Kabanata Kabanata 3 · The Fortress.
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THE FORTRESS.
The fortress of Bailogorsk was situated about forty versts[1] from
Orenburg. The road to it led along the steep bank of the Yaik.[2] The
river was not yet frozen, and its leaden-coloured waves had a dark
and melancholy aspect as they rose and fell between the dreary banks
covered with the white snow. Beyond it stretched the Kirghis steppes.
I sank into reflections, most of them of a gloomy nature. Garrison
life had little attraction for me. I endeavoured to picture to myself
Captain Mironoff, my future chief; and I imagined him to be a severe,
ill-tempered old man, knowing nothing except what was connected with
his duty, and ready to arrest me and put me on bread and water for the
merest trifle.
In the meantime it began to grow dark, and we quickened our pace.
“Is it far to the fortress?” I inquired of our driver.
“Not far,” he replied, “you can see it yonder.”
I looked around on every side, expecting to see formidable bastions,
towers, and ramparts, but I could see nothing except a small village
surrounded by a wooden palisade. On one side stood three or four
hayricks, half covered with snow; on the other a crooked looking
windmill, with its bark sails hanging idly down.
“But where is the fortress?” I asked in astonishment.
“There it is,” replied the driver, pointing to the village, and, as he
spoke, we entered into it.
At the gate I saw an old cast-iron gun; the streets were narrow and
crooked; the cottages small, and for the most part covered with thatch.
I expressed a wish to be taken to the Commandant, and, in about a
minute, the _kibitka_ stopped in front of a small wooden house, built
on an eminence, and situated near the church, which was likewise of
wood.
Nobody came out to meet me. I made my way to the entrance and then
proceeded to the ante-room. An old pensioner, seated at a table, was
engaged in sewing a blue patch on the elbow of a green uniform coat. I
ordered him to announce me.
“Go inside, little father,” replied the pensioner; “our people are at
home.”
I entered into a very clean room, furnished in the old-fashioned style.
In one corner stood a cupboard containing earthenware utensils; on
the wall hung an officers diploma, framed and glazed, and around it
were arranged a few rude wood engravings, representing the “Capture of
Kustrin and Otchakoff,”[3] the “Choice of the Bride,” and the “Burial
of the Cat.” At the window sat an old woman in a jerkin, and wearing a
handkerchief round her head. She was unwinding thread which a one-eyed
old man, dressed in an officer’s uniform, held in his outstretched
hands.
“What is your pleasure, little father?” she asked, continuing her
occupation.
I replied that I had come to enter the service, and, in accordance
with the regulations, to notify my arrival to the Captain in command.
And with these words I turned towards the one-eyed old man, whom I
supposed to be the Commandant; but the old lady interrupted me in the
speech which I had so carefully prepared beforehand.
“Ivan Kouzmitch[4] is not at home,” said she; “he has gone to visit
Father Gerasim. But it is all the same, I am his wife.”
She summoned a maid-servant and told her to call an orderly officer.
The little old man looked at me out of his one eye with much curiosity.
“May I ask,” said he, “in what regiment you have deigned to serve?”
I satisfied his curiosity.
“And may I ask,” he continued, “why you have exchanged the Guards for
this garrison?”
I replied that such was the wish of the authorities.
“Probably for conduct unbecoming an officer of the Guards?” continued
the indefatigable interrogator.
“A truce to your foolish chatter,” said the Captain’s wife to him; “you
see that the young man is tired after his journey. He has something
else to do than to listen to your nonsense.” Then turning to me she
added: “You are not the first, and you will not be the last. It is a
hard life here, but you will soon get to like it. It is five years ago
since Shvabrin Alexei Ivanitch was sent here to us for a murder. Heaven
knows what it was that caused him to go wrong. You see, he went out of
the town with a lieutenant; they had taken their swords with them, and
they began to thrust at one another, and Alexei Ivanitch stabbed the
lieutenant, and all before two witnesses! But what would you? Man is
not master of sin.”
At this moment the orderly officer, a young and well-built Cossack,
entered the room.
“Maximitch,” said the Captain’s wife to him, “conduct this officer to
his quarters, and see that everything is attended to.”
“I obey, Vassilissa Egorovna,” replied the orderly. “Is not his
Excellency to lodge with Ivan Polejaeff?”
“What a booby you are, Maximitch!” said the Captain’s wife.
“Polejaeff’s house is crowded already; besides, he is my gossip, and
remembers that we are his superiors. Take the officer--what is your
name, little father?”[5]
“Peter Andreitch.”
“Take Peter Andreitch to Simon Kouzoff. The rascal allowed his horse to
get in my kitchen-garden.... And is everything right, Maximitch?”
“Everything, thank God!” replied the Cossack; “only Corporal Prokhoroff
has been having a squabble at the bath with Ustinia Pegoulina, on
account of a can of hot water.”
“Ivan Ignatitch,” said the Captain’s wife to the one-eyed old man,
“decide between Prokhoroff and Ustinia as to who is right and who is
wrong, and then punish both. Now, Maximitch, go, and God be with you.
Peter Andreitch, Maximitch will conduct you to your quarters.”
I bowed and took my departure. The orderly conducted me to a hut,
situated on the steep bank of the river, at the extreme end of the
fortress. One half of the hut was occupied by the family of Simon
Kouzoff; the other was given up to me. It consisted of one room, of
tolerable cleanliness, and was divided into two by a partition.
Savelitch began to set the room in order, and I looked out of the
narrow window. Before me stretched a gloomy steppe. On one side stood
a few huts, and two or three fowls were wandering about the street.
An old woman, standing on a doorstep with a trough in her hands, was
calling some pigs, which answered her with friendly grunts. And this
was the place in which I was condemned to spend my youth! Grief took
possession of me; I came, away from the window and lay down to sleep
without eating any supper, in spite of the exhortations of Savelitch,
who kept repeating in a tone of distress:
“Lord of heaven! he will eat nothing! What will my mistress say if the
child falls ill?”--
The next morning I had scarcely begun to dress when the door opened,
and a young officer, somewhat short in stature, with a swarthy and
rather ill-looking countenance, though distinguished by extraordinary
vivacity, entered the room.
“Pardon me,” he said to me in French, “for coming without ceremony to
make your acquaintance. I heard yesterday of your arrival, and the
desire to see at last a fresh human face took such possession of me,
that I could not wait any longer. You will understand this when you
have lived here a little while.”
I conjectured that this was the officer who had been dismissed from the
Guards on account of