Novels, Tales, Journeys

It was another twenty miles to Petersburg. While the horses were being harnessed, Ibrahim went into the post-house. In the corner, a tall man in a green kaftan, with a clay pipe in his mouth, his elbows resting on the table, was reading the Hamburg newspapers. Hearing someone come in, he raised his head. “Hah, Ibrahim?” he cried, getting up from his bench. “Greetings, godson!” Ibrahim, recognizing Peter, joyfully rushed to him, but stopped out of respect. The sovereign came to him, embraced him, and kissed him on the head. “I was forewarned of your arrival,” said Peter, “and came to meet you. I’ve been waiting for you here since yesterday.” Ibrahim found no words to express his gratitude. “Order your carriage to follow us,” the sovereign went on, “and you get into mine and come with me.” The sovereign’s carriage was brought; he got in with Ibrahim, and they galloped off. An hour and a half later they arrived in Petersburg. Ibrahim gazed with curiosity at the newborn capital that was rising from the swamp at a wave of the autocratic hand. Bare dams, canals without embankments, wooden bridges showed everywhere the recent victory of human will over the resisting elements. The houses seemed hastily built. In the whole town there was nothing magnificent except the Neva, not yet adorned by its granite frame, but already covered with warships and merchant vessels. The sovereign’s carriage stopped at the palace known as the Tsaritsyn Garden. At the porch Peter was met by a woman of about thirty-five, beautiful, dressed after the latest Parisian fashion. Peter kissed her on the lips and, taking Ibrahim by the hand, said: “Do you recognize my godson, Katenka? Be kind and gracious to him as before.” Catherine turned her dark, piercing eyes to him and benevolently offered him her hand. Two young beauties, tall, slender, fresh as roses, stood behind her and respectfully approached Peter. “Liza,” he said to one of them, “do you remember the little Moor who stole my apples for you in Oranienbaum? Here he is: I introduce him to you.” The grand duchess laughed and blushed. They went to the dining room. The table had been laid in expectation of the sovereign. Peter and all his family sat down to dine, inviting Ibrahim to join them. During dinner the sovereign talked with him about various subjects, questioned him about the Spanish war, about the internal affairs of France, about the regent, whom he liked, though he disapproved of him in many ways. Ibrahim was distinguished by his precise and observant mind. Peter was very pleased with his replies; he recalled some features of Ibrahim’s childhood and recounted them with such mirth and good nature that no one could have suspected in the gentle and hospitable host the hero of Poltava, the powerful and dread reformer of Russia.11

After dinner the sovereign, following the Russian custom, went to rest. Ibrahim remained with the empress and the grand duchesses. He tried to satisfy their curiosity, described the Parisian way of life, the local fêtes and capricious fashions. Meanwhile some persons close to the sovereign gathered in the palace. Ibrahim recognized the magnificent Prince Menshikov, who, seeing the Moor talking to Catherine, proudly cast a sidelong glance at him; Prince Yakov Dolgoruky, Peter’s tough councillor; the learned Bruce, known among the people as the Russian Faust; the young Raguzinsky, his former schoolmate; and others who came to the sovereign with reports or to receive orders.12

After some two hours the sovereign appeared. “Let’s see if you still remember your old duties,” he said to Ibrahim. “Take the slate and follow me.” Peter shut himself in the wood-turning shop and busied himself with state affairs. He worked in turn with Bruce, with Prince Dolgoruky, with the police chief Devier, and dictated several ukases and resolutions to Ibrahim. Ibrahim could not help marveling at his quick and firm mind, the strength and flexibility of his attention, and the diversity of his activities. Having finished work, Peter took a notebook from his pocket to make sure he had done all he had intended to do that day. Then, as he was leaving the wood-turning shop, he said to Ibrahim: “It’s already late; you must be tired: spend the night here, as you used to in the old days. I’ll wake you up tomorrow.”