Works of Alexander Pushkin (93 page)

Some days after the arrival of the French tutor, Troyekurov thought of him, and resolved to give him a taste of the bear’s room. For this purpose, he summoned him one morning, and conducted him along several dark corridors; suddenly a side door opened — two servants pushed the Frenchman into the room and locked the door after him. Recovering from his surprise, the tutor perceived the chained bear. The animal began to snort and to sniff at his visitor from a distance, and suddenly raising himself upon his hind legs, he advanced toward him.... The Frenchman did not lose his head; he did not run away but awaited the attack. The bear approached; Deforges drew from his pocket a small pistol, inserted it in the ear of the hungry animal, and fired. The bear rolled over. All ran to the spot, the door was opened, and Kirila Petrovich entered, astonished at the outcome of his joke.

Kirila Petrovich wanted an explanation of the whole affair. Who had warned Deforges of the joke, or how came he to have a loaded pistol in his pocket? He sent for Masha. Masha came and interpreted her father’s questions to the Frenchman.

“I never heard of the bear,” replied Deforges, “but I always carry a pistol about with me, because I do not intend to put up with an offence for which, on account of my calling, I cannot demand satisfaction.”

Masha looked at him in astonishment and translated his words to Kirila Petrovich. Kirila Petrovich made no reply; he ordered the bear to be removed and skinned; then turning to his people, he said:

“A capital fellow! There is nothing of the coward about him. By the Lord, he is certainly no coward!” From that moment he took a liking to Deforges, and never thought again of putting him to the proof.

But this incident produced a still greater impression upon Masha. Her imagination had been struck: she had seen the dead bear, and Deforges standing calmly over it and talking tranquilly to her. She saw that bravery and proud self-respect did not belong exclusively to one class, and from that moment she began to show the young man a respect which increased from hour to hour. A certain intimacy sprang up between them. Masha had a beautiful voice and great musical ability; Deforges volunteered to give her lessons. After that it will not be difficult for the reader to guess that Masha fell in love with him without acknowledging it to herself.

IX

ON THE eve of the festival, of which we have already spoken, the guests began to arrive at Pokrovskoye. Some were accommodated at the manor-house and in the wings; others in the house of the bailiff; a third party was quartered upon the priest; and the remainder upon the better class of peasants. The stables were filled with the horses of the visitors, and the yards and coach-houses were crowded with vehicles of every sort. At nine o’clock in the morning the bells rang for mass, and everybody repaired to the new stone church, built by Kirila Petrovich and annually embellished, thanks to his contributions. The church was soon crowded with such a number of distinguished worshipers, that the simple peasants could find no room within the edifice, and had to stand on the porch and within the enclosure. The mass had not yet begun: they were waiting for Kirila Petrovich. He arrived at last in a calèche drawn by six horses, and solemnly walked to his place, accompanied by Marya Kirilovna. The eyes of both men and women were turned upon her — the former were astonished at her beauty, the latter examined her dress with great attention.

The mass began. The home-trained choristers sang in the choir, and Kirila Petrovich joined in with them. He prayed without looking either to the right or to the left, and with proud humility he bowed himself to the ground when the deacon in a loud voice mentioned the name of the builder of
this temple.

The mass came to an end. Kirila Petrovich was the first to go up to kiss the crucifix. All the others followed him; the neighbors approached him with deference, the ladies surrounded Masha. Kirila Petrovich, on leaving the church, invited everybody to dine with him, then he seated himself in his coach and drove home. All the guests followed him.

The rooms began to fill with the visitors; every moment new faces appeared, and it was with difficulty that the host could be approached. The ladies sat decorously in a semicircle, dressed in antiquated fashion, in gowns of faded but expensive material, and were bedecked with pearls and diamonds. The men crowded round the caviar and the vodka, conversing among themselves with great animation. In the dining-room the table was laid for eighty; the servants were bustling about, arranging the bottles and decanters and adjusting the table-cloths.

At last the house-steward announced that dinner was ready. Kirila Petrovich went in first to take his seat at the table; the ladies followed him, and took their places with an air of great dignity, obeying, to some extent, the rule of seniority. The young ladies crowded together like a timid flock of kids, and took their places next to one another. Opposite to them sat the men. At the end of the table sat the tutor by the side of little Sasha.

The servants began to serve the guests according to rank; in case of doubt, they were guided by Lavater’s theories, and almost never made a mistake. The noise of the plates and spoons mingled with the loud talk of the guests. Kirila Petrovich looked gaily round his table and thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure of being so hospitable a host. At that moment a carriage, drawn by six horses, drove into the yard.

“Who is that?” asked the host.

“Anton Pafnutyich,” replied several voices.

The doors opened, and Anton Pafnutyich Spitzyn, a stout man of about fifty years of age, with a round pock-marked face, adorned with a treble chin, rolled into the dining-room, bowing, smiling, and preparing to make his excuses.

“A cover here!” cried Kirila Petrovich. “Pray sit down, Anton Pafnutyich, and tell us what this means: you were not at my mass, and you are late for dinner. This is not like you. You are devout, and you love good cheer.”

“Pardon me,” replied Anton Pafnutyich, fastening his serviette in the button-hole of his coat: “pardon me, my dear Kirila Petrovich, I started out early, but I had not gone ten versts, when suddenly the tire of the front wheel snapped in two. What was to be done? Fortunately it was not far from the village. But by the time we had arrived there, and had found a blacksmith, and had got everything put to rights, three hours had elapsed. It could not be helped. To take the shortest route through the Kistenyovka woods, I did not dare, so we came the longest way round.”

“Ah, ah!” interrupted Kirila Petrovich, “it is evident that you are no dare-devil. What are you afraid of?”

“How, what am I afraid of, my dear Kirila Petrovich? And Dubrovsky? I might have fallen into his clutches. He is a young man who never misses his aim — he lets nobody off; and I am afraid he would have flayed
me
twice over, had he got hold of me.”

“Why, brother, such a distinction?”

“Why, dear Kirila Petrovich? Have you forgotten the lawsuit of the late Andrey Gavrilovich? Was it not I who, to please you, that is to say, according to conscience and justice, showed that Dubrovsky held possession of Kistenyovka without having any right to it, and solely through your condescension; and did not the deceased — God rest his soul! — vow that he would settle with me in his own way, and might not the son keep his father’s word? Hitherto the Lord has been merciful to me. Up to the present they have only plundered one of my barns, but one of these days they may find their way to the manor-house.”

“Where they would find rich booty,” observed Kirila Petrovich: “I have no doubt that the little red cash-box is as full as it can be.”

“Not so, dear Kirila Petrovich; there was a time when it was full, but now it is quite empty.”

“Don’t you fib, Anton Pafnutyich. We know you. Where do you spend money? At home you live like a pig, you never receive anybody, and you fleece your peasants. You do nothing with your money but hoard it.”

“You are only joking, dear Kirila Petrovich,” murmured Anton Pafnutyich, smiling; “but I swear to you that we are ruined,” and Anton Pafnutyich began to chew a greasy piece of pie, to take away the sting of his host’s joke.

Kirila Petrovich left him and turned to the new sheriff, who was his guest for the first time and who was sitting at the other end of the table, near the tutor. “Well, Mr. Sheriff, will
you
catch Dubrovsky?”

The sheriff was frightened, bowed, smiled, stammered, and said at last:

“We will do our best, Your Excellency.”

“H’m! ‘we will do our best!’ You have been doing your best for a long time and to no purpose. And, after all, why try to catch him? Dubrovsky’s robberies are a blessing to the sheriffs: what with trips and investigations, the money gets into one’s pocket. Why do away with such a godsend? Isn’t that true, Mr. Sheriff?”

“Perfectly true, Your Excellency,” replied the sheriff, in utter confusion.

The guests roared with laughter.

“I like the fellow for his frankness,” said Kirila Petrovich: “but it is a pity that our late sheriff is no longer with us. If he had not been burnt, the neighborhood would have been quieter. And what news of Dubrovsky? Where was he last seen?”

“At my house, Kirila Petrovich,” said a female voice: “last Tuesday he dined with me.”

All eyes were turned toward Anna Savishna Glob- ova, a widow, a rather simple person, beloved by everybody for her kind and cheerful disposition. Everyone prepared to listen to her story with curiosity.

“You must know that three weeks ago I sent my steward to the post with a letter for my Vanyusha. I do not spoil my son, and moreover I haven’t the means of spoiling him, even if I wished to do so. However, you know very well that an officer of the Guards must live in suitable style, and I share my income with Vanyusha as well as I can. Well, I sent two thousand rubles to him; and although the thought of Dubrovsky came more than once into my mind, I thought to myself: the town is not far off — only seven versts altogether, please God all will be well. But what happens? In the evening my steward returns, pale, tattered, and on foot. ‘What is the matter? What has happened to you!’ I exclaimed. ‘The brigands have robbed and almost killed me,’ he answered. ‘Dubrovsky himself was there, and he wanted to hang me, but he afterwards had pity upon me and let me go. But he took away everything I had — money, horse, and cart.’ A faintness came over me. Heavenly Lord! What will become of my Vanyusha? There was nothing to be done. I wrote him a letter, telling him all that had happened, and sent him my blessing without a groat. One week passed, and then another. Suddenly, one day, a coach drove into my courtyard. Some general asked to see me: I gave orders for bim to be shown in. He entered the room, and I saw before me a man of about thirty-five years of age, dark, with black hair, mustache and beard — the exact portrait of Kulnev. He introduced himself to me as a friend and colleague of my late husband, Ivan Andreyevich. He happened to be passing by, he said, and he could not resist paying a visit to his old friend’s widow, knowing that I lived there. I invited him to dine, and I set before him what God had sent me. We spoke of this and that, and at last we began to talk about Dubrovsky. I told him of my trouble. My general frowned. ‘That is strange,’ said he: ‘I have heard that Dubrovsky does not attack everybody, but only people who are well known to be rich, and that even then he leaves them a part of their possessions and does not rob them of everything. As for murdering people, nobody has yet accused him of that. Is there not some knavery here? Oblige me by sending for your steward.’

“The steward was sent for, and quickly made his appearance. But as soon as he caught sight of the general he stood as if petrified.

“‘Tell me, brother, in what manner did Dubrovsky rob you, and how was it that he wanted to hang you?’ My steward began to tremble and fell at the general’s feet.

“‘Sir, I am guilty. The evil one led me astray. I have lied.’

“‘If that is so,’ replied the general, ‘have the goodness to relate to your mistress how it all happened, and I will listen.’

“My steward could not recover himself.

“‘Well, then,’ continued the general, ‘tell us where you met Dubrovsky.’

“‘At the two pine trees, sir, at the two pine trees.’

“‘What did he say to you?’

“‘He asked me who I was, where I was going, and why.’

“‘Well, and after that?’

“‘After that he demanded the letter and the money from me, and I gave them to him.’

“‘And he?’

“‘Well, and he... forgive me, sir!’

“‘Well, what did he do?’

“‘He returned me the money and the letter, and said:” Go in peace, and post this.”‘

“‘Well!’

“‘Forgive me, sir!”

“‘I will settle with you, my dear fellow,’ said the general sternly. ‘And you, madam, order this scoundrel’s trunk to be searched, and then give him into my hands; I will teach him a lesson. Remember that Dubrovsky himself was once an officer in the Guards, and would not wish to take advantage of a comrade.’

“I guessed who His Excellency was, but there was no use saying anything. The coachmen tied the steward to the carriage-box; the money was found; the general dined with me, and departed immediately afterwards, taking with him my steward. The steward was found the next day in the wood, tied to an oak, and stripped bare.”

Everybody listened in silence to Anna Savishna’s story, especially the young ladies. Many of them secretly wished well to Dubrovsky, seeing in him a romantic hero, particularly Marya Kirilovna, an ardent dreamer, steeped in the mysteries and horrors of Mrs. Anne Radcliffe.

“And do you think, Anna Savishna, that it was Dubrovsky himself who visited you?” asked Kirila Petrovich. “You are very much mistaken. I do not know who your guest may have been, but I feel quite sure that it was not Dubrovsky.”

“Not Dubrovsky? How can that be, my dear sir? But who else would stop travelers on the high road and search them?”

“I don’t know; but certainly not Dubrovsky. I remember him as a child; I do not know whether his hair has turned black, but in those days his hair was fair and curly. But I do know for a positive fact, that Dubrovsky is five years older than my Masha, and that consequently he is not thirty-five, but about twenty- three.”