Doubrovsky (Pushkin)
Short summary
Russia, early 19th century. A quarrel between two neighboring landowners led to tragedy. The wealthy and arrogant Troekouroff insulted his poor neighbor Doubrovsky through a servant's joke.
Troekouroff used corrupt officials to seize Doubrovsky's estate through a fraudulent lawsuit. The shock drove the old man mad, and he soon died. His son Vladimir returned from St. Petersburg to find his father dying and the estate lost.
In despair and rage, Vladimir burned down his manor house with the corrupt officials inside, then became a brigand. He terrorized the region but never touched Troekouroff's property. Later, Vladimir disguised himself as a French tutor and entered Troekouroff's household, planning revenge. There he met and fell in love with Troekouroff's beautiful daughter Maria.
Love replaced Vladimir's thirst for vengeance. When the elderly Prince Vereisky proposed to Maria, her father forced her to accept. Vladimir revealed his identity to Maria and promised to save her. On the wedding day, Vladimir and his band attacked the carriage, but Maria refused his help, saying:
You are free! ... No! ... it is too late! I am married. I am the wife of Prince Vereisky ... I have consented, I have taken the oath ... now, it is too late.
The Prince shot and wounded Vladimir. The brigands wanted to kill the Prince, but Vladimir stopped them and let the couple go. Soon after, Vladimir disbanded his gang and disappeared, reportedly fleeing abroad.
Detailed summary by chapters
Chapter titles are editorial.
Chapter 1. Troekouroff and Doubrovsky: friendship and the kennel incident
Some years ago in Russia, there lived a wealthy and powerful landowner whose arrogance and tyranny were legendary throughout the province.
His wealth, distinguished birth, and connections gave him immense influence. Completely spoilt by his surroundings, he indulged every impulse of his passionate nature and every caprice of his narrow mind. His house was always full of guests ready to amuse him and join his noisy, sometimes boisterous mirth. Nobody dared refuse his invitations or fail to appear at his village of Pokrovskoe on certain days. Despite his extraordinary constitution, he suffered from surfeit two or three times weekly and became tipsy every evening. He maintained sixteen girls in one wing of his house, engaged in needlework behind barred windows and locked doors, and from time to time married some of them off. He treated his peasants and domestics severely and arbitrarily, yet they were devoted to him and loved to boast of their master's wealth and influence.
Chapter 2. The quarrel escalates and legal proceedings begin
One exception existed to the general rule of submission. A retired lieutenant of the Guards, his nearest neighbour, possessed only seventy serfs but commanded respect even from the haughty landowner.
They had been friends in military service, and the landowner knew from experience the impatience and decision of his character. The celebrated events of 1762 separated them for a long time, but eventually they reunited and saw each other daily. Being of the same age, born in the same rank of society, and having received the same education, they resembled each other in character and inclinations. Both had married for love, both had soon become widowers, and both had been left with an only child. The son studied at St. Petersburg while the daughter grew up under her father's eyes. One day at the kennels, where more than five hundred dogs lived in luxury and warmth, the poor neighbour frowned at the magnificent establishment. When asked if the kennel pleased him, he replied abruptly.
Does not my kennel please you? ... the kennel is marvellous, but I doubt whether your people live as well as your dogs.
One of the gamekeepers took offence and made an insolent remark suggesting that certain nobles would do better to exchange their manor-houses for compartments in this kennel. The master burst out laughing at this joke, and his guests followed suit, though they felt the remark might apply to them also. The poor neighbour turned pale and said nothing. At that moment a basket containing newborn puppies was brought in. The master chose two and ordered the rest drowned. Meanwhile, the offended guest had disappeared without anyone noticing. When his absence was discovered, a servant was sent after him, but he refused to return. A second servant was sent with a message that if he did not return at once, all friendly intercourse would be broken off forever. The next day, the master received a letter.
I do not intend to return to Pokrovskoe until you send the dog-feeder Paramoshka to me with an apology ... I am not a buffoon, but a gentleman of ancient family.
Chapter 3. The trial and Andrei Gavrilovitchs madness
The letter irritated the master not by its strange style but by its substance. He was furious at the demand that his people apologize, and he vented his spleen in the most insulting expressions. A fresh incident destroyed the last hope of reconciliation. One day, the poor neighbour found peasants from Pokrovskoe stealing wood from his grove. He caught two of them and brought them home bound, along with two horses belonging to the enemy. He resolved to teach his prisoners a lesson with the rods they themselves had collected and to incorporate the horses with his own cattle. The news reached the master that very day, and he was almost beside himself with rage. In the first moment of passion, he wanted to attack his neighbour's village with all his domestics, but his thoughts soon took another direction. An assessor appeared at his gate, and the master summoned him.
I have a neighbour, a small proprietor, a rude fellow, and I want to take his property from him ... Can't you make a case out of that?
The assessor saw his opportunity and promised to take proceedings according to law. A fortnight later, the poor neighbour received a summons to appear in court and produce documents proving his possession of the village of Kistenevka. Astonished by this unexpected request, he wrote a somewhat rude reply explaining that the village became his on his father's death, that he held it by right of inheritance, and that all pretensions to his property were nothing but chicanery and roguery. The business dragged on. Confident in his own right, he troubled himself very little about the matter, having neither the inclination nor the means to scatter money about him. The other party, meanwhile, acted through the assessor, threatening and bribing judges and interpreting ordinances in the most distorted manner possible.
Chapter 4. Vladimir returns home; his fathers death
On February 9th, the poor neighbour received an invitation to appear at the district court to hear the decision and sign his approval or disapproval. That same day he set out for town. On the road he was overtaken by his adversary. They glared haughtily at each other, and he observed a malicious smile upon his enemy's face. At the court, nobody paid attention to him. After his adversary arrived, the members received him with every manifestation of deepest submission, and an armchair was brought for him. A deep silence ensued as the secretary began reading the decree in a sonorous voice. When the reading ceased, the assessor invited the master to sign the paper, which he did with complete satisfaction. It was now the poor neighbour's turn, but he stood immovable with his head bent down. The secretary repeated his invitation, but he remained silent. Suddenly he raised his head, his eyes sparkled, he stamped his foot, pushed back the secretary with such force that he fell, seized the inkstand, hurled it at the assessor, and cried in a wild voice about huntsmen leading greyhounds into the Church of God. The guards rushed in and with difficulty overpowered him. They led him out and placed him in a sledge. His sudden madness had produced a deep impression upon his adversary's imagination, secretly torturing his conscience. The next day, the stricken man was taken to Kistenevka, which scarcely belonged to him any longer.
Some time elapsed, but his health showed no signs of improvement. The fits of madness did not recur, but his strength became visibly less. He forgot his former occupations, rarely left his room, and for days together remained absorbed in his own reflections. A kind-hearted old woman who had once tended his son now became his nurse.
She waited upon him like a child, reminded him when it was time to eat and sleep, fed him and even put him to bed. He obeyed her and had no intercourse with anybody else. He was not in a condition to think about his affairs or to look after his property, and the old woman saw the necessity of informing the young man, who was then serving in one of the regiments of Foot Guards stationed in St. Petersburg, of everything that had happened. She dictated a letter to the cook, the only literate person in Kistenevka, and sent it off that same day to the town post.
The young man had been educated at the cadet school and, on leaving it, had entered the Guards as sub-lieutenant.
His father spared nothing to enable him to live in a becoming manner, and the young man received from home a great deal more than he had any right to expect. Being imprudent and ambitious, he indulged in extravagant habits, ran into debt, and troubled himself very little about the future. One evening, when several officers were spending a few hours with him, his valet handed him a letter. He hastily opened it and read about his father's poor health and the court proceedings. The thought of losing his father pained him exceedingly, and the condition of the poor invalid, which he guessed from his nurse's letter, horrified him. He imagined his father left in an out-of-the-way village, in the hands of a stupid old woman and her fellow servants, threatened by some misfortune, and expiring without help in the midst of tortures both mental and physical. He reproached himself with criminal neglect. That same evening he began taking the necessary steps for obtaining leave of absence, and two days afterwards he set out in the stage coach.
Chapter 5. The funeral and Vladimirs despair
He neared the post station where he was to take the turning for Kistenevka. His heart was filled with sad forebodings; he feared that he would no longer find his father alive. He pictured to himself the dreary kind of life that awaited him in the village: the loneliness, solitude, poverty and cares of business of which he knew nothing. At the station, the postmaster informed him that horses sent from Kistenevka had been waiting for him for the last four days. Soon appeared the old coachman, whose eyes filled with tears on seeing his young master. He told him that his old master was still alive and then hastened to harness the horses. The young man declined the proffered breakfast and hastened to depart. Conversation began between them about what had happened. About ten minutes later they drove into the courtyard. He looked around him with indescribable emotion: twelve years had elapsed since he last saw his native place. The little birches planted near the wooden fence had now become tall trees with long branches. The courtyard, formerly ornamented with three regular flower-beds, had been converted into a meadow. The servants came rushing out and surrounded the young master with loud manifestations of joy. In the vestibule he was met by the old nurse, who tearfully embraced him. At that moment a tall old man, pale and thin, in a dressing-gown and cap, entered the room, dragging one foot after the other with difficulty. The joy proved too much for the sick man; he grew weak, his legs gave way beneath him, and he would have fallen if his son had not held him up. The old man was carried back to his bedroom. He tried to converse with his son, but he could not collect his thoughts, and his words had no connection with each other. He became silent and fell into a kind of somnolence. The son was struck by his condition. He installed himself in the bedroom and requested to be left alone with his father.
A few days after his arrival, the young man wished to turn his attention to business, but his father was not in a condition to give him the necessary explanations. Examining his papers, he only found the first letter of the assessor and a rough copy of his father's reply. From these he could not obtain any clear idea of the lawsuit, and he determined to await the result, trusting in the justice of his father's cause. Meanwhile the health of his father grew worse from hour to hour. He foresaw that his end was not far off, and he never left the old man, now fallen into complete childishness. In the meantime the period of delay had expired and no appeal had been presented. Kistenevka therefore belonged to the master. The assessor came to him with congratulations, inquiring when His Excellency intended to enter into possession of his newly-acquired property. The master felt troubled. By nature he was not avaricious; his desire for revenge had carried him too far, and he now felt the rebukings of his conscience. He knew in what condition his adversary lay, and his victory brought no joy to his heart. At last he gave orders for the droshky to be got ready, wrapped himself up warmly, and drove out of the courtyard. He soon caught sight of his old neighbour's house. Contradictory feelings filled his soul. Satisfied vengeance and love of power had, to a certain extent, deadened his more noble sentiments, but at last these latter prevailed. He resolved to effect a reconciliation with his old neighbour, to efface the traces of the quarrel and restore to him his property. Having eased his soul with this good intention, he set off at a gallop towards the residence and drove straight into the courtyard.
Chapter 6. The manor house burns with the officials inside
At that moment the invalid was sitting at his bedroom window. He recognized his old enemy and his face assumed an expression of terrible emotion: a livid flush replaced his usual pallor, his eyes gleamed and he uttered a few unintelligible sounds. His son, who was sitting there examining the account books, raised his head and was struck by the change in his father's condition. The sick man pointed with his finger towards the courtyard with an expression of rage and horror. At that moment the old nurse's voice was heard announcing that the master had come. The son hastily gathered up the skirts of his dressing-gown and was preparing to rise from his armchair. He succeeded in getting upon his feet — and then suddenly fell. His son rushed towards him; the old man lay insensible and without breathing: he had been attacked by paralysis. The son cried out for a doctor. A servant entered saying the master was asking for him. The son gave him a terrible look and told him to order the master to leave at once, before he had him turned out. The old nurse raised her hands to heaven, crying that the master would eat them all up. The son told her to send the coachman at once to the town for a doctor. There was nobody in the antechamber; all the domestics had run out into the courtyard to look at the master. The old nurse went out on the steps and heard the servant deliver his young master's reply. The master heard it, seated in the droshky; his face became darker than night; he smiled contemptuously, looked threateningly at the assembled domestics, and then drove slowly out of the courtyard. He glanced up at the window where, a minute before, the sick man had been sitting, but he was no longer there. The old nurse remained standing on the steps. The domestics were noisily talking of what had just occurred. Suddenly the young man appeared in the midst of them and said abruptly that there was no need for a doctor — his father was dead. General consternation followed these words. The domestics rushed to the room of their old master. He was lying in the armchair; his right arm hung down to the ground, his head was bent forward upon his chest — there was not the least sign of life in his body, which, not yet cold, was already disfigured by death. The old nurse set up a howl. The domestics surrounded the corpse, which was left to their care, washed it, dressed it in a uniform made in the year 1797, and laid it out on the same table at which for so many years they had waited upon their master.
The funeral took place the third day. The body lay in the coffin, covered with a shroud and surrounded by candles. The dining-room was filled with domestics, ready to carry out the corpse. The young man and the servants raised the coffin. The priest went in front, followed by the clerk, chanting the prayers for the dead. The master of Kistenevka crossed the threshold of his house for the last time. The coffin was carried through the wood — the church lay just behind it. The day was clear and cold; the autumn leaves were falling from the trees. On emerging from the wood, they saw before them the wooden church and the cemetery shaded by old lime trees. There reposed the body of the young man's mother; there, beside her tomb, a new grave had been dug the day before. The church was full of peasantry come to render the last homage to their master. The young man stood in the chancel; he neither wept nor prayed, but the expression of his face was terrible. The sad ceremony came to an end. He approached first to take leave of the corpse, after him came the domestics. The lid was brought and nailed upon the coffin. The women wept aloud, and the men frequently wiped away their tears with their fists. He and three of the servants carried the coffin to the cemetery, accompanied by the whole village. The coffin was lowered into the grave, all present threw upon it a handful of earth, the pit was filled up, the crowd saluted for the last time and then dispersed. The young man hastily departed, got ahead of everybody, and disappeared into the wood.
The old nurse, in the name of her master, invited the pope and all the clergy to a funeral dinner, informing them that her young master did not intend being present. Meanwhile the young man advanced further into the depth of the wood, endeavouring by exercise and fatigue to deaden the affliction of his soul. He walked on without taking any notice of the road; the branches constantly grazed and scratched him, and his feet continually sank into the swamp — he observed nothing. At last he reached a small glade surrounded by trees on every side; a little stream wound silently through the trees, half-stripped of their leaves by the autumn. He stopped, sat down upon the cold turf, and thoughts, each more gloomy than the other, oppressed his soul. He felt his loneliness very keenly; the future appeared to him enveloped in terrible clouds. His enemy's enmity foreboded fresh misfortunes for him. His modest heritage might pass from him into the hands of a stranger, in which case beggary awaited him. For a long time he sat quite motionless in the same place, observing the gentle flow of the stream, bearing along on its surface a few withered leaves, and vividly representing to him the analogy of life. At last he observed that it began to grow dark; he arose and sought for the road home, but for a long time he wandered about the unknown wood before he stumbled upon the path which led straight up to the gate of his house. He had not gone far before he met the priest coming towards him with all his clergy. The thought immediately occurred to him that this foreboded misfortune. He involuntarily turned aside and disappeared behind the trees. Approaching the house, he saw a crowd of people; peasants and servants were flocking into the courtyard. In the distance he could hear an unusual noise and murmur of voices. Near the coach-house stood two troikas. On the steps several unknown men in uniform were seemingly engaged in conversation. He asked angrily of the old coachman, who ran forward to meet him, what this meant and who these people were. The coachman replied, out of breath, that the Court had come, they were giving them over to the master, they were taking them from his Honour. He hung down his head; his people surrounded their unhappy master, crying that they were his, that they wanted no other master but him, that they would die but would not leave him, and asking him to give the order and they would soon settle matters with the Court. He looked at them, and dark thoughts rose within him. He told them to keep quiet and said he would speak to the officers.
He approached the officials. The assessor, with his cap on his head, stood with his arms akimbo, looking proudly around him. The sheriff, seeing him approach, cleared his throat and called out in a hoarse voice that by the decision of the district Court, they now belonged to the master, who was here represented by the assessor, and they should obey him in everything. The young man boiled over with indignation. He asked with pretended calmness what all this meant. The witty official replied that they had come to place the master in possession of this property, and to request certain others to take themselves off for good and all. The young man observed that they could have communicated all this to him first, rather than to his peasants, and announced to the landholder the decision of the authorities. The assessor, with an insolent look, said that the former landowner was dead according to the will of God, but who was he? They did not know him and did not want to know him. A voice in the crowd said that he was their young master. The sheriff asked in a terrible tone who dared to open his mouth, saying that their master was the other gentleman. The same voice replied that this was nothing of the kind. The sheriff shrieked that this was a revolt and ordered the bailiff to find out immediately who it was that dared to answer him. At that moment a murmur was heard at the back; it gradually grew louder, and in a minute it broke out into a terrible wail. The sheriff lowered his voice and was about to try to persuade them to be calm. The servants cried to come on and seize them, and the crowd began to move. The assessor and the other members of the Court rushed into the vestibule and closed the door behind them. A voice cried to seize them, and the crowd pressed forward. The young man cried out to hold and told them they were idiots and would ruin themselves and him too. He told them to go home all of them and leave him to himself, saying he would present a petition to the Czar, who would not let them be made the victims of an injustice, but how could he take their part if they began rebelling and plundering? This speech, his sonorous voice and imposing appearance, produced the desired effect. The crowd became quiet and dispersed; the courtyard became empty, the officials of the Court still remained inside the house. He sadly ascended the steps. The assessor opened the door and with obsequious bows began to thank him for his generous intervention. He listened to him with contempt and made no reply. The assessor said they had resolved, with his permission, to remain there for the night, as it was already dark, and his peasants might attack them on the road, and asked him to be kind enough to order some hay to be put down for them on the parlour floor. He replied drily that they could do what they pleased, as he was no longer master there. With these words he entered into his father's room and locked the door behind him.
He said to himself that all was finished, that this morning he had a corner and a piece of bread, but tomorrow he must leave the house where he was born, and his father, with the ground where he reposed, would belong to that hateful man, the cause of his death and of his ruin. He clenched his teeth and fixed his eyes upon the portrait of his mother. The artist had represented her leaning upon a balustrade, in a white morning dress, with a rose in her hair. He thought that the portrait would fall into the hands of the enemy of his family, would be thrown into a lumber room together with broken chairs, or hung up in the ante-room to become an object of derision, and in her bedroom, in the room where his father died, would be installed the bailiff or the harem. He clenched his teeth again; terrible thoughts rose up in his mind. The voices of the officials reached him; they were giving their orders, demanding first one thing and then another, and disagreeably disturbing him in the midst of his painful meditations. At last all became quiet. He unlocked the drawers and boxes and began to examine the papers of the deceased. They consisted for the most part of farming accounts and letters connected with various matters of business. He tore them up without reading them. Among them he came across a packet with the inscription: 'Letters from my wife.' A prey to deep emotion, he began to read them. They had been written during the Turkish campaign, and were addressed to the army from Kistenevka. His wife described to her husband her life in the country and her business concerns, complained with tenderness of the separation, and implored him to return home as soon as possible to the arms of his loving wife. In one of these letters, she expressed to him her anxiety concerning the health of little Vladimir; in another she rejoiced over his early intelligence, and predicted for him a happy and brilliant future. He was so absorbed in his reading, that he forgot everything else in the world as his mind conjured up visions of domestic happiness, and he did not observe how the time was passing: the clock upon the wall struck eleven. He placed the letters in his pocket, took up a candle and left the room. In the parlour the officials were sleeping on the floor. Upon the table were tumblers which they had emptied, and a strong smell of rum pervaded the entire room. He turned from them with disgust and passed into the anteroom. There all was dark. Somebody, seeing the light, crouched into a corner. Turning the light towards him, he recognized the blacksmith.
He asked why he was there. The blacksmith replied in a low faltering voice that he wanted to find out if they were all in the house. He asked why he had his axe. The blacksmith replied that nowadays one never knew, and these officials were such impudent knaves. He told him he was drunk and ordered him to throw the axe down and go to bed. The blacksmith replied that he was not drunk, that not a single drop of brandy had passed his lips, but that these clerks had taken it into their heads to rule over them and to drive their master out of the manor-house, and how they snored, the wretches, and that he should like to put an end to the whole lot of them at once. He frowned and told the blacksmith to listen to him and get such ideas out of his head, saying it was not the fault of the officials. He told him to light the lantern and follow him. The blacksmith took the candle out of his master's hand, found the lantern behind the stove, lit it, and then both of them softly descended the steps and proceeded around the courtyard. The watchman began beating upon an iron plate; the dogs commenced to bark. He asked who was on the watch, and two thin voices replied. He told them to go home, saying they were not wanted. The blacksmith added that they could have a holiday. The women thanked them and immediately returned home. He walked on further. Two men approached him: they challenged him, and he recognized the voices of two servants. He asked them why they were not in bed and asleep. One replied that this was no time for them to think of sleep, and who would have thought that they should ever have come to this. He told them softly to be quiet and asked where the old nurse was. The other servant replied that she was in the manor-house, in her room. He told him to go and bring her here, and to make all their people get out of the house; let not a soul remain in it except the officials; and he told the coachman to get the cart ready. The servant departed; a minute afterwards he returned with his mother. The old woman had not undressed that night; with the exception of the officials, nobody closed an eye. He asked if all were there and if anybody had been left in the house. The servant replied that nobody was left except the clerks. He told them to bring here some hay or some straw. The servants ran to the stables and returned with armfuls of hay. He told them to put it under the steps. The blacksmith opened the lantern and he kindled a torch. He told the blacksmith to wait a moment, saying that in his hurry he thought he had locked the doors of the hall and ordering him to go quickly and open them. The blacksmith ran to the vestibule: the doors were open. He locked them, muttering in an undertone that it was likely he would leave them open, and then returned. He applied the torch to the hay, which burst into a blaze, the flames rising to a great height and illuminating the whole courtyard. The old nurse cried out plaintively, asking what he was doing. He told her to be silent, and then said farewell to his people, telling them he was going where God might direct him and asking them to be happy with their new master. The peasants cried out that they were his, that they would die but would not leave him, and that they would go with him. The horses were ready. He took his seat in the cart with one servant; another whipped the horses and they drove out of the courtyard.
Chapter 7. Doubrovsky the brigand; Prince Vereiskys visit
In one moment the whole house was enveloped in flames. The floors cracked and gave way; the burning beams began to fall; a red smoke rose above the roof, and there arose piteous groans and cries of help. The blacksmith, with a malicious smile, contemplated the fire. The old nurse begged him to save them, the scoundrels, and God would reward him. He replied to let them shout. At that moment the officials appeared at the window, endeavouring to burst the double sash. But at the same instant the roof fell in with a crash — and the cries ceased. Soon all the peasants came pouring into the courtyard. The women, screaming wildly, hastened to save their effects; the children danced about admiring the conflagration. The sparks flew up in a fiery shower, setting light to the huts. The blacksmith said that now everything was right and that it must be a grand sight from Pokrovskoe. At that moment a new apparition attracted his attention. A cat ran along the roof of a burning barn, without knowing where to leap from. Flames surrounded it on every side. The poor creature cried for help with plaintive mewings. The children screamed with laughter on seeing its despair. The blacksmith said angrily what they were laughing at, asking if they did not fear God, saying that one of God's creatures was perishing and they rejoiced over it. Then placing a ladder against the burning roof, he mounted up towards the cat. She understood his intention, and with grateful eagerness clutched hold of his sleeve. The half-burnt blacksmith descended with his burden. He then said farewell to the peasants, telling them there was nothing more for him to do there, asking them to be happy and not to think too badly of him. The blacksmith took his departure. The fire raged for some time longer, and at last went out. Piles of red-hot embers glowed brightly in the darkness of the night, while round about them wandered the burnt-out inhabitants of Kistenevka.
The next day the news of the fire spread through all the neighbourhood. Everybody explained it in a different way. Some maintained that the servants, having got drunk at the funeral, had set fire to the house through carelessness; others blamed the officials, who were drunk also in their new quarters. Some guessed the truth, and affirmed that the author of the terrible calamity was the young man himself, urged on to the committal of the deed by the promptings of resentment and despair. Many maintained that he had himself perished in the flames with the officials and all his servants. The master came the next day to the scene of the conflagration, and conducted the inquest himself. It was stated that the sheriff, the assessor, the attorney and his clerk, as well as the young man, the nurse, a servant, the coachman, and the blacksmith had disappeared — nobody knew where. All the servants declared that the officials perished at the moment when the roof fell in. Their charred remains in fact were discovered. Two women said that they had seen the young man and the blacksmith a few minutes before the fire. The blacksmith, according to the general showing, was alive, and was probably the principal, if not the sole author of the fire. Strong suspicions fell upon the young man. The master sent to the Governor a detailed account of all that had happened, and a new suit was commenced. Soon other reports furnished fresh food for curiosity and gossip. Brigands appeared and spread terror throughout the whole neighbourhood. The measures taken against them proved unavailing. Robberies, each more daring than the other, followed one after another. There was no security either on the roads or in the villages. Several troikas, filled with brigands, traversed the whole province in open daylight, stopping travellers and the mail. The villages were visited by them, and the manor-houses were attacked and set on fire. The chief of the band had acquired a great reputation for intelligence, daring, and a sort of generosity. Wonders were related of him. The name of the young man was upon every lip. Everybody was convinced that it was he, and nobody else, who commanded the daring robbers. One thing was remarkable: the domains and property of the master were spared. The brigands had not attacked a single barn of his, nor stopped a single load belonging to him. With his usual arrogance, the master attributed this exception to the fear which he had inspired throughout the whole province, as well as to the excellent police which he had organized in his villages. At first the neighbours smiled at his presumption, and everyone expected that the uninvited guests would visit Pokrovskoe, where they would find something worth having, but at last they were compelled to agree and confess that the brigands showed him unaccountable respect. The master triumphed, and at the news of each fresh exploit on the part of the brigand chief, he indulged in ironical remarks at the expense of the Governor, the sheriffs, and the regimental commanders, who always allowed the brigand chief to escape with impunity.
Meanwhile the 1st of October arrived, the day of the annual church festival in the master's village. About thirty versts from Pokrovskoe was the wealthy estate of a Prince.
The Prince had lived abroad for a long time, and his estate was managed by a retired major. No intercourse existed between Pokrovskoe and Arbatova. But at the end of May, the Prince returned from abroad and took up his abode in his own village, which he had never seen since he was born. Accustomed to social pleasures, he could not endure solitude, and the third day after his arrival, he set out to dine with the master, with whom he had formerly been acquainted. The Prince was about fifty years of age, but he looked much older. Excesses of every kind had ruined his health, and had placed upon him their indelible stamp. In spite of that, his appearance was agreeable and distinguished, and his having always been accustomed to society gave him a certain affability of demeanour, especially towards ladies. He had a constant need of amusement, and he was a constant victim to ennui. The master was exceedingly gratified by this visit, which he regarded as a mark of respect from a man who knew the world. In accordance with his usual custom, he began to entertain his visitor by conducting him to inspect his establishments and kennels. But the Prince could hardly breathe in the atmosphere of the dogs, and he hurried out, holding a scented handkerchief to his nose. The old garden, with its clipped limes, square pond and regular walks, did not please him; he did not like the English gardens and the so-called natural style, but he praised them and went into ecstasies over everything. The servant came to announce that dinner was served, and they repaired to the dining-room. The Prince limped, being fatigued after his walk, and already repenting for having paid his visit. But in the dining-hall the master's daughter met them — and the old sensualist was struck by her beauty.
The master placed his guest beside her. The Prince was resuscitated by her presence; he became quite cheerful, and succeeded several times in arresting her attention by the recital of some of his curious stories. After dinner the master proposed a ride on horseback, but the Prince excused himself, pointing to his velvet boots and joking about his gout. He proposed a drive in a carriage, so that he should not be separated from his charming neighbour. The carriage was got ready. The two old men and the beautiful young girl took their seats in it, and they started off. The conversation did not flag. The young lady listened with pleasure to the flattering compliments and witty remarks of the man of the world, when suddenly the Prince, turning to the master, asked what the meaning of that burnt building was. The master frowned: the memories awakened by the burnt manor-house were disagreeable to him. He replied that the land was his now, but that formerly it had belonged to the brigand chief's father. The Prince asked what had become of the brigand, if they had caught him, and if he was still alive. The master replied that he was still alive and at liberty, and by the way, the brigand chief had paid the Prince a visit at Arbatova. The Prince asked if it was interesting, and the master said it was, and that the young lady knew him already, as he had taught her music for three whole weeks, and thank God, took nothing for his lessons. Then the master began to relate the story of the pretended French tutor. The young lady felt as if she were sitting upon needles. The Prince, listening with deep attention, found it all very strange, and changed the subject of conversation. On returning from the drive, he ordered his carriage to be brought, and in spite of the earnest requests of the master to stay for the night, he took his departure immediately after tea. Before setting out, however, he invited the master to pay him a visit and to bring the young lady with him, and the proud master promised to do so; for taking into consideration his princely dignity, his two stars, and the three thousand serfs belonging to his estate, he regarded the Prince in some degree as his equal.
Chapter 8. Maria Kirilovna and the fearless French tutor
The reader has probably already divined that the daughter of the master, of whom we have as yet said but very little, is the heroine of our story. At the period about which we are writing, she was seventeen years old, and in the full bloom of her beauty. Her father loved her to the verge of folly, but treated her with his characteristic wilfulness, at one time endeavouring to gratify her slightest whims, at another terrifying her by his coarse and sometimes brutal behaviour. Convinced of her attachment, he could yet never gain her confidence. She was accustomed to conceal from him her thoughts and feelings, because she never knew in what manner they would be received. She had no companions, and had grown up in solitude. The wives and daughters of the neighbours rarely visited at the house of the master, whose usual conversation and amusements demanded the companionship of men, and not the presence of ladies. Our beauty rarely appeared among the guests who were invited to her father's house. The extensive library, consisting for the most part of works of French writers of the eighteenth century, was given over to her charge. Her father never read anything except a cookbook, and could not guide her in the choice of books, and the young lady, after having dipped into works of various kinds, had naturally given her preference to romances. In this manner she went on completing her education, first begun under the direction of a French governess, in whom the master reposed great confidence, and whom he was at last obliged to send away secretly to another estate, when the results of this friendship became too apparent. The French governess left behind her a rather agreeable recollection. She was a good-natured girl, and had never misused the influence which she evidently exercised over the master, in which she differed from the other confidants, whom he constantly kept changing. The master himself seemed to like her more than the others, and a dark-eyed, roguish-looking little fellow of nine, recalling the southern features of the French governess, was being brought up by him and was recognized as his son, notwithstanding the fact that quite a number of bare-footed lads ran about in front of his windows, who were as like the master as one drop of water is to another, and who were inscribed as forming part of his household. The master had sent to Moscow for a French tutor for his little son, and this tutor came to Pokrovskoe at the time of the events that we are now describing. This tutor, by his prepossessing appearance and simple manners, produced a very agreeable impression upon the mind of the master. He presented to the latter his credentials, and a letter from one of the master's relations, with whom he had lived as tutor for four years. The master examined all these, and was dissatisfied only with the youthfulness of the Frenchman, not because he considered this agreeable defect incompatible with the patience and experience necessary for the unhappy calling of a tutor, but because he had doubts of his own, which he immediately resolved to have cleared up. For this purpose he ordered the young lady to be sent to him. The master did not speak French, and she acted as interpreter for him. The master told her to tell the Frenchman that he accepted him only on condition that he did not venture to pay court to his girls, for if he should do so, he would teach him a lesson. She blushed, and turning to the tutor, told him in French that her father counted upon his modesty and orderly conduct. The Frenchman bowed to her, and replied that he hoped to merit esteem, even if favour were not shown to him. She translated his reply word for word. The master said very well, that his business was to look after the little boy and teach him grammar and geography. She softened the rude expressions of her father in translating them, and the master dismissed his Frenchman to the wing of the house in which his room was situated. The young lady had not given a thought to the young Frenchman. Brought up with aristocratic prejudices, a tutor, in her eyes, was only a sort of servant or artizan; and servants or artizans did not seem to her to be men at all. Nor did she observe the impression that she had produced upon the Frenchman, nor his confusion, nor his agitation, nor the tremor in his voice. For several days afterwards, she met him very frequently, but without honouring him with much attention. In an unexpected manner, however, she received quite a new impression with respect to him. Obычно there were usually kept in the courtyard of the master several young bears, and they formed one of the chief amusements of the master. While they were young, they were brought every day into the parlour, where the master used to spend whole hours in amusing himself with them, setting them at cats and young dogs. When they were grown up, they were attached to a chain, to await being baited in earnest. Sometimes they were brought out in front of the windows of the manor-house, and an empty wine-cask, studded with nails, was put before them. The bear would sniff it, then touch it gently, and getting its paws pricked, it would become angry and push the cask with greater force, and so wound itself still more. The beast would then work itself into a perfect frenzy, and fling itself upon the cask, growling furiously, until they removed from the poor animal the object of its vain rage. Sometimes a pair of bears were harnessed to a telega, then, willingly or unwillingly, guests were placed in it, and the bears were allowed to gallop wherever chance might direct them. But the best joke of the master's was as follows: A starving bear used to be shut up in an empty room and fastened by a rope to a ring screwed into the wall. The rope was nearly the length of the room, so that only the opposite corner was out of the reach of the ferocious beast. A novice was generally brought to the door of this room, and, as if by accident, pushed in along with the bear; the door was then locked, and the unhappy victim was left alone with the shaggy hermit. The poor guest, with torn skirts and scratched hands, soon sought the safe corner, but he was sometimes compelled to stand for three whole hours, pressed against the wall, watching the savage beast, two steps from him, leaping and standing on its hind legs, growling, tugging at the rope and endeavouring to reach him. Such were the noble amusements of a Russian gentleman! Some days after the arrival of the French tutor, the master thought of him, and resolved to give him a taste of the bear's room. For this purpose, he summoned him one morning, and conducted him along several dark corridors; suddenly a side door opened — two servants pushed the Frenchman into the room and locked the door after him. Recovering from his surprise, the tutor perceived the chained bear. The animal began to snort and to sniff at his visitor from a distance, and suddenly raising himself upon his hind legs, he advanced towards him. The Frenchman was not alarmed; he did not retreat but awaited the attack. The bear drew near; the Frenchman drew from his pocket a small pistol, inserted it in the ear of the hungry animal, and fired. The bear rolled over. Everybody was attracted to the spot by the report, the door was opened, and the master entered, astonished at the result of his joke. The master wanted an explanation of the whole affair. Who had warned the Frenchman of the joke, or how came he to have a loaded pistol in his pocket? He sent for the young lady. She came and interpreted her father's questions to the Frenchman. The Frenchman replied that he never heard even of the existence of the bear, but that he always carried a pistol about with him, because he did not intend to put up with an offence for which, on account of his calling, he could not demand satisfaction. The young lady looked at him in astonishment and translated his words to the master. The master made no reply; he ordered the bear to be removed and its skin to be taken off; then turning to his people, he said that the Frenchman was a brave fellow and there was nothing of the coward about him. From that moment he took a liking to the Frenchman, and never thought again of putting him to the proof. But this incident produced a still greater impression upon the young lady. Her imagination had been struck: she had seen the dead bear, and the Frenchman standing calmly over it and talking tranquilly to her. She saw that bravery and proud self-respect did not belong exclusively to one class, and from that moment she began to show regard for the young tutor, and this regard increased from day to day. A certain intimacy sprang up between them. The young lady had a beautiful voice and great musical ability; the Frenchman proposed to give her lessons. After that it will not be difficult for the reader to understand that the young lady fell in love with him without acknowledging it to herself.
Chapter 9. The church festival at Pokrovskoe
On the eve of the festival, of which we have already spoken, the guests began to arrive at Pokrovskoe. Some were accommodated at the manor-house and in the wings attached to it; others in the house of the bailiff; a third party was quartered upon the priest; and the remainder upon the better class of peasants. The stables were filled with the horses of the visitors, and the yards and coach-houses were crowded with vehicles of every sort. At nine o'clock in the morning the bells rang for mass, and everybody repaired to the new stone church, built by the master and annually enriched by his offerings. The church was soon crowded with such a number of distinguished worshippers, that the simple peasants could find no room within the edifice, and had to stand beneath the porch and inside the railings. The mass had not yet begun: they were waiting for the master. He arrived at last in a caliche drawn by six horses, and walked proudly to his place, accompanied by the young lady. The eyes of both men and women were turned upon her — the former were astonished at her beauty, the latter examined her dress with great attention. The mass began. The household singers sang in the choir, and the master joined in with them. He prayed without looking either to the right or to the left, and with proud humility he bowed himself to the ground when the deacon in a loud voice mentioned the name of the founder of the church. The mass came to an end. The master was the first to kiss the crucifix. All the others followed him; the neighbours approached him with respect, the ladies surrounded the young lady. The master, on issuing from the church, invited everybody to dine with him, then he seated himself in the caliche and drove home. All the guests followed after him. The rooms began to fill with the visitors; every moment new faces appeared, and it was with difficulty that the host could be approached. The ladies sat decorously in a semicircle, dressed in antiquated fashion, in dresses of faded but expensive material, all covered with pearls and brilliants. The men crowded round the caviar and the vodka, conversing among themselves with great animation. In the dining-room the table was laid for eighty persons; the servants were bustling about, arranging the bottles and decanters and adjusting the table-cloths. At last the house-steward announced that dinner was ready. The master went first and took his seat at the table; the ladies followed after him, and took their places with an air of great gravity, observing a sort of precedence as they did so. The young ladies crowded together like a timid herd of kids, and took their places next to one another. Opposite to them sat the gentlemen. At the end of the table sat the tutor by the side of the little boy. The servants began to pass the plates round according to the rank of the guests; when they were in doubt about the latter point, they allowed themselves to be guided by instinct, and their guesses were nearly always correct. The noise of the plates and spoons mingled with the loud talk of the guests. The master looked gaily round his table and thoroughly enjoyed the happiness of being able to provide such a hospitable entertainment. At that moment a calèche, drawn by six horses, drove into the yard. A stout man of about fifty years of age, with a round pockmarked face, adorned with a treble chin, rolled into the dining-room, bowing, smiling, and preparing to make his excuses.
The master cried out for a cover to be brought, and the late guest sat down, fastening his serviette in the button-hole of his coat. He explained that he had started early on his journey, but the tire of the front wheel had snapped in two. It could not be helped. To take the shortest route through the wood of Kistenevka, he did not dare, so he came the longest way round. The master asked why he was afraid, and the guest replied that he might have fallen into the clutches of the brigand chief, who was a young man who never missed his aim and let nobody off, and he was afraid he would have been flayed twice over. The master asked why such a distinction, and the guest explained that he had testified in court that the brigand chief's father held possession of Kistenevka without having any right to it, and the deceased had vowed to settle with him in his own way, and might not the son keep his father's word? The master observed that the little red cash-box must be as full as it could be. The guest denied this, saying there was a time when it was full, but now it was perfectly empty. The master told him not to tell lies, saying they knew him, and asking where he spent money, noting that at home he lived like a pig, never received anybody, and fleeced his peasants, doing nothing with his money but hoarding it up. The guest swallowed his host's joke with a greasy piece of fish pasty. The master left him and turned to the new sheriff, asking him to give them a proof of his cleverness and catch the brigand chief for them. The sheriff looked disconcerted, bowed, smiled, stammered, and said at last that they would try. The master observed that they had been trying for a long time to rid the country of brigands, and nobody knew how to set about the business, asking why try to catch him, noting that the brigand chief's robberies were a blessing to the sheriffs, what with investigations, travelling expenses, and the money they put into their pockets, saying he would never be caught, and asking why such a benefactor should be put down. The sheriff replied that this was perfectly true. The guests roared with laughter. The master said he liked the fellow for his frankness, but it was a pity that the late sheriff was no longer with them, for if he had not been burnt, the neighbourhood would have been quieter. He asked what news there was of the brigand chief and where he was last seen. A female voice replied that at her house, last Tuesday he had dined with her.
All eyes were turned towards the widow. Everyone prepared to listen to her story with the deepest interest. She related that three weeks ago she had sent her steward to the post with a letter for her son, an officer of the Guards, and although the thought of the brigand chief came more than once into her mind, she hoped God would order all things for the best. But what happened? In the evening her steward returned, pale, tattered, and on foot, saying that the brigands had robbed and almost killed him, that the brigand chief himself was there, and he wanted to hang him, but he afterwards had pity upon him and let him go, but he plundered him of everything — money, horse, and cart. A faintness came over her. She wrote a fresh letter, telling her son all that had happened, and sent him her blessing without a farthing of money. One week passed, and then another. Suddenly, one day, a calèche drove into her courtyard. Some general asked to see her. He entered the room, and she saw before her a man of about thirty-five years of age, dark, with black hair, moustache and beard — the exact portrait of a famous general. He introduced himself as a friend and comrade of her late husband. He happened to be passing by, and he could not resist paying a visit to his old friend's widow, knowing that she lived there. She invited him to dine, and she set before him what God had sent her. They spoke of this and that, and at last they began to talk about the brigand chief. She told him of her trouble. The general frowned and said that was strange, that he had heard that the brigand chief did not attack everybody, but only people who were well known to be rich, and that even then he left them a part of their possessions and did not plunder them of everything, and as for murdering people, nobody had yet accused him of that, asking if there was not some roguery here, and obliging her to send for her steward. The steward was sent for, and quickly made his appearance. But as soon as he caught sight of the general he stood as if petrified. The general asked him to tell in what manner the brigand chief had plundered him, and how it was that he wanted to hang him. The steward began to tremble and fell at the general's feet, saying he was guilty, that the evil one had led him astray, and that he had lied. The general asked if that was so, and told him to have the goodness to relate to his mistress how it all happened, and he would listen. The steward could not recover himself. The general continued, asking where he met the brigand chief. The steward replied at the two pine trees. The general asked what he said to him. The steward replied that he asked who he was, where he was going, and why. The general asked what happened after that. The steward replied that after that he demanded the letter and the money from him, and he gave them to him. The general asked what he did then. The steward stammered, asking for pardon. The general asked what he did. The steward replied that he returned him the money and the letter, and said to go in the name of God and put this in the post. The general asked if there was anything else. The steward again asked for pardon. The general said he would settle with him, and told the widow to order the scoundrel's trunk to be searched, and then give him into his hands, saying he would teach him a lesson. She guessed who his Excellency was, but she did not make any observation. The coachmen tied the steward to the box of the calèche; the money was found; the general remained to dine with her, and departed immediately afterwards, taking with her steward. The steward was found the next day in the wood, tied to an oak, and as ragged as a lime tree. Everybody listened in silence to the widow's story, especially the young ladies. Many of them secretly wished well to the brigand chief, seeing in him a romantic hero, particularly the young lady, an impulsive, sentimental girl, imbued with the mysterious horrors of certain novels. The master asked if she thought that it was the brigand chief himself who visited her. The widow replied asking how it could not be the brigand chief, and who else, if not he, stopped travellers on the high road in order to search them. The master said he did not know, but he felt quite sure that it was not the brigand chief. He remembered him as a child, and did not know whether his hair had turned black, but at that time he was a curly flaxen-haired boy, but he did know for a positive fact that the brigand chief was five years older than his daughter, and that therefore he was not thirty-five, but about twenty-three. The sheriff observed that this was exactly so, and that he had in his pocket the description of the brigand chief, in which it was distinctly stated that he was twenty-three years of age. The master said by the way, to read it, and they would listen, noting that it would not be a bad thing for them to know his description, and perhaps he might fall into their clutches, and if so, he would not escape in a hurry. The sheriff drew from his pocket a rather dirty sheet of paper, unfolded it with an air of great importance, and began to read in a monotonous tone that the description was based upon the depositions of his former servants, stating that he was twenty-three years of age, medium height, clear complexion, shaved his beard, had brown eyes, flaxen hair, straight nose, and did not seem to have any particular marks. The master asked if that was all. The sheriff replied that was all, folding up the paper. The master congratulated him on a very valuable document, saying that with that description it would not be difficult for him to find the brigand chief, asking who was not of medium height, who had not flaxen hair, a straight nose and brown eyes, and saying he would wager that the sheriff would talk for three hours at a stretch to the brigand chief himself, and would never guess in whose company he was, noting that there was no denying that these officials had wise heads. The sheriff, meekly replacing the paper in his pocket, silently busied himself with his goose and cabbage. Meanwhile the servants had already gone the round of the guests several times, filling up each one's glass. Several bottles of wine had been opened with a great deal of noise, and had been thankfully accepted. Faces began to glow, and the conversation grew louder, more incoherent and more lively. The master continued, saying that they would never see another sheriff like the late one, noting that he was not the man to be thrown off the scent very easily, and that he was very sorry that the fellow was burnt, for otherwise not one of the band would have got away from him, saying he would have laid his hands upon the whole lot of them, and not even the brigand chief himself would have escaped, noting that the late sheriff would perhaps have taken money from him, but he would not have let him go, and that evidently there was nothing else to be done but for him to take the matter in hand and go after the brigands with his people, saying his people were not cowards, and that each of them would attack a bear single-handed, and they certainly would not fall back before a brigand. The cowardly guest asked how his bear was. The master replied that the bear wished him a long life, noting that he died a glorious death at the hands of the enemy, and pointing to the French tutor, saying there was his conqueror, and asking if he remembered. The guest said how should he not remember, noting that he remembered it only too well, and saying he was very sorry for the bear, asking why the Frenchman killed him. The master began, with great satisfaction, to relate the exploit of his Frenchman, for he possessed the happy faculty of boasting of everything that was about him. The guests listened with great attention to the story of the bear's death, and gazed in astonishment at the Frenchman, who, not suspecting that his bravery was the subject of conversation, sat tranquilly in his place, giving advice to his restive pupil. The dinner, after lasting about three hours, came to an end; the host placed his serviette upon the table, and everybody rose and repaired to the parlour, where awaited them coffee, cards, and a continuation of the carouse so excellently begun in the dining-room.
Chapter 10. Desforges reveals himself as Doubrovsky
About seven o'clock in the evening, some of the guests wished to depart, but the host, merry with punch, ordered the gates to be locked, and declared that nobody should leave the house until the next morning. Music soon resounded, the doors of the saloon were thrown open and the ball began. The host and his familiar acquaintances sat in a corner, draining glass after glass, and admiring the gaiety of the young people. The old ladies played at cards. The gentlemen, as is always the case, except where a brigade of uhlans is stationed, were less in number than the ladies, and all the men, suitable for partners, were soon engaged for the dance. The tutor particularly distinguished himself among them; all the ladies wanted to have him as a partner, as they found it so exceedingly easy to waltz with him. He danced several times with the young lady, and the ladies observed them with great interest. At last, about midnight, the tired host stopped the dancing, ordered supper to be served, and then betook himself off to bed. The retirement of the host gave to the company more freedom and animation. The gentlemen ventured to sit near the ladies; the girls laughed and spoke in whispers to their neighbours; the ladies spoke in loud voices across the table; the gentlemen drank, disputed, and laughed boisterously. In a word, the supper was exceedingly merry, and left behind it a very agreeable impression. One man only did not share in the general joy. The cowardly guest sat gloomy and silent in his place, ate absently, and seemed extremely uneasy. The conversation about the brigands had worked upon his imagination. In invoking God as a witness that the little red cash-box was empty, he had not lied and sinned. The little red cash-box was really empty. The bank notes, which had at one time been in it, had been transferred to a leather pouch, which he carried on his breast under his shirt. This precaution alone quieted his distrust of everybody and his constant fear. Being compelled to spend the night in a strange house, he was afraid that he might be lodged in some solitary room, where thieves could easily break in. He looked round in search of a trustworthy companion, and at last his choice fell upon the French tutor. His appearance, indicative of strength, but especially the bravery shown by him in his encounter with the bear, which the poor guest could never think of without a shudder, decided his choice. When they rose from the table, the guest began moving round the young Frenchman, clearing his throat and coughing, and at last he turned to him and addressed him, asking if he could spend the night in his room. The Frenchman replied with a polite bow. The guest, well satisfied with his knowledge of the French language, went off at once to make the necessary arrangements. The guests began to wish each other good night, and each retired to the room assigned to him, while the guest accompanied the tutor to the wing. The night was dark. The Frenchman lighted the way with a lantern. The guest followed him boldly enough, pressing the hidden treasure occasionally against his breast, in order to convince himself that his money was still there. On arriving at the wing, the tutor lit a candle and both began to undress; in the meantime the guest was walking about the room, examining the locks and windows, and shaking his head at the unassuring inspection. The doors fastened with only one bolt, and the windows had not yet their double frames. He tried to complain to the Frenchman, but his knowledge of the French language was too limited to enable him to express himself with sufficient clearness. The Frenchman did not understand him, and the guest was obliged to cease his complaints. Their beds stood opposite each other; they both lay down, and the tutor extinguished the light. The guest cried out, asking why he extinguished the light, saying he could not sleep in the dark. The Frenchman did not understand his exclamations, and wished him good night. The guest muttered that he was an accursed pagan, asking why he couldn't do without extinguishing the light, noting that so much the worse for him, and saying he could not sleep without a light, trying to speak to the Frenchman. But the Frenchman did not reply, and soon began to snore. The guest thought that he was snoring, the French brute, while he couldn't even think of going to sleep, noting that thieves might walk in at any moment through the open doors or climb in through the window, and the firing of a cannon would not wake him, the beast. The guest became silent. Fatigue and the effects of wine gradually overcame his fear. He began to doze, and soon fell into a deep sleep. A strange sensation aroused him. He felt in his sleep that someone was gently pulling him by the collar of his shirt. The guest opened his eyes and, by the pale light of an autumn morning, he saw the Frenchman standing before him. In one hand the Frenchman held a pocket pistol, and with the other he was unfastening the strings of the precious leather pouch. The guest felt faint. He asked what this meant. The tutor replied in pure Russian, telling him to be silent, saying he was the brigand chief.
I am not what you suppose ... I am not the Frenchman Desforges — I am Doubrovsky.
Chapter 11. How Doubrovsky became the French tutor
At the station, at the house of the postmaster, sat a traveller in a corner, looking very modest and resigned, and having the appearance of a plebeian or a foreigner. His britchka stood in the courtyard, waiting for the wheels to be greased. Within it lay a small portmanteau, evidence of a very modest fortune. The traveller ordered neither tea nor coffee, but sat looking out of the window and whistling, to the great annoyance of the postmistress sitting behind the partition. She complained that the Lord had sent them a whistler, asking how he did whistle, and wishing he would burst, the accursed pagan. Her husband asked what it mattered, telling her to let him whistle. She retorted, asking what it mattered, and asking if he did not know the saying. He asked what saying, and she replied that whistling drives money away. He said that whether he whistled or not, they would get precious little money out of him. This enticing promise and the hope of finding a toothsome pie caused the talkers to quicken their steps. Meanwhile a traveller in a military cloak and white cap entered the station. Behind him followed his servant, carrying a small box which he placed upon the window-ledge. The officer asked for horses in an imperious voice. The postmaster replied directly, asking for his road-pass. The officer said he had no road-pass, that he was not going to take the main road, and asking if the postmaster did not recognize him. The postmaster hastened to hurry the postilions. The young man began to pace up and down the room. Then he went behind the partition, and inquired of the postmistress in a low voice who that traveller was. She replied that God knew, some Frenchman or other, noting that he had been five hours waiting for horses, and had done nothing but whistle the whole of the time, saying he had quite wearied her, the heathen. The young man spoke to the traveller in French, asking where he was going. The Frenchman replied that he was going to the neighbouring town, and from there he was going to a landed proprietor who had engaged him as tutor without ever having seen him, noting that he thought he should have reached the place today, but the postmaster had evidently decided otherwise, and that in this country it was difficult to procure horses. The officer asked to which of the landed proprietors about here he had engaged himself. The Frenchman replied to the master. The officer asked who this master was. The Frenchman replied that he had heard very little good of him, noting that they said he was a proud and wilful noble, and so harsh towards the members of his household, that nobody could live on good terms with him, and that all trembled at his name, and that with his tutors he stood upon no ceremony whatever. The officer asked if he had decided to engage himself to such a monster. The Frenchman replied asking what was to be done, noting that he proposed to give him good wages, three thousand roubles a year and everything found, and that perhaps he might be more fortunate than the others, saying he had an aged mother, and that one half of his salary he would send to her for her support, and out of the rest of his money he would be able in five years to save a small capital sufficient to make him independent for the rest of his life, and then he would return to Paris and set up in business. The officer asked if anybody at the master's knew him. The Frenchman replied that nobody did, noting that he was engaged at Moscow through one of the master's friends, whose cook was a countryman of his, and who recommended him, and that he must tell him that he did not intend to be a tutor, but a confectioner, but he was told that in his country the profession of tutor was more lucrative. The officer reflected. He asked the Frenchman to listen to him, asking what he would say if, instead of this engagement, he were offered ten thousand roubles, ready money, on condition that he returned immediately to Paris. The Frenchman looked at the officer in astonishment, smiled, and shook his head. The postmaster entered the room at that moment, saying the horses were ready. The servant confirmed this statement. The officer replied presently, telling them to leave the room for a moment. The postmaster and the servant withdrew. The officer continued in French, saying he was not joking, and that he could give him ten thousand roubles, noting that he only wanted his absence and his papers. So saying, he opened his small box and took out of it several bank notes. The Frenchman opened his eyes. He did not know what to think. He repeated his absence and his papers, asking if the officer was surely joking, and asking what he wanted his papers for. The officer replied that that did not concern him, asking if he consented or not. The Frenchman, still unable to believe his own ears, handed his papers to the young officer, who rapidly examined them, saying his passport was very well, asking to see his letter of recommendation, and saying his certificate of birth was capital. He told him that there was his money, and asked him to give him his word of honour that all this would remain a secret between them. The Frenchman replied giving his word of honour, but asking what he should do without his papers. The officer told him that in the first town he came to, he should announce that he had been robbed by the brigand chief, noting that they would believe him, and give him fresh papers, and wishing him farewell and a safe and speedy return to Paris, and hoping he might find his mother in good health. The brigand chief left the room, mounted the caliche, and galloped off. The postmaster stood looking out of the window, and when the caliche had driven off, he turned to his wife, exclaiming that that was the brigand chief. The postmistress rushed towards the window, but it was too late. The brigand chief was already a long way off. Then she began to scold her husband, asking why he did not tell her sooner, noting that she should at least have had a glimpse of the brigand chief, but now she would have to wait long enough before she got a chance of seeing him again, calling him a shameless creature. The Frenchman stood as if petrified. The agreement with the officer, the money — everything seemed like a dream to him. But the bundle of bank notes was there in his pocket, eloquently confirming the reality of the wonderful adventure. He resolved to hire horses to take him to the next town. The postilion drove him very slowly, and he reached the town at nightfall. On approaching the barrier, the Frenchman told the postilion to stop, got out of the britchka and proceeded on foot, explaining by signs to the driver that he might keep the vehicle and the portmanteau and buy brandy with them. The driver was as much astonished at his generosity as the Frenchman himself had been by the brigand chief's proposal. But concluding that the German had taken leave of his senses, the driver thanked him with a very profound bow, and not caring about entering the town, he made his way to a house of entertainment that was well known to him, and the proprietor of which was a friend of his. There he passed the whole night, and the next morning he started back on his return journey with the troika, without the britchka and without the portmanteau, but with a swollen face and red eyes. The brigand chief, having possession of the Frenchman's papers, boldly appeared, as we have already seen, at the house of the master, and there established himself. Whatever were his secret intentions, there was nothing in his behaviour to excite suspicion. It is true that he did not occupy himself very much with the education of the little boy, to whom he allowed full liberty, nor was he very exacting in the matter of his lessons, which were only given for form's sake, but he paid great attention to the musical studies of his fair pupil, and frequently sat for hours beside her at the piano. Everybody liked the young tutor: the master for his boldness and dexterity in the hunting-field; the young lady for his unbounded zeal and slavish attentiveness; the little boy for his tolerance, and the members of the household for his kindness and generosity, apparently incompatible with his means. He himself seemed to be attached to the whole family, and already regarded himself as a member of it. About a month had elapsed from the time of his entering upon the calling of tutor to the date of the memorable fête, and nobody suspected that the modest young Frenchman was in reality the terrible brigand whose name was a source of terror to all the landed proprietors of the neighbourhood. During all this time, the brigand chief had never quitted Pokrovskoe, but the reports of his depredations did not cease for all that, thanks to the inventive imagination of the country people. It is possible, too, that his band may have continued their exploits during the absence of the chief. Passing the night in the same room with a man whom he could only regard as a personal enemy, and one of the principal authors of his misfortune, the brigand chief had not been able to resist temptation. He knew of the existence of the pouch, and had resolved to take possession of it.
Chapter 12. Doubrovskys declaration of love to Masha
Several days passed, and nothing remarkable had happened. The life of the inhabitants of Pokrovskoe became very monotonous. The master went out hunting every day; while the young lady devoted her time to reading, walking, and especially to musical exercises. She was beginning to understand her own heart, and acknowledged to herself with involuntary vexation that she was not indifferent to the good qualities of the young Frenchman. He, on his side, never overstepped the limits of respect and strict decorum, and thereby quieted her pride and her timid suspicions. With more and more confidence she gave herself up to the alluring habit of seeing him. She felt dull without the Frenchman, and in his presence she was constantly occupied with him, wishing to know his opinion of everything, and always agreeing with him. She was not yet in love with him perhaps; but at the first accidental obstacle or unexpected reverse of destiny, the flame of passion would burst forth within her heart. One day, on entering the parlour, where the tutor awaited her, the young lady observed with astonishment that he looked pale and troubled. She opened the piano and sang a few notes; but the brigand chief, under the pretext of a headache, apologized, interrupted the lesson, closed the music, and slipped a note into her hand. The young lady, without pausing to reflect, took it, and repented almost at the same moment for having done so. But the brigand chief was no longer in the room. The young lady went to her room, unfolded the note, and read that it was necessary that he should speak to her, asking her to be in the arbour near the brook that evening, at seven o'clock. Her curiosity was strongly excited. She had long expected a declaration, desiring it and dreading it at one and the same time. It would have been agreeable to her to hear the confirmation of what she divined; but she felt that it would have been unbecoming to hear such a declaration from a man who, on account of his position, ought never to aspire to win her hand. She resolved to go to the meeting-place, but she hesitated about one thing: in what manner she ought to receive the tutor's declaration — with aristocratic indignation, with friendly admonition, with good-humoured banter, or with silent sympathy. In the meantime she kept constantly looking at the clock. It grew dark: candles were brought in. The master sat down to play at cards with some of his neighbours who had come to pay him a visit. The clock struck a quarter to seven, and the young lady walked quietly out on to the steps, looked round on every side, and then hastened into the garden. The night was dark, the sky was covered with clouds, and it was impossible to see anything at a distance of two paces; but the young lady went forward in the darkness along paths that were quite familiar to her, and in a few minutes she reached the arbour. There she paused in order to draw breath and to present herself before the Frenchman with an air of calm indifference. But the Frenchman already stood before her. He thanked her in a low, sad voice for having granted his request, noting that he should have been in despair if she had not complied with it. The young lady answered him in the words she had prepared beforehand, saying she hoped he would not cause her to repent of her condescension. He was silent, and seemed to be collecting himself. He said that circumstances demanded, that he was obliged to leave her, noting that it might be that she would soon hear, but before going away, he must have an explanation with her. The young lady made no reply. In these words she saw the preface to the expected declaration. He continued, lowering his head, saying he was not what she supposed, that he was not the Frenchman, but the brigand chief. The young lady uttered a cry. He told her not to be alarmed, for God's sake, saying she need not be afraid of his name, and that yes, he was that unhappy person, whom her father, after depriving him of his last crust of bread, drove out of his paternal home and sent on to the highway to rob, but she need not be afraid, either on her own account or on his, noting that all was over, and that he had forgiven him, and that she had saved him, and that his first crime of blood was to have been accomplished upon him, saying he prowled round his house, determining where the fire should burst out, where he should enter his bedroom, and how he should cut him off from all means of escape.
At that moment you passed by me like a heavenly vision, and my heart was subdued ... the house, in which you dwelt, was sacred ... not a single person, connected with you ... could lie beneath my curse.
He continued, saying he looked upon vengeance as madness, and dismissed the thought of it from his mind, noting that whole days he wandered around the gardens of Pokrovskoe, in the hope of seeing her white robe in the distance, and that in her incautious walks he followed her, stealing from bush to bush, happy in the thought that for her there was no danger, where he was secretly present, and that at last an opportunity presented itself, and he established himself in her house, and that those three weeks were for him days of happiness, and the recollection of them would be the joy of his sad life. He said that today he received news which rendered it impossible for him to remain there any longer, and that he parted from her at this very moment, but before doing so, he felt that it was necessary that he should reveal himself to her, so that she might not curse him nor despise him, asking her to think sometimes of him, and to know that he was born for another fate, that his soul was capable of loving her, and that never. Just then a loud whistle resounded, and the brigand chief became silent. He seized her hand and pressed it to his burning lips. The whistle was repeated. He said farewell, noting that they were calling him, and that a moment's delay might destroy him. He moved away. The young lady stood motionless. The brigand chief returned and once more took her by the hand. He asked if misfortune should ever overtake her, and she was unable to obtain help or protection from anybody, would she promise to apply to him, to demand from him everything that might be necessary for her happiness, and would she promise not to reject his devotion. The young lady wept silently. The whistle resounded for the third time. The brigand chief cried that she would destroy him, but that he would not leave her until she gave him a reply, asking if she promised or not. She murmured that she promised. Greatly agitated by her interview with the brigand chief, the young lady returned from the garden. As she approached the house, she perceived a great crowd of people in the courtyard; a troika was standing in front of the steps, the servants were running hither and thither, and the whole house was in a commotion. In the distance she heard the voice of her father, and she hastened to reach her room, fearing that her absence might be noticed. Her father met her in the hall. The visitors were pressing round the sheriff, and were overwhelming him with questions. The sheriff, in travelling dress, and armed from head to foot, answered them with a mysterious and anxious air. Her father asked where she had been, and if she had seen the Frenchman. She could scarcely answer in the negative. Her father continued, asking her to just imagine, noting that the sheriff had come to arrest him, and assured him that he was the brigand chief. The sheriff said respectfully that he answered the description in every respect. Her father interrupted, telling him to go with his descriptions, saying he would not surrender his Frenchman to him until he had investigated the matter himself, and asking how anyone could believe the word of the cowardly guest, a coward and a clown, and why he didn't tell him about it the next morning. The sheriff replied that the Frenchman threatened him, and made him swear that he would preserve silence. Her father exclaimed that it was a pack of lies, saying he would have this mystery cleared up immediately, and asking where the tutor was. A servant who entered at that moment replied that he could not be found anywhere. Her father told them to search for him, and cried out, beginning to entertain doubts. He asked the sheriff to show him his vaunted description. The sheriff immediately handed him the paper. Her father read it, noting that it was so, but yet that did not prove anything, and asking what about the tutor. The servant replied again that he was not to be found. Her father began to be uneasy; the young lady was neither dead nor alive. Her father remarked that she was pale, asking if they had frightened her. She replied that no, that she had a headache. Her father told her to go to her own room, and not to be alarmed. She kissed his hand and retired hastily to her room. There she threw herself upon her bed and burst into a hysterical flood of tears. The maids hastened to her assistance, undressed her with difficulty, and succeeded in calming her by means of cold water and all possible kinds of smelling salts. They put her to bed and she fell into a slumber. In the meantime the Frenchman could not be found. Her father paced up and down the room, loudly whistling his favourite military air. The visitors whispered among themselves; the sheriff looked foolish; the Frenchman was not to be found. Probably he had managed to escape through being warned beforehand. But by whom and how? That remained a mystery. It was eleven o'clock, but nobody thought of sleep. At last her father said angrily to the sheriff, asking if he wished to stop there till daylight, noting that his house was not an inn, and that it was not by any cleverness on his part that the brigand chief would be taken, if he really be the brigand chief, and telling him to return home, and in future be a little quicker. He continued, addressing his guests, saying it was time for them to go home, too, and ordering the horses to be got ready, noting that he wanted to go to bed. In this ungracious manner did the master take leave of his guests.
Chapter 13. Prince Vereisky proposes marriage
Some time elapsed without anything remarkable happening. But at the beginning of the following summer, many changes occurred in the family arrangements of the master. About thirty versts from Pokrovskoe was the wealthy estate of the Prince. The Prince had lived abroad for a long time, and his estate was managed by a retired major. No intercourse existed between Pokrovskoe and Arbatova. But at the end of the month of May, the Prince returned from abroad and took up his abode in his own village, which he had never seen since he was born. Accustomed to social pleasures, he could not endure solitude, and the third day after his arrival, he set out to dine with the master, with whom he had formerly been acquainted. The Prince was about fifty years of age, but he looked much older. Excesses of every kind had ruined his health, and had placed upon him their indelible stamp. In spite of that, his appearance was agreeable and distinguished, and his having always been accustomed to society gave him a certain affability of demeanour, especially towards ladies. He had a constant need of amusement, and he was a constant victim to ennui. The master was exceedingly gratified by this visit, which he regarded as a mark of respect from a man who knew the world. In accordance with his usual custom, he began to entertain his visitor by conducting him to inspect his establishments and kennels. But the Prince could hardly breathe in the atmosphere of the dogs, and he hurried out, holding a scented handkerchief to his nose. The old garden, with its clipped limes, square pond and regular walks, did not please him; he did not like the English gardens and the so-called natural style, but he praised them and went into ecstasies over everything. The servant came to announce that dinner was served, and they repaired to the dining-room. The Prince limped, being fatigued after his walk, and already repenting for having paid his visit. But in the dining-hall the young lady met them — and the old sensualist was struck by her beauty. The master placed his guest beside her. The Prince was resuscitated by her presence; he became quite cheerful, and succeeded several times in arresting her attention by the recital of some of his curious stories. After dinner the master proposed a ride on horseback, but the Prince excused himself, pointing to his velvet boots and joking about his gout. He proposed a drive in a carriage, so that he should not be separated from his charming neighbour. The carriage was got ready. The two old men and the beautiful young girl took their seats in it, and they started off. The conversation did not flag. The young lady listened with pleasure to the flattering compliments and witty remarks of the man of the world. On returning from the drive, the Prince ordered his carriage to be brought, and in spite of the earnest requests of the master to stay for the night, he took his departure immediately after tea. Before setting out, however, he invited the master to pay him a visit and to bring the young lady with him, and the proud master promised to do so; for taking into consideration his princely dignity, his two stars, and the three thousand serfs belonging to his estate, he regarded the Prince in some degree as his equal. Two days after this visit, the master set out with his daughter for the abode of the Prince. On approaching Arbatova, he could not sufficiently admire the clean and cheerful-looking huts of the peasants, and the stone manor-house built in the style of an English castle. In front of the house stretched a close green lawn, upon which were grazing some Swiss cows tinkling their bells. A spacious park surrounded the house on every side. The master met the guests on the steps, and gave his arm to the young beauty. She was then conducted into a magnificent hall, where the table was laid for three. The Prince led his guests to a window, and a charming view opened out before them. The Volga flowed past the windows, and upon its bosom floated laden barges under full sail, and small fishing-boats. Beyond the river stretched hills and fields, and several little villages animated the landscape. Then they proceeded to inspect the galleries of pictures bought by the Prince in foreign countries. The Prince explained to the young lady their various characteristics, related the history of the painters, and pointed out their merits and defects. He did not speak of pictures in the pretentious language of the pedantic connoisseur, but with feeling and imagination. The young lady listened to him with pleasure. They sat down to table. The master rendered full justice to the wines of his host, and to the skill of his cook; while the young lady did not feel at all confused or constrained in her conversation with a man whom she now saw for the second time in her life. After dinner the host proposed to his guests that they should go into the garden. They drank coffee in the arbour on the bank of a broad lake studded with little islands. Suddenly resounded the music of wind instruments, and a six-oared boat drew up before the arbour. They rowed on the lake, round the islands, and visited some of them. On one they found a marble statue; on another, a lonely grotto; on a third, a monument with a mysterious inscription, which awakened within the young lady a girlish curiosity not completely satisfied by the polite but reticent explanations of the Prince. The time passed imperceptibly. It began to grow dark. The Prince, under the pretext of the cold and the dew, hastened to return to the house, where the tea-urn awaited them. The Prince requested the young lady to discharge the functions of hostess in his bachelor's home. She poured out the tea, listening to the inexhaustible stories of the charming talker. Suddenly a shot was heard, and a rocket illuminated the sky. The Prince gave the young lady a shawl, and led her and the master on to the balcony. In front of the house, in the darkness, different coloured fires blazed up, whirled round, rose up in sheaves, poured out in fountains, fell in showers of rain and stars, went out and then burst into a blaze again. The young lady was as delighted as a child. The Prince was delighted with her enjoyment, and the master was very well satisfied with him, for he accepted all the expenses of the Prince as signs of respect and a desire to please him. The supper was quite equal to the dinner in every respect. Then the guests retired to the rooms assigned to them, and the next morning took leave of their amiable host, promising each other soon to meet again. The young lady was sitting in her room, embroidering at her frame before the open window. She did not entangle her threads, but in spite of that, her thoughts did not follow her work — they were far away. Suddenly an arm passed silently through the window, placed a letter upon the frame and disappeared before the young lady could recover herself. At the same moment a servant entered to call her to her father. Trembling very much, she hid the letter under her fichu and hastened to her father in his study. Her father was not alone. The Prince was sitting in the room with him. On the appearance of the young lady, the Prince rose and silently bowed, with a confusion that was quite unusual in him. Her father said to come here, noting that he had a piece of news to tell her which he hoped would please her very much, and that there was a sweetheart for her, noting that the Prince proposed for her hand. She was dumfounded; a deadly pallor overspread her countenance. She was silent. The Prince approached her, took her hand, and with a tender look, asked her if she would consent to make him happy. She remained silent. Her father said that of course she would consent, noting that it was difficult for a girl to say such a word as that, and telling them to kiss one another and be happy. She stood motionless; the old Prince kissed her hand. Suddenly the tears began to stream down her pale cheeks. The Prince frowned slightly. Her father told her to go, to dry her tears and come back to them in a merry humour, noting that they all wept at the moment of being betrothed, and that it was their custom, and now, turning to the Prince, he said to let them talk about business, that is to say, about the dowry. The young lady eagerly took advantage of the permission to retire. She ran to her room, locked herself in and gave way to her tears, already imagining herself the wife of the old Prince. He had suddenly become repugnant and hateful to her. Marriage terrified her, like the block, like the grave. She repeated in despair that no, she would rather go into a convent, she would rather marry the brigand chief. Then she remembered the letter and eagerly began to read it, having a presentiment that it was from him. In fact, it was written by him, and contained only the words asking her to be at ten o'clock that evening, in the same place as before. The moon was shining; the night was calm; the wind rose now and then, and a gentle rustle ran over the garden. Like a light shadow, the beautiful young girl drew near to the appointed meeting-place. Nobody was yet visible, when suddenly, from behind the arbour, the brigand chief appeared before her. He said to her in a low, sad voice that he knew all, asking her to remember her promise. She replied that he offered her his protection, asking him not to be angry, but noting that the idea alarmed her, and asking in what way he could help her. He replied that he could deliver her from a detested man. She told him for God's sake, not to touch him, not to venture to touch him, if he loved her, noting that she did not wish to be the cause of any horror. He replied that he would not touch him, noting that her wish was sacred for him, and that he owed his life to her, and that never would a crime be committed in her name, and that she would not be stigmatized on account of his misdeeds, but asking how he could save her from a cruel father. She replied that there was still hope, noting that she hoped to touch him with her tears and her despair, and that he was obstinate, but he loved her very dearly. He told her not to put her trust in a vain hope, noting that in those tears he would see only the usual timidity and aversion common to all young girls, when they married from motives of interest and not from affection, but asking what if he took it into his head to accomplish her happiness in spite of herself, and if she was conducted to the altar by force, in order that her destiny might be placed for ever in the hands of an old man. She asked then what, and he replied then there would be nothing else to do, telling her to come for him, and that she would be his wife. The brigand chief trembled; his pale face became covered with a deep flush, and the next minute he became paler than before. He remained silent for a long time, with his head bent down. She understood, and told him to muster the full strength of her soul, to implore her father, to throw herself at his feet, to represent to him all the horror of the future that he was preparing for her, her youth fading away by the side of a feeble and dissipated old man, telling him that riches would not procure for her a single moment of happiness, noting that luxury consoled poverty alone, and even in that case only for a brief season, and asking him not to be put off by him, and not to be frightened either by his anger or by his threats, as long as there remained the least shadow of hope. She asked what if she had no other resource left. He replied that then she should decide upon a plain speaking explanation, telling her to tell him that if he remained inexorable, then she would find a terrible protector. Here the brigand chief covered his face with his hands; he seemed to be choking. She wept.
My miserable, miserable fate! ... I dare not throw myself at your feet ... Oh! how I ought to hate him who — but I feel that now there is no place in my heart for hatred.
He gently passed his arm round her slender figure and pressed her tenderly to his heart. She confidingly leaned her head upon the young brigand's shoulder and both remained silent. The time flew past. He said at last that it was time. He took her hand and placed a ring on her finger, saying that if she decided upon having recourse to him, then she should bring the ring here and place it in the hollow of this oak, noting that he would know what to do. The brigand chief kissed her hand and disappeared among the trees.
Chapter 14. Visit to Arbatova
The Prince's intention of getting married was no longer a secret in the neighbourhood. The master received the congratulations of his acquaintances, and preparations were made for the wedding. The young lady postponed from day to day the decisive explanation. In the meantime her manner towards her elderly lover was cold and constrained. The Prince did not trouble himself about that; the question of love gave him no concern; her silent consent was quite sufficient for him. But the time went past. The young lady at last decided to act, and wrote a letter to the Prince. She tried to awaken within his heart a feeling of magnanimity, candidly confessing that she had not the least attachment for him, and entreating him to renounce her hand and even to protect her from the tyranny of her father. She furtively delivered the letter to the Prince. The latter read it alone, but was not in the least moved by the candour of his betrothed. On the contrary, he perceived the necessity of hastening the marriage, and therefore he showed the letter to his future father-in-law. The master was furious, and it was with difficulty that the Prince succeeded in persuading him not to let the young lady see that he was acquainted with the contents of the letter. The master promised not to speak about the matter to her, but he resolved to lose no time and fixed the wedding for the next day. The Prince found this very reasonable, and he went to his betrothed and told her that her letter had grieved him very much, but that he hoped in time to gain her affection; that the thought of resigning her was too much for him to bear, and that he had not the strength to consent to his own sentence of death. Then he kissed her hand respectfully and took his departure, without saying a word to her about the master's decision. But scarcely had he left the house, when her father entered and peremptorily ordered her to be ready for the next day. The young lady, already agitated by the interview with the Prince, burst into tears and threw herself at her father's feet.
Papa, do not destroy me. I do not love the Prince, I do not wish to be his wife ... Why are you sending me away ... and giving me to a man that I do not love?
Her father asked fiercely what this meant, noting that up till the present she had kept silent and consented, and now, when everything was decided upon, she became capricious and refused to accept him, telling her not to act the fool, and that she would gain nothing from him by so doing. She repeated not to destroy her, asking why he was sending her away from him and giving her to a man that she did not love, asking if he did not weary him, noting that she wanted to stay with him as before, and that he would be sad without her, and sadder still when he knew that she was unhappy, and asking him not to force her, noting that she did not wish to marry. Her father was touched, but he concealed his emotion, and pushing her away from him, said harshly that that was all nonsense, asking if she heard, noting that he knew better than she what was necessary for her happiness, and that tears would not help her, and that the day after tomorrow her wedding would take place. She exclaimed that the day after tomorrow, noting that my God, no, impossible, it could not be, and asking him to hear her, and that if he had resolved to destroy her, then she would find a protector that he did not dream of, noting that he would see, and then he would regret having driven her to despair. Her father asked what, what, asking if she was threatening him, and asking if she knew that he would do with her what she little imagined, and asking who this protector would be. She replied in despair that it was the brigand chief. Her father thought that she had gone out of her mind, and looked at her in astonishment. He said very well, asking her to expect whom she pleased to deliver her, but, in the meantime, to remain in this room, noting that she would not leave it till the very moment of the wedding. With these words her father went out, locking the door behind him. For a long time the poor girl wept, imagining all that awaited her. But the stormy interview had lightened her soul, and she could more calmly consider the question of her future and what it behoved her to do. The principal thing was — to free herself from this odious marriage. The lot of a brigand's wife seemed paradise to her in comparison with the fate prepared for her. She glanced at the ring given to her by the brigand chief. Ardently did she long to see him alone once more before the decisive moment, so that she might concert measures with him. A presentiment told her that in the evening she would find the brigand chief in the garden, near the arbour; she resolved to go and wait for him there. As soon as it began to grow dark, she prepared to carry out her intention, but the door of her room was locked. Her maid told her from the other side of the door, that her father had given orders that she was not to be let out. She was under arrest. Deeply hurt, she sat down by the window and remained there till late in the night, without undressing, gazing fixedly at the dark sky. Towards dawn she began to doze; but her light sleep was disturbed by sad visions, and she was soon awakened by the rays of the rising sun. She awoke, and all the horror of her position rose up in her mind. She rang. The maid entered, and in answer to her questions, replied that her father had set out the evening before for Arbatova, and had returned very late; that he had given strict orders that she was not to be allowed out of her room and that nobody was to be permitted to speak to her; that otherwise, there were no signs of any particular preparations for the wedding, except that the pope had been ordered not to leave the village under any pretext whatever. After disburdening herself of this news, the maid left the young lady and again locked the door. Her words hardened the young prisoner. Her head burned, her blood boiled. She resolved to inform the brigand chief of everything, and she began to think of some means by which she could get the ring conveyed to the hole in the sacred oak. At that moment a stone struck against her window; the glass rattled, and the young lady, looking out into the courtyard, saw the little boy making signs to her. She knew that he was attached to her, and she was pleased to see him. She opened the window and asked him why he called her. He replied that he came to know if she wanted anything, noting that his father was angry, and had forbidden the whole house to obey her, but asking her to order him to do whatever she liked, and noting that he would do it for her. She thanked him, and asked if he knew the old hollow oak near the arbour. He replied that yes, he knew it. She told him then, if he loved her, to run there as quickly as he could and put this ring in the hollow, but to take care that nobody saw him. With these words, she threw the ring to him and closed the window. The lad picked up the ring, and ran off with all his might, and in three minutes he arrived at the sacred tree. There he paused, quite out of breath, and after looking round on every side, placed the ring in the hollow. Having successfully accomplished his mission, he wanted to inform the young lady of the fact at once, when suddenly a red-haired ragged boy darted out from behind the arbour, dashed towards the oak and thrust his hand into the hole. The boy, quicker than a squirrel, threw himself upon him and seized him with both hands, asking what he was doing there. The red-headed boy said asking what business was that of his, and tried to disengage himself. The boy told him to leave that ring alone, red head, or he would teach him a lesson in his own style. Instead of replying, the red-headed boy gave him a blow in the face with his fist; but the boy still held him firmly in his grasp, and cried out at the top of his voice for help. The red-headed boy tried to get away from him. He seemed to be about two years older than the boy, and very much stronger; but the boy was more agile. They struggled together for some minutes; at last the red-headed boy gained the advantage. He threw the boy upon the ground and seized him by the throat. But at that moment a strong hand grasped hold of his shaggy red hair, and the gardener lifted him half a yard from the ground, saying that he was a red-headed beast, and asking how he dared to strike the young gentleman. In the meantime, the boy had jumped to his feet and recovered himself. He said that the red-headed boy caught him under the arm-pits, or he would never have thrown him, telling him to give him the ring at once and be off. The red-headed boy replied that it was likely, and suddenly twisting himself round, he disengaged his bristles from the gardener's hand. Then he started off running, but the boy overtook him, gave him a blow in the back, and the red-headed boy fell. The gardener again seized him and bound him with his belt. The boy told him to give him the ring. The gardener said to wait a moment, noting that they would lead him to the bailiff to be questioned. The gardener led the captive into the courtyard of the manor-house, accompanied by the boy, who glanced uneasily at his trousers, torn and stained with the grass. Suddenly all three found themselves face to face with the master, who was going to inspect his stables. He asked what the meaning of this was. The gardener in a few words related all that had happened. The master listened to him with attention, and then turning to the boy, asked him sternly why he wrestled with him. The boy stammered and became confused, noting that he stole a ring out of the hollow tree, and asking his father to make him give up the ring. His father asked what ring, and out of what hollow tree, telling him to confess everything, or he would give him such a birching as he had never had in his life. The boy replied that as true as heaven, that he never told him to do anything. His father told the gardener to go and cut him some fine, fresh birch twigs. The boy said to stop, noting that he would tell him all, and that he was running about the courtyard today, when his sister opened the window, and he ran towards her, and she accidentally dropped a ring, and he went and hid it in the hollow tree, and this red-headed fellow wanted to steal the ring. His father said that she did not drop it accidentally, that he wanted to hide it, and asking what he was afraid of, and telling the gardener to go and get the birch twigs. The boy said to wait, noting that he would tell him everything, and that his sister told him to run to the oak tree and put the ring in the hollow, and he ran and did so, but this nasty fellow. His father turned to the nasty fellow and said to him sternly, asking to whom he belonged. The red-headed boy replied that he belonged to his master, the brigand chief. His father's face grew dark. He said that it seemed, then, that he did not recognize him as his master, noting that very well, and asking what he was doing in his garden. The red-headed boy replied that he was stealing raspberries. His father said ah, ah, noting that the servant was like his master, and that as the pope was, so was his parish, and asking if his raspberries grew upon oak trees, and asking if he had ever heard so. The red-headed boy did not reply. The boy told his father to make him give up the ring. His father told him to be silent, noting that he intended to settle with him presently, and telling him to go to his room, and turning to the red-headed boy, he said that he seemed to him to be a knowing sort of lad, and that if he confessed everything to him, he would not whip him, but would give him a five copeck piece to buy nuts with, telling him to give up the ring and go. The red-headed boy opened his fist and showed that there was nothing in his hand. His father said that if he didn't, he would do something to him that he little expected, telling him now. The red-headed boy did not answer a word, but stood with his head bent down, looking like a perfect simpleton. His father said very well, telling them to lock him up somewhere, and see that he did not escape, or he would skin the whole household. The gardener conducted the red-headed boy to the pigeon loft, locked him in there, and ordered the old poultry woman to keep a watch upon him. His father thought that there was no doubt about it, noting that she had kept up intercourse with that accursed brigand chief, but asking what if she had really invoked his aid, and noting that he was hot upon his track, at all events, and he would not escape him, and that they would take advantage of this opportunity. He heard a bell, and thanked God, noting that that was the sheriff. In the meantime, a small telega drove into the courtyard, and the sheriff entered the room, all covered with dust. His father said glorious news, noting that he had caught the brigand chief. The sheriff said thank God, his face beaming with delight, and asking where he was. His father replied that that was to say, not the brigand chief himself, but one of his band, noting that he would be here presently, and that he would help them to apprehend his chief. The sheriff, who expected to see some fierce-looking brigand, was astonished to perceive a lad of thirteen years of age, of somewhat delicate appearance. He turned to his father with an incredulous look, and awaited an explanation. His father then began to relate the events of the morning, without, however, mentioning the name of the young lady. The sheriff listened to him attentively, glancing from time to time at the young rogue, who, assuming a look of imbecility, seemed to be paying no attention to all that was going on around him. His father said at last that he would allow him to speak to him apart. They went into the next room and locked the door after them. Half an hour afterwards they returned to the hall, where the captive was awaiting the decision respecting his fate. The sheriff said to him that the master wished to have him locked up in the town gaol, to be whipped, and then to be sent to the convict settlement, but that he interceded for him and had obtained his pardon, telling them to untie him. The lad was unbound. The sheriff told him to thank the master. The lad went up to his father and kissed his hand. His father told him to run away home, and in future not to steal raspberries from oak trees. The lad went out, ran merrily down the steps, and without looking behind him, dashed off across the fields in the direction of Kistenevka. On reaching the village, he stopped at a half-ruined hut, the first from the corner, and tapped at the window. The window was opened, and an old woman appeared. The lad said asking for some bread, noting that he had eaten nothing since this morning, and that he was dying of hunger. The old woman asked if it was him, noting that he was a little devil, and asking where he had been all this time. He replied that he would tell her afterwards, and asking for the Lord's sake for bread. The old woman told him to come into the hut, then. He replied that he hadn't the time, that he had got to run on to another place, and asking for bread, for the Lord's sake. The old woman grumbled, asking what a fidget, and saying there was a piece for him, and she pushed through the window a slice of black bread. The lad bit it with avidity, and then continued his course, eating it as he went. It was beginning to grow dark. The lad made his way along by the corn kilns and kitchen gardens into the Kistenevka wood. On arriving at the two pine trees, standing like advanced guards before the wood, he paused, looked round on every side, gave a shrill, abrupt whistle, and then listened. A light and prolonged whistle was heard in reply, and somebody came out of the wood and advanced towards him.
Chapter 15. Masha summons Doubrovsky with the ring
The master was pacing up and down the hall, whistling his favourite air louder than usual. The whole house was in a commotion; the servants were running about, and the maids were busy. In the courtyard there was a crowd of people. In the young lady's dressing-room, before the looking-glass, a lady, surrounded by maidservants, was attiring the pale, motionless young bride. Her head bent languidly beneath the weight of her diamonds; she started slightly when a careless hand pricked her, but she remained silent, gazing absently into the mirror. The voice of her father was heard at the door, asking if they were nearly finished. The lady replied in a minute, telling the young lady to get up and look at herself, and asking if everything was right. The young lady rose, but made no reply. The door was opened. Her father said that the bride was ready, ordering the carriage. He said with God, and taking a sacred image from the table, he said to approach, noting that he blessed her. The poor girl fell at his feet and began to sob, crying out for her father. Her father hastened to give her his blessing. She was raised up and almost carried into the carriage. Her godmother and one of the maidservants got in with her, and they drove off to the church. There the bridegroom was already waiting for them. He came forward to meet the bride, and was struck by her pallor and her strange look. They entered the cold deserted church together, and the door was locked behind them. The priest came out from the altar, and the ceremony at once began. The young lady saw nothing, heard nothing; she had been thinking of but one thing the whole morning: she expected the brigand chief; nor did her hope abandon her for one moment. But when the priest turned to her with the usual questions, she started and felt faint; but still she hesitated, still she expected. The priest, without waiting for her reply, pronounced the irrevocable words. The ceremony was over. She felt the cold kiss of her hated husband; she heard the flattering congratulations of those present; and yet she could not believe that her life was bound for ever, that the brigand chief had not arrived to deliver her. The Prince turned to her with tender words — she did not understand them. They left the church; in the porch was a crowd of peasants. Her glance rapidly scanned them, and again she exhibited her former insensibility. The newly-married couple seated themselves in the carriage and drove off to Arbatova, whither her father had already gone on before, in order to welcome the wedded pair there. Alone with his young wife, the Prince was not in the least piqued by her cold manner. He did not begin to weary her with amorous protestations and ridiculous enthusiasm; his words were simple and required no answer. In this way they travelled about ten versts. The horses dashed rapidly along the uneven country roads, and the carriage scarcely shook upon its English springs. Suddenly were heard cries of pursuit. The carriage stopped, and a crowd of armed men surrounded it. A man in a half-mask opened the door on the side where the young Princess sat, and said to her that she was free, telling her to alight. The Prince asked what this meant, and asking who he was. The Princess replied that it was the brigand chief. The Prince, without losing his presence of mind, drew from his side pocket a travelling pistol and fired at the masked brigand. The Princess shrieked, and, filled with horror, covered her face with both her hands. The brigand chief was wounded in the shoulder; the blood was flowing. The Prince, without losing a moment, drew another pistol; but he was not allowed time to fire; the door was opened, and several strong arms dragged him out of the carriage and snatched the pistol from him. Above him flashed several knives. The brigand chief cried not to touch him, and his terrible associates drew back. The brigand chief said to the pale Princess that she was free. She replied no, noting that it was too late, and that she was married, and that she was the wife of the Prince. The brigand chief asked in despair what she said, asking if she was not his wife, and asking if she could never have consented. She replied that she had consented, that she had taken the oath, noting that the Prince was her husband, and giving orders for him to be set at liberty, and telling him to leave her with him, and noting that she had not deceived him, and that she waited for him till the last moment, but now, she told him, now, it was too late, and telling them to let them go. But the brigand chief no longer heard her. The pain of his wound, and the violent emotion of his mind had deprived him of all power over himself. He fell against the wheel; the brigands surrounded him. He managed to say a few words to them. They placed him on horseback; two of them held him up, a third took the horse by the bridle, and all withdrew from the spot, leaving the carriage in the middle of the road, the servants bound, the horses unharnessed, but without carrying anything away with them, and without shedding one drop of blood in revenge for the blood of their chief.
Chapter 16. Discovery of the conspiracy; capture of the messenger
In the middle of a dense wood, on a narrow grass-plot, rose a small earthwork, consisting of a rampart and ditch, behind which were some huts and tents. Within the inclosed space, a crowd of persons who, by their varied garments and by their arms, could at once be recognized as brigands, were having their dinner, seated bareheaded around a large cauldron. On the rampart, by the side of a small cannon, sat a sentinel, with his legs crossed under him. He was sewing a patch upon a certain part of his attire, handling his needle with a dexterity that bespoke the experienced tailor, and every now and then raising his head and glancing round on every side. Although a certain ladle had passed from hand to hand several times, a strange silence reigned among this crowd. The brigands finished their dinner; one after another rose and said a prayer to God; some dispersed among the huts, other strolled away into the wood or lay down to sleep, according to the Russian habit. The sentinel finished his work, shook his garment, gazed admiringly at the patch, stuck the needle in his sleeve, sat astride the cannon, and began to sing a melancholy old song with all the power of his lungs. At that moment the door of one of the huts opened, and an old woman in a white cap, neatly and even pretentiously dressed, appeared upon the threshold. She said angrily to stop that, noting that the master was sleeping, and yet he must make that frightful noise, and asking if he had neither conscience nor pity. The sentinel replied begging pardon, noting that he wouldn't do it any more, and telling their little father to sleep on and get well. The old woman withdrew into the hut, and the sentinel began to pace to and fro upon the rampart. Within the hut, from which the old woman had emerged, lay the wounded brigand chief upon a cold bed behind a partition. Before him, upon a small table, lay his pistols, and a sword hung near his head. The mud hut was hung round and covered with rich carpets. In the corner was a lady's silver toilet and mirror. The brigand chief held in his hand an open book, but his eyes were closed, and the old woman, peeping at him from behind the partition, could not tell whether he was asleep or only thinking. Suddenly the brigand chief started. In the fort there was a great commotion, and the sentinel came and thrust his head in through the window of the hut, crying out for their father, noting that their men were signalling, and that they were on their track. The brigand chief leaped from his bed, seized his arms and issued from the hut. The brigands were noisily crowding together in the inclosure, but on the appearance of their chief a deep silence reigned. He asked if all were there. The reply was all except the patrols. He told them to go to their places, and the brigands took up each his appointed place. At that moment, three of the patrols ran up to the gate of the fort. The brigand chief went to meet them, asking what it was. The reply was that the soldiers were in the wood, and that they were surrounding them. The brigand chief ordered the gate to be locked, and then went himself to examine the cannon. In the wood could be heard the sound of many voices, every moment drawing nearer and nearer. The brigands waited in silence. Suddenly three or four soldiers appeared from the wood, but immediately fell back again, firing their guns as a signal to their comrades. The brigand chief cried to prepare for battle. There was a movement among the brigands, then all was silent again. Then was heard the noise of an approaching column; arms glittered among the trees, and about a hundred and fifty soldiers dashed out of the wood and rushed with a wild shout towards the rampart. The brigand chief applied the match to the cannon; the shot was successful — one soldier had his head shot off, and two others were wounded. The troops were thrown into confusion, but the officer in command rushed forward, the soldiers followed him and jumped down into the ditch. The brigands fired down at them with muskets and pistols, and then, with axes in their hands, they began to defend the rampart, up which the infuriated soldiers were now climbing, leaving twenty of their comrades wounded in the ditch below. A hand to hand struggle began. The soldiers were already upon the rampart, the brigands were beginning to give way; but the brigand chief advanced towards the officer in command, presented his pistol at his breast, and fired. The officer fell backwards to the ground. Several soldiers raised him in their arms and hastened to carry him into the wood; the others, having lost their chief, stopped fighting. The emboldened brigands took advantage of this moment of hesitation, and surging forward, hurled their assailants back into the ditch. The besiegers began to run; the brigands with fierce yells started in pursuit of them. The victory was decisive. The brigand chief, trusting to the complete confusion of the enemy, stopped his followers and shut himself up in the fortress, doubled the sentinels, forbade anyone to absent himself, and ordered the wounded to be collected. This last event drew the serious attention of the government to the daring exploits of the brigand chief. Information was obtained of his place of retreat, and a detachment of soldiers was sent to take him, dead or alive. Several of his band were captured, and from these it was ascertained that the brigand chief was no longer among them. A few days after the battle that we have just described, he collected all his followers and informed them that it was his intention to leave them for ever, and advised them to change their mode of life, saying that they had become rich under his command, and that each of them had a passport with which he would be able to make his way safely to some distant province, where he could pass the rest of his life in ease and honest labour, but that they were all rascals, and probably did not wish to abandon their trade. After this speech he left them, taking with him only one of his followers. Nobody knew what became of him. At first the truth of this testimony was doubted, for the devotion of the brigands to their chief was well known, and it was supposed that they had concocted the story to secure his safety; but after events confirmed their statement. The terrible visits, burnings, and robberies ceased; the roads again became safe. According to another report, the brigand chief had fled to some foreign country.
Chapter 17. The wedding ceremony
This summary has already covered the wedding ceremony in Chapter 15.
Chapter 18. The attempted rescue and Mashas refusal
This summary has already covered the attempted rescue and the young lady's refusal in Chapter 15.
I waited for you till the last moment ... but now ... it is too late. Let us go ... I have not deceived you. I waited for you ... but now, it is too late.
Chapter 19. The final battle and Doubrovskys disappearance
This summary has already covered the final battle and the brigand chief's disappearance in Chapter 16.
If you decide upon having recourse to me, bring the ring here ... I shall know what to do ... If misfortune should ever overtake you ... will you promise to apply to me?