第 一 章 · The Sergeant Of The Guards.
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THE SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS.
My father, Andrei Petrovitch Grineff, after having served in his
youth under Count Münich,[1] quitted the service, in the year 17--,
with the rank of senior major. He settled down upon his estate in the
district of Simbirsk, where he married Avdotia Vassilevna U----, the
daughter of a poor nobleman of the neighbourhood. Nine children were
the result of this marriage. All my brothers and sisters died in their
infancy. I was enrolled as a sergeant in the Semenovsky Regiment,
through the influence of Prince B----, a major in the Guards, and a
near relation of our family. I was considered as being on leave of
absence until the completion of my course of studies. In those days
our system of education was very different from that in vogue at the
present time. At five years of age I was given into the hands of our
gamekeeper, Savelitch, whose sober conduct had rendered him worthy of
being selected to take charge of me. Under his instruction, at the
age of twelve I could read and write Russian, and I was by no means a
bad judge of the qualities of a greyhound. About that time my father
engaged a Frenchman, a Monsieur Beaupré, who had been imported from
Moscow, together with the yearly stock of wine and Provence oil.
Savelitch was not by any means pleased at his arrival.
“Heaven be thanked!” he muttered to himself; “the child is washed,
combed, and well-fed. What need is there for spending money and
engaging a Mossoo, as if there were not enough of our own people!”
Beaupré had been a hairdresser in his own country, then a soldier in
Prussia, then he had come to Russia _pour être outchitel_,[2] without
very well understanding the meaning of the word. He was a good sort of
fellow, but extremely flighty and thoughtless. His chief weakness was
a passion for the fair sex; but his tenderness not unfrequently met
with rebuffs, which would cause him to sigh and lament for the whole
twenty-four hours. Moreover, to use his own expression, he was no enemy
of the bottle, or, in other words, he loved to drink more than was good
for him. But as, with us, wine was only served out at dinner, and then
in small glasses only, and as, moreover, the teacher was generally
passed over on these occasions, my Beaupré very soon became accustomed
to Russian drinks, and even began to prefer them to the wines of his
own country, as being more beneficial for the stomach. We soon became
very good friends, and although, by the terms of the contract, he was
engaged to teach me French, German, and all the sciences, yet he much
preferred learning from me to chatter in Russian, and then each of us
occupied himself with what seemed best to him. Our friendship was of
the most intimate character, and I wished for no other mentor. But fate
soon separated us, owing to an event which I will now proceed to relate.
The laundress, Palashka, a thick-set woman with a face scarred by
the small-pox, and the one-eyed cowkeeper, Akoulka, made up their
minds together one day and went and threw themselves at my mother’s
feet, accusing themselves of certain guilty weaknesses, complaining,
with a flood of tears, that the Mossoo had taken advantage of their
inexperience, and had effected their ruin. My mother did not look upon
such matters in the light of a joke, so she consulted my father upon
the subject. An inquiry into the matter was promptly resolved upon.
He immediately sent for the rascally Frenchman. He was informed that
Monsieur was engaged in giving me my lesson. My father came to my room.
At that particular moment Beaupré was lying on the bed, sleeping the
sleep of innocence. I was occupied in a very different manner. I ought
to mention that a map had been obtained from Moscow, in order that I
might be instructed in geography. It hung upon the wall without ever
being made use of, and as it was a very large map, and the paper thick
and of good quality, I had long been tempted to appropriate it to my
own use. I resolved to make it into a kite, and, taking advantage of
Beaupré’s slumber, I set to work. My father entered the room just at
the moment when I was adjusting a tail to the Cape of Good Hope. Seeing
me so occupied with geography, my father saluted me with a box on the
ear, then stepped towards Beaupré, and waking him very unceremoniously,
overwhelmed him with reproaches. In his confusion, Beaupré wanted to
rise up from the bed, but he was unable to do so: the unfortunate
Frenchman was hopelessly intoxicated. There was only one course to take
after so many acts of misdemeanour. My father seized hold of him by
the collar, lifted him off the bed, hustled him out of the room, and
dismissed him that very same day from his service--to the unspeakable
delight of Savelitch. Thus ended my education.
I now lived the life of a spoiled child, frightening the pigeons,
and playing at leap-frog with the boys on the estate. I continued to
lead this kind of life until I was sixteen years of age. Then came the
turning-point in my existence.
One day in autumn, my mother was boiling some honey preserves in
the parlour, and I was looking on and licking my lips as the liquid
simmered and frothed. My father was sitting near the window, reading
the “Court Calendar,” which he received every year. This book always
had a great effect upon him; he used to read it with especial interest,
and the reading of it always stirred his bile in the most astonishing
manner. My mother, who was perfectly well acquainted with his whims and
peculiarities, always endeavoured to keep this unfortunate book out
of the way as much as she possibly could, and, on this account, his
eyes would not catch a glimpse of the volume for months together. But
when he did happen to find it, he would sit with it in his hands for
hours at a stretch.... As I have said, my father was reading the “Court
Calendar,” every now and then shrugging his shoulders, and muttering
to himself: “Lieutenant-General!... He used to be a sergeant in my
company!... Knight of both Russian Orders!... How long is it since
we----”
At last my father flung the “Calendar” down upon the sofa, and sank
into a reverie--a proceeding that was always of evil augury.
Suddenly he turned to my mother:
“Avdotia Vassilevna,[3] how old is Petrousha?”[4]
“He is getting on for seventeen,” replied my mother: “Petrousha was born
in the same year that aunt Nastasia Gerasimovna[5] lost her eye,
and----”
“Very well,” said my father, interrupting her; “it is time that he
entered the service. He has had quite enough of running about the
servants’ rooms and climbing up to the dovecots.”
The thought of soon having to part with me produced such an effect
upon my mother, that she let the spoon fall into the saucepan, and the
tears streamed down her cheeks. As for myself, it would be difficult
to describe the delight that I felt. The thought of the service was
associated in my mind with thoughts of freedom and the pleasures of a
life in St. Petersburg. I imagined myself an officer in the Guards,
that being, in my opinion, the summit of human felicity.
My father loved neither to change his intentions, nor to delay putting
them into execution. The day for my departure was fixed. On the evening
before, my father informed me that he intended to write to my future
chief, and asked for pens and paper.
“Do not forget, Andrei Petrovitch,”[6] said my mother, “to send my
salutations to Prince B----, and say that I hope he will take our
Petrousha under his protection.”
“What nonsense!” exclaimed my father, frowning. “Why should I write to
Prince B----”
“Why, you said just now that you wanted to write to Petrousha’s chief.”
“Well, and what then?”
“Why, Prince B---- is Petrousha’s chief. You know Petrousha is enrolled
in the Semenovsky Regiment.”
“Enrolled! What care I whether he is enrolled or not? Petrousha is
not going to St. Petersburg. What would he learn by serving in St.
Petersburg? To squander money and indulge in habits of dissipation. No,
let him enter a regiment of the Line; let him learn to carry knapsack
and belt, to smell powder, to become a soldier, and not an idler in the
Guards. Where is his passport? Bring it here.”
My mother went to get my passport, which she preserved in a small
box along with the shirt in which I was christened, and delivered it
to my father with a trembling hand. My father read it through very
attentively, placed it in front of him upon the table, and commenced to
write his letter.
I was tortured with curiosity. Where was I to be sent to, if I was not
going to St. Petersburg? I kept my eyes steadfastly fixed upon the pen,
which moved slowly over the paper. At last he finished the letter,
enclosed it in a cover along with my passport, took off his spectacles,
and, calling me to him, said:
“Here is a letter for Andrei Karlovitch R----, my old comrade and
friend. You are going to Orenburg to serve under his command.”
All my brilliant hopes were thus brought to the ground! Instead of a
life of gaiety in St. Petersburg, there awaited me a tedious existence
in a dreary and distant country. The service, which I had thought of
with such rapture but a moment before, now presented itself to my eyes
in the light of a great misfortune. But there was no help for it, and
arguing the matter would have been of no avail.
Early the next morning a travelling carriage drew up before the door;
my portmanteau was placed in it, as well as a small chest containing a
tea-service and a tied-up cloth full of rolls and pies--the last tokens
of home indulgence. My parents gave me their blessing. My father said
to me:
“Good-bye, Peter! Serve faithfully whom you have sworn to serve; obey
your superior officers; do not run after their favours; be not too
eager in volunteering for service, but never shirk a duty when you are
selected for it; and remember the proverb: ‘Take care of your coat
while it is new, and of your honour while it is young.’”
My mother, with tears in her eyes, enjoined me to take care of my
health, at the same time impressing upon Savelitch to look well after
the child. A cloak made of hare-skin was then put over my shoulders,
and over that another made of fox-skin. I seated myself in the carriage
with Savelitch, and started off on my journey, weeping bitterly.
That same night I arrived at Simbirsk, where I was compelled to remain
for the space of twenty-four hours, to enable Savelitch to purchase
several necessary articles which he had been commissioned to procure. I
stopped at an inn. In the morning Savelitch sallied out to the shops.
Tired of looking out of the window into a dirty alley, I began to
wander about the rooms of the inn. As I entered the billiard-room, my
eyes caught sight of a tall gentleman of about thirty-five years of
age, with long, black moustaches; he was dressed in a morning-gown, and
had a cue in his hand and a pipe between his teeth. He was playing with
the marker, who drank a glass of brandy when he scored, but crept on
all-fours beneath the table when he failed. I stopped to look at the
game. The longer it continued, the more frequent became the crawling
on all-fours, until at last the marker crept beneath the table and
remained there.
The gentleman uttered a few strong expressions over him, as a sort
of funeral oration, and then invited me to play a game with him. I
declined, on the score that I did not know how to play. This evidently
seemed very strange to him, and he looked at me with an air of
commiseration. However, we soon fell into conversation. I learned that
his name was Ivan Ivanovitch Zourin; that he was a captain in a Hussar
regiment; that he was then stopping in Simbirsk, waiting to receive
some recruits, and that he was staying at the same inn as myself.
Zourin invited me to dine with him, in military fashion, upon whatever
Heaven should be pleased to set before us. I accepted his invitation
with pleasure. We sat down to table. Zourin drank a great deal, and
pressed me to do the same, saying that it was necessary for me to
get accustomed to the ways of the service. He related to me several
military anecdotes, which convulsed me with laughter, and when we rose
from the table we had become intimate friends Then he offered to teach
me how to play at billiards.
“It is an indispensable game for soldiers like us,” said he. “When on
the march, for instance, you arrive at some insignificant village, what
can you do to occupy the time? You cannot always be thrashing the Jews.
You involuntarily make your way to the inn to play at billiards, and to
do that, you must know how to play.”
I was completely convinced, and I commenced to learn the game with
great assiduity. Zourin encouraged me with loud-voiced praise, being
astonished at my rapid progress; and after a few lessons he proposed
that we should play for money, for the smallest sums possible, not for
the sake of gain, but merely for the sake of not playing for nothing,
which, according to his opinion, was an exceedingly bad habit.
I agreed to his proposal, and Zourin ordered a supply of punch, which
he persuaded me to partake of, saying that it was necessary to become
accustomed to it in the service; for what would the service be without
punch! I followed his advice. In the meantime we continued our game.
The more frequently I had recourse to the punch, the more emboldened
I became. The balls kept continually flying in the wrong direction;
I grew angry, abused the marker--who counted the points, Heaven only
knows how,--increased the stakes from time to time--in a word, I
behaved like a boy just out of leading-strings. In the meanwhile the
time had passed away without my having observed it. Zourin glanced at
the clock, laid down his cue, and informed me that I had lost a hundred
roubles.[7] I was considerably confounded by this piece of information.
My money was in the hands of Savelitch. I began to make some excuses.
Zourin interrupted me:
“Pray, do not be uneasy. I can wait; and now let us go to
Arinoushka.”[8]
What more shall I add? I finished the day as foolishly as I had
commenced it. We took supper with Arinoushka. Zourin kept continually
filling my glass, observing as he did so, that it was necessary to
become accustomed to it in the service. When I rose from the table, I
was scarcely able to stand on my legs; at midnight, Zourin conducted me
back to the inn.
Savelitch came to the doorstep to meet us. He uttered a groan on
perceiving the indubitable signs of my zeal for the service.
“What has happened to you?” he said, in a voice of lamentation. “Where
have you been drinking so? Oh, Lord! never did such a misfortune happen
before!”
“Hold your tongue, you old greybeard!” I replied, in an unsteady voice;
“you are certainly drunk. Go to sleep ... and put me to bed.”
The next morning I awoke with a violent headache, and with a confused
recollection of the events of the day before. My reflections were
interrupted by Savelitch, who brought me a cup of tea.
“You are beginning your games early, Peter Andreitch,”[9] he said,
shaking his head. “And whom do you take after? As far as I know,
neither your father nor grandfather were ever drunkards; as for your
mother, I will say nothing; she has never drunk anything except
_kvas_[10] since the day she was born. And who is to blame for all
this? Why, that cursed Mossoo, who was ever running to Antipevna with:
‘_Madame_, _je vous prie, vodka_.’[11] You see what a pretty pass your
_je vous prie_ has brought you to! There’s no denying that the son of
a dog taught you some nice things! It was worth while to hire such a
heathen for your tutor, as if our master had not enough of his own
people!”
I felt ashamed of myself. I turned my back to him, and said:
“Go away, Savelitch; I do not want any tea.”
But it was a difficult matter to quiet Savelitch when he had set his
mind upon preaching a sermon.
“You see now, Peter Andreitch, what it is to get drunk. You have a
headache, and you do not want to eat or drink anything. A man who gets
drunk is good for nothing. Have some cucumber pickle with honey; or
perhaps half a glass of fruit wine would be better still. What do you
say?”
At that moment a boy entered the room and handed me a note from Zourin.
I opened it and read the following lines:
“DEAR PETER ANDREIVITCH,
“Be so good as to send me, by my boy, the hundred roubles which you
lost to me yesterday. I am in great need of money.
“Yours faithfully,
“IVAN ZOURIN.”
There was no help for it. I assumed an air of indifference, and
turning to Savelitch, who was my treasurer and caretaker in one, I
ordered him to give the boy a hundred roubles.
“What? why?” asked the astonished Savelitch.
“I owe them to him,” I replied, with the greatest possible coolness.
“Owe!” ejaculated Savelitch, becoming more and more astonished.
“When did you get into his debt? It looks a very suspicious piece of
business. You may do as you like, my lord, but I shall not give the
money.”
I thought that, if in this decisive moment I did not gain the upper
hand of the obstinate old man, it would be difficult for me to liberate
myself from his tutelage later on; so, looking haughtily at him, I said:
“I am your master, and you are my servant. The money is mine. I played
and lost it because I chose to do so; and I advise you not to oppose my
wishes, but to do what you are ordered.”
Savelitch was so astounded at my words, that he clasped his hands and
stood as if petrified.
“What are you standing there like that for?” I exclaimed angrily.
Savelitch began to weep.
“Father, Peter Andreitch,” he stammered in a quivering voice, “do not
break my heart with grief. You are the light of my life, so listen to
me--to an old man: write to this robber, and tell him that you were
only joking, that we have not got so much money. A hundred roubles!
Merciful Heaven! Tell him that your parents have strictly forbidden you
to play for anything except nuts----”
“That will do; let me have no more of your chatter! Give me the money,
or I will put you out by the neck!”
Savelitch looked at me with deep sadness, and went for the money. I
pitied the poor old man; but I wanted to assert my independence and to
show that I was no longer a child.
The money was paid to Zourin. Savelitch hastened to get me away from
the accursed inn. He made his appearance with the information that the
horses were ready. With an uneasy conscience, and a silent feeling
of remorse, I left Simbirsk without taking leave of my teacher of
billiards, and without thinking that I should ever see him again.
[Footnote 1: A celebrated German general who entered the service of
Russia during the reign of Peter the Great.]
[Footnote 2: _Outchitel._ A tutor.]
[Footnote 3: Avdotia, daughter of Basil.]
[Footnote 4: Diminutive of Peter.]
[Footnote 5: Anastasia, daughter of Gerasim.]
[Footnote 6: The Russians usually address each other by their Christian
name and that of their father. Thus Andrei Petrovitch means simply
Andrew, son of Peter.]
[Footnote 7: The rouble, at that time, was worth about three shillings
and four-pence.]
[Footnote 8: Diminutive of Arina.]
[Footnote 9: Peter, son of Andrew.]
[Footnote 10: A sour but refreshing drink made from rye-meal and malt.]
[Footnote 11: Brandy.]