Chapter 2

[1]Savelitch uses the word here in its old meaning of fellow-sponsor.

[2]A tenth of a penny.

[3]A kind of rough travelling cart.

[4]The Russian peasant usually carries his axe behind him.

[5]The usual sleeping place of the Russian peasant.

The fortress of Bailogorsk was situated about forty versts[1]from Orenburg. The road to it led along the steep bank of the Yaik.[2]The river was not yet frozen, and its leaden-coloured waves had a dark and melancholy aspect as they rose and fell between the dreary banks covered with the white snow. Beyond it stretched the Kirghis steppes. I sank into reflections, most of them of a gloomy nature. Garrison life had little attraction for me. I endeavoured to picture to myself Captain Mironoff, my future chief; and I imagined him to be a severe, ill-tempered old man, knowing nothing except what was connected with his duty, and ready to arrest me and put me on bread and water for the merest trifle.

In the meantime it began to grow dark, and we quickened our pace.

“Is it far to the fortress?” I inquired of our driver.

“Not far,” he replied, “you can see it yonder.”

I looked around on every side, expecting to see formidable bastions, towers, and ramparts, but I could see nothing except a small village surrounded by a wooden palisade. On one side stood three or four hayricks, half covered with snow; on the other a crooked looking windmill, with its bark sails hanging idly down.

“But where is the fortress?” I asked in astonishment.

“There it is,” replied the driver, pointing to the village, and, as he spoke, we entered into it.

At the gate I saw an old cast-iron gun; the streets were narrow and crooked; the cottages small, and for the most part covered with thatch. I expressed a wish to be taken to the Commandant, and, in about a minute, thekibitkastopped in front of a small wooden house, built on an eminence, and situated near the church, which was likewise of wood.

Nobody came out to meet me. I made my way to the entrance and then proceeded to the ante-room. An old pensioner, seated at a table, was engaged in sewing a blue patch on the elbow of a green uniform coat. I ordered him to announce me.

“Go inside, little father,” replied the pensioner; “our people are at home.”

I entered into a very clean room, furnished in the old-fashioned style. In one corner stood a cupboard containing earthenware utensils; on the wall hung an officers diploma, framed and glazed, and around it were arranged a few rude wood engravings, representing the “Capture of Kustrin and Otchakoff,”[3]the “Choice of the Bride,” and the “Burial of the Cat.” At the window sat an old woman in a jerkin, and wearing a handkerchief round her head. She was unwinding thread which a one-eyed old man, dressed in an officer’s uniform, held in his outstretched hands.

“What is your pleasure, little father?” she asked, continuing her occupation.

I replied that I had come to enter the service, and, in accordance with the regulations, to notify my arrival to the Captain in command. And with these words I turned towards the one-eyed old man, whom I supposed to be the Commandant; but the old lady interrupted me in the speech which I had so carefully prepared beforehand.

“Ivan Kouzmitch[4]is not at home,” said she; “he has gone to visit Father Gerasim. But it is all the same, I am his wife.”

She summoned a maid-servant and told her to call an orderly officer. The little old man looked at me out of his one eye with much curiosity.

“May I ask,” said he, “in what regiment you have deigned to serve?”

I satisfied his curiosity.

“And may I ask,” he continued, “why you have exchanged the Guards for this garrison?”

I replied that such was the wish of the authorities.

“Probably for conduct unbecoming an officer of the Guards?” continued the indefatigable interrogator.

“A truce to your foolish chatter,” said the Captain’s wife to him; “you see that the young man is tired after his journey. He has something else to do than to listen to your nonsense.” Then turning to me she added: “You are not the first, and you will not be the last. It is a hard life here, but you will soon get to like it. It is five years ago since Shvabrin Alexei Ivanitch was sent here to us for a murder. Heaven knows what it was that caused him to go wrong. You see, he went out of the town with a lieutenant; they had taken their swords with them, and they began to thrust at one another, and Alexei Ivanitch stabbed the lieutenant, and all before two witnesses! But what would you? Man is not master of sin.”

At this moment the orderly officer, a young and well-built Cossack, entered the room.

“Maximitch,” said the Captain’s wife to him, “conduct this officer to his quarters, and see that everything is attended to.”

“I obey, Vassilissa Egorovna,” replied the orderly. “Is not his Excellency to lodge with Ivan Polejaeff?”

“What a booby you are, Maximitch!” said the Captain’s wife. “Polejaeff’s house is crowded already; besides, he is my gossip, and remembers that we are his superiors. Take the officer—what is your name, little father?”[5]

“Peter Andreitch.”

“Take Peter Andreitch to Simon Kouzoff. The rascal allowed his horse to get in my kitchen-garden.... And is everything right, Maximitch?”

“Everything, thank God!” replied the Cossack; “only Corporal Prokhoroff has been having a squabble at the bath with Ustinia Pegoulina, on account of a can of hot water.”

“Ivan Ignatitch,” said the Captain’s wife to the one-eyed old man, “decide between Prokhoroff and Ustinia as to who is right and who is wrong, and then punish both. Now, Maximitch, go, and God be with you. Peter Andreitch, Maximitch will conduct you to your quarters.”

I bowed and took my departure. The orderly conducted me to a hut, situated on the steep bank of the river, at the extreme end of the fortress. One half of the hut was occupied by the family of Simon Kouzoff; the other was given up to me. It consisted of one room, of tolerable cleanliness, and was divided into two by a partition.

Savelitch began to set the room in order, and I looked out of the narrow window. Before me stretched a gloomy steppe. On one side stood a few huts, and two or three fowls were wandering about the street. An old woman, standing on a doorstep with a trough in her hands, was calling some pigs, which answered her with friendly grunts. And this was the place in which I was condemned to spend my youth! Grief took possession of me; I came, away from the window and lay down to sleep without eating any supper, in spite of the exhortations of Savelitch, who kept repeating in a tone of distress:

“Lord of heaven! he will eat nothing! What will my mistress say if the child falls ill?”—

The next morning I had scarcely begun to dress when the door opened, and a young officer, somewhat short in stature, with a swarthy and rather ill-looking countenance, though distinguished by extraordinary vivacity, entered the room.

“Pardon me,” he said to me in French, “for coming without ceremony to make your acquaintance. I heard yesterday of your arrival, and the desire to see at last a fresh human face took such possession of me, that I could not wait any longer. You will understand this when you have lived here a little while.”

I conjectured that this was the officer who had been dismissed from the Guards on account of the duel. We soon became acquainted. Shvabrin was by no means a fool. His conversation was witty and entertaining. With great liveliness he described to me the family of the Commandant, his society, and the place to which fate had conducted me. I was laughing with all my heart when the old soldier who had been mending his uniform in the Commandant’s ante-chamber, came to me, and, in the name of Vassilissa Egorovna, invited me to dinner. Shvabrin declared that he would go with me.

On approaching the Commandant’s house, we perceived on the square about twenty old soldiers, with long pig-tails and three-cornered hats. They were standing to the front. Before them stood the Commandant, a tall and sprightly old man, in a nightcap and flannel dressing-gown. Observing us, he came forward towards us, said a few kind words to me, and then went on again with the drilling of his men. We were going to stop to watch the evolutions, but he requested us to go to Vassilissa Egorovna, promising to join us in a little while. “Here,” he added, “there is nothing for you to see.”

Vassilissa Egorovna received us with unfeigned gladness and simplicity, and treated me as if she had known me all my life. The pensioner and Palashka spread the tablecloth.

“What is detaining my Ivan Kouzmitch so long to-day?” said the Commandant’s wife. “Palashka, go and call your master to dinner.... But where is Masha?”[6]

At that moment there entered the room a young girl of about eighteen years of age, with a round, rosy face, and light brown hair, brushed smoothly back behind her ears, which were tinged with a deep blush. She did not produce a very favourable impression upon me at the first glance. I regarded her with prejudiced eyes. Shvabrin had described Masha, the Captain’s daughter, as a perfect idiot. Maria Ivanovna[7]sat down in a corner and began to sew. Meanwhile, the cabbage-soup was brought in. Vassilissa Egorovna, not seeing her husband, sent Palashka after him a second time.

“Tell your master that the guests are waiting, and that the soup is getting cold. Thank Heaven, the drill will not run away! he will have plenty of time to shout himself hoarse.”

The Captain soon made his appearance, accompanied by the little one-eyed old man.

“What is the meaning of this, little father?” said his wife to him; “the dinner has been ready a long time, and you would not come.”

“Why, you see, Vassilissa Egorovna,” said Ivan Kouzmitch, “I was occupied with my duties; I was teaching my little soldiers.”

“Nonsense!” replied his wife; “it is all talk about your teaching the soldiers. The service does not suit them, and you yourself don’t understand anything about it. It would be better for you to stay at home and pray to God. My dear guests, pray take your places at the table.”

We sat down to dine. Vassilissa Egorovna was not silent for a single moment, and she overwhelmed me with questions. Who were my parents? Were they living? Where did they live? How much were they worth? On hearing that my father owned three hundred souls:[8]

“Really now!” she exclaimed; “well, there are some rich people in the world! As for us, my little father, we have only our one servant-girl, Palashka; but, thank God, we manage to get along well enough! There is only one thing that we are troubled about. Masha is an eligible girl, but what has she got for a marriage portion? A clean comb, a hand-broom, and three copecks—Heaven have pity upon her!—to pay for a bath. If she can find a good man, all very well; if not, she will have to be an old maid.”

I glanced at Maria Ivanovna; she was blushing all over, and tears were even falling into her plate. I began to feel pity for her, and I hastened to change the conversation.

“I have heard,” said I, as appropriately as I could, “that the Bashkirs are assembling to make an attack upon your fortress.”

“And from whom did you hear that, my little father?” asked Ivan Kouzmitch.

“They told me so in Orenburg,” I replied.

“All nonsense!” said the Commandant; “we have heard nothing about them for a long time. The Bashkirs are a timid lot, and the Kirghises have learnt a lesson. Don’t be alarmed, they will not attack us; but if they should venture to do so, we will teach them such a lesson that they will not make another move for the next ten years.”

“And are you not afraid,” continued I, turning to the Captain’s wife, “to remain in a fortress exposed to so many dangers?”

“Habit, my little father,” she replied. “It is twenty years ago since they transferred us from the regiment to this place, and you cannot imagine how these accursed heathens used to terrify me. If I caught a glimpse of their hairy caps now and then, or if I heard their yells, will you believe it, my father, my heart would leap almost into my mouth. But now I am so accustomed to it that I would not move out of my place if anyone came to tell me that the villains were prowling round the fortress.”

“Vassilissa Egorovna is a very courageous lady,” observed Shvabrin earnestly; “Ivan Kouzmitch can bear witness to that.”

“Yes, I believe you,” said Ivan Kouzmitch; “the wife is not one of the timid ones.”

“And Maria Ivanovna,” I asked, “is she as brave as you?”

“Masha brave?” replied her mother. “No, Masha is a coward. Up to the present time she has never been able to hear the report of a gun without trembling all over. Two years ago, when Ivan Kouzmitch took the idea into his head to fire off our cannon on my name-day,[9]my little dove was so frightened that she nearly died through terror. Since then we have never fired off the accursed cannon.”

We rose from the table. The Captain and his wife went to indulge in a nap, and I accompanied Shvabrin to his quarters, where I spent the whole evening.

[1]A verst is two-thirds of an English mile.

[2]A tributary of the Oural.

[3]Taken from the Turks in 1737 by the Russian troops under Count Münich.

[4]Ivan (John), son of Kouzma.

[5]Little father (batyushka). A familiar idiom peculiar to the Russian language.

[6]Diminutive of Maria or Mary.

[7]Mary, daughter of Ivan (i.e., Masha).

[8]The technical name for serfs.

[9]The Russians do not keep the actual day of their birth, but their name-day—that is, the day kept in honour of the saint after whom they are called.

Several weeks passed by, and my life in the fortress of Bailogorsk became not only endurable, but even agreeable. In the house of the Commandant I was received as one of the family. Both husband and wife were very worthy persons. Ivan Kouzmitch, who had risen from the ranks, was a simple and unaffected man, but exceedingly honest and good-natured. His wife managed things generally for him, and this was quite in harmony with his easy-going disposition. Vassilissa Egorovna looked after the business of the service as well as her own domestic affairs, and ruled the fortress precisely as she did her own house. Maria Ivanovna soon ceased to be shy in my presence. We became acquainted. I found her a sensible and feeling girl. In an imperceptible manner I became attached to this good family, even to Ivan Ignatitch, the one-eyed garrison lieutenant, whom Shvabrin accused of being on terms of undue intimacy with Vassilissa Egorovna, an accusation which had not a shadow of probability to give countenance to it; but Shvabrin did not trouble himself about that.

I was promoted to the rank of officer. My duties were not very heavy. In this God-protected fortress there was neither parade, nor drill, nor guard-mounting. The Commandant sometimes instructed the soldiers for his own amusement, but he had not yet got so far as teaching them which was the right-hand side and which the left. Shvabrin had several French books in his possession. I began to read them, and this awakened within me a taste for literature. In the morning I read, exercised myself in translating, and sometimes even attempted to compose verses. I dined nearly always at the Commandants, where I generally spent the rest of the day, and where sometimes of an evening came Father Gerasim, with his wife, Akoulina Pamphilovna, the greatest gossip in the whole neighbourhood. It is unnecessary for me to mention that Shvabrin and I saw each other every day, but his conversation began to be more disagreeable the more I saw of him. His continual ridiculing of the Commandant’s family, and especially his sarcastic observations concerning Maria Ivanovna, annoyed me exceedingly. There was no other society in the fortress, and I wished for no other.

In spite of the predictions, the Bashkirs did not revolt. Tranquillity reigned around, our fortress. But the peace was suddenly disturbed by civil dissensions.

I have already mentioned that I occupied myself with literature. My essays were tolerable for those days, and Alexander Petrovitch Soumarokoff,[1]some years afterwards, praised them very much. One day I contrived to write a little song with which I was much pleased. It is well-known that, under the appearance of asking advice, authors frequently endeavour to secure a well-disposed listener. And so, writing out my little song, I took it to Shvabrin, who was the only person in the whole fortress who could appreciate a poetical production. After a short preamble, I drew my manuscript out of my pocket, and read to him the following verses:

“I banish thoughts of love, and tryMy fair one to forget;And, to be free again, I flyFrom Masha with regret.‘My troubled soul no rest can know,No peace of mind for me;For wheresoever I may go,Those eyes I still shall see.“Take pity, Masha, on this heartOppressed by grief and care;And let compassion rend apartThe clouds of dark despair.”

“What do you think of it?” I asked Shvabrin, expecting that praise which I considered I was justly entitled to. But, to my great disappointment, Shvabrin, who was generally complaisant; declared very peremptorily that the verses were not worth much.

“And why?” I asked, hiding my vexation.

“Because,” he replied, “such verses are worthy of my instructor Tredyakovsky,[2]and remind me very much of his love couplets.”

Then he took the manuscript from me and began unmercifully to pull to pieces every verse and word, jeering at me in the most sarcastic manner. This was more than I could endure, and snatching my manuscript out of his hand, I told him that I would never show him any more of my compositions. Shvabrin laughed at my threat.

“We shall see,” said he, “if you will keep your word. A poet needs a listener, just as Ivan Kouzmitch needs his decanter of brandy before dinner. And who is this Masha to whom you declare your tender passion and your amorous distress? Can it be Maria Ivanovna?”

“That is not your business,” replied I, frowning; “it is nothing to do with you who she is. I want neither your opinion nor your conjectures.”

“Oho! my vain poet and discreet lover!” continued Shvabrin, irritating me more and more. “But listen to a friend’s advice; if you wish to succeed, I advise you not to have recourse to writing verses.”

“What do you mean, sir? Please explain yourself.”

“With pleasure. I mean that if you wish Masha Mironoff to meet you at dusk, instead of tender verses, you must make her a present of a pair of earrings.”

My blood began to boil.

“Why have you such an opinion of her?” I asked, with difficulty restraining my anger.

“Because,” replied he, with a fiendish smile, “I know from experience her ways and habits.”

“You lie, scoundrel!” I exclaimed with fury. “You lie in the most shameless manner!”

Shvabrin changed colour.

“This shall not be overlooked,” said he, pressing my hand. “You shall give me satisfaction.” “With pleasure, whenever you like,” I replied, delighted beyond measure.

At that moment I was ready to tear him in pieces.

I immediately hastened to Ivan Ignatitch, and found him with a needle in his hand; in obedience to the commands of the Commandant’s wife he was stringing mushrooms for drying during the winter.

“Ah, Peter Andreitch,” said he, on seeing me, “you are welcome. May I ask on what business Heaven has brought you here?”

In a few words I explained to him that, having had a quarrel with Shvabrin, I came to ask him—Ivan Ignatitch—to be my second.

Ivan Ignatitch listened to me with great attention, keeping his one eye fixed upon me all the while.

“You wish to say,” he said to me, “that you want to kill Shvabrin, and that you would like me to be a witness to it? Is that so, may I ask?

“Exactly so.”

“In the name of Heaven, Peter Andreitch, whatever are you thinking of! You have had a quarrel with Shvabrin. What a great misfortune! A quarrel should not be hung round one’s neck. He has insulted you, and you have insulted him; he gives you one in the face, and you give him one behind the ear; a second blow from him, another from you—and then each goes his own way; in a little while we bring about a reconciliation.... Is it right to kill one’s neighbour, may I ask? And suppose that you do kill him—God be with him! I have no particular love for him. But what if he were to let daylight through you? How about the matter in that case? Who would be the worst off then, may I ask?”

The reasonings of the discreet lieutenant produced no effect upon me; I remained firm in my resolution.

“As you please,” said Ivan Ignatitch; “do as you like. But why should I be a witness to it? People fight,—what is there wonderful in that, may I ask? Thank Heaven! I have fought against the Swedes and the Turks, and have seen enough of every kind of fighting.”

I endeavoured to explain to him, as well as I could, the duty of a second; but Ivan Ignatitch could not understand me at all.

“Have your own way,” said he; “but if I ought to mix myself up in the matter at all, it should be to go to Ivan Kouzmitch and report to him, in accordance with the rules of the service, that there was a design on foot to commit a crime within the fortress, contrary to the interest of the crown, and to request him to take the necessary measures——”

I felt alarmed, and implored Ivan Ignatitch not to say anything about the matter to the Commandant; after much difficulty I succeeded in talking him over, he gave me his word, and then I took leave of him.

I spent the evening as usual at the Commandant’s house. I endeavoured to appear gay and indifferent, so as not to excite suspicion, and in order to avoid importunate questions; but I confess that I had not that cool assurance which those who find themselves in my position nearly always boast about. That evening I was disposed to be tender and sentimental. Maria Ivanovna pleased me more than usual. The thought that perhaps I was looking at her for the last time, imparted to her in my eyes something touching. Shvabrin likewise put in an appearance. I took him aside and informed him of my interview with Ivan Ignatitch.

“What do we want seconds for?” said he, drily; “we can do without them.”

We agreed to fight behind the hayricks which stood near the fortress, and to appear on the ground at seven o’clock the next morning.

We conversed together in such an apparently amicable manner that Ivan Ignatitch was nearly betraying us in the excess of his joy.

“You should have done that long ago,” he said to me, with a look of satisfaction; “a bad reconciliation is better than a good quarrel.”

“What’s that, what’s that, Ivan Ignatitch?” said the Commandant’s wife, who was playing at cards in a corner. “I did not hear what you said.”

Ivan Ignatitch, perceiving signs of dissatisfaction upon my face, and remembering his promise, became confused, and knew not what reply to make. Shvabrin hastened to his assistance.

“Ivan Ignatitch,” said he, “approves of our reconciliation.”

“And with whom have you been quarrelling, my little father?”

“Peter Andreitch and I have had rather a serious fall out.”

“What about?”

“About a mere trifle—about a song, Vassilissa Egorovna.”

“A nice thing to quarrel about, a song! But how did it happen?”

“In this way. Peter Andreitch composed a song a short time ago, and this morning he began to sing it to me, and I began to hum my favourite ditty:

‘Daughter of the Captain,Walk not out at midnight.’

Then there arose a disagreement. Peter Andreitch grew angry, but then he reflected that everyone likes to sing what pleases him best, and there the matter ended.”

Shvabrin’s insolence nearly made me boil over with fury; but nobody except myself understood his coarse insinuations; at least, nobody paid any attention to them. From songs the conversation turned upon poets, and the Commandant observed that they were all rakes and terrible drunkards, and advised me in a friendly manner to have nothing to do with poetry, as it was contrary to the rules of the service, and would lead to no good.

Shvabrin’s presence was insupportable to me. I soon took, leave of the Commandant and his family, and returned home. I examined my sword, tried the point of it, and then lay down to sleep, after giving Savelitch orders to wake me at seven o’clock.

The next morning, at the appointed hour, I stood ready behind the hayricks, awaiting my adversary. He soon made his appearance.

“We may be surprised,” he said to me, “so we must make haste.”

We took off our uniforms, remaining in our waistcoats, and drew our swords. At that moment Ivan Ignatitch and five of the old soldiers suddenly made their appearance from behind a hayrick, and summoned us to go before the Commandant. We obeyed with very great reluctance; the soldiers surrounded us, and we followed behind Ivan Ignatitch, who led the way in triumph, striding along with majestic importance.

We reached the Commandant’s house. Ivan Ignatitch threw open the door, exclaiming triumphantly:

“Here they are!”

Vassilissa Egorovna came towards us.

“What is the meaning of all this, my dears? A plot to commit murder in our fortress! Ivan Kouzmitch, put them under arrest immediately! Peter Andreitch! Alexei Ivanitch! Give up your swords—give them up at once! Palashka, take the swords into the pantry. Peter Andreitch, I did not expect this of you! Are you not ashamed? As regards Alexei Ivanitch, he was turned out of the Guards for killing a man;he does not believe in God. Do you wish to be like him?”

Ivan Kouzmitch agreed with everything that his wife said, and added:

“Yes, Vassilissa Egorovna speaks the truth; duels are strictly forbidden by the articles of war.”

In the meanwhile Palashka had taken our swords and carried them to the pantry. I could not help smiling. Shvabrin preserved his gravity.

“With all due respect to you,” he said coldly to her, “I cannot but observe that you give yourself unnecessary trouble in constituting yourself our judge. Leave that to Ivan Kouzmitch; it is his business.”

“What do you say, my dear!” exclaimed the Commandant’s wife. “Are not husband and wife, then, one soul and one body? Ivan Kouzmitch! what are you staring at? Place them at once in separate corners on bread and water, so that they may be brought to their proper senses, and then let Father Gerasim impose a penance upon them, that they may pray to God for forgiveness, and show themselves repentant before men.”

Ivan Kouzmitch knew not what to do. Maria Ivanovna was exceedingly pale. Gradually the storm blew over; the Commandant’s wife recovered her composure, and ordered us to embrace each other. Palashka brought back our swords to us. We left the Commandant’s house to all appearance perfectly reconciled. Ivan Ignatitch accompanied us.

“Were you not ashamed,” I said angrily to him, “to go and report us to the Commandant, after having given me your word that you would not do so?”

“As true as there is a heaven above us, I did not mention I a word about the matter to Ivan Kouzmitch,” he replied. “Vassilissa Egorovna got everything out of me. She arranged the whole business without the Commandant’s knowledge. However, Heaven be thanked that it has all ended in the way that it has!”

With these words he returned home, and Shvabrin and I remained alone.

“Our business cannot end in this manner,” I said to him. “Certainly not,” replied Shvabrin; “your blood shall answer for your insolence to me; but we shall doubtless be watched. For a few days, therefore, we must dissemble. Farewell, till we meet again.”

And we parted as if nothing were the matter.

Returning to the Commandant’s house I seated myself, as usual, near Maria Ivanovna. Ivan Kouzmitch was not at home. Vassilissa Egorovna was occupied with household matters. We were conversing together in an under tone. Maria Ivanovna reproached me tenderly for the uneasiness which I had caused them all by my quarrel with Shvabrin.

“I almost fainted away,” said she, “when they told us that you intended to fight with swords. What strange beings men are! For a single word, which they would probably forget a week afterwards, they are ready to murder each other and to sacrifice not only their life, but their conscience and the happiness of those——But I am quite sure that you did not begin the quarrel. Without doubt, Alexei Ivanitch first began it.”

“Why do you think so, Maria Ivanovna?”

“Because—he is so sarcastic. I do not like Alexei Ivanitch. He is very disagreeable to me; yet it is strange: I should not like to displease him. That would cause me great uneasiness.”

“And what do you think, Maria Ivanovna—do you please him or not?”

Maria Ivanovna blushed and grew confused.

“I think,” said she, “I believe that I please him.”

“And why do you think so?”

“Because he once proposed to me.”

“Proposed! He proposed to you? And when?”

“Last year; two months before your arrival.”

“And you refused?”

“As you see. Alexei Ivanitch is, to be sure, a sensible man and of good family, and possesses property; but when I think that I should have to kiss him under the crown[3]in the presence of everybody—no! not for anything in the world!”

Maria Ivanovna’s words opened my eyes and explained a great many things. I now understood why Shvabrin calumniated her so remorselessly. He had probably observed our mutual inclination towards each other, and endeavoured to produce a coolness between us. The words which had been the cause of our quarrel appeared to me still more abominable, when, instead of a coarse and indecent jest, I was compelled to look upon them in the light of a deliberate calumny. The wish to chastise the insolent slanderer became still stronger within me, and I waited impatiently for a favourable opportunity for putting it into execution.

I did not wait long. The next day, when I was occupied in composing an elegy, and sat biting my pen while trying to think of a rhyme, Shvabrin tapped at my window. I threw down my pen, took up my sword, and went out to him.

“Why should we delay any longer?” said Shvabrin; “nobody is observing us. Let us go down to the river; there no one will disturb us.”

We set out in silence. Descending a winding path, we stopped at the edge of the river and drew our swords. Shvabrin was more skilful in the use of the weapon than I, but I was stronger and more daring, and Monsieur Beaupré, who had formerly been a soldier, had given me some lessons in fencing which I had turned to good account. Shvabrin had not expected to find in me such a dangerous adversary. For a long time neither of us was able to inflict any injury upon the other; at last, observing that Shvabrin was beginning to relax his endeavours, I commenced to attack him with increased ardour, and almost forced him back into the river. All at once I heard my name pronounced in a loud tone. I looked round and perceived Savelitch hastening down the path towards me.... At that same moment I felt a sharp thrust in the breast, beneath the right shoulder, and I fell senseless to the ground.

[1]A Russian dramatic poet, once celebrated, but now almost forgotten. His most popular works were two tragedies, “Khoreff,” and “Pemetrius the Pretender.”

[2]A minor poet of the last century.

[3]Crowns are held above the heads of the bride and bridegroom during the marriage ceremony in Russia.

On recovering consciousness I for some time could neither understand nor remember what had happened to me. I was lying in bed in a strange room, and felt very weak. Before me stood Savelitch with a candle in his hand. Someone was carefully unwinding the bandages which were wrapped round my chest and shoulder. Little by little my thoughts became more collected. I remembered my duel and conjectured that I was wounded. At that moment the door creaked.

“Well, how is he?” whispered a voice which sent a thrill through me.

“Still in the same condition,” replied Savelitch with a sigh; “still unconscious, and this makes the fifth day that he has been like it.”

I wanted to turn round, but I was unable to do so.

“Where am I? Who is here?” said I with an effort. Maria Ivanovna approached my bed and leaned over me. “Well, how do you feel?” said she.

“God be thanked!” replied I in a weak voice. “Is it you, Maria Ivanovna? Tell me——”

I had not the strength to continue and I became silent. Savelitch uttered a shout and his face beamed with delight.

“He has come to himself again! He has come to himself again!” he kept on repeating. “Thanks be to Thee, O Lord! Come, little father, Peter Andreitch! What a fright you have given me! It is no light matter; this is the fifth day——”

Maria Ivanovna interrupted him.

“Do not speak to him too much, Savelitch,” said she, “he is still very weak.”

She went out of the room and closed the door very quietly after her. My thoughts became agitated. And so I was in the house of the Commandant; Maria Ivanovna had been to see me. I wanted to ask Savelitch a few questions, but the old man shook his head and stopped his ears. Filled with vexation, I closed my eyes and soon fell asleep.

When I awoke I called Savelitch, but instead of him I saw Maria Ivanovna standing before me; she spoke to me in her angelic voice. I cannot describe the delightful sensation which took possession of me at that moment. I seized her hand, pressed it to my lips, and watered it with my tears. Maria did not withdraw it.... and suddenly her lips touched my cheek, and I felt a hot fresh kiss imprinted upon it. A fiery thrill passed through me.

“Dear, good Maria Ivanovna,” I said to her, “be my wife, consent to make me happy.”

She recovered herself.

“For Heaven’s sake, calm yourself,” said she, withdrawing her hand from my grasp; “you are not yet out of danger: your wound may re-open. Take care of yourself, if only for my sake.”

With these words she left the room, leaving me in a transport of bliss. Happiness saved me. “She will be mine! She loves me!” This thought filled my whole being.

From that moment I grew hourly better. The regimental barber attended to the dressing of my wound, for there was no other doctor in the fortress, and, thank heaven, he did not assume any airs of professional wisdom. Youth and nature accelerated my recovery. The whole family of the Commandant attended upon me. Maria Ivanovna scarcely ever left my side. As will naturally be supposed, I seized the first favourable opportunity for renewing my interrupted declaration of love, and this time Maria Ivanovna listened to me more patiently.

Without the least affectation she confessed that she was favourably disposed towards me, and said that her parents, without doubt, would be pleased at her good fortune.

“But think well,” she added; “will there not be opposition on the part of your relations?”

This set me thinking. I was not at all uneasy on the score of my mother’s affection; but, knowing my father’s disposition and way of thinking, I felt that my love would not move him very much, and that he would look upon it as a mere outcome of youthful folly.

I candidly confessed this to Maria Ivanovna, but I resolved, nevertheless, to write to my father as eloquently as possible, to implore his paternal blessing. I showed the letter to Maria Ivanovna, who found it so convincing and touching, that she entertained no doubts about the success, of it, and abandoned herself to the feelings of her tender heart with all the confidence of youth and love.

With Shvabrin I became reconciled during the first days of my convalescence. Ivan Kouzmitch, reproaching me for,’ having engaged in the duel, said to me:

“See now, Peter Andreitch, I ought really to put you under arrest, but you have been punished enough already without that. As for Alexei Ivanitch, he is confined under guard in the corn magazine, and Vassilissa Egorovna has got his sword under lock and key. He will now have plenty of time to reflect and repent.”

I was too happy to cherish any unfriendly feeling in my heart. I began to intercede for Shvabrin, and the good Commandant, with the consent of his wife, agreed to restore him to liberty.

Shvabrin came to me; he expressed deep regret for all that had happened, confessed that he alone was to blame, and begged of me to forget the past. Not being by nature of a rancorous disposition, I readily forgave him the quarrel which he had caused between us, and the wound which I had received at his hands. In his slander I saw nothing but the chagrin of wounded vanity and slighted love, and l generously extended pardon to my unhappy rival.

I soon recovered my health and was able to return to my own quarters. I waited impatiently for a reply to my letter, not daring to hope, and endeavouring to stifle the sad presentiment that was ever uppermost within me. To Vassilissa Egorovna and her husband I had not yet given an explanation; but my proposal would certainly not come as a surprise to them. Neither Maria Ivanovna nor I had endeavoured to hide our feelings from them, and we felt assured of their consent beforehand.

At last, one morning, Savelitch came to me carrying a letter in his hand. I seized it with trembling fingers. The address was in the handwriting of my father. This prepared me for something serious, for the letters I received from home were generally written by my mother, my father merely adding a few lines at the end as a postscript. For a long time I could not make up my mind to break the seal, but kept reading again and again the solemn superscription:

“To my son, Peter Andreitch Grineff,

“Government[1]of Orenburg,

“Fortress of Bailogorsk.”

I endeavoured to discover from the handwriting the disposition of mind which my father was in when the letter was written. At last I resolved to open it, and I saw at the very first glance that all my hopes were shipwrecked. The letter ran as follows:—

“MY SON PETER,“Your letter, in which you ask for our paternal blessing and our consent to your marriage with Maria Ivanovna, the daughter of Mironoff, reached us the 15th inst., and not only do I intend to refuse to give you my blessing and my consent, but, furthermore, I intend to come and teach you a lesson for your follies, as I would a child, notwithstanding your officer’s rank; for you have shown yourself unworthy to carry the sword which was entrusted to you for the defence of your native country, and not for the’ purpose of fighting duels with fools like yourself. I shall write at once to Andrei Karlovitch to ask him to transfer you from the fortress of Bailogorsk to some place farther away, where you will be cured of your folly. Your mother, on hearing of your duel and your wound, was taken ill through grief, and she is now confined to her bed. I pray to God that He may correct you, although I hardly dare to put my trust in His great goodness.“Your father—A. G.”

“MY SON PETER,

“Your letter, in which you ask for our paternal blessing and our consent to your marriage with Maria Ivanovna, the daughter of Mironoff, reached us the 15th inst., and not only do I intend to refuse to give you my blessing and my consent, but, furthermore, I intend to come and teach you a lesson for your follies, as I would a child, notwithstanding your officer’s rank; for you have shown yourself unworthy to carry the sword which was entrusted to you for the defence of your native country, and not for the’ purpose of fighting duels with fools like yourself. I shall write at once to Andrei Karlovitch to ask him to transfer you from the fortress of Bailogorsk to some place farther away, where you will be cured of your folly. Your mother, on hearing of your duel and your wound, was taken ill through grief, and she is now confined to her bed. I pray to God that He may correct you, although I hardly dare to put my trust in His great goodness.

“Your father—A. G.”

The reading of this letter excited within me various feelings. The harsh expressions which my father had so unsparingly indulged in afflicted me deeply. The contempt with which he referred to Maria Ivanovna appeared to me as indecent as it was unjust. The thought of my being transferred from the fortress of Bailogorsk to some other military station terrified me, but that which grieved me more than everything else was the’ intelligence of my mother’s illness. I was very much displeased with Savelitch, not doubting that my parents had obtained information of my duel through him. After pacing up and down my narrow room for some time, I stopped before him and said, as I looked frowningly at him:

“It seems that you are not satisfied that, thanks to you, I should be wounded and for a whole month lie at the door of death, but you wish to kill my mother also.”

Savelitch gazed at me as if he were thunderstruck.

“In the name of Heaven, master,” said he, almost sobbing, “what do you mean? I the cause of your being wounded! God knows that I was running to screen you with my own breast from the sword of Alexei Ivanovitch! My accursed old age prevented me from doing so. But what have I done to your mother?”

“What have you done?” replied I. “Who asked you to write and denounce me? Have you then been placed near me to act as a spy upon me?”

“I write and denounce you?” replied Savelitch, with tears in his eyes. “O Lord, King of Heaven! Be pleased to read what my master has written to me—you will then see whether I have denounced you or not.”

And with these words he took from his pocket a letter and handed it to me.

It ran as follows:—

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you old hound, for not having—in spite of my strict injunctions to you to do so—written to me and informed me of the conduct of my son, Peter Andreitch, and leaving it to strangers to acquaint me with his follies. Is it thus that you fulfil your duty and your master’s will? I will send you to tend the pigs, you old hound, for concealing the truth and for indulging the young man. On receipt of this, I command you to write back to me without delay, and inform me of the present state of his health, of the exact place of his wound, and whether he has been well attended to.”

It was evident that Savelitch was perfectly innocent, and that I had insulted him with my reproaches and suspicions for no reason at all. I asked his pardon; but the old man was inconsolable.

“That I should have lived to come to this!” he kept on repeating; “these are the thanks that I receive from my master. I am an old hound, a keeper of pigs, and I am the cause of your being wounded. No, little father, Peter Andreitch, it is not I, but that accursed mossoo who is to blame: it was he who taught you to thrust with those iron spits and to stamp your foot, as if by thrusting and stamping one could protect himself from a bad man. It was very necessary to engage that mossoo and so throw good money to the winds!”

But who then had taken upon himself the trouble to denounce my conduct to my father? The general? But he did not appear to trouble himself in the least about me; and Ivan Kouzmitch had not considered it necessary to report my duel to him. I became lost in conjecture. My suspicions settled upon Shvabrin. He alone could derive any advantage from the denunciation, the result of which might be my removal from the fortress and separation from the Commandant’s family. I went to inform Maria Ivanovna of everything. She met me on the steps leading up to the door.

“What has happened, to you?” said she, on seeing me; “how pale you are!”

“It is all over,” replied I, and I gave her my father’s letter.

She now grew pale in her turn. Having read the letter, she returned it to me with a trembling hand, and said, with a quivering voice:

“Fate ordains that I should not be your wife.... Your parents will not receive me into their family. God’s will be done! God knows better than we do, what is good for us. There is nothing to be done, Peter Andreitch; may you be happy——”

“It shall not be!” I exclaimed, seizing hold of her hand. “You love me; I am prepared for everything. Let us go and throw ourselves at the feet of your parents; they are simple people, not hard-hearted and proud. They will give us their blessing; we will get married ... and then, with time, I feel quite certain that we shall succeed in bringing my father round; my mother will be on our side; he will forgive me——”

“No, Peter Andreitch,” replied Masha, “I will not marry you without the blessing of your parents. Without their blessing you will not be happy. Let us submit to the will of God. If you meet with somebody else, if you love another God be with you, Peter Andreitch, I will pray for you both——”

Then she burst into tears and left me. I wanted to follow her into her room, but I felt that I was not in a condition to control myself, and I returned home to my quarters.

I was sitting down, absorbed in profound thoughtfulness, when Savelitch interrupted my meditations.

“Here, sir,” said he, handing me a written sheet of paper: “see whether I am a spy upon my master, and whether I try to cause trouble between father and son.”

I took the paper out of his hand. It was the reply of Savelitch to the letter which he had received. Here it is, word for word:

“LORD ANDREI PETROVITCH, our gracious father,“I have received your gracious letter, in which you are pleased to be angry with me, your slave, telling me that I ought to be ashamed of myself for not fulfilling my master’s orders. I am not an old hound, but your faithful servant, and I do obey my master’s orders, and I have always served you zealously till my grey hairs. I did not write anything to you about Peter Andreitch’s wound, in order that I might not alarm you without a reason, and now I hear that our lady, our mother, Avdotia Vassilevna, is ill from fright, and I am going to pray to God to restore her to health. Peter Andreitch was wounded under the right shoulder, in the breast, exactly under a rib, to the depth of nearly three inches, and he was put to bed in the Commandant’s house, whither we carried him from the bank of the river, and he was healed by Stepan Paramonoff, the barber of this place, and now, thank God, Peter Andreitch is well, and I have nothing but good to write about him. His superior officers, I hear, are satisfied with him; and Vassilissa Egorovna treats him as if he were her own son. And because such an accident occurred to him, the young man ought not to be reproached: the horse has four legs, and yet he stumbles. And if it please you to write that I should go and feed the pigs, let your lordly will be done. Herewith I humbly bow down before you.“Your faithful slave,“ARKHIP SAVELITCH.”

“LORD ANDREI PETROVITCH, our gracious father,

“I have received your gracious letter, in which you are pleased to be angry with me, your slave, telling me that I ought to be ashamed of myself for not fulfilling my master’s orders. I am not an old hound, but your faithful servant, and I do obey my master’s orders, and I have always served you zealously till my grey hairs. I did not write anything to you about Peter Andreitch’s wound, in order that I might not alarm you without a reason, and now I hear that our lady, our mother, Avdotia Vassilevna, is ill from fright, and I am going to pray to God to restore her to health. Peter Andreitch was wounded under the right shoulder, in the breast, exactly under a rib, to the depth of nearly three inches, and he was put to bed in the Commandant’s house, whither we carried him from the bank of the river, and he was healed by Stepan Paramonoff, the barber of this place, and now, thank God, Peter Andreitch is well, and I have nothing but good to write about him. His superior officers, I hear, are satisfied with him; and Vassilissa Egorovna treats him as if he were her own son. And because such an accident occurred to him, the young man ought not to be reproached: the horse has four legs, and yet he stumbles. And if it please you to write that I should go and feed the pigs, let your lordly will be done. Herewith I humbly bow down before you.

“Your faithful slave,

“ARKHIP SAVELITCH.”

I could not help smiling several times while reading the good old man’s letter. I was not in a condition to reply to my father, and Savelitch’s letter seemed to me quite sufficient to calm my mother’s fears.

From this time my situation changed. Maria Ivanovna scarcely ever spoke to me, nay, she even tried to avoid me. The Commandant’s house began to become insupportable to me. Little by little I accustomed myself to remaining at home alone. Vassilissa Egorovna reproached me for it at first, but perceiving my obstinacy, she left me in peace. Ivan Kouzmitch I only saw when the service demanded it; with Shvabrin I rarely came into contact, and then against my will, all the more so because I observed in him a secret enmity towards me, which confirmed me in my suspicions. My life became unbearable to me. I sank into a profound melancholy, which was enhanced by loneliness and inaction. My love grew more intense in my solitude, and became more and more tormenting to me. I lost all pleasure in reading and literature. I grew dejected. I was afraid that I should either go out of my mind or that I should give way to dissipation. But an unexpected event, which exercised an important influence upon my after life, suddenly occurred to give to my soul a powerful and salutary shock.

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