Novels, Tales, Journeys

On the eve of the decisive day, Marya Gavrilovna did not sleep all night; she packed, bundled up her linen and clothes, wrote a long letter to a certain sentimental girlfriend of hers, another to her parents. She said good-bye to them in the most touching expressions, excused her act by the invincible power of passion, and finished by saying that she would count it as the most blessed moment of her life when she would be allowed to throw herself at the feet of her dearest parents. Having sealed her letter with a Tula seal that bore the image of two flaming hearts with an appropriate inscription,2 she threw herself on the bed before dawn and dozed off; but here, too, terrible dreams kept waking her up. First it seemed to her that, just as she was getting into the sledge to drive off to her wedding, her father stopped her, dragged her over the snow with agonizing speed, and threw her into a dark, bottomless dungeon…and she went flying down headlong with an indescribable sinking of the heart. Then she saw Vladimir lying on the grass, pale, bloody. Dying, he begged her in a piercing voice to make haste and marry him…Other shapeless, senseless visions raced before her one after another. At last she got up, paler than usual and with an unfeigned headache. Her father and mother noticed her agitation; their tender concern and ceaseless questions—“What’s the matter, Masha? Are you unwell, Masha?”—tore her heart. She tried to calm them, to look cheerful, and could not. Evening came. The thought that this was the last time she would see the day off amidst her family wrung her heart. She was barely alive. She secretly took leave of all the persons, of all the objects around her.

Supper was served; her heart began to pound violently. In a trembling voice she announced that she did not want to eat and started saying goodnight to her father and mother. They kissed her and, as usual, gave her their blessing: she all but wept. Coming to her room, she collapsed on an armchair and dissolved in tears. Her maid urged her to calm down and take heart. Everything was ready. In half an hour Masha was to leave forever her parental home, her room, her quiet maidenly life…Outside there was a blizzard; the wind howled, the shutters shook and rattled; everything seemed to her a threat and an omen of sorrow. Soon the whole house became quiet and fell asleep. Masha wrapped herself in a shawl, put on a warm coat, picked up her box, and went out to the back porch. Behind her the maid carried her two bundles. They went down to the garden. The blizzard had not let up; the wind blew in her face, as if trying to stop the young criminal. She was barely able to reach the end of the garden. The sledge was waiting for them on the road. The chilled horses would not stand still; Vladimir’s coachman walked about in front of the shafts, restraining their restiveness. He helped the girl and her maid to seat themselves and stow the bundles and the box, took the reins, and the horses flew off. Having entrusted the young lady to the care of fate and the skill of the coachman Tereshka, let us now turn to our young lover.

Vladimir spent the whole day driving around. In the morning he went to see the Zhadrino priest; he had a hard time persuading him; then he went looking for witnesses among the neighboring landowners. The first one he presented himself to, the retired forty-year-old ensign Dravin, accepted willingly. This adventure, he assured him, was reminiscent of the old days and his hussar pranks. He persuaded Vladimir to stay for dinner and assured him that there would be no trouble finding the other two witnesses. In fact, right after dinner the surveyor Schmidt appeared in his moustaches and spurs, and the son of the police chief, a sixteen-year-old boy who had just joined the uhlans. They not only accepted Vladimir’s proposal, but even swore they were ready to sacrifice their lives for him. Vladimir embraced them rapturously and went home to make ready.

By then it had long been dark. He sent his trusty Tereshka to Nenaradovo with his troika and with detailed, thorough instructions, and for himself ordered a small one-horse sledge hitched up, and alone, without a coachman, set out for Zhadrino, where Marya Gavrilovna was to arrive in some two hours. He knew the way—it was at most a twenty-minute drive.