“None too soon,” he said to me, looking pleased. “Better a bad peace than a good quarrel; the less honor, the more health.”
“What, what, Ivan Ignatyich?” asked the commandant’s wife, who was in the corner telling fortunes with cards. “I didn’t quite hear.”
Ivan Ignatyich, seeing signs of displeasure in me and remembering his promise, became confused and did not know how to reply. Shvabrin rushed to his aid.
“Ivan Ignatyich,” he said, “approves of our peacemaking.”
“And who did you quarrel with, my dear?”
“I had a rather big argument with Pyotr Andreich.”
“Over what?”
“Over a mere trifle: over a little song, Vasilisa Egorovna.”
“What a thing to quarrel over! A little song!…How did it happen?”
“Like this: Pyotr Andreich recently composed a song and today he sang it for me, and I struck up my favorite:
O Captain’s daughter, hark,
Don’t go wand’ring after dark…
It turned into a disagreement. Pyotr Andreich was angry at first, but then he decided that everybody’s free to sing what he likes. And the matter ended there.”
Shvabrin’s shamelessness nearly threw me into a rage; but nobody except myself understood his crude insinuations; at least nobody paid attention to them. From songs the conversation turned to poets, and the commandant observed that they were all dissipated people and hardened drunkards, and advised me in friendly fashion to give up verse writing as an occupation contrary to the service and leading to no good.
Shvabrin’s presence was unbearable to me. I quickly took leave of the commandant and his family; on coming home I examined my sword, tried the point, and went to bed, having asked Savelyich to wake me up after six.
The next day at the appointed time I was already standing behind the haystacks waiting for my adversary. He soon appeared.
“They may catch us at it,” he said to me. “We’ll have to hurry up.” We took off our uniform coats, remaining in our waistcoats, and drew our swords. Just then Ivan Ignatyich and five veterans suddenly appeared from behind the haystacks. He summoned us to the commandant. We grudgingly obeyed; the soldiers surrounded us, and we headed for the fortress, following Ivan Ignatyich, who led us in triumph, striding along with extraordinary solemnity.
We went into the commandant’s house. Ivan Ignatyich opened the door, announcing triumphantly:
“I’ve brought them!”
We were met by Vasilisa Egorovna.
“Ah, my dears! What’s this? How? Why? Bringing murder into our fortress? Ivan Kuzmich, arrest them at once! Pyotr Andreich! Alexei Ivanych! Give your swords here, give them here, give them here. Palashka, take these swords to the storeroom. Pyotr Andreich! I didn’t expect this from you! Aren’t you ashamed? Alexei Ivanych is another thing: he was dismissed from the guards for killing a man, and he doesn’t believe in the Lord God—but you? Are you going the same way?”
Ivan Kuzmich agreed completely with his wife and kept repeating: “See here, Vasilisa Egorovna’s right. Duels are formally forbidden by the articles of war.”17
Meanwhile Palashka took our swords from us and carried them to the storeroom. I could not help laughing. Shvabrin preserved his solemnity.
“With all due respect,” he said to her coolly, “I cannot help but observe that you need not trouble yourself, subjecting us to your judgment. Leave it to Ivan Kuzmich: it is his business.”
“Ah, my dear,” the commandant’s wife retorted, “aren’t husband and wife one spirit and one flesh?18 Ivan Kuzmich! What are you gawking at? Separate them at once in different corners on bread and water till their foolishness goes away; and let Father Gerasim put a penance on them, so that they ask forgiveness of God and repent before men.”
Ivan Kuzmich could not decide what to do. Marya Ivanovna was extremely pale. The storm gradually subsided: the commandant’s wife calmed down and made us kiss each other. Palashka brought us our swords. We left the commandant’s apparently reconciled. Ivan Ignatyich accompanied us.
“Weren’t you ashamed,” I said to him angrily, “to inform on us to the commandant after you promised me you wouldn’t?”
“As God is holy, I didn’t say a word to Ivan Kuzmich,” he replied. “Vasilisa Egorovna wormed it all out of me. And she gave all the orders without the commandant’s knowledge. Anyhow, thank God it’s all ended like this.” With those words he headed for home, and Shvabrin and I were left alone.
“We can’t end things like that,” I said to him.
“Of course not,” Shvabrin replied. “You’ll answer me for your impudence with your blood. But they’ll probably keep an eye on us. We’ll have to pretend for a few days. Good-bye!” And we parted as if nothing had happened.
On returning to the commandant’s, I sat down, as usual, near Marya Ivanovna. Ivan Kuzmich was not at home; Vasilisa Egorovna was busy around the house. We talked in low voices. Marya Ivanovna chided me tenderly for the worry my quarrel with Shvabrin had caused them all.
“My heart just sank,” she said, “when they said you were going to fight with swords. How strange men are! For one little word, which they’d surely forget about in a week, they’re ready to cut each other up and sacrifice not only their lives but their consciences, and the well-being of those who…But I’m sure it wasn’t you who started the quarrel. Surely Alexei Ivanych is to blame.”
“And why do you think so, Marya Ivanovna?”
“It’s just…he’s such a scoffer! I don’t like Alexei Ivanyich. He really disgusts me; but it’s strange: I wouldn’t want him to dislike me for anything. That would worry me dreadfully.”
“And what do you think, Marya Ivanovna? Does he like you or not?”
Marya Ivanovna hesitated and blushed.
“It seems to me…” she said. “I think he does.”
“Why does it seem so to you?”
“Because he asked to marry me.”
“To marry you! He asked to marry you? When was that?”
“Last year. About two months before your arrival.”
“And you didn’t accept him?”
“As you can see. Alexei Ivanych is, of course, an intelligent man, and from a good family, and he has means; but when I think that I’d have to kiss him before the altar in front of everybody…Not for anything! Not for all the blessings in the world!”
Marya Ivanovna’s words opened my eyes and explained many things to me. I understood the persistent maligning with which Shvabrin pursued her. He had probably noticed our mutual inclination and was trying to draw us away from each other. The words that had given rise to our quarrel seemed still more vile to me, now that I saw them, not as coarse and indecent mockery, but as deliberate slander. The wish to punish the insolent maligner grew still stronger in me, and I started waiting impatiently for a convenient occasion.
I did not have to wait long. The next day, as I sat over an elegy and gnawed my pen while waiting for a rhyme, Shvabrin knocked at my window. I set down the pen, took up my sword, and went out to him.
“Why put it off?” said Shvabrin. “We’re not being watched. Let’s go down to the river. Nobody will interfere with us there.”
We set off in silence. Having gone down the steep path, we stopped by the river and drew our swords. Shvabrin was more skillful than I, but I was stronger and bolder, and Monsieur Beaupré, who had once been a soldier, had given me several lessons in fencing, which I made use of. Shvabrin had not expected to find me such a dangerous opponent. For a long time we could not do each other any harm; finally, noticing that Shvabrin was weakening, I stepped up my attack and almost drove him into the river. Suddenly I heard my name uttered loudly. I turned and saw Savelyich running to me down the hillside path…At that same moment I felt a sharp stab in my chest under the right shoulder; I fell down and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER FIVE
Love
Ah, you, maiden, pretty maiden,
Don’t go marr
ying so young.
Ask your father, ask your mother,
Father, mother, and all your kin;
Store up, maiden, wit and wisdom,
Wit and wisdom your dowry be.
FOLK SONG
If you find a better one, you’ll forget me,
If you find a worse one, you’ll remember me.
DITTO
On coming to, I could not collect my senses for a while and did not understand what had happened to me. I was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room, and felt a great weakness. Before me stood Savelyich with a candle in his hand. Someone was carefully unwinding the bandages that bound my chest and shoulder. My thoughts gradually cleared. I remembered my duel and realized that I had been wounded. Just then the door creaked.
“Well? How is he?” whispered a voice that made me tremble.
“Still in the same condition,” Savelyich answered with a sigh, “still unconscious, for the fifth day now.”
I wanted to turn, but could not.
“Where am I? Who’s here?” I said with effort.
Marya Ivanovna came up to my bed and bent over me.
“Well? How are you feeling?” she said.
“Thank God,” I replied in a weak voice. “Is it you, Marya Ivanovna? Tell me…” I had no strength to go on and fell silent. Savelyich gasped. Joy showed on his face.
“He’s come around! He’s come around!” he repeated. “Thank the Lord! Well, dearest Pyotr Andreich, how you frightened me! Just fancy—five days!”
Marya Ivanovna interrupted him.
“Don’t talk to him much, Savelyich,” she said. “He’s still weak.”
She went out and quietly closed the door. My thoughts were in turmoil. So I was in the commandant’s house, Marya Ivanovna had come to me. I wanted to ask Savelyich some questions, but the old man shook his head and stopped his ears. I closed my eyes in vexation and soon sank into sleep.
On waking up, I called Savelyich and instead of him saw Marya Ivanovna standing there; her angelic voice greeted me. I cannot express the sweet feeling that came over me at that moment. I seized her hand and clung to it, pouring out tears of tenderness. Masha did not pull it away…and suddenly her lips touched my cheek, and I felt their ardent and fresh kiss. Fire ran through me.
“Dear, good Marya Ivanovna,” I said to her, “be my wife, consent to make my happiness.”
She came to her senses.
“For God’s sake, calm down,” she said, taking her hand from me. “You’re still in danger: the wound may open. Look after yourself, if only for my sake.” With those words she went out, leaving me in drunken ecstasy. Happiness resurrected me. She’ll be mine! She loves me! This thought filled the whole of my being.
After that I grew better by the hour. I was treated by the regimental barber, for there was no other doctor in the fortress, and, thank God, he did not get too clever. Youth and nature speeded my recovery. The commandant’s whole family took care of me. Marya Ivanovna never left my side. Naturally, at the first good opportunity I took up my interrupted declaration, and Marya Ivanovna listened to me more patiently. Without any affectation, she confessed to me her heartfelt inclination and said that her parents would of course be glad of her happiness.
“But think well,” she added. “Will there be no obstacle on your parents’ side?”
I fell to thinking. Of my mother’s fondness I had no doubt, but, knowing my father’s character and way of thinking, I sensed that my love would not move him very much and that he would regard it as a young man’s caprice. I confessed it frankly to Marya Ivanovna and resolved, nevertheless, to write to my father as eloquently as I could, asking for their parental blessing. I showed the letter to Marya Ivanovna, who found it so persuasive and moving that she had no doubts of its success and yielded to the feelings of her tender heart with all the trustfulness of youth and love.
I made peace with Shvabrin in the first days of my recovery. Ivan Kuzmich, reprimanding me for the duel, said:
“Ah, Pyotr Andreich, I ought to put you under arrest, but you’ve already been punished as it is. And I’ve got Alexei Ivanych sitting in the granary under guard, and Vasilisa Egorovna has locked up his sword. Let him think it over and repent.”
I felt too happy to go storing up hostile feelings in my heart. I began to intercede for Shvabrin, and the kind commandant, with his wife’s approval, decided to release him. Shvabrin came to me; he expressed profound regret for what had happened between us, admitted that he was roundly to blame, and begged me to forget the past. Not being rancorous by nature, I sincerely forgave him both for our quarrel and for the wound I had received from him. In his slander I saw the vexation of hurt pride and rejected love, and I magnanimously excused my unlucky rival.
I soon recovered and was able to move back to my own quarters. I waited impatiently for the reply to my letter, not daring to hope and trying to stifle my sad presentiments. I had not yet talked with Vasilisa Egorovna and her husband; but my proposal would be no surprise to them. Neither I nor Marya Ivanovna tried to conceal our feelings from them, and we were certain beforehand of their consent.
Finally one morning Savelyich came into my room holding a letter in his hand. I seized it, trembling. The address was written in my father’s hand. That prepared me for something important, for my mother usually wrote me letters, and he would add a few lines at the end. I did not open the envelope for some time and kept rereading the solemn inscription: “To my son Pyotr Andreevich Grinyov, Belogorsk Fortress, Orenburg Province.” I tried to guess from the handwriting the state of mind in which the letter had been written; finally I ventured to unseal it, and saw from the first lines that the whole thing had gone to the devil. The contents of the letter were as follows:
My son Pyotr,
The letter, in which you ask for our parental blessing and consent to your marriage with Miss Marya Ivanovna Mironov, we received on the 15th of this month, and not only do I have no intention of giving you my blessing or my consent, but I am also going to get after you and teach you a proper lesson for your mischief, little boy that you are, despite your officer’s rank: for you have proven that you are still unworthy to bear the sword, which was bestowed on you to defend your fatherland and not for duels with such madcaps as yourself. I shall write at once to Andrei Karlovich, asking him to transfer you from the Belogorsk fortress to somewhere further away, where you will be cured of your folly. Your mother, having learned of your duel and of your wound, fell ill with grief and now lies in bed. What will become of you? I pray to God that you mend your ways, though I dare not hope for His great mercy.
Your father, A. G.
The reading of this letter aroused various feelings in me. The cruel expressions, on which my father did not stint, insulted me deeply. The disdain with which he referred to Marya Ivanovna seemed to me as unseemly as it was unjust. The thought of my being transferred from the Belogorsk fortress horrified me, but what upset me most of all was the news of my mother’s illness. I was indignant with Savelyich, having no doubt that my duel became known to my parents through him. Pacing up and down my narrow room, I stopped before him and said, glaring at him menacingly:
“I see you don’t find it enough that, thanks to you, I was wounded and for a whole month was on the brink of the grave: you also want to kill my mother.”
Savelyich was thunderstruck.
“Mercy, sir,” he said, all but weeping, “what’s this you’re pleased to be saying? I’m the cause of your being wounded! God knows, I was running to shield you with my breast from Alexei Ivanych’s sword! My cursed old age prevented me. And what have I done to your mother?”
“What have you done?” I replied. “Who asked you to inform on me? Have you been attached to me as a spy?”
“Me? Inform on you?” Savelyich replied in tears. “Lord God in heaven! Kindly read what the master writes to me: you’ll see how I informed on you.” Here he took a letter from his pocket, and I read the following:
Shame on you, you old
dog, that, despite my strict orders, you did not inform me about my son Pyotr Andrevich and that strangers have had to tell me about his mischief. Is this how you fulfill your duties and your master’s will? I’ll send you to herd swine, you old dog, for concealing the truth and covering up for the young man. With the receipt of this, I order you to write back to me immediately about the state of his health now, of which they write to me that it has improved, as well as the exact place of the wound and whether he has been properly treated.
It was obvious that Savelyich was in the right before me and that I had wrongfully offended him with my reproaches and suspicions. I asked his forgiveness, but the old man was inconsolable.
“So I’ve lived to see this,” he repeated. “So this is how the masters reward me for my services! I’m an old dog and a swineherd, and I’m also the cause of your wound? No, my dear Pyotr Andreich! It’s not me, it’s that cursed moosieu who’s to blame for it all: he taught you to go poking with iron skewers and stamping your feet, as if by poking and stamping you could protect yourself from a wicked man. What need was there to hire a moosieu and throw good money away?”
But who, then, had taken the trouble to inform my father of my behavior? The general? But he did not seem overly concerned with me; and Ivan Kuzmich had not considered it necessary to report my duel. I was torn by conjectures. My suspicions rested on Shvabrin. He alone would profit by the denunciation, the consequence of which could be my removal from the fortress and my break with the commandant’s family. I went to tell all this to Marya Ivanovna. She met me on the porch.
“What’s happened to you?” she said on seeing me. “You’re so pale!”
“It’s all over!” I replied and handed her my father’s letter.
She went pale in her turn. Having read it, she gave me back the letter with a trembling hand and said in a trembling voice:
“Clearly, it’s not my fate…Your parents don’t want me in their family. The Lord’s will be done in everything! God knows what we need better than we do. There’s nothing to be done, Pyotr Andreich. May you at least be happy…”
Novels, Tales, Journeys Page 33
