Novels, Tales, Journeys

“ ‘My dear,’ I said to her, ‘don’t you see we’re joking? How frightened you are! Go, drink a glass of water, and come back to us; I’ll introduce you to my old friend and comrade.’

“Masha still did not believe it.

“ ‘Tell me, is my husband speaking the truth?’ she said, turning to the dreadful Silvio. ‘Is it true that you’re both joking?’

“ ‘He’s always joking, Countess,’ Silvio replied. ‘He once slapped me in the face for a joke; for a joke he shot a hole in this cap of mine; for a joke he missed hitting me a moment ago. Now I, too, feel like joking a bit…’

“With those words, he was about to take aim at me…in front of her! Masha threw herself at his feet.

“ ‘Get up, Masha, shame on you!’ I cried in fury. ‘And you, sir, will you kindly stop taunting the poor woman? Are you going to shoot, or not?’

“ ‘I won’t,’ Silvio replied. ‘I’m satisfied: I’ve seen your confusion, your dismay; I made you shoot at me, for me that’s enough. You will remember me. I leave you to your conscience.’ He was on his way out, but stopped in the doorway, glanced at the painting I had shot through, shot at it almost without aiming, and vanished. My wife lay in a swoon; my servants did not dare stop him and watched him with horror. He went out to the porch, called the coachman, and drove off before I had time to come to my senses.”

The count fell silent. It was thus that I learned the end of the story, whose beginning had once struck me so much. I never met its hero again. They say that, during the uprising of Alexander Ypsilanti, Silvio led a detachment of Hetairists and was killed at the battle of Skulyani.4

* In English in the original. Translator.

THE BLIZZARD

Over the rough road steeds go racing,

Trampling the deep snow…

There to one side is God’s church

Standing all alone.

……………­……………­

Suddenly a blizzard fills the air;

Snow falls thick and heavy;

A black raven, a whistling wing,

Hovers above the sledge;

Its prophetic cry gives voice to sorrow!

The steeds go dashing on

Peering into the darkling distance;

Their manes fly in the wind…

ZHUKOVSKY1

At the end of the year 1811, a memorable epoch for us all, the good Gavrila Gavrilovich R–– was living on his estate of Nenaradovo. He was famous throughout the district for his hospitality and warm-heartedness; neighbors constantly came to him to eat, to drink, to gamble away five kopecks playing Boston with his wife, Praskovya Petrovna, and some to gaze at their daughter, Marya Gavrilovna, a slender, pale, and seventeen-year-old girl. She was considered a rich bride, and many a man intended her for himself or for one of his sons.

Marya Gavrilovna had been brought up on French novels and, consequently, was in love. The object of her choice was a poor army ensign on leave in his village. It goes without saying that the young man was burning with an equal passion and that the parents of his beloved, having noticed their mutual inclination, forbade their daughter even to think of him, and received him worse than a retired assessor.

Our lovers were in correspondence, and each day met alone in the pine wood or by the old chapel. There they swore eternal love to each other, bemoaned their fate, and discussed various possibilities. Corresponding and conversing in this way, they arrived (quite naturally) at the following reasoning: Since we cannot draw a breath without each other, and the will of cruel parents is an obstacle to our happiness, can we not get along without them? Of course, this happy thought first occurred to the young man, and it greatly pleased the romantic imagination of Marya Gavrilovna.

Winter came and put an end to their trysts; but their correspondence became all the livelier. In every letter Vladimir Nikolaevich implored her to entrust herself to him, to get married in secret, to hide away for some time, then to throw themselves at the feet of her parents, who of course would be moved in the end by the heroic constancy and unhappiness of the lovers, and would surely say: “Children, come to our arms!”

Marya Gavrilovna hesitated for a long time; many plans for the elopement were rejected. She finally agreed to one: on the appointed day she would not have supper and would withdraw to her room under the pretext of a headache. Her maid was in on the conspiracy; they would both go out to the garden through the back door, find a sledge ready behind the garden, get into it and drive three miles from Nenaradovo to the village of Zhadrino, straight to the church, where Vladimir would be waiting for them.