Works of Alexander Pushkin (89 page)

“Why do you frown, brother?” Kirila Petrovich asked him. “Don’t you like my kennels?”

“No,” replied Dubrovsky abruptly: “the kennels are marvelous, indeed I doubt whether your men live as well as your dogs.”

One of the whips took offence.

“Thanks to God and our master, we don’t complain of the way we live,” said he; “but if the truth must be told, there is many a gentleman who would not do badly if he exchanged his manor-house for any one of these kennels: he would be better fed and warmer.”

Kirila Petrovich burst out laughing at his servant’s insolent remark, and the guests followed his example, although they felt that the whip’s joke might apply to them also. Dubrovsky turned pale and said not a word. At that moment a basket, containing some new-born puppies, was brought to Kirila Petrovich; he busied himself with them, choosing two for himself and ordering the rest to be drowned. In the meantime Andrey Gavrilovich had disappeared without anybody having observed it.

On returning with his guests from the kennels, Kirila Petrovich sat down to supper, and it was only then that he noticed the absence of Dubrovsky. His people informed him that Andrey Gavrilovich had gone home. Troyekurov immediately gave orders that he was to be overtaken and brought back without fail. He had never gone hunting without Dubrovsky, who was a great connoisseur in all matters relating to dogs, and an infallible umpire in all possible disputes connected with sport. The servant who had galloped after him, returned while they were still seated at table, and informed his master that Andrey Gavrilovich had refused to listen to him and would not return. Kirila Petrovich, as usual, was heated with liquor, and becoming very angry, he sent the same servant a second time to tell Andrey Gavrilovich that if he did not return at once to spend the night at Pokrovskoye, he, Troyekurov, would never have anything further to do with him. The servant galloped off again. Kirila Petrovich rose from the table, dismissed his guests and retired to bed.

The next day his first question was: “Is Andrey Gavrilovich here?” By way of answer, he was handed a letter folded in the shape of a triangle. Kirila Petrovich ordered his secretary to read it aloud and he heard the following:

“Gracious Sir!

“I do not intend to return to Pokrovskoye until you send the whip Paramoshka to me with an apology: and it shall be for me to decide whether to punish or forgive him. I do not intend to put up with jokes from your servants, or, for that matter, from you, as I am not a buffoon, but a gentleman of ancient lineage. I remain your obedient servant,” Audrey Dubrovsky.”

According to present ideas of etiquette, such a letter would be very unbecoming; yet it irritated Kirila Petrovich, not by its strange style and form, but by its substance.

“What!” thundered Troyekurov, jumping barefooted out of bed; “send my people to him with an apology! And he to decide whether to punish or pardon them! What can he be thinking of? He doesn’t know with whom he is dealing! I’ll show him what’s what! I’ll give him something to cry about! He shall know what it is to oppose Troyekurov!”

Kirila Petrovich dressed himself and set out for the hunt with his usual ostentation. But the chase was not successful; during the whole of the day one hare only was seen, and that escaped. The dinner in the field, under the tent, was also a failure, or at least it was not to the taste of Kirila Petrovich, who struck the cook, abused the guests, and on the return journey rode intentionally, with all his suite, through Dubrovsky’s fields.

II

SEVERAL days passed, and the animosity between the two neighbors did not subside. Andrey Gavrilovich returned no more to Pokrovskoye, and Kirila Petrovich, bored without him, vented his spleen in the most insulting expressions, which, thanks to the zeal of the neighboring gentry, reached Dubrovsky revised and augmented. A fresh incident destroyed the last hope of a reconciliation.

One day, Dubrovsky was driving around his little property, when, on approaching a grove of birch trees, he heard the blows of an axe, and a minute afterward the crash of a falling tree; he hastened to the spot and found some of the Pokrovskoye peasants calmly stealing his timber. Seeing him, they took to flight; but Dubrovsky, with the assistance of his coachman, caught two of them, whom he brought home bound. Moreover, two horses, belonging, to the enemy, fell into the hands of the victor.

Dubrovsky was exceedingly angry. Before this, Troyekurov’s people, who were well-known robbers, had never dared to do any mischief within the boundaries of his property, being aware of the friendship which existed between him and their master. Dubrovsky now perceived that they were taking advantage of the rupture which had occurred between him and his neighbor, and he resolved, contrary to all ideas of the rules of war, to teach his prisoners a lesson with the rods which they themselves had collected in his grove, and to send the horses to work, adding them to his own live-stock.

The news of these proceedings reached the ears of Kirila Petrovich that very day. He was almost beside himself, and in the first moment of his rage, he wanted to take all of his domestics and make an attack upon Kistenyovka (for such was the name of his neighbor’s village), raze it to the ground, and besiege the landholder in his own manor. Such exploits were not rare with him; but his thoughts soon took another direction. Pacing with heavy steps up and down the hall, he glanced casually out of the window, and saw a
troika
stopping at his gate. A little man in a leather traveling- cap and a frieze cloak stepped out of the carriage and proceeded toward the wing occupied by the bailiff. Troyekurov recognized the assessor Shabashkin, and gave orders for him to be sent in to him. A minute afterward Shabashkin stood before Kirila Petrovich, and bowing repeatedly, waited respectfully to hear his orders.

“Good day — what is your name anyway?” said Troyekurov. “What has brought you here?”

“I was going to town, Your Excellency,” replied Shabashkin, “and I called on Ivan Demyanov to find out if there were any orders from Your Excellency.”

“You have come just at the right time — whatever your name is. I have need of you. Have some vodka and listen to me.”

Such a friendly welcome agreeably surprised the assessor: he declined the vodka, and listened to Kirila Petrovich with all possible attention.

“I have a neighbor,” said Troyekurov, “a small proprietor, a rude fellow, and I want to take his property away from him.... What do you think of that?”

“Your Excellency, are there any documents, or...?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, brother, what documents are you talking about? Ukases will take care of them. The point is to take his property away from him, in spite of the law
.
But stop! This estate belonged to us at one time. It was bought from a certain Spitzyn, and then sold to Dubrovsky’s father. Can’t you make a case out of that?”

“It would be difficult, Your Excellency: probably the sale was effected in strict accordance with the law.”

“Think, brother; try your hardest.”

“If, for example, Your Excellency could in some way obtain from your neighbor the deed, in virtue of which he holds possession of his estate, then, of course...”

“I understand, but that is the trouble: all his papers were burnt at the time of the fire.”

“What! Your Excellency, his papers were burnt? What could be better? In that case, take proceedings according to law; without the slightest doubt you will receive complete satisfaction.”

“You think so? Well, see to it; I rely upon your zeal, and you can rest assured of my gratitude.” Shabashkin, bowing almost to the ground, took his departure; at once he began to occupy himself with the business intrusted to him and, thanks to his prompt action, exactly a fortnight afterward Dubrovsky received from town a summons to appear in court and to produce the documents, in virtue of which he held possession of the village of Kistenyovka.

Andrey Gavrilovich, greatly astonished by this unexpected request, wrote that very same day a somewhat rude reply, in which he explained that the village of Kistenyovka became his on the death of his father, that he held it by right of inheritance, that Troyekurov had nothing to do with the matter, and that anyone else’s claim to this property of his was nothing but chicanery and fraud.

This letter produced a very agreeable impression on the mind of Shabashkin; he saw, in the first place, that Dubrovsky knew very little about legal matters; and, in the second, that it would not be difficult to place such a rash and hot-tempered man in a very disadvantageous position.

Andrey Gavrilovich, after a more careful consideration of the questions addressed to him, saw the necessity of replying more circumstantially. He wrote a sufficiently businesslike letter, but this ultimately proved insufficient also. Dubrovsky had no experience in litigation. He generally followed the dictates of common sense, a guide rarely safe, and nearly always insufficient.

The business dragged on. Confident of being in the right, Andrey Gavrilovich troubled himself very little about the matter; he had neither the inclination nor the means to scatter money about, and although he was always the first to poke fun at the venality of the scribbling fraternity, the idea of being made the victim of chicanery never entered his head. Troyekurov, on his side, thought as little of winning the case he had started. Shabashkin took the matter in hand for him, acting in his name, intimidating and bribing the judges and quoting and interpreting various ukases in the most distorted manner possible.

At last, on the 9th day of February, in the year 18 — , Dubrovsky received, through the town police, an invitation to appear at the district Court to hear the decision in the matter of the disputed property between himself — Lieutenant Dubrovsky — and General Troyekurov, and to signify his approval or disapproval of the verdict. That same day Dubrovsky set out for town. On the road he was overtaken by Troyekurov. They glared haughtily at each other, and Dubrovsky observed a malicious smile upon the face of his adversary.

Arriving in town, Andrey Gavrilovich stopped at the house of an acquaintance, a merchant, where he spent the night, and the next morning he appeared before the Court. Nobody paid any attention to him. After him arrived Kirila Petrovich. The clerks rose and stuck their pens behind their ears, while the members of the Court received him with every sign of abject obsequiousness, and an arm-chair was offered him out of consideration for his rank, years and corpulence. He sat down; Andrey Gavrilovich stood leaning against the wall. A deep silence ensued, and the secretary began in a sonorous voice to read the decree of the Court.

We cite it in full, believing that everyone will be pleased to see one of the ways in which we in Russia may lose an estate to which we have an indisputable right.

When the secretary had ceased reading, the assessor arose and, with a low bow, turned to Troyekurov, inviting him to sign the paper which he held out to him. Troyekurov, quite triumphant, took the pen and wrote beneath the decision of the Court a statement signifying his complete satisfaction with it.

It was now Dubrovsky’s turn. The secretary handed the paper to him, but Dubrovsky stood immovable, with his head bowed. The secretary repeated his invitation: “To signify his full and complete satisfaction, or his manifest dissatisfaction, if he felt in his conscience that his case was just, and intended, at the time stipulated by law, to appeal against the decision of the Court.”

Dubrovsky remained silent... Suddenly he raised his head, his eyes flashed, he stamped his foot, pushed back the secretary with such force that he fell, seized the inkstand, and hurled it at the assessor. Everyone was horrified.

“What!” Dubrovsky shouted, “Not to respect the Church of God! Out with you, you spawn of Ham!”

Then turning to Kirila Petrovich:

“Has such a thing ever been heard of, Your Excellency?” he continued. “The whips bring dogs into the Church of God! The dogs are running about the church! I will teach you a lesson!”

The guards rushed in on hearing the noise, and with difficulty overpowered him. They led him out and placed him in a sledge. Troyekurov went out after him, accompanied by the whole Court. Dubrovsky’s sudden madness had produced a deep impression upon his imagination and poisoned his triumph. The judges, who had counted upon his gratitude, did not receive a single affable word from him. He returned immediately to Pokrovskoye. Dubrovsky, in the meantime, lay in bed. The district doctor — not altogether a blockhead — bled him and applied leeches and fly-blisters to him. Toward evening he began to feel better, and the next day he was taken to Kistenyovka, which scarcely belonged to him any longer.

III

SOME time elapsed, but poor Dubrovsky’s health showed no signs of improvement. It was true that the fits of madness did not recur, but his strength was visibly failing. He abandoned his former occupations, rarely left his room, and for days together remained absorbed in his own reflections. Yegorovna, a kind- hearted old woman who had once tended his son, now became his nurse. She waited upon him as though he were a child, reminded him when it was time to eat and sleep, fed him and put him to bed. Andrey Gavrilovich obeyed her, and had no dealings with anybody else. He was not in a condition to think about his affairs or to look after his property, and Yegorovna saw the necessity of informing young Dubrovsky, who was then serving in one of the regiments of Foot Guards stationed in Saint Petersburg, of everything that had happened. And so, tearing a leaf from the account-book, she dictated to Khariton the cook, the only literate person in Kistenyovka, a letter, which she sent off that same day to town to be posted.

But it is time to acquaint the reader with the real hero of our story.

Vladimir Dubrovsky had been educated at the cadet school and, on leaving it, had entered the Guards as sub-lieutenant. His father spared nothing that was necessary to enable him to live in a becoming manner, and the young man received from home a great deal more than he had any right to expect. Being imprudent and ambitious, he indulged in extravagant habits, played cards, ran into debt, and troubled himself very little about the future. Occasionally the thought crossed his mind that sooner or later he would be obliged to take to himself a rich bride, the dream of every poverty- stricken youth.