Chapter 14

[1]Diminutive of Catherine.

[2]A town in the Ukraine, where, in 1709, the Swedes, under Charles XII., were completely routed by the Russians under Peter the Great.

[3]Peter the Great encouraged foreigners of ability to settle in Russia.

The next morning, Peter, according to his promise, awoke Ibrahim and congratulated him on his elevation to the rank of Captain-lieutenant of the Grenadier company of the Preobrajensky Regiment,[1]in which he himself was Captain. The courtiers surrounded Ibrahim, each in his way trying to flatter the new favourite. The haughty Prince Menshikoff pressed his hand in a friendly manner; Sheremetieff inquired after his Parisian acquaintances, and Golovin invited him to dinner. Others followed the example of the latter, so that Ibrahim received invitations for at least a whole month.

Ibrahim now began to lead a monotonous but busy life, consequently did not feel at all dull. From day to day he became more attached to the Emperor, and was better able to estimate his lofty soul. To follow the thoughts of a great man is a very interesting study. Ibrahim saw Peter in the Senate disputing with Boutourlin and Dolgorouky, in the Admiralty College discussing the naval power of Russia; in his hours of leisure he saw him with Feophan, Gavril Boujinsky, and Kopievitch, examining translations from foreign publications, or visiting the manufactory of a merchant, the workshop of a mechanic, or the study of some learned man. Russia presented to Ibrahim the appearance of a huge workshop, where machines alone move, where each workman, subject to established rules, is occupied with his own particular business. He felt within himself that he ought to work at his own bench also, and endeavour to regret as little as possible the gaieties of his Parisian life. But it was more difficult for him to drive from his mind that other dear recollection: he often thought of the Countess L——, and pictured to himself her just indignation, her tears and her grief.... But sometimes a terrible thought oppressed him: the seductions of the great world, a new tie, another favourite—he shuddered; jealousy began to set his African blood in a ferment, and hot tears were ready to roll down his swarthy face.

One morning he was sitting in his study, surrounded by business papers, when suddenly he heard a loud greeting in French. Ibrahim turned round quickly, and young Korsakoff, whom he had left in Paris in the whirl of the great world, embraced him with joyful exclamations.

“I have only just arrived,” said Korsakoff, “and I have come straight to you. All our Parisian acquaintances send their greetings to you, and regret your absence. The Countess L ordered me to summon you to return without fail, and here is her letter to you.”

Ibrahim seized it with a trembling hand and looked at the well-known handwriting of the address, not daring to believe, his eyes.

“How glad I am,” continued Korsakoff, “that you have not yet died of ennui in this barbarous Petersburg! What do people do here? How do they occupy themselves? Who is your tailor? Have they established an opera?” Ibrahim absently replied that probably the Emperor was just then at work in the dockyard.

Korsakoff laughed.

“I see,” said he, “that you do not want me just now; some other time we will have a long chat together; I am now going to pay my respects to the Emperor.”

With these words he turned on his heel and hastened out of the room.

Ibrahim, left alone, hastily opened the letter. The Countess tenderly complained to him, reproaching him with dissimulation and distrustfulness.

“You say,” wrote she, “that my tranquillity is dearer to you than everything in the world. Ibrahim, if this were the truth, would you have brought me to the condition to which I was reduced by the unexpected news of your departure? You were afraid that I might have detained you. Be assured that, in spite of my love, I should have known how to sacrifice it for your happiness and for what you consider your duty.”

The Countess ended the letter with passionate assurances of love, and implored him to write to her, if only now and then, even though there should be no hope of their ever seeing each other again.

Ibrahim read this letter through twenty times, kissing the priceless lines-with rapture. He was burning with impatience to hear something about the Countess, and he was just preparing to set out for the Admiralty, hoping to find Korsakoff still there, when the door opened, and Korsakoff himself appeared once more. He had already paid his respects to the Emperor, and as was usual with him, he seemed very well satisfied with himself.

“Entre nous,”he said to Ibrahim, “the Emperor is a very strange man. Just fancy, I found him in a sort of linen under-vest, on the mast of a new ship, whither I was compelled to climb with my dispatches. I stood on the rope ladder, and had not sufficient room to make a suitable bow, and so I became completely confused, a thing that had never happened to me in my life before. However, when the Emperor had read my letter, he looked at me from head to foot, and no doubt was agreeably struck by the taste and splendour of my attire; at any rate he smiled and invited me to to-day’s assembly. But I am a perfect stranger in Petersburg; during the course of my six years’ absence I have quite forgotten the local customs; pray be my mentor; come with me and introduce me.”

Ibrahim agreed to do so, and hastened to turn the conversation to a subject that was more interesting to him.

“Well, and how about the Countess L——”

“The Countess? Of course, at first she was very much grieved on account of your departure; then, of course, little by little, she grew reconciled and took unto herself a new lover: do you know whom? The long-legged Marquis R——. Why do you show the whites of your negro eyes in that manner? Does it seem strange to you? Don’t you know that lasting grief is not in human nature, particularly in feminine nature? Think over this well, while I go and rest after my journey, and don’t forget to come and call for me.”

What feelings filled the soul of Ibrahim? Jealousy? Rage? Despair? No, but a deep, oppressing sorrow. He repeated to himself: “I foresaw it, it had to happen.” Then he opened the Countess’s letter, read it again, hung his head and wept bitterly. He wept for a long time. The tears relieved his heart. Looking at the clock, he perceived that it was time to set out. Ibrahim would have been very glad to stay away, but the assembly was a matter of duty, and the Emperor strictly demanded the presence of his retainers. He dressed himself and started out to call for Korsakoff.

Korsakoff was sitting in his dressing-gown, reading a French book.

“So early?” he said to Ibrahim, on seeing him.

“Pardon me,” the latter replied; “it is already half-past five, we shall be late; make haste and dress and let us go.”

Korsakoff started up and rang the bell with all his might; the servants came running in, and he began hastily to dress, himself. His French valet gave him shoes with red heels, blue velvet breeches, and a redcaftanembroidered with spangles. His peruke was hurriedly powdered in the antechamber and brought in to him. Korsakoff placed it upon his cropped head, asked for his sword and gloves, turned round about ten times before the glass, and then informed Ibrahim that he was ready. The footmen handed them their bearskin cloaks, and they set out for the Winter Palace.

Korsakoff overwhelmed Ibrahim with questions: Who was the greatest beauty in Petersburg? Who was supposed to be the best dancer? Which dance was just then the rage? Ibrahim very reluctantly gratified his curiosity. Meanwhile they reached the palace. A great number of long sledges, old-fashioned carriages, and gilded coaches already stood on the lawn. Near the steps were crowded coachmen in liveries and moustaches; running footmen glittering with tinsel and feathers, and bearing staves; hussars, pages, and clumsy servants loaded with the cloaks and muffs of their masters—a train indispensable according to the notions of the gentry of that time. At the sight of Ibrahim, a general murmur arose: “The negro, the negro, the Czar’s negro!” He hurriedly conducted Korsakoff through this motley crowd. The Court lackey opened wide the doors to them, and they entered the hall. Korsakoff was dumfounded.... In the large room, illuminated by tallow candles, which burnt dimly amidst clouds of tobacco smoke, magnates with blue ribbons across their shoulders, ambassadors, foreign merchants, officers of the Guards in green uniforms, ship-masters in jackets and striped trousers, moved backwards and forwards in crowds to the uninterrupted sound of the music of wind instruments. The ladies sat against the walls, the young ones being decked out in all the splendour of the prevailing fashion. Gold and silver glittered upon their dresses; out of monstrous farthingales their slender forms rose like flower stalks; diamonds sparkled in their ears, in their long curls, and around their necks. They glanced gaily about to the right and to the left, waiting for their cavaliers and for the dancing to begin. The elderly ladies craftily endeavoured to combine the new style of dress with that of the past; their caps were made to resemble the small sable head-dress of the Empress Natalia Kirilovna,[2]and their gowns and mantles recalled thesarafananddoushegreika.[3]They seemed to take part in these newly introduced amusements more with astonishment than pleasure, and cast looks of resentment at the wives and daughters of the Dutch skippers, who, in dimity skirts and red jackets, knitted their stockings and laughed and chatted among themselves as if they were at home.

Observing new arrivals, a servant approached them with beer and glasses on a tray. Korsakoff was completely bewildered.

“Que diable est ce que tout cela?” he said in a whisper to Ibrahim.

Ibrahim could not repress a smile. The Empress and the Grand Duchesses, dazzling in their beauty and their attire, walked through the rows of guests, conversing affably with them. The Emperor was in another room. Korsakoff, wishing to show himself to him, with difficulty succeeded in pushing his way thither through the constantly moving crowd. In this room were chiefly foreigners, solemnly smoking their clay pipes and drinking out of earthenware jugs. On the tables were bottles of beer and wine, leather pouches with tobacco, glasses of punch, and some chessboards. At one of these Peter was playing at chess with a broad-shouldered English skipper. They zealously saluted one another with whiffs of tobacco smoke, and the Emperor was so occupied with an unexpected move that had been made by his opponent, that he did not observe Korsakoff, as he smirked and capered about them. Just then a stout gentleman, with a large bouquet upon his breast, rushed hurriedly into the room and announced in a loud voice that the dancing had commenced, and immediately retired. A large number of the guests followed him, Korsakoff being among the number.

An unexpected scene filled him with astonishment. Along the whole length of the ball-room, to the sound of the most mournful music, the ladies and gentlemen stood in two rows facing each other; the gentlemen bowed low, the ladies curtsied still lower, first to the front, then to the right, then to the left, then again to the front, again to the right, and so on. Korsakoff, gazing at this peculiar style of amusement, opened wide his eyes and bit his lips. The curtseying and bowing continued for about half an hour; at last they ceased, and the stout gentleman with the bouquet announced that the ceremonial dances were ended, and ordered the musicians to play a minuet. Korsakoff felt delighted, and prepared-to shine. Among the young ladies was one in particular whom he was greatly charmed with. She was about sixteen years of age, was richly dressed, but with taste, and sat near an elderly gentleman of stern and dignified appearance. Korsakoff approached her and asked her to do him the honour of dancing with him. The young beauty looked at him in confusion, and did not seem to know what to say to him. The gentleman sitting near her frowned still more. Korsakoff awaited her decision, but the gentleman with the bouquet came up to him, led him to the middle of the room, and said in a pompous manner:

“Sir, you have done wrong. In the first place, you approached this young person without making the three necessary reverences to her, and in the second place, you took upon yourself to choose her, whereas, in the minuet that right belongs to the lady, and not to the gentleman. On that account you must be severely, punished, that is to say, you must drain the goblet of the Great Eagle.”

Korsakoff grew more and more astonished. In a moment the guests surrounded him, loudly demanding the immediate fulfilment of the law. Peter, hearing the laughter and the cries, came out of the adjoining room, as he was very fond of being present in person at such punishments. The crowd divided before him, and he entered the circle, where stood the culprit and before him the marshal of the Court holding in his hands a huge goblet filled with malmsey wine. He was trying in vain to persuade the offender to comply willingly with the law.

“Aha!” said Peter, seeing Korsakoff: “you are caught, my friend. Come now, monsieur, drink up and no frowning about it.”

There was no help for it: the poor beau, without pausing to take breath, drained the goblet to the dregs and returned it to the marshal.

“Hark you, Korsakoff,” said Peter to him: “those breeches of yours are of velvet, such as I myself do not wear, and I am far richer than you. That is extravagance; take care that I do not fall out with you.”

Hearing this reprimand, Korsakoff wished to make his way out of the circle, but he staggered and almost fell, to the indescribable delight of the Emperor and all the merry company. This episode not only did not spoil the unison and interest of the principal performance, but even enlivened it. The gentlemen began to scrape and bow, and the ladies to curtsey and knock their heels with great zeal, and this time without paying the least attention to the time of the music. Korsakoff could not take part in the general gaiety. The lady, whom he had chosen, by the order of her father, Gavril Afanassievitch Rjevsky, approached Ibrahim, and, dropping her blue eyes, timidly gave him her hand. Ibrahim danced the minuet with her and led her back to her former place, then sought out Korsakoff, led him out of the ball-room, placed him in the carriage and drove home. On the way Korsakoff began to mutter in an incoherent manner: “Accursed assembly!... accursed goblet of the Great Eagle!”... but he soon fell into a sound sleep, and knew not how he reached home, nor how he was undressed and put into bed: and he awoke the next day with a headache, and with a dim recollection of the scraping, the curtseying, the tobacco-smoke, the gentleman with the bouquet, and the goblet of the Great Eagle.

[1]One of the “crack” regiments of the Russian Army.

[2]The mother of Peter the Great.

[3]A short sleeveless jacket.

I must now introduce the gracious reader to Gavril Afanassievitch Rjevsky. He was descended from an ancient noble family, possessed vast estates, was hospitable, loved falconry, and had a large number of domestics,—in a word, he was a genuine Russian nobleman. To use his own expression, he could not endure the German spirit, and he endeavoured to preserve in his home the ancient customs that were so dear to him. His daughter was in her seventeenth year. She had lost her mother while she was yet in her infancy, and she had been brought up in the old style, that is to say, she was surrounded by governesses, nurses, playfellows, and maidservants, was able to embroider in gold, and could neither read nor write. Her father, notwithstanding his dislike to everything foreign, could not oppose her wish to learn German dances from a captive Swedish officer, living in their house. This deserving dancing-master was about fifty years of age; his right foot had been shot through at Narva,[1]and consequently he was not very well suited for minuets and courantes, but the left executed with wonderful ease and agility the most difficult steps. His pupil did honour to his teaching. Natalia Gavrilovna was celebrated for being the best dancer at the assemblies, and this was partly the cause of the mistake made by Korsakoff, who came the next day to apologize to Gavril Afanassievitch; but the airiness and elegance of the young fop did not find favour in the eyes of the proud noble, who wittily nicknamed him the French monkey.

It was a holiday. Gavril Afanassievitch expected some relatives and friends. In the ancient hall a long table was laid. The guests arrived with their wives and daughters, who had at last been set free from domestic imprisonment by the decree of the Emperor and by his own example.[2]Natalia Gavrilovna carried round to each guest a silver tray laden with golden cups, and each man, as he drained his, regretted that the kiss, which it was customary to receive on such occasions in the olden times, had gone out of fashion.

They sat down to table. In the first place, next to the host, sat his father-in-law, Prince Boris Alexeievitch Likoff, a boyar[3]of seventy years of age; the other guests ranged themselves according to the antiquity of their family, thus recalling the happy times when respect for age was observed. The men sat on one side, the women on the other. At the end of the table, the housekeeper in her old-fashioned costume—a little woman of thirty, affected and wrinkled—and the captive dancing-master, in his faded blue uniform, occupied their accustomed places. The table, which was covered with a large number of dishes, was surrounded by an anxious crowd of domestics, among whom was distinguishable the house-steward, with his severe look, big paunch and lofty immobility. The first few minutes of dinner were devoted entirely to the productions of our old cookery; the noise of plates and the rattling of spoons alone interrupted the general silence. At last the host, seeing that the time had arrived for amusing the guests with agreeable conversation, turned round and asked:

“But where is Ekemovna? Summon her hither.”

Several servants were about to rush off in different directions, but at that moment an old woman, painted white and red, decorated with flowers and tinsel, in a silk gown with a low neck, entered, singing and dancing. Her appearance produced general satisfaction.

“Good-day, Ekemovna,” said Prince Likoff: “how do you do?”

“Quite well and happy, gossip: still singing and dancing and looking out for sweethearts.”

“Where have you been, fool?” asked the host.

“Decorating myself, gossip, for the dear guests, for this holy day, by order of the Czar, by command of my master, to be a laughing-stock for everybody after the German manner.”

At these words there arose a loud burst of laughter, and the fool took her place behind the host’s chair.

“A fool talks nonsense, but sometimes speaks the truth,” said Tatiana Afanassievna, the eldest sister of the host, and for whom he entertained great respect. “As a matter of fact, the present fashion must seem ridiculous in the eyes of everybody. But since you, gentlemen, have shaved off your beards[4]and put on shortcaftans, it is, of course, useless to talk about women’s rags, although it is really a pity about thesarafan, the maiden’s ribbons, and thepovoinik![5]It is pitiable and at the same time laughable, to see the beauties of to-day: their hair frizzed like tow, greased and covered with French powder; the waist drawn in to such a degree, that it is almost on the point of breaking in two; their petticoats are distended with hoops, so that they have to enter a carriage sideways; to go through a door they are obliged to stoop down; they can neither stand, nor sit, nor breathe—real martyrs, the poor doves!”

“Oh, little mother Tatiana Afanassievna!” said Kirila Petrovitch T——, a former governor of Riazan, where he acquired three thousand serfs and a young wife, both by somewhat dishonourable means, “as far as I am concerned, my wife may do as she pleases, and wear what she likes, provided that she does not order new dresses every month and throw away the former ones that are nearly new. In former times the grandmother’ssarafanformed part of the granddaughter’s dowry, but nowadays all that is changed: the dress, that the mistress wears to-day, you will see the servant wearing to-morrow. What is to be done? It is the ruin of the Russian nobility, alas!”

At these words he sighed and looked at his Maria Ilienishna, who did not seem at all to like either his praises of the past or his disparagement of the latest customs. The other young ladies shared her displeasure, but they remained silent, for modesty was then considered an indispensable attribute in young women.

“And who is to blame?” said Gavril Afanassievitch, filling a tankard with an effervescing beverage. “Isn’t it our own fault? The young women play the fool, and we encourage them.”

“But what can we do, when our wishes are not consulted?” replied Kirila Petrovitch. “One would be glad to shut his wife up in an attic, but with beating of drums she is summoned to appear at the assemblies. The husband goes after the whip, but the wife after dress. Oh, those assemblies! The Lord has sent them upon us as a punishment for our sins.”

Maria Ilienishna sat as if upon needles; her tongue itched to speak. At last she could restrain herself no longer, and turning to her husband, she asked him with an acid smile, what he found wrong in the assemblies.

“This is what I find wrong in them,” replied the provoked husband: “since the time when they commenced, husbands have been unable to manage their wives; wives have forgotten the words of the Apostle: ‘Let the wife reverence her husband’; they no longer busy themselves about domestic affairs, but about new dresses; they do not think of how to please their husbands, but how to attract the attention of frivolous officers. And is it becoming, Madame, for a Russian lady to associate with German smokers and their work-women? And was ever such a thing heard of, as dancing and talking with young men till far into the night? It would be all very well if it were with relatives, but with strangers, with people that they are totally unacquainted with!”

“I would say just a word, but there is a wolf not far off,” said Gavril Afanassievitch, frowning. “I confess that these assemblies are not to my liking: before you know where you are, you knock against some drunkard, or are made drunk yourself to become the laughing-stock of others. Then you must keep your eyes open lest some good-for-nothing fellow should act the fool with your daughter; the young men nowadays are so spoilt, that they cannot be worse. Look, for example, at the son of the late Evgraf Sergeievitch Korsakoff, who at the last assembly made so much noise about Natasha,[6] that it brought the blood to my cheeks. The next day I see somebody driving straight into my courtyard; I thought to myself, who in the name of Heaven is it, can it be Prince Alexander Danilovitch? But no: it was Ivan Evgrafovitch! He could not stop at the gate and make his way on foot to the steps, not he! He flew in, bowing and chattering, the Lord preserve us! The fool Ekemovna mimics him very amusingly: by the way, fool, give us an imitation of the foreign monkey.”

The fool Ekemovna seized hold of a dish-cover, placed it under her arm like a hat, and began twisting, scraping, and bowing in every direction, repeating: “monsieur ... mamselle ... assemble ... pardon.” General and prolonged laughter again testified to the delight of the guests.

“Just like Korsakoff,” said old Prince Likoff, wiping away the tears of laughter, when calmness was again restored. “But why conceal the fact? He is not the first, nor will he be the last, who has returned from abroad to holy Russia a buffoon. What do our children learn there? To scrape with their feet, to chatter God knows in what gibberish, to treat their elders with disrespect, and to dangle after other men’s wives. Of all the young people who have been educated abroad (the Lord forgive me!) the Czar’s negro most resembles a man.”

“Oh, Prince,” said Tatiana Afanassievna: “I have seen him, I have seen him quite close: what a frightful muzzle he has! He quite terrified me!”

“Of course,” observed Gavril Afanassievitch: “he is a sober, decent man, and not a mere weathercock.... But who is it that has just driven through the gate into the courtyard? Surely it cannot be that foreign monkey again? Why do you stand gaping there, beasts?” he continued, turning to the servants: “run and stop him from coming in, and for the future....”

“Old beard, are you dreaming?” interrupted Ekemovna the fool, “or are you blind? It is the imperial sledge—the Czar has come.”

Gavril Afanassievitch rose hastily from the table; everybody rushed to the window, and sure enough they saw the Emperor ascending the steps, leaning on the shoulder of his servant. A great confusion arose. The host rushed to meet Peter; the servants ran hither and thither as if they had gone crazy; the guests became alarmed; some even thought how they might hasten home as quickly as possible. Suddenly the thundering voice of Peter resounded in the ante-room; all became silent, and the Czar entered, accompanied by his host, who was beside himself with joy.

“Good day, gentlemen!” said Peter, with a cheerful countenance.

All made a profound bow. The sharp eyes of the Czar sought out in the crowd the young daughter of the host; he called her to him. Natalia Gavrilovna advanced boldly enough, but she blushed not only to the ears but even to the shoulders.

“You grow more beautiful every day,” said the Emperor to her, and according to his usual custom he kissed her upon the head; then turning to the guests, he added: “I have disturbed you? You were dining? Pray sit down again, and give me some aniseed brandy, Gavril Afanassievitch.”

The host rushed to the stately house-steward, snatched from his hand a tray, filled a golden goblet himself, and gave it with a bow to the Emperor. Peter drank the brandy, ate a biscuit, and for the second time requested the guests to continue their dinner. All resumed their former places, except the dwarf and the housekeeper, who did not dare to remain at a table honoured by the presence of the Czar. Peter sat down by the side of the host and asked for some soup. The Emperor’s servant gave him a wooden spoon mounted with ivory, and a knife and fork with green bone handles, for Peter never used any other knives, forks and spoons but his own. The dinner, which a moment before had been so noisy and merry, was now continued in silence and constraint. The host, through respect and delight, ate nothing; the guests also stood upon ceremony and listened with respectful attention, as the Emperor discoursed in German with the captive Swede about the campaign of 1701. The fool Ekemovna, several times questioned by the Emperor, replied with a sort of timid coldness, which, be it remarked, did not at all prove her natural stupidity. At last the dinned came to an end. The Emperor rose, and after him all the guests.

“Gavril Afanassievitch!” he said to the host: “I want to say a word with you alone;” and, taking him by the arm, he led him into the parlour and locked the door. The guests remained in the dining-room, talking in whispers about the unexpected visit, and, afraid of being indiscreet, they soon dispersed one after another, without thanking the host for his hospitality. His father-in-law, daughter, and sister conducted them very quietly to the door, and remained alone in the dining-room, awaiting the issue of the Emperor.

[1]A town on the southern shore of the Gulf of Finland, and the scene of a great battle in 1700, when the Russians were completely routed by the Swedes under Charles XII.

[2]Previous to the reign of Peter the Great, the Russian women lived in almost Oriental seclusion, and it was for the purpose of abolishing this custom that Peter established his famous “assemblies.”

[3]A noble of the second degree.

[4]In his zeal to introduce into his empire the customs of Western Europe, Peter the Great issued an order that all Russians were to shave off their beards.

[5]The national head-dress of the Russian women.

About half an hour afterwards the door opened and Peter issued forth. With a dignified inclination of the head he replied to the threefold bow of Prince Likoff, Tatiana Afanassievna and Natasha, and walked straight out into the ante-room. The host handed him his red cloak, conducted him to the sledge, and on the steps thanked him once more for the honour he had shown him.

Peter drove off.

Returning to the dining-room, Gavril Afanassievitch seemed very much troubled; he angrily ordered the servants to clear the table as quickly as possible, sent Natasha to her own room, and, informing his sister and father-in-law that he must talk with them, he led them into the bedroom, where he usually rested after dinner. The old Prince lay down upon the oak bed; Tatiana Afanassievna sat down in the old silk-lined armchair, and placed her feet upon the footstool; Gavril Afanassievitch locked the doors, sat down upon the bed at the feet of Prince Likoff, and in a low voice began:

“It was not for nothing that the Emperor paid me a visit to-day: guess what he wanted to talk to me about.”

“How can we know, brother?” said Tatiana Afanassievna.

“Has the Czar appointed you to some government?” said his father-in-law:—“it is quite time enough that he did so. Or has he offered an embassy to you? Why not? That need not mean being a mere secretary—distinguished people are sent to foreign monarchs.”

“No,” replied his son-in-law, frowning. “I am a man of the old school, and our services nowadays are of no use, although, perhaps, an orthodox Russian nobleman is worth more than these modern upstarts, bakers and heathens. But this is a different matter altogether.”

“Then what is it, brother?” said Tatiana Afanassievna. “Why was he talking with you for such a long time? Can it be that you are threatened with some misfortune? The Lord save and defend us!”

“No misfortune, certainly, but I confess that it is a matter for reflection.”

“Then what is it, brother? What is the matter about?”

“It is about Natasha: the Czar came to ask for her hand.”

“God be thanked!” said Tatiana Afanassievna, crossing herself. “The maiden is of a marriageable age, and as the matchmaker is, so must the bridegroom be. God give them love and counsel, the honour is great. For whom does the Czar ask her hand?”

“H’m!” exclaimed Gavril Afanassievitch: “for whom? That’s just it for whom!”

“Who is it, then?” repeated Prince Likoff, already beginning to doze off to sleep.

“Guess,” said Gavril Afanassievitch.

“My dear brother,” replied the old lady: “how can we guess? There are a great number of marriageable men at Court, each of whom would be glad to take your Natasha for his wife. Is it Dolgorouky?”

“No, it is not Dolgorouky.”

“God be with him: he is too overbearing. Schein? Troekouroff?”

“No, neither the one nor the other.”

“I do not care for them either; they are flighty, and too much imbued with the German spirit. Well, is it Miloslavsky?”

“No, not he.”

“God be with him, he is rich and stupid. Who then? Eletsky? Lvoff? It cannot be Ragouzinsky? I cannot think of anybody else. For whom, then, does the Czar want Natasha?”

“For the negro Ibrahim.”

The old lady uttered a cry and clasped her hands. Prince Likoff raised his head from the pillow, and with astonishment repeated:

“For the negro Ibrahim?”

“My dear brother!” said the old lady in a tearful voice: “do not destroy your dear child, do not deliver poor little Natasha into the clutches of that black devil.”

“How?” replied Gavril Afanassievitch: “refuse the Emperor, who promises in return to bestow his favour upon us and all our house.”

“What!” exclaimed the old Prince, who was now wide awake: “Natasha, my granddaughter, to be married to a bought negro.”

“He is not of common birth,” said Gavril Afanassievitch: “he is the son of a negro Sultan. The Mussulmen took him prisoner and sold him in Constantinople, and our ambassador bought him and presented him to the Czar. The negro’s eldest brother came to Russia with a considerable ransom and——”

“We have heard the story of Bova Korolevitch and Erouslana Lazarevitch.”[1]

“My dear Gavril Afanassievitch!” interrupted the old lady, “tell us rather how you replied to the Emperor’s proposal.”

“I said that we were under his authority, and that it was our duty to obey him in all things.”

At that moment a noise was heard behind the door. Gavril Afanassievitch went to open it, but felt some obstruction. He pushed against it with increased force, the door opened, and they saw Natasha lying in a swoon upon the blood-stained floor.

Her heart sank within her, when the Emperor shut himself up with her father; some presentiment whispered to her that the matter concerned her, and when Gavril Afanassievitch ordered her to withdraw, saying that he wished to speak to her aunt and grandfather, she could not resist the instinct of feminine curiosity, stole quietly along through the inner rooms to the bedroom door, and did not miss a single word of the whole terrible conversation; when she heard her father’s last words, the poor girl lost consciousness, and falling, struck her head against an iron-bound chest, in which was kept her dowry.

The servants hastened to the spot; Natasha was lifted up, carried to her own room, and placed in bed. After a little time she regained consciousness, opened her eyes, but recognized neither father nor aunt. A violent fever set in; she spoke in her delirium about the Czar’s negro, about marriage, and suddenly cried in a plaintive and piercing voice:

“Valerian, dear Valerian, my life, save me! there they are, there they are....”

Tatiana Afanassievna glanced uneasily at her brother, who turned pale, bit his lips, and silently left the room. He returned to the old Prince, who, unable to mount the stairs, had remained below.

“How is Natasha?” asked he.

“Very bad,” replied the grieved father: “worse than I thought; she is delirious, and raves about Valerian.”

“Who is this Valerian?” asked the anxious old man. “Can it be that orphan, the archer’s son, whom you brought up in your house?”

“The same, to my misfortune!” replied Gavril Afanassievitch. “His father, at the time of the rebellion, saved my life, and the devil induced me to take the accursed young wolf into my house. When, two years ago, he was enrolled in the regiment at his own request, Natasha, on taking leave of him, shed bitter tears, and he stood as if petrified. This seemed suspicious to me, and I spoke about it to my sister. But since that time Natasha has never mentioned his name, and nothing whatever has been heard of him. I thought that she had forgotten him, but it is evident that such is not the case. But it is decided: she shall marry the negro.”

Prince Likoff did not contradict him: it would have been useless. He returned home; Tatiana Afanassievna remained by the side of Natasha’s bed; Gavril Afanassievitch, having sent for the doctor, locked himself in his room, and in his house all was still and sad.

The unexpected proposal astonished Ibrahim quite as much as Gavril Afanassievitch. This is how it happened. Peter, being engaged in business with Ibrahim, said to him:

“I perceive, my friend, that you are downhearted; speak frankly, what is it you want?”

Ibrahim assured the Emperor that he was very well satisfied with his lot, and wished for nothing better.

“Good,” said the Emperor: “if you are dull without any cause, I know how to cheer you up.”

At the conclusion of the work, Peter asked Ibrahim:

“Do you like the young lady with whom you danced the minuet at the last assembly?”

“She is very charming, Your Majesty, and seems to be a good and modest girl.”

“Then I shall take it upon myself to make you better acquainted with her. Would you like to marry her?”

“I, Your Majesty?”

“Listen, Ibrahim: you are a man alone in the world, without birth and kindred, a stranger to everybody, except myself. Were I to die to-day, what would become of you to-morrow, my poor negro? You must get settled while there is yet time, find support in new ties, become connected by marriage with the Russian nobility.”

“Your Majesty, I am happy under your protection, and in the possession of your favour. God grant that I may not survive my Czar and benefactor—I wish for nothing more; but even if I had any idea of getting married, would the young lady and her relations consent? My appearance——”

“Your appearance? What nonsense! A clever fellow like you, too! A young girl must obey the will of her parents, and we will see what old Gavril Rjevsky will say, when I myself will be your matchmaker.”

With these words the Emperor ordered his sledge, and left Ibrahim sunk in deep reflection.

“Get married?” thought the African: “why not? Am I to be condemned to pass my life in solitude, and not know the greatest pleasure and the most sacred duties of man, just because I was born beneath the torrid zone? I cannot hope to be loved: a childish objection! Is it possible to believe in love? Does it then exist in the frivolous heart of woman? As I have renounced for ever such alluring errors, I must devote my attention to ideas of a more practical nature. The Emperor is right: I must think of my future. Marriage with the young Rjevsky will connect me with the proud Russian nobility, and I shall cease to be a sojourner in my new fatherland. From my wife I shall not require love: I shall be satisfied with her fidelity; and her friendship I will acquire by constant tenderness, confidence and devotion.”

Ibrahim, according to his usual custom, wished to occupy himself with work, but his imagination was too excited. He left the papers and went for a stroll along the banks of the Neva. Suddenly he heard the voice of Peter; he looked round and saw the Emperor, who, dismissing his sledge, advanced towards him with a beaming countenance.

“It is all settled, my friend!” said Peter, taking him by the arm: “I have affianced you. To-morrow, go and visit your father-in-law, but see that you humour his boyar pride: leave the sledge at the gate, go through the courtyard on foot, talk to him about his services and distinctions, and he will be perfectly charmed with you.... And now,” continued he, shaking his cudgel, “lead me to that rogue Danilitch, with whom I must confer about his recent pranks.”

Ibrahim thanked Peter heartily for his fatherly solicitude on his account, accompanied him as far as the magnificent palace of Prince Menshikoff, and then returned home.

[1]The two principal characters in one of the legendary stories of Russia.

Dimly burnt the lamp before the glass case in which glittered the gold and silver frames of the sacred images. The flickering light faintly illuminated the curtained bed and the little table set out with labelled medicine-bottles. Near the stove sat a servant-maid at her spinning-wheel, and the subdued noise of the spindle was the only sound that broke the silence of the room.

“Who is there?” asked a feeble voice.

The servant-maid rose immediately, approached the bed, and gently raised the curtain.

“Will it soon be daylight?” asked Natalia.

“It is already midday,” replied the maid.

“Oh, Lord of Heaven! and why is it so dark?”

“The shutters are closed, miss.”

“Help me to dress quickly.”

“You must not do so, miss; the doctor has forbidden it.” “Am I ill then? How long have I been so?”

“About a fortnight.”

“Is it possible? And it seems to me as if it were only yesterday that I went to bed....”

Natasha became silent; she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. Something had happened to her, but what it was she could not exactly remember. The maid stood before her, awaiting her orders. At that moment a dull noise was heard below.

“What is that?” asked the invalid.

“The gentlemen have finished dinner,” replied the maid: “they are rising from the table. Tatiana Afanassievna will be here presently.”

Natasha seemed pleased at this; she waved her feeble hand. The maid dropped the curtain and seated herself again at the spinning-wheel.

A few minutes afterwards, a head in a broad white cap with dark ribbons appeared in the doorway and asked in a low voice:

“How is Natasha?”

“How do you do, auntie?” said the invalid in a faint voice, and Tatiana Afanassievna hastened towards her.

“The young lady has regained consciousness,” said the maid, carefully drawing a chair to the side of the bed. The old lady, with tears in her eyes, kissed the pale, languid face of her niece, and sat down beside her. Just behind her came a German doctor in a blackcaftanand learned wig. He felt Natalia’s pulse, and announced in Latin, and then in Russian, that the danger was over. He asked for paper and ink, wrote out a new prescription, and departed. The old lady rose, kissed Natalia once more, and immediately hurried down with the good news to Gavril Afanassievitch.

In the parlour, in uniform, with sword by his side and hat in his hand, sat the Czar’s negro, respectfully talking with Gavril Afanassievitch. Korsakoff, stretched out upon a soft couch, was listening to their conversation, and teasing a venerable greyhound. Becoming tired of this occupation, he approached the mirror, the usual refuge of the idle, and in it he saw Tatiana Afanassievna, who through the doorway was making unnoticed signs to her brother.

“Someone is calling you, Gavril Afanassievitch,” said Korsakoff, turning round to him and interrupting Ibrahim’s speech.

Gavril Afanassievitch immediately went to his sister and closed the door behind him.

“I am astonished at your patience,” said Korsakoff to Ibrahim. “For a full hour you have been listening to a lot of nonsense about the antiquity of the Likoff and Rjevsky families, and have even added your own moral observations! In your placej’aurais planté làthe old babbler and all his race, including Natalia Gavrilovna, who is an affected girl, and is only pretending to be ill—une petite santé.Tell me candidly: do you really love this littlemijaurée?”

“No,” replied Ibrahim: “I am certainly not going to marry, out of love, but out of prudence, and then only if she has no decided aversion to me.”

“Listen, Ibrahim,” said Korsakoff, “follow my advice this time; in truth, I am more discreet than I seem. Get this foolish idea out of your head—don’t marry. It seems to me that your bride has no particular liking for you. Do not a few things happen in this world? For instance: I am certainly not a very bad sort of fellow myself, but yet it has happened to me to deceive husbands, who, by the Lord, were in no way worse than me. And you yourself ... do you remember our Parisian friend, Count L—-? There is no dependence to be placed upon a woman’s fidelity; happy is he who can regard it with indifference. But you!... With your passionate, pensive and suspicious nature, with your flat nose, thick lips, and shaggy head, to rush into all the dangers of matrimony!....”

“I thank you for your friendly advice,” interrupted Ibrahim coldly; “but you know the proverb: ‘It is not your duty to rock other people’s children.’”

“Take care, Ibrahim,” replied Korsakoff, laughing, “that you are not called upon some day to prove the truth of that proverb in the literal sense of the word.”

Meanwhile the conversation in the next room became very heated.

“You will kill her,” the old lady was saying: “she cannot bear the sight of him.”

“But judge for yourself,” replied her obstinate brother. “For a fortnight he has been coming here as her bridegroom, and during that time he has not once seen his bride. He may think at last that her illness is a mere invention and that we are only seeking to gain time in order to rid ourselves of him in some way. And what will the Czar say? He has already sent three times to ask after the health of Natalia. Do as you like, but I have no intention of quarrelling with him.”

“My Lord God!” said Tatiana Afanassievna: “what will become of the poor child! At least let me go and prepare her for such a visit.”

Gavril Afanassievitch consented, and then returned, to the parlour.

“Thank God!” said he to Ibrahim: “the danger is over. Natalia is much better. Were it not that I do not like to leave my dear guest Ivan Evgrafovitch here alone, I would take you upstairs to have a glimpse of your bride.”

Korsakoff congratulated Gavril Afanassievitch, asked him not to be uneasy on his account, assured him that he was compelled to go at once, and rushed out into the hall, without allowing his host to accompany him.

Meanwhile Tatiana Afanassievna hastened to prepare the invalid for the appearance of the terrible guest. Entering the room, she sat down breathless by the side of the bed, and took Natasha by the hand; but before she, was able to utter a word, the door opened.

Natasha asked: “Who has come in?”

The old lady turned faint. Gavril Afanassievitch drew back the curtain, looked coldly at the sick girl, and asked how she was. The invalid wanted to smile at him, but could not. Her father’s stern look struck her, and unease took possession of her. At that moment it seemed to her that someone was standing at the head of her bed. She raised her head with an effort and suddenly recognized the czar’s negro. Then she remembered everything, and the horror of the future presented itself before her. But exhausted nature received no perceptible shock. Natasha dropped her head down again upon the pillow and closed her eyes,... her heart beat painfully within her. Tatiana Afanassievna made a sign to her brother that the invalid wanted to go to sleep, and all quitted the room very quietly, except the maid, who resumed her seat at the spinning-wheel.

The unhappy beauty opened her eyes, and no longer seeing anybody by her bedside, called the maid and sent her for the nurse. But at that moment a round, old creature like a ball, rolled up to her bed. Lastotchka (for so nurse was called) with all the speed of her short legs, had followed Gavril Afanassievitch and Ibrahim up the stairs, and concealed herself behind the door, in accordance to the promptings of that curiosity which is inborn in the fair sex. Natasha, seeing her, sent the maid away, and the nurse sat down upon a stool by the bedside.

Never had so small a body contained within itself so much energy of soul. She intermeddled in everything, knew everything, and busied herself about everything. By cunning and insinuating ways she had succeeded in gaining the love of her masters, and the hatred of all the household, which she controlled in the most arbitrary manner. Gavril Afanassievitch listened to her reports, complaints, and petty requests. Tatiana Afanassievna constantly asked her opinion, followed her advice, and Natasha had the most unbounded affection for her, and confided to her all the thoughts, all the emotions of her sixteen-year old heart.

“Do you know, Lastotchka,” said she, “my father is going to marry me to the negro.”

The nurse sighed deeply, and her wrinkled face became still more wrinkled.

“Is there no hope?” continued Natasha: “Will my father not take pity upon me?”

The nurse shook her cap.

“Will not my grandfather or my aunt intercede for me?”

“No, miss; during your illness the negro succeeded in bewitching everybody. The master is out of his mind about him, the Prince raves about him alone, and Tatiana Afanassievna says it a pity that he is a negro, as a better bridegroom we could not wish for.”

“My God, my God!” moaned poor Natasha.

“Do not grieve, my pretty one,” said the nurse, kissing her feeble hand. “If you are to marry the negro, you will have your own way in everything. Nowadays it is not as it was in the olden times: husbands no longer keep their wives under lock and key; they say the negro is rich; your house will be like a full cup—you will lead a merry life.”

“Poor Valerian!” said Natasha, but so softly that the nurse could only guess what she said, as she did not hear the words.

“That is just it, miss,” said she, mysteriously lowering her voice; “if you thought less of the archer’s orphan you would not rave about him in your illness, and your father would not be angry.”

“What!” said the alarmed Natasha: “I have raved about Valerian? And my father heard it? And my father is angry?”

“That is just the misfortune,” replied the nurse. “Now if you were to ask him not to marry you to the negro he would think that Valerian was the cause. There is nothing to be done; submit to the will of your parents, for what is to be will be.”

Natasha did not reply. The thought that the secret of her heart was known to her father, produced a powerful effect upon her imagination. One hope alone remained, the hope to die before the completion of the odious marriage. This thought consoled her. Weak and sad at heart she resigned herself to her fate.

In the house of Gavril Afanassievitch, to the right vestibule, was a narrow room with one window. There stood a simple bed covered with a woollen counter. In front of the bed was a small deal table, on which a candle was burning, and some sheets of music lay. On the wall hung an old blue uniform and its contemporary, a three-cornered hat; above it, fastened by three nails hung a rude picture representing Charles XII. on horseback. The notes of a flute resounded through this humble mansion. The captive dancing-master, its lonely occupant in night-cap and nankeen dressing-gown, was relieving the dulness of a winter’s evening, by playing some old Swedish marches. After devoting two whole hours to this exercise, the Swede took his flute to pieces, placed it in a box and began to undress....

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