The Daughter of the Commandant. Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin

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СКАЧАТЬ 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—

      "Andréj Petróvitch, Petróusha 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, Petróusha," 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; Savéliitch 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 Yaïk,19 was a peasant of about sixty, still fresh and hale. Savéliitch 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 Savéliitch.

      "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 pope22 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 Yaïk, which had only just been reduced to submission after the revolt of 1772.24

      Savéliitch 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. Savéliitch'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 Savéliitch 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 Savéliitch to give him half a rouble as a reward.

      Savéliitch 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 Savéliitch; 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 Savéliitch, "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' Andréjïtch!" exclaimed Savéliitch. "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 СКАЧАТЬ