Пиковая дама / The Queen of Spades. Александр Пушкин

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СКАЧАТЬ but I wished to assert myself, and prove that I was not a child. Zourine got his hundred roubles.

      Savéliitch was in haste to get me away from this unlucky inn; he came in telling me the horses were harnessed. I left Simbirsk with an uneasy conscience, and with some silent remorse, without taking leave of my instructor, whom I little thought I should ever see again.

      Chapter II. 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 Savéliitch. 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, Savéliitch, let us have done with all this; let us make peace.”

      “Oh! my little father, Petr’ Andréjïtch,” 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 Savéliitch, 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?”

      “Why?”

      “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. Savéliitch 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 Savéliitch 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!”

      Savéliitch 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. Savéliitch 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 СКАЧАТЬ