Works of Alexander Pushkin

by Alexander Pushkin

  V

  HALF AN HOUR later the door opened and Peter issued forth. With a dignified inclination of the head he responded to the threefold bow of Prince Lykov, Tatyana Afanasyevna and Natasha, and walked straight out into the ante-room. The host handed him his red coat, conducted him to the sledge, and on the steps thanked him once more for the honor he had shown him.

  Peter drove off.

  Returning to the dining-room, Gavrila Afanasyevich 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; Tatyana Afanasyevna sank into the old brocaded armchair, and placed her feet upon the footstool; Gavrila Afanasyevich locked all the doors, sat down upon the bed at the feet of Prince Lykov, and in a low voice began:

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

  “How can we know, brother?” said Tatyana Afanasyevna.

  “Has the Czar appointed you governor of some province?” said his father-in-law: — ”it is high time that he did so. Or has he offered you an ambassador’s post? Men of noble birth — not only plain clerks — 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 not in demand, although, perhaps, an orthodox Russian nobleman is worth more than these modern upstarts, pancake vendors and heathens. But this is a different matter altogether.”

  “Then what was it, brother?” said Tatyana Afanasyevna, “that he was talking with you about for such a long time? Can it be that you are in trouble? The Lord save and defend us!”

  “Not exactly in trouble, but I confess that it is a matter for reflection.”

  “Then what is it, brother? What is it all about?”

  “It is about Natasha: the Czar came to speak of a match for her.”

  “God be praised!” said Tatyana Afanasyevna, cross-

  ing herself. “The girl is of marriageable age, and as the matchmaker is, so must the bridegroom be. God give them love and counsel, the honor is great. For whom does the Czar ask her hand?”

  “H’m!” exclaimed Gavrila Afanasyevich: “for whom? That’s just it — for whom!”

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

  “Guess,” said Gavrila Afanasyevich.

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

  “No, it is not Dolgoruky.”

  “It’s just as well: he is much too conceited. Is it Shein? Troyekurov?”

  “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.”

  “It’s just as well, he is rich and stupid. Who then? Yeletzky? Lvov? No? It cannot be Raguzinsky? I cannot think of anybody else. For whom, then, does the Czar intend Natasha?”

  “For the Negro Ibrahim.”

  The old lady exclaimed, and struck her hands together. Prince Lykov 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 ruin your own child, do not deliver poor little Natasha into the clutches of that black devil.”

  “But how,” replied Gavrila Afanasyevich: “can I refuse the Emperor, who promises in return to bestow his favor 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 Gavrila Afanasyevich: “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 — ”

  “My dear Gavrila Afanasyevich!” interrupted the old lady, “we have heard the fairy tale about Prince be va and Yeruslan Lazarevich. Tell us rather what answers you made 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. Gavrila Afanasyevich went to open it, but felt some obstruction. He pushed it hard, the door opened, and they saw Natasha lying in a swoon upon the bloodstained floor.

  Her heart had sunk within her, when the Emperor shut himself up with her father; some presentiment had whispered to her that the matter concerned her, and when Gavrila Afanasyevitch ordered her to withdraw, saying that he wished to speak to her aunt and grandfather, she could not resist the promptings 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 her dowry was kept.

  The servants hastened to the spot; Natasha was lifted up, carried to her own room, and placed in bed. After a while 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:

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

  Tatyana Afanasyevna 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?” he asked.

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

  “Who is this Valeryan?” asked the anxious old man. “Can it be that orphan, the son of a streletz, whom you brought up in your house?”

  “The same, to my misfortune!” replied Gavrila Afanasyevich. “His father, at the time of the rebellion, saved my life, and the devil put it into my head to take the accursed wolf-cub 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 apparently this is not the case. It’s settled: she shall marry the Negro.” Prince Lykov did not contradict him: it would have been useless. He returned home; Tatyana Afanasyevna remained by the side of Natasha’s bed; Gavrila Afanasyevich, having sent for the doctor, locked himself in his room, and the house grew silent and gloomy.

  The unexpected proposal astonished Ibrahim quite as much as Gavrila Afanasyevich. This is how it hap-

  pened. 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 every
body, except myself. Were I to die today, what would become of you tomorrow, 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 favor. 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! You are a capital fellow! A young girl must obey the will of her parents, and we will see what old Gavrila Rzhevsky will say, when I myself am 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 in 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 these sweet delusions, I choose other, more substantial attractions. The Emperor is right: I must think of my future. Marriage with the young Rzhevsky girl 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 indulgence.” Ibrahim, according to his usual custom, wished to occupy himself with work, but his imagination was too active. 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, having dismissed his sledge, advanced toward him with a beaming countenance.

  “It is all settled, brother!” said Peter, taking him by the arm: “I have arranged your marriage. Tomorrow, go and visit your future father-in-law, but see that you humor 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 Danilych, 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 Menshikov, and then returned home.

  VI

  A LAMP shed a soft light on the glass case in which glittered the gold and silver mountings of the old family ikons. The flickering light faintly illuminated the curtained bed and the little table set out with labeled 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 Natalya.

  “It is already midday,” replied the maid.

  “Oh, Lord! and why is it so dark?”

  “The curtains are drawn, 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 this way?”

  “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. Tatyana Afanasyevna will be here presently.”

  Natasha seemed pleased at this; she waved her feeble hand. The maid drew 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 Tatyana Afanasyevna hastened toward her.

  “The young lady has come to,” 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 black caftan and the wig worn by the learned. He felt Natasha’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 Natalya once more, and immediately hurried down with the good news to Gavrila Afanasyevich.

  The Czar’s Negro, in uniform, wearing his sword and carrying his hat in his hand, sat in the drawingroom with Gavrila Afanasyevich. Korsakov, 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 Tatyana Afanasyevna, who through the doorway was vainly signaling to her brother.

  “Someone is calling you, Gavrila Afanasyevich,” said Korsakov, turning round to him and interrupting Ibrahim’s speech.

  Gavrila Afanasyevich immediately went to his sister and closed the door behind him.

  “I am astonished at your patience,” said Korsakov to Ibrahim. “For a full hour you have been listening to a lot of nonsense about the antiquity of the Lykov and Rzhevsky lineage, and have even added your own moral observations! In your place j’aurais planté la the old liar and his whole tribe, including Natalya Gavrilovna, who puts on airs, and is only pretending to be ill — une petite santé. Tell me candidly: are you really in love with this little mijaurée?”

  “No,” replied Ibrahim, “I am not going to marry for love, I am going to make a marriage of convenience, and then only if she has no decided aversion to me.”

  “Listen, Ibrahim,” said Korsakov, “follow my advice this time; in truth, I am more sensible 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. Don’t all sorts of things happen in this world? For instance: I am certainly not a bad-looking fellow myself, and yet it has happened to me to deceive husbands, who, Lord knows, were in no way worse-looking than me. And you yourself... do you remember our Parisian friend, Count D — ? 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 coarse wool, 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 Korsakov, 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 Natalya. Do as you like, but I have no intention of quarreling with him.”

  “Good Lord!” said Tatyana Afanasyevna: “what will become of the poor child! At least let me go and prepare her for such a visit.”

  Gavrila Afanasyevich consented, and then returned to the parlor.

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

  Korsakov congratulated Gavrila Afanasyevich, 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 Tatyana Afanasyevna 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. Gavrila Afanasyevich 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 uneasiness 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 all the horror of the future presented itself to her. But she was too exhausted to be perceptibly shocked. Natasha laid her head down again upon the pillow and closed her eyes... her heart beat painfully. Tatyana Afanasyevna 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 girl opened her eyes, and no longer seeing anybody by her bedside, called the maid and sent her for the dwarf. But at that moment a round, old figure rolled up to her bed, like a ball. Lastochka (for so the dwarf was called) with all the speed of her short legs had followed Gavrila Afanasyevich and Ibrahim up the stairs, and concealed herself behind the door, in accordance with the promptings of that curiosity which is inborn in the fair sex. Natasha, seeing her, sent the maid away, and the dwarf sat down upon a stool by the bedside.

  Never had so small a body contained within itself so much energy. She meddled 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 autocratic manner. Gavrila Afanasyevich listened to her tale-bearing, complaints, and petty requests. Tatyana Afanasyevna constantly asked her opinion, and 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.