The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

The well-known military writer General Rostislav Andreevich Faddeev, long attached to the late Field Marshal Baryatinsky,¹ told me of the following amusing incident.

Once, traveling from the Caucasus to Petersburg, the prince felt unwell on the way and sent for a doctor. It happened, if I am not mistaken, in Temir-Khan-Shura.² The doctor examined the patient and found that there was nothing dangerous in his condition, but that he was simply tired and needed to rest for a day without rocking and jolting along the road in a carriage.

The field marshal obeyed the doctor and agreed to stop in the town; but the station house there was quite vile, and private quarters, given the unforeseen nature of the occasion, had not been prepared. An unexpected predicament presented itself: where to lodge such a renowned visitor for a day.

There was much bustling and rushing about, and for the time being the unwell field marshal settled in the posting station and lay down on a dirty divan, which was covered just for him with a clean sheet. Meanwhile, news of this event, of course, quickly flew around the whole town, and all the military hastened to scrub and dress themselves up, and the civil authorities polished their boots, pomaded their whiskers, and they all crowded together across the street from the station. They stood and looked out for the field marshal, in case he should show himself in the window.

Suddenly, unexpected and unforeseen by anybody, a man pushed them all aside from behind, sprang forward, and ran straight to the station, where the field marshal lay on the dirty divan covered with a sheet, and began to shout:

“I can’t bear it, the voice of nature rises up in me!”

Everyone looked at him and marveled: what an impudent fellow! The local inhabitants all knew this man, and knew he was not of high rank—since he was neither in civil nor in military service, but was simply a minor supervisor in some local supply commissariat and had been chewing on government rusks and boot soles along with the rats, and in that fashion had chewed himself up a pretty little house with a mezzanine right across from the station.

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This supervisor came running to the station and asked Faddeev to announce him to the field marshal without fail.

Faddeev and all the others started protesting to him.

“Why? There’s no need for that, and there won’t be any formal reception—the field marshal is tired and is here only for a temporary rest, and once he’s rested, he’ll be on his way.”

But the commissary supervisor stood his ground and became even more inflamed—asking that they announce him to the prince without fail.

“Because,” he says, “I’m not looking for glory or for honors, and I stand before you precisely as you’ve said: not out of duty, but in the zeal of my gratitude to him, because I am indebted to him for everything in the world and, in my present prosperity, moved by the voice of nature, I wish to gratefully repay my debt.”

They asked him:

“And what does your debt of nature consist in?”

And he replied:

“This is my grateful debt of nature, that it is wrong for the prince to be resting here in institutional untidiness, when I have my own house with a mezzanine just across the street, and my wife is of German stock, the house is kept clean and tidy, and I have bright, clean rooms in the mezzanine for the prince and for you, with white, lace-trimmed curtains on all the windows and clean beds with fine linen sheets. I wish to receive the prince in my house with the greatest cordiality, like my own father, because I’m indebted to him for everything in my life, and I will not leave here before you tell him that.”

He so insisted on it and refused to leave, that the field marshal heard it from the next room and asked:

“What’s this noise? Will nobody tell me what all this talk is about?”

Then Faddeev told him everything, and the prince shrugged his shoulders and said:

“I decidedly do not remember who this man is and how he’s indebted to me; but in any case, have a look at the rooms he’s offering, and if they’re better than this hovel, I’ll accept the invitation and pay him for his trouble. Find out how much he wants.”

Faddeev went to look at the commissary’s mezzanine and reported:

“The place is very quiet and of an extraordinary cleanliness, and the owner will not hear of any payment.”

“What? Why not?” asked the field marshal.

“He says he owes you a great deal and the voice of nature prompts him to the happiness of expressing his debt of gratitude to you. ‘Otherwise,’ he says, ‘if you want to pay, then I cannot open my doors.’ ”

Prince Baryatinsky laughed and praised this official.

“Still,” he says, “I see he’s a fine fellow and has character—that has become rare among us, and I like such people: how he’s indebted to me, I can’t recall, but I’ll move to his place. Give me your arm and let’s leave here.”

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