the Guard? " rejoined my
indefatigable questioner.
"Will you be good enough to stop talking nonsense? " the wife of the
Commandant now said to him. "You can see very well that this young man
is tired with his journey. He has something else to do than to answer
your questions. Hold your hands better. And you, my little father," she
continued, turning to me, "do not bemoan yourself too much because you
have been shoved into our little hole of a place; you are not the first,
and you will not be the last. One may suffer, but one gets accustomed to
it. For instance, Chvabrine, Alexey Ivanytch,[35] was transferred to us
four years ago on account of a murder. Heaven knows what ill-luck befel
him. It happened one day he went out of the town with a lieutenant, and
they had taken swords, and they set to pinking one another, and Alexey
Ivanytch killed the lieutenant, and before a couple of witnesses. Well,
well, there's no heading ill-luck!
