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.
was beginning to mumble excuses, when Zourine said--
"But don't trouble yourself; I can wait, and now let us go to
Arinushka's.
Pushkin - Daughter of the Commandant
?
The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Daughter of the Commandant, by Alexksandr
Sergeevich Pushkin, Translated by Mrs. Milne Home
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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***
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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.
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.
"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.
Sergeevich Pushkin, Translated by Mrs. Milne Home
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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***
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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.
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.
"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.
