Novels, Tales, Journeys

“Thank God,” Tatyana Afanasyevna said, crossing herself. “The girl’s of marriageable age, and like matchmaker, like suitor—God grant them love and harmony. It’s a great honor. For whom is the tsar asking her hand?”

“Hm,” grunted Gavrila Afanasyevich. “For whom? That’s just it—for whom.”

“For whom, then?” Prince Lykov, who was already beginning to doze off, repeated.

“Guess,” said Gavrila Afanasyevich.

“Brother dear,” the old woman replied “how can we guess? There are lots of suitors at court: any one of them would be glad to take your Natasha. Is it Dolgoruky?”

“No, not Dolgoruky.”

“Well, God help him: he’s awfully arrogant. Schein? Troekurov?”

“No, neither of them.”

“They’re not to my liking either: featherbrains, too full of the German spirit. Well, then, Miloslavsky?”

“No, not him.”

“And God help him, too: he’s rich but stupid. Who, then? Eletsky? Lvov? No? Can it be Raguzinsky? I give up. Who is the tsar choosing for Natasha?”

“The Moor Ibrahim.”

The old woman cried out and clasped her hands. Prince Lykov raised his head from the pillows and repeated in amazement: “The Moor Ibrahim!”

“Brother dear,” the old woman said in a tearful voice, “don’t ruin your own child, don’t deliver Natashenka into the clutches of that black devil.”

“But how can I refuse the sovereign,” Gavrila Afanasyevich protested, “who promises his favor in return, to me and all our family?”

“What?!” exclaimed the old prince, whom sleep had totally deserted. “To have Natasha, my granddaughter, marry a bought blackamoor?!”

“He’s not of common stock,” said Gavrila Afanasyevich. “He’s the son of a Moorish sultan. Some heathens took him captive and sold him in Constantinople, and our ambassador redeemed him and presented him to the tsar. The Moor’s elder brother came to Russia with a rich ransom and—”

“My dearest Gavrila Afanasyevich,” the old woman interrupted, “we’ve all heard the tales of Prince Bova and Eruslan Lazarevich.26 You’d better tell us how you replied to the sovereign’s matchmaking.”

“I told him that the power was with him, and our bounden duty was to obey him in all things.”

Just then a noise came from behind the door. Gavrila Afanasyevich went to open it, but, feeling some resistance, he pushed hard on it, the door opened—and they saw Natasha lying unconscious on the bloodied floor.

Her heart had sunk when the sovereign shut himself in with her father. Some presentiment had whispered to her that it had to do with her, and when Gavrila Afanasyevich sent her away, announcing that he had to speak with her aunt and grandfather, feminine curiosity got the better of her, she tiptoed quietly through the inner rooms to the door of the bedroom, and did not miss a single word of the whole terrible conversation. When she heard her father’s last words, the poor girl fainted and, falling, struck her head against the iron-bound chest in which her dowry was kept.

Servants came running; Natasha was picked up, carried to her room, and placed on the bed. After some time she came to, opened her eyes, but recognized neither her father nor her aunt. She broke into a high fever, raved about the tsar’s Moor, the wedding—and suddenly cried out in a pitiful and piercing voice: “Valerian, dear Valerian, my life! Save me: they’re coming, they’re coming!…” Tatyana Afanasyevna glanced anxiously at her brother, who turned pale, bit his lips, and silently left the room. He went back to the old prince, who, unable to climb the stairs, had remained below.

“How is Natasha?” he asked.

“Not well,” the upset father replied, “worse than I thought: she’s delirious and raves about Valerian.”

“Who is this Valerian?” the old man asked in alarm. “Can it be that orphan, the son of the strelets,27 who was brought up in your house?”

“That’s him,” Gavrila Afanasyevich replied. “To my misfortune, his father saved my life during the rebellion, and the devil prompted me to take the cursed wolf cub into my house. When he was enlisted in a regiment two years ago, at his own request, Natasha burst into tears as she said good-bye to him, and he stood as if turned to stone. That seemed suspicious to me, and I told my sister about it. But Natasha has never mentioned him since then, and there has been no news from him. I thought she had forgotten him; but obviously not. That settles it: she’ll marry the Moor.”

Prince Lykov did not contradict him: it would have been useless. He went home; Tatyana Afanasyevna stayed at Natasha’s bedside; Gavrila Afanasyevich sent for the doctor, shut himself up in his room, and everything in his house became quiet and sad.

The unexpected matchmaking surprised Ibrahim at least as much as it did Gavrila Afanasyevich. Here is how it happened. Peter, while doing some work with Ibrahim, said to him:

“I notice, brother, that you’re in low spirits. Tell me straight out: what is it that you lack?” Ibrahim assured the sovereign that he was content with his lot and did not wish for anything better.