I pondered. 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 young man’s fancy. I candidly admitted this to Maria Ivanovna but decided to write to my father as eloquently as possible, imploring his paternal blessing. I showed the letter to Maria Ivanovna, who found it so convincing and touching that she never doubted its success and abandoned herself to the feelings of her tender heart with all the trustfulness of youth and love.
I made it up with Shvabrin in the first days of my convalescence. In reprimanding me for the duel Ivan Kuzmich had said to me: ‘See now, Piotr Andreich, I ought really to put you under arrest, but you have been punished enough already. Alexei Ivanich, though, is shut up in the granary, and Vassilissa Yegorovna has got his sword under lock and key. Let him have plenty of time to think things over and repent.’ I was far too happy to cherish any hostile feeling in my heart. I interceded for Shvabrin and the good commandant with his wife’s consent agreed to release him. Shvabrin came to see me; he expressed deep regret for what had happened, confessed that he had been thoroughly in the wrong, and begged me to forget the past. Not being by nature of a rancorous disposition, I readily forgave him both our quarrel and the wound which I had received at his hands. I ascribed his slandering to the chagrin of injured vanity and rejected love, and I generously pardoned my unhappy rival.
I was soon fully recovered and able to return to my lodgings. I waited impatiently for the answer to my letter, not daring to hope, and trying to stifle melancholy forebodings. I had not yet spoken to Vassilissa Yegorovna and her husband of my intentions; but my proposal was not likely to surprise them. Neither Maria Ivanovna nor I made any attempt to conceal our feelings from them, and we were certain of their consent beforehand.
At last one morning Savelich came into my room, holding a letter. I seized it with trembling fingers. The address was written in my father’s hand. This detail prepared me for something momentous, for as a rule it was my mother who wrote to me, my father merely adding a few lines at the end as a postscript. It was several minutes before I broke the seal – I kept reading over again and again the solemn superscription:
To my Son, Piotr Andreyevich Griniov,
Bielogorsky Fortress,
Province of Orenburg.
I tried to guess from the handwriting in what mood the letter had been written. At last I brought myself to open it, and saw from the very first lines that all was lost. The letter ran as follows:
My son Piotr,
Your letter, in which you ask for our parental blessing and consent to your marriage with the Mironov girl, reached us on the fifteen of this month, and not only have I no intention of giving you either my blessing or my consent but I propose to arrive and teach you the lesson you deserve for your pranks, not with standing your officer’s rank; for you have shown that you are not yet worthy to carry the sword which has been entrusted to you for the defence of your country, and not to fight duels with other scapegraces like yourself. I shall write at once to Andrei Karlovich, asking him to transfer you from the Bielogorsky fortress to some post further away, where you can get over your foolishness. When your mother heard of your duel, and that you had been wounded, she was taken ill with grief and is now confined to her bed. What will become of you? I pray God that you may return to the right path, although! dare not hope in His great mercy.
Your father,
A.G.
The perusal of this letter stirred various feelings in me. The harsh expressions, of which my father had not been sparing, wounded me deeply. The contemptuous way in which he referred to Maria Ivanovna seemed to me as indecorous as it was unjust. The thought of being transferred from the Bielogorsky fortress appalled me; but I was upset most of all by the news of my mother’s illness. I felt indignant with Savelich, having no doubt that it was he who had informed my parents of the duel. Striding up and down my narrow room, I stopped in front of him and said with a threatening look:
‘It seems you are not satisfied that, thanks to you, I should be wounded and for a whole month lie at death’s door: you want to kill my mother as well.’
Savelich was thunderstruck.
‘For mercy’s sake, sir, what are you saying?’ he almost sobbed. ‘Me the cause of your getting wounded? God is my witness I was running to shield you with my own breast from Alexei Ivanich’s sword! ‘Twas old age – devil take it – hampered me. And what have I done to your mamma?’
‘What have you done?’ replied I. ‘Who asked you to write and inform against me? Have you been set to spy on me then?’
‘Me write and inform against you?’ Savelich answered with tears in his eyes. ‘Heavens above! Here, then, read what the master writes to me: you will see how I informed against you.’
And he pulled a letter out of his pocket and read the following:
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you knave, for not having written to me about my son, Piotr Andreyevich – in spite of my strict injunctions to you to do so – and leaving it to strangers to notify me of his pranks. Is this the way you perform your duty and carry out your master’s will? I will send you to tend pigs, you mongrel, for concealing the truth and conniving with the young man. As soon as you receive this I command you to write back to me without delay about the present state of his health, which, so I am told, is improved; also the exact place of his wound, and whether he has been well attended to.
It was obvious that Savelich was innocent, and that I had outraged him unfairly with my reproaches and suspicions. I begged his pardon but the old man was inconsolable.
‘That I should have lived to come to this!’ he kept repeating. ‘These are the thanks I get from my masters! Me an old mongrel, and a swineherd, and the cause of your wound into the bargain! No, my good Piotr Andreich, not me but that accursed Frenchman is to blame: ‘twas him taught you to thrust at people with those turn-spits, and to stamp your feet, as though thrusting ‘n stamping could save one from an evil man! Much need there was to hire that Frenchman and spend money for naught!’
But who, then, had taken upon himself to inform my father of my conduct? The general? But he did not appear to show overmuch interest in me, and Ivan Kuzmich had not thought it necessary to report my duel to him. I was lost in conjectures. My suspicions settled upon Shvabrin. He alone could benefit by informing against me and thus causing me, perhaps, to be removed from the fortress and parted from the commandant’s family. I went off to tell it all to Maria Ivanovna. She met me on the steps. ‘What has happened to you?’ she said when she saw me. ‘How pale you are!’ – ‘All is lost,’ I answered, and gave her my father’s letter. She now in her turn grew pale. After reading the letter she restored it to me with trembling hand and said in a trembling voice: ‘Evidently it was not my destiny…. Your parents do not want me in their family. The Lord’s will be done! God knows better than we do what is good for us. It can’t be helped, Piotr Andreich; you at least be happy!’ – ‘This shall not be!’ I cried, seizing hold of her hand. ‘You love me: I am ready to face anything. Let us go and throw ourselves at your parents’ feet: they are simple people, not hard-hearted and proud…. They will give us their blessing; we will marry… and then, in time, I am sure we shall succeed in bringing my father round – my mother will be on our side. He will forgive me…’ – ‘No, Piotr Andreich,’ replied Masha. ‘I will not marry you without your parents’ blessing. Without their blessing there can be no happiness for you. Let us submit to God’s will. If you find the one who is destined for you, if you come to love another woman – God be with you, Piotr Andreich, I shall pray for you both….’ She burst into tears and left me. I wanted to follow her indoors but I felt that I was not in a condition to control myself, and returned home to my quarters.
I was sitting plunged in profound reverie when Savelich broke in on my reflections. ‘Here, sir,’ he said, handing me a sheet of paper covered with writing, ‘see
if I am an informer against my master, and if I try to make mischief between father and son.’ I took the paper from his hands: it was Savelich’s answer to the letter he had received. Here it is, word for word:
Dear Sir, Andrei Petrovich, our gracious Father,
I received your gracious letter in which you are pleased to be angry with me, your servant, saying that I ought to be ashamed not to obey my master’s orders; but I am not an old mongrel but your faithful servant, I obey my master’s orders, and I have always served you zealously until now I am a white-haired old man. I did not write to you anything about Piotr Andreich’s wound so as not to alarm you without a reason, and I hear that the mistress, our good lady Avdotia Vassilievna, as it is has taken to her bed with fright, and I am going to pray God to make her better. And Piotr Andreich was wounded below the right shoulder, in the breast, just below the bone, one vershock and a half1 deep, and he was put to bed in the commandant’s house, where we carried him from the river-bank, and it was the barber of these parts, Stepan Paramonov, attended him, and now Piotr Andreich, God be praised, is well and there is nothing but good news to write about him. His superiors, I hear, are satisfied with him; while Vassilissa Yegorovna treats him as though he were her own son. And as to the little accident that befell him, one cannot blame the lad: even the best of horses may stumble. And you are pleased to write that you will send me to herd pigs, and let your master’s will be done in this too. Whereupon I humbly salute you.
Your faithful serf,
Arhip Savelich.
I could not help smiling more than once as I read the good old man’s epistle. I did not feel ready to answer my father, and Savelich’s letter seemed sufficient to relieve my mother’s anxiety.
From that time my position changed. Maria Ivanovna scarcely spoke to me and tried her utmost to avoid me. The commandant’s house had become hateful to me. Gradually I accustomed myself to sitting at home alone. Vassilissa Yegorovna upbraided me for it at first but, seeing my obstinacy, left me in peace. Ivan Kuzmich I only saw when my duties required it. I seldom met Shvabrin, and then with reluctance, all the more so as I noticed his veiled hostility towards me, which confirmed my suspicions. Life grew to be intolerable. I sank into despondent brooding, which was nourished by isolation and idleness. My love waxed more ardent in solitude and oppressed me more and more. I lost the taste for reading and composition. My spirits drooped. I was afraid I should either go out of my mind or take to wild living. Then unexpected events, which exercised an important influence upon my whole life, suddenly gave all my being a powerful and salutary shock.
6
THE PUGACHEV REBELLION
And now you young men do you listen
To what we, the old ‘uns, will tell you.
SONG
BEFORE I proceed to describe the strange events of which I was a witness I must say a few words concerning the position in the province of Orenburg at the end of the year 1773.
This vast and wealthy province was inhabited by a number of half-savage tribes who had but recently acknowledged the sovereignty of the Russian Tsars. Their continual revolts, the fact that they were unused to laws and a civilized life, their irresponsibility and cruelty demanded constant vigilance on the part of the Government in order to keep them in subjection. Fortresses had been erected in opportune places, and were garrisoned for the most part by Cossacks who had occupied the banks of the Yaïk for generations. But these Yaïk Cossacks whose duty it was to preserve peace and watch over the safety of the country-side had themselves for some time past been a source of trouble and danger to the Government. In the year 1772 an insurrection broke out in their capital city. It was caused by the severe measures adopted by Major-general Traubenberg to bring the Cossack troops to a due state of obedience. The result was the barbarous murder of Traubenberg, a revolutionary change in the Administration, and, finally, the suppression of the outbreak by means of cannon and cruel punishments.
This had happened a little while before my arrival in the Bielogorsky fortress. All was now quiet, or seemed so; the authorities believed too easily in the feigned repentance of the wily rebels, who nursed their rancour in secret and waited for a favourable opportunity to make fresh trouble.
To return to my story.
One evening (it was at the beginning of October 1773) I was sitting at home alone, listening to the moaning of the autumn wind and gazing out of the window at the black clouds that raced past the moon. Someone came to fetch me to the commandant’s. I went at once. There I found Shvabrin, Ivan Ignatyich and the Cossack sergeant. Neither Vassilissa Yegorovna nor Maria Ivanovna was in the room. The commandant greeted me with a preoccupied air. He closed the door, made us all be seated except the sergeant who was standing by the door, drew a paper out of his pocket and said to us: ‘Gentlemen, important news! Listen to what the general writes.’ Then he put on his spectacles and read the following:
To the Commandant of the Bielogorsky Fortress,
Captain Mironov.
CONFIDENTIAL
I hereby inform you that the fugitive Don Cossack and Old Believer, Emelian Pugachev, has had the unpardonable insolence to assume the name of the deceased Emperor Peter III, has assembled a band of evilly disposed persons, has caused disturbances in the Yaïk settlements and has already taken and sacked several fortresses, pillaging and murdering on every side. Wherefore, upon receipt of these presents, you, Captain, will take the necessary measures for repulsing the said villain and pretender, and, if possible, for his total annihilation, should he attack the fortress entrusted to your care.
‘Take the necessary measures!’ said the commandant, removing his spectacles and folding up the paper. ‘Easy enough to say, you know! The villain is evidently powerful; and we have only a hundred and thirty men all told, not counting the Cossacks on whom there is no relying – no offence meant, Maximich.’ (The sergeant smiled.) ‘However, we must do the best we can, gentlemen! Carry out your responsibilities scrupulously, arrange for sentry duty and night patrols. In case of attack, shut the gates and assemble the men. You, Maximich, keep a sharp eye on your Cossacks. The cannon must be seen to and cleaned thoroughly. And, above all things, keep all this secret, so that no one in the fortress knows about it beforehand.’
Having given these orders, Ivan Kuzmich dismissed us. Shvabrin and I walked away together, talking of what we had just heard.
‘What will be the end of it, do you think?’ I asked him.
‘Heaven only knows,’ he replied. ‘We shall see. So far, I don’t believe it will be much. But if…’
He became thoughtful and began absent-mindedly whistling a French tune.
In spite of all our precautions the news of Pugachev’s appearance soon spread through the fortress. Although Ivan Kuzmich entertained the greatest respect for his wife he would not for anything in the world have disclosed to her a secret entrusted to him in connexion with the Service. Upon receipt of the general’s letter he rather skilfully got Vassilissa Yegorovna out of the way by telling her that Father Gerassim had apparently heard some startling news from Orenburg, which he was guarding jealously. Vassilissa Yegorovna immediately decided to go and call on the priest’s wife and, on Ivan Kuzmich’s advice, took Masha with her, lest the girl should feel lonely left by herself.
Ivan Kuzmich, thus in complete command of the house, had at once sent for us, having locked Palashka in the storeroom so that she should not overhear us.
Vassilissa Yegorovna returned home without having gained any information from the priest’s wife, and learned that in her absence Ivan Kuzmich had held a council and that Palashka had been put under lock and key. She guessed that her husband had deceived her, and proceeded to assail him with questions. But Ivan Kuzmich was prepared for the attack. Not in the least disconcerted, he made firm answer to his inquisitive consort. ‘You see, my dear, the good women hereabouts have taken it into their heads to heat their ovens with straw, and since this may cause a fire I have given strict orders that in future they ar
e not to use straw but brushwood and other dead wood instead.’
‘Then why did you have to lock Palashka up?’ asked the commandant’s wife. ‘What had the poor girl done that she should have to sit in the store-room till our return?’
Ivan Kuzmich was not ready for this question: he became confused and mumbled something incoherent. Vassilissa Yegorovna perceived her husband’s trick but, knowing that she would extract nothing from him, abstained from further questioning and turned the conversation on the salted cucumbers which the priest’s wife prepared in some special way. All that night Vassilissa Yegorovna could not sleep a wink for trying to guess what could be in her husband’s mind that she was not allowed to know.
The next day, returning from morning service, she saw Ivan Ignatyich pulling out of the cannon bits of rag, small stones, wood shavings, knuckle-bones and rubbish of every sort that the children had stuffed into it. ‘What can these martial preparations mean?’ wondered the commandant’s wife. ‘Are they expecting another Kirghiz raid? But surely Kuzmich would not conceal such trifles from me?’ She hailed Ivan Ignatyich, determined to discover from him the secret that tormented her feminine curiosity.
Vassilissa Yegorovna began by making a few observations to him concerning household matters, like a magistrate who starts his cross-examination with irrelevant questions in order to put the accused off his guard. Then, after a few moments’ silence, she heaved a deep sigh and said, shaking her head: ‘Oh dear, oh dear, just think what news! What will come of it?’
‘Don’t you worry, ma’am,’ Ivan Ignatyich answered. ‘The Lord is merciful: we have soldiers enough, plenty of powder, and I have cleaned out the cannon. We may yet send Pugachev packing. Those God helps nobody can’t harm.’
‘And what sort of a man is this Pugachev?’ asked the commandant’s wife.
The Queen of Spades and Other Stories Page 21
