The Daughter of the Commandant

Ch. 2 - The Guide

My reflections during the journey were not very pleasant. According to

the value of money at that time, my loss was of some importance. I could

not but confess to myself that my conduct at the Simbirsk Inn had been

most foolish, and I felt guilty toward Savliitch. All this worried me.

The old man sat, in sulky silence, in the forepart of the sledge, with

his face averted, every now and then giving a cross little cough. I had

firmly resolved to make peace with him, but I did not know how to begin.

At last I said to him--

"Look here, Savliitch, let us have done with all this; let us make

peace."

"Oh! my little father, Petr' Andrjtch," he replied, with a deep sigh,

"I am angry with myself; it is I who am to blame for everything. What

possessed me to leave you alone in the inn? But what could I do; the

devil would have it so, else why did it occur to me to go and see my

gossip the deacon's wife, and thus it happened, as the proverb says, 'I

left the house and was taken to prison.' What ill-luck! What ill-luck!

How shall I appear again before my master and mistress? What will they

say when they hear that their child is a drunkard and a gamester?"

To comfort poor Savliitch, I gave him my word of honour that in future

I would not spend a single kopek without his consent. Gradually he

calmed down, though he still grumbled from time to time, shaking his

head--

"A hundred roubles, it is easy to talk!"

I was approaching my destination. Around me stretched a wild and dreary

desert, intersected by little hills and deep ravines. All was covered

with snow. The sun was setting. My _kibitka_ was following the narrow

road, or rather the track, left by the sledges of the peasants. All at

once my driver looked round, and addressing himself to me--

"Sir," said he, taking off his cap, "will you not order me to turn

back?"

"The weather is uncertain. There is already a little wind. Do you not

see how it is blowing about the surface snow."

"Well, what does that matter?"

"And do you see what there is yonder?"

The driver pointed east with his whip.

"I see nothing more than the white steppe and the clear sky."

"There, there; look, that little cloud!"

I did, in fact, perceive on the horizon a little white cloud which I

had at first taken for a distant hill. My driver explained to me that

this little cloud portended a "_bourane_."[15] I had heard of the

snowstorms peculiar to these regions, and I knew of whole caravans

having been sometimes buried in the tremendous drifts of snow.

Savliitch was of the same opinion as the driver, and advised me to turn

back, but the wind did not seem to me very violent, and hoping to reach

in time the next posting station, I bid him try and get on quickly. He

put his horses to a gallop, continually looking, however, towards the

east. But the wind increased in force, the little cloud rose rapidly,

became larger and thicker, at last covering the whole sky. The snow

began to fall lightly at first, but soon in large flakes. The wind

whistled and howled; in a moment the grey sky was lost in the whirlwind

of snow which the wind raised from the earth, hiding everything around

us.

"How unlucky we are, excellency," cried the driver; "it is the

_bourane_."

I put my head out of the _kibitka_; all was darkness and confusion. The

wind blew with such ferocity that it was difficult not to think it an

animated being.

The snow drifted round and covered us. The horses went at a walk, and

soon stopped altogether.

"Why don't you go on?" I said, impatiently, to the driver.

"But where to?" he replied, getting out of the sledge. "Heaven only

knows where we are now. There is no longer any road, and it is all

dark."

I began to scold him, but Savliitch took his part.

"Why did you not listen to him?" he said to me, angrily. "You would have

gone back to the post-house; you would have had some tea; you could

have slept till morning; the storm would have blown over, and we should

have started. And why such haste? Had it been to get married, now!"

Savliitch was right. What was there to do? The snow continued to

fall--a heap was rising around the _kibitka_. The horses stood

motionless, hanging their heads and shivering from time to time.

The driver walked round them, settling their harness, as if he had

nothing else to do. Savliitch grumbled. I was looking all round in

hopes of perceiving some indication of a house or a road; but I could

not see anything but the confused whirling of the snowstorm.

All at once I thought I distinguished something black.

"Hullo, driver!" I exclaimed, "what is that black thing over there?"

The driver looked attentively in the direction I was pointing out.

"Heaven only knows, excellency," replied he, resuming his seat.

"It is not a sledge, it is not a tree, and it seems to me that it moves.

It must be a wolf or a man."

I ordered him to move towards the unknown object, which came also to

meet us. In two minutes I saw it was a man, and we met.

"Hey, there, good man," the driver hailed him, "tell us, do you happen

to know the road?"

"This is the road," replied the traveller. "I am on firm ground; but

what the devil good does that do you?"

"Listen, my little peasant," said I to him, "do you know this part of

the country? Can you guide us to some place where we may pass the

night?"

"Do I know this country? Thank heaven," rejoined the stranger, "I have

travelled here, on horse and afoot, far and wide. But just look at this

weather! One cannot keep the road. Better stay here and wait; perhaps

the hurricane will cease and the sky will clear, and we shall find the

road by starlight."

His coolness gave me courage, and I resigned myself to pass the night on

the steppe, commending myself to the care of Providence, when suddenly

the stranger, seating himself on the driver's seat, said--

"Grace be to God, there _is_ a house not far off. Turn to the right, and

go on."

"Why should I go to the right?" retorted my driver, ill-humouredly.

"How do you know where the road is that you are so ready to say, 'Other

people's horses, other people's harness--whip away!'"

It seemed to me the driver was right.

"Why," said I to the stranger, "do you think a house is not far off?"

"The wind blew from that direction," replied he, "and I smelt smoke, a

sure sign that a house is near."

His cleverness and the acuteness of his sense of smell alike astonished

me. I bid the driver go where the other wished. The horses ploughed

their way through the deep snow. The _kibitka_ advanced slowly,

sometimes upraised on a drift, sometimes precipitated into a ditch, and

swinging from side to side. It was very like a boat on a stormy sea.

Savliitch groaned deeply as every moment he fell upon me. I lowered the

_tsinofka_,[16] I rolled myself up in my cloak and I went to sleep,

rocked by the whistle of the storm and the lurching of the sledge. I had

then a dream that I have never forgotten, and in which I still see

something prophetic, as I recall the strange events of my life. The

reader will forgive me if I relate it to him, as he knows, no doubt, by

experience how natural it is for man to retain a vestige of superstition

in spite of all the scorn for it he may think proper to assume.

I had reached the stage when the real and unreal begin to blend into the

first vague visions of drowsiness. It seemed to me that the snowstorm

continued, and that we were wandering in the snowy desert. All at once I

thought I saw a great gate, and we entered the courtyard of our house.

My first thought was a fear that my father would be angry at my

involuntary return to the paternal roof, and would attribute it to a

premeditated disobedience. Uneasy, I got out of my _kibitka_, and I saw

my mother come to meet me, looking very sad.

"Don't make a noise," she said to me. "Your father is on his death-bed,

and wishes to bid you farewell."

Struck with horror, I followed her into the bedroom. I look round; the

room is nearly dark. Near the bed some people were standing, looking sad

and cast down. I approached on tiptoe. My mother raised the curtain, and

said--

"Andrj Petrvitch, Petrusha has come back; he came back having heard

of your illness. Give him your blessing."

I knelt down. But to my astonishment instead of my father I saw in the

bed a black-bearded peasant, who regarded me with a merry look. Full of

surprise, I turned towards my mother.

"What does this mean?" I exclaimed. "It is not my father. Why do you

want me to ask this peasant's blessing?"

"It is the same thing, Petrusha," replied my mother. "That person is

your _godfather_.[17] Kiss his hand, and let him bless you."

I would not consent to this. Whereupon the peasant sprang from the bed,

quickly drew his axe from his belt, and began to brandish it in all

directions. I wished to fly, but I could not. The room seemed to be

suddenly full of corpses. I stumbled against them; my feet slipped in

pools of blood. The terrible peasant called me gently, saying to me--

"Fear nothing, come near; come and let me bless you."

Fear had stupified me....

At this moment I awoke. The horses had stopped; Savliitch had hold of

my hand.

"Get out, excellency," said he to me; "here we are."

"Where?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"At our night's lodging. Heaven has helped us; we came by chance right

upon the hedge by the house. Get out, excellency, as quick as you can,

and let us see you get warm."

I got out of the _kibitka_. The snowstorm still raged, but less

violently. It was so dark that one might, as we say, have as well been

blind. The host received us near the entrance, holding a lantern beneath

the skirt of his caftan, and led us into a room, small but prettily

clean, lit by a _loutchina_.[18] On the wall hung a long carbine and a

high Cossack cap.

Our host, a Cossack of the Yak,[19] was a peasant of about sixty, still

fresh and hale. Savliitch brought the tea canister, and asked for a

fire that he might make me a cup or two of tea, of which, certainly, I

never had more need. The host hastened to wait upon him.

"What has become of our guide? Where is he?" I asked Savliitch.

"Here, your excellency," replied a voice from above.

I raised my eyes to the recess above the stove, and I saw a black beard

and two sparkling eyes.

"Well, are you cold?"

"How could I not be cold," answered he, "in a little caftan all holes? I

had a _touloup_, but, it's no good hiding it, I left it yesterday in

pawn at the brandy shop; the cold did not seem to me then so keen."

At this moment the host re-entered with the boiling _samovar_.[20] I

offered our guide a cup of tea. He at once jumped down.

I was struck by his appearance. He was a man about forty, middle height,

thin, but broad-shouldered. His black beard was beginning to turn grey;

his large quick eyes roved incessantly around. In his face there was an

expression rather pleasant, but slightly mischievous. His hair was cut

short. He wore a little torn _armak_,[21] and wide Tartar trousers.

I offered him a cup of tea; he tasted it, and made a wry face.

"Do me the favour, your excellency," said he to me, "to give me a glass

of brandy; we Cossacks do not generally drink tea."

I willingly acceded to his desire. The host took from one of the shelves

of the press a jug and a glass, approached him, and, having looked him

well in the face--

"Well, well," said he, "so here you are again in our part of the world.

Where, in heaven's name, do you come from now?"

My guide winked in a meaning manner, and replied by the well-known

saying--

"The sparrow was flying about in the orchard; he was eating hempseed;

the grandmother threw a stone at him, and missed him. And you, how are

you all getting on?"

"How are we all getting on?" rejoined the host, still speaking in

proverbs.

"Vespers were beginning to ring, but the wife of the _pope_[22] forbid

it; the pope went away on a visit, and the devils are abroad in the

churchyard."

"Shut up, uncle," retorted the vagabond. "When it rains there will be

mushrooms, and when you find mushrooms you will find a basket to put

them in. But now" (he winked a second time) "put your axe behind your

back,[23] the gamekeeper is abroad. To the health of your excellency."

So saying he took the glass, made the sign of the cross, and swallowed

his brandy at one gulp, then, bowing to me, returned to his lair above

the stove.

I could not then understand a single word of the thieves' slang they

employed. It was only later on that I understood that they were talking

about the army of the Yak, which had only just been reduced to

submission after the revolt of 1772.[24]

Savliitch listened to them talking with a very discontented manner, and

cast suspicious glances, sometimes on the host and sometimes on the

guide.

The kind of inn where we had sought shelter stood in the very middle of

the steppe, far from the road and from any dwelling, and certainly was

by no means unlikely to be a robber resort. But what could we do? We

could not dream of resuming our journey. Savliitch's uneasiness amused

me very much. I stretched myself on a bench. My old retainer at last

decided to get up on the top of the stove,[25] while the host lay down

on the floor. They all soon began to snore, and I myself soon fell dead

asleep.

When I awoke, somewhat late, on the morrow I saw that the storm was

over. The sun shone brightly; the snow stretched afar like a dazzling

sheet. The horses were already harnessed. I paid the host, who named

such a mere trifle as my reckoning that Savliitch did not bargain as he

usually did. His suspicions of the evening before were quite gone. I

called the guide to thank him for what he had done for us, and I told

Savliitch to give him half a rouble as a reward.

Savliitch frowned.

"Half a rouble!" cried he. "Why? Because you were good enough to bring

him yourself to the inn? I will obey you, excellency, but we have no

half roubles to spare. If we take to giving gratuities to everybody we

shall end by dying of hunger."

I could not dispute the point with Savliitch; my money, according to my

solemn promise, was entirely at his disposal. Nevertheless, I was

annoyed that I was not able to reward a man who, if he had not brought

me out of fatal danger, had, at least, extricated me from an awkward

dilemma.

"Well," I said, coolly, to Savliitch, "if you do not wish to give him

half a rouble give him one of my old coats; he is too thinly clad. Give

him my hareskin _touloup_."

"Have mercy on me, my father, Petr' Andrjtch!" exclaimed Savliitch.

"What need has he of your _touloup_? He will pawn it for drink, the

dog, in the first tavern he comes across."

"That, my dear old fellow, is no longer your affair," said the vagabond,

"whether I drink it or whether I do not. His excellency honours me with

a coat off his own back.[26] It is his excellency's will, and it is your

duty as a serf not to kick against it, but to obey."

"You don't fear heaven, robber that you are," said Savliitch, angrily.

"You see the child is still young and foolish, and you are quite ready

to plunder him, thanks to his kind heart. What do you want with a

gentleman's _touloup_? You could not even put it across your cursed

broad shoulders."

"I beg you will not play the wit," I said to my follower. "Get the cloak

quickly."

"Oh! good heavens!" exclaimed Savliitch, bemoaning himself. "A

_touloup_ of hareskin, and still quite new! And to whom is it

given?--to a drunkard in rags."

However, the _touloup_ was brought. The vagabond began trying it on

directly. The _touloup_, which had already become somewhat too small for

me, was really too tight for him. Still, with some trouble, he succeeded

in getting it on, though he cracked all the seams. Savliitch gave, as

it were, a subdued howl when he heard the threads snapping.

As to the vagabond, he was very pleased with my present. He ushered me

to my _kibitka_, and saying, with a low bow, "Thanks, your excellency;

may Heaven reward you for your goodness; I shall never forget, as long

as I live, your kindnesses," went his way, and I went mine, without

paying any attention to Savliitch's sulkiness.

I soon forgot the snowstorm, the guide, and my hareskin _touloup_.

Upon arrival at Orenburg I immediately waited on the General. I found a

tall man, already bent by age. His long hair was quite white; his old

uniform reminded one of a soldier of Tzarina Anne's[27] time, and he

spoke with a strongly-marked German accent. I gave him my father's

letter. Upon reading his name he cast a quick glance at me.

"Ah," said he, "it was but a short time Andrj Petrvitch was your age,

and now he has got a fine fellow of a son. Well, well--time, time."

He opened the letter, and began reading it half aloud, with a running

fire of remarks--

"'Sir, I hope your excellency'--What's all this ceremony? For shame! I

wonder he's not ashamed of himself! Of course, discipline before

everything; but is it thus one writes to an old comrade? 'Your

excellency will not have forgotten'--Humph! 'And when under the late

Field Marshal Mnich during the campaign, as well as little

Caroline'--Eh! eh! _bruder_! So he still remembers our old pranks? 'Now

for business. I send you my rogue'--Hum! 'Hold him with gloves of

porcupine-skin'--What does that mean--'gloves of porcupine-skin?' It

must be a Russian proverb.

"What does it mean, 'hold with gloves of porcupine-skin?'" resumed he,

turning to me.

"It means," I answered him, with the most innocent face in the world,

"to treat someone kindly, not too strictly, to leave him plenty of

liberty; that is what holding with gloves of porcupine-skin means."

"Humph! I understand."

"'And not give him any liberty'--No; it seems that porcupine-skin gloves

means something quite different.' Enclosed is his commission'--Where is

it then? Ah! here it is!--'in the roll of the Smnofsky Regiment'--All

right; everything necessary shall be done. 'Allow me to salute you

without ceremony, and like an old friend and comrade'--Ah! he has at

last remembered it all," etc., etc.

"Well, my little father," said he, after he had finished the letter and

put my commission aside, "all shall be done; you shall be an officer in

the ----th Regiment, and you shall go to-morrow to Fort Blogorsk, where

you will serve under the orders of Commandant Mironoff, a brave and

worthy man. There you will really serve and learn discipline. There is

nothing for you to do at Orenburg; amusement is bad for a young man.

To-day I invite you to dine with me."

"Worse and worse," thought I to myself. "What good has it done me to

have been a sergeant in the Guard from my cradle? Where has it brought

me? To the ----th Regiment, and to a fort stranded on the frontier of

the Kirghiz-Kasak Steppes!"

I dined at Andrj Karlovitch's, in the company of his old aide de camp.

Strict German economy was the rule at his table, and I think that the

dread of a frequent guest at his bachelor's table contributed not a

little to my being so promptly sent away to a distant garrison.

The next day I took leave of the General, and started for my

destination.