And meanwhile in the palace this matter was already generating other swift currents.
VI
In the palace guardroom, all the just-mentioned turns after the officer took the saved drowned man in his sleigh were unknown. The officers and soldiers of the Izmailovsky Regiment knew only that one of their soldiers, Postnikov, had abandoned his sentry box and run to save a man, and since this was a grave violation of military duty, Private Postnikov would now certainly be tried and sent under the rods, and all high-ranking persons, from the company to the regimental commander, would get into terrible trouble, against which they could in no way either protest or vindicate themselves.
The wet and trembling Private Postnikov was, naturally, replaced at his post at once and, having been brought to the guardroom, candidly told N. I. Miller everything known to us, and in all its details, up to the point when the invalid officer put the saved drowned man in the sleigh with him and told the driver to gallop to the Admiralty police station.
The danger was growing greater and more inevitable. Naturally, the invalid officer would tell the police chief everything, and he would at once bring the matter to the attention of the superintendant of police, Kokoshkin, who would report it to the sovereign in the morning, and things would get “hot.”
There was no time for lengthy discussions, it was necessary to call in their seniors.
Nikolai Ivanovich Miller immediately sent an alarmed note to his battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Svinyin,4 in which he asked him to come to the palace guardroom as soon as possible and take all measures to remedy the horrible disaster.
By then it was around three o’clock, and Kokoshkin appeared with his report to the sovereign quite early in the morning, so there was very little time for any thinking or acting.
VII
Lieutenant Colonel Svinyin did not have that compassion and soft-heartedness which had always distinguished Nikolai Ivanovich Miller. Svinyin was not heartless, but before all and above all he was a “serviceman” (a type that is nowadays remembered with regret). Svinyin was distinguished by his strictness and even liked to flaunt his exactingness in discipline. He had no taste for evil, and never sought to cause anyone needless suffering; but if a man violated any duty of the service whatsoever, Svinyin was implacable. He considered it irrelevant to get into a discussion of the motives that guided the actions of the guilty man in a given case, but held to the rule that in the service all guilt is guilt. And therefore in the guards company everybody knew that, whatever Private Postnikov was going to suffer for having abandoned his post, he was going suffer, and Svinyin was not going to grieve over it.
That was how this staff officer was known to his superiors and comrades, among whom were people who did not sympathize with Svinyin, because back then “humanism” and other such delusions had not yet been entirely rooted out. Svinyin was indifferent to whether the “humanists” blamed or praised him. To beg and beseech Svinyin, or even to appeal to his sense of pity, was a totally useless thing. He was hardened against all that with the firm hardening of the career men of that time, but, like Achilles, he had his weak spot.
Svinyin also had a well-launched career in the service, which he, of course, carefully protected and cared for, so that not one speck of dust should settle on it, as on a dress uniform; and yet the unfortunate escapade of a man from a battalion entrusted to him must unfailingly cast a bad shadow on the discipline of his entire unit. Whether the battalion commander was or was not responsible for what one of his soldiers had done under the influence of the most noble compassion—that was not going to be sorted out by those upon whom Svinyin’s well-launched and carefully maintained career in the service depended, and many would even willingly roll the log under his feet, in order to clear the way for a relative or promote some fine fellow patronized by the current favorites. The sovereign would, of course, get angry and would unfailingly tell the regimental commander that he had “weak officers” and “undisciplined people” under him. And who was the cause of it? Svinyin. And so it would go on being repeated that “Svinyin is weak,” and so the reproach of weakness might well remain as an indelible blot on his, Svinyin’s, reputation. He was not, then, to become anything noteworthy in the ranks of his contemporaries, and was not to leave his portrait in the gallery of historical personages of the Russian State.
Though history was little studied back then, people believed in it, and were especially eager to participate in its making themselves.
VIII
As soon as Svinyin received the alarming note from Captain Miller, at around three o’clock in the morning, he jumped out of bed, put on his uniform, and, under the influence of fear and wrath, arrived in the guardroom of the Winter Palace. There he immediately carried out the questioning of Private Postnikov and convinced himself that the incredible incident had taken place. Private Postnikov again quite candidly confirmed to his battalion commander all that had happened during his watch and that he, Postnikov, had told earlier to his company captain, Miller. The soldier said that he was “guilty before God and his sovereign without mercy,” that he had been standing watch and, hearing the moans of a man drowning in a pool, had suffered for a long time, had struggled for a long time between duty to the service and compassion, and, finally, temptation had come over him, and he had been unable to keep up the struggle: he had abandoned the sentry box, had jumped down onto the ice, and had pulled the drowning man to the bank, and there, as ill luck would have it, he had run into the officer of the Palace Invalid Command driving by.
Lieutenant Colonel Svinyin was in despair; he gave himself the only possible satisfaction by venting his wrath on Postnikov, whom he at once sent under arrest straight from there to the punishment cells, and then said a few sharp words to Miller, accusing him of “humaneering,” which was good for nothing in military service; but all that was not enough to set things straight. To find, if not a justification, then at least an excuse for such an act as a sentry’s abandoning his post, was impossible, and there remained only one way out: to conceal the whole affair from the sovereign …
But was it possible to conceal such an occurrence?
By the look of it, it appeared impossible, since the saving of the perishing man was not only known to all the guards, but was known to that detestable invalid officer as well, who by then, of course, had managed to bring it all to the knowledge of General Kokoshkin.
Where gallop off to now? Rush to whom? Seek help and protection from whom?
Svinyin wanted to gallop to the grand duke Mikhail Pavlovich5 and tell him everything candidly. Such maneuvers were current then. Let the grand duke, with his fiery character, get angry and shout at him, but his temper and habits were such that, the more harsh and even painfully offensive he was at first, the sooner he would become merciful afterwards and even intercede on his own. There had been not a few occasions like that, and sometimes they were sought out on purpose. “Names can never hurt,” and Svinyin wanted very much to bring the matter to that favorable state, but was it possible to gain access to the palace at night and disturb the grand duke? Yet if he waited until morning and appeared before Mikhail Pavlovich after Kokoshkin had come to the sovereign with his report, it would be too late. While Svinyin was fretting amidst such difficulties, he softened, and his mind began to perceive one more way out, which until then had been hidden in the mist.
IX
In the number of well-known military maneuvers there is one which holds that, at the moment when the greatest danger threatens from the walls of a besieged fortress, do not withdraw from it, but go straight up to its walls. Svinyin decided not to do any of the things that had first come into his head, but immediately to go straight to Kokoshkin.
Many horrific and preposterous things were said about the superintendent of police Kokoshkin at that time in Petersburg, but, among others, it was maintained that he possessed an astonishingly many-sided tact and with the aid of this tact was not only “able to make a mountain out of a molehill, but,
with equal ease, was able to make a molehill out of a mountain.”
Kokoshkin was indeed very stern and forbidding and inspired great fear in everyone, but he sometimes indulged pranksters and good fun-lovers among the military, and there were many such pranksters then, and more than once they chanced to find in his person a powerful and zealous protector. Generally, he could do much and knew how to do it, if only he wanted to. Svinyin and Captain Miller both knew this about him. Miller also strengthened his battalion commander’s resolve to go immediately to Kokoshkin and trust in his magnanimity and “many-sided tact,” which would probably dictate to the general how to wriggle out of this vexing incident without provoking the sovereign’s wrath, which Kokoshkin, to his credit, always made great efforts to avoid.
Svinyin put on his overcoat, raised his eyes aloft, and, exclaiming “Lord, Lord!” several times, drove off to Kokoshkin.
It was now past four o’clock in the morning.
X
Superintendent of Police Kokoshkin was awakened, and it was announced to him that Svinyin had come on an important matter that would brook no delay.
The general immediately got up and came out to Svinyin in a house robe, rubbing his forehead, yawning, and shivering. Kokoshkin listened to everything that Svinyin told him with great attention, but calmly. During all these explanations and requests for leniency, he said only one thing:
“The soldier left his sentry box and saved a man?”
“That’s right,” replied Svinyin.
“And the sentry box?”
“Remained empty during that time.”
“Hm … I know it remained empty. Very glad it wasn’t stolen.”
At that Svinyin became even more convinced that everything was already known to him and that he had, of course, already decided how he was going to present it in his morning report to the sovereign, and that the decision was not to be changed. Otherwise such an event as a sentry’s abandoning his post in the palace guard should undoubtedly have caused much greater alarm in the energetic superintendent of police.
But Kokoshkin knew nothing. The police chief to whom the invalid officer had come with the saved drowned man saw no particular importance in this matter. In his eyes it was even not at all such a matter as called for troubling the weary superintendent during the night, and, besides, the event itself appeared rather suspicious to the police chief, because the invalid officer was completely dry, which could not possibly have been so if he had saved a drowning man at the risk of his own life. The police chief saw in this officer only an ambitious man and a liar, itching to have a new medal on his chest, and therefore, while his man on duty was drawing up the report, the police chief kept the officer with him and tried to extort the truth from him through inquiries into small details.
The police chief was also not pleased that such an occurrence had taken place in his precinct and that the drowning man had been pulled out, not by a policeman, but by a palace officer.
As for Kokoshkin’s calm, it could be explained simply, first, by the terrible fatigue he felt at that time, after a whole day’s bustling about and a nighttime participation in the extinguishing of two fires, and, second, by the fact that for him, mister superintendent of police, the sentry Postnikov’s doings were of no direct concern.
However, Kokoshkin at once gave the appropriate orders.
He sent for the police chief of the Admiralty precinct and ordered him to appear immediately, along with the invalid officer and the saved drowned man, and Svinyin he asked to wait in the small anteroom outside his office. Thereupon Kokoshkin retired to his office and, without closing the door behind him, sat at his desk and set about signing papers; but his head sank onto his arms at once, and he fell asleep in the chair behind his desk.
XI
Back then there were as yet neither city telegraphs nor telephones, and to rapidly transmit the orders of the authorities, “forty thousand messengers” went galloping in all directions, the long-lasting memory of which would be preserved in Gogol’s comedy.6
That, naturally, was not as speedy as the telegraph or telephone, but on the other hand it imparted to the city a considerable animation and testified to the unremitting vigilance of the authorities.
By the time the breathless police chief and the officer-savior, as well as the saved drowned man, arrived from the Admiralty police station, the nervous and energetic General Kokoshkin had had a nap and refreshed himself. That could be seen in the expression on his face and in the manifestation of his mental faculties.
Kokoshkin summoned all the new arrivals to his office and invited Svinyin to join them.
“The report?” Kokoshkin asked the police chief tersely in a refreshed voice.
The man silently handed him a folded sheet of paper and whispered softly:
“I must ask permission to add a few words to Your Excellency in private …”
“Very well.”
Kokoshkin stepped into the embrasure of the window, and the police chief followed him.
“What is it?”
The indistinct whispering of the police chief and the distinct grunting of the general were heard:
“Hm … Yes! … Well, what about it? … That could be … Insists he came out dry … Nothing else?”
“Nothing, sir.”
The general stepped away from the embrasure, sat down at his desk, and began to read. He read the report to himself, betraying neither fear nor doubt, and then turned immediately to the saved man with a loud and firm question:
“How is it, brother, that you wound up in a pool in the ice opposite the palace?”
“I’m sorry,” replied the saved man.
“Well, so! You were drunk?”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t drunk, but I’d had a drop.”
“Why did you wind up in the water?”
“I wanted to take a short cut across the ice, lost my way, and wound up in the water.”
“Meaning it was dark ahead of you?”
“Dark, it was dark all around, Your Excellency!”
“And you couldn’t make out who pulled you out?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t make anything out. It was him, it seems.” He pointed to the officer and added: “I couldn’t make out, I was too afeared.”
“There it is. You gad about when you should be asleep! Take a good look now and remember forever who your benefactor is. This noble man risked his life for you!”
“All my life I’ll remember.”
“Your name, mister officer?”
The officer gave his name.
“Do you hear?”
“I hear, Your Excellency.”
“Are you Orthodox?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Write his name down and remember him in your prayers.”
“I will, Your Excellency.”
“Pray to God for him and be on your way: you’re no longer needed.”
The man made a low bow and darted off, immeasurably pleased that they had let him go.
Svinyin stood and wondered how, by the grace of God, everything could have taken such a turn!
XII
Kokoshkin turned to the invalid officer:
“So you risked your own life to save this man?”
“That’s right, Your Excellency.”
“There were no witnesses to this occurrence, and given the lateness of the hour there couldn’t have been?”
“Yes, Your Excellency, it was dark, and there was no one on the embankment except the sentries.”
“There’s no cause to mention sentries: a sentry guards his post and shouldn’t be distracted by anything extraneous. I believe what’s written in the report. So it’s in your own words?”
Kokoshkin uttered these words with special emphasis, as if he were threatening him or berating him.
But the officer did not quail, and, with his eyes goggling and his chest puffed out, replied:
“In my own words and perfectly correct, Your Excellency.”
The man began to bow gratefully.
“There’s nothing to be grateful for,” Kokoshkin continued. “I will report on your selfless action to the sovereign emperor, and your chest may be decorated with a medal this very day. You can go home now, drink something warm, and don’t go out anywhere, because you may be needed.”
The invalid officer beamed, bowed out, and left.
Kokoshkin followed him with his eyes and said:
“It’s possible the sovereign himself will want to see him.”
“Yes, sir,” the quick-witted police chief replied.
“I no longer need you.”
The police chief went out and, having closed the door behind him, at once, out of pious habit, crossed himself.
The invalid officer was waiting for him downstairs, and they left the place together, in much warmer relations than when they had entered it.
In the superintendent’s office there remained only Svinyin, on whom Kokoshkin at first fixed a long, intent gaze and then asked:
“You haven’t gone to the grand duke?”
At that time, when there was mention of a grand duke, everyone knew it referred to the grand duke Mikhail Pavlovich.
“I came straight to you,” replied Svinyin.
“Who is the officer of the guard?”
“Captain Miller.”
Kokoshkin again looked Svinyin over and then said:
“It seems you were saying something different to me earlier.”
Svinyin did not even understand what this had to do with, and kept silent. Kokoshkin added:
“Well, never mind: I bid you good night.”
The audience was over.
XIII
At one o’clock in the afternoon, the invalid officer was indeed summoned again to Kokoshkin, who very affably announced to him that the sovereign was highly pleased that among the officers of his palace’s invalid command there were such vigilant and selfless people, and that he was bestowing on him the medal for lifesaving. At that, Kokoshkin handed the medal to the hero with his own hands, and the man went off to flaunt it. The affair, therefore, could be considered over and done with, yet Lieutenant Colonel Svinyin felt some sort of inconclusiveness in it and considered himself called upon to put le point sur les i.*
The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories Page 62
