Vaninka
by
Alexandre Dumas, Pere
This etext was produced by David Widger
CELEBRATED CRIMES VOLUME 8 (of 8) Part 2
By Alexander Dumas, Pere
VANINKA
About the end of the reign of the Emperor Paul I--that is to say,
towards the middle of the first year of the nineteenth century--just
as four o'clock in the afternoon was sounding from the church of St.
Peter and St. Paul, whose gilded vane overlooks the ramparts of the
fortress, a crowd, composed of all sorts and conditions of people,
began to gather in front of a house which belonged to General Count
Tchermayloff, formerly military governor of a fair-sized town in the
government of Pultava. The first spectators had been attracted by
the preparations which they saw had been made in the middle of the
courtyard for administering torture with the knout. One of the
general's serfs, he who acted as barber, was to be the victim.
Although this kind of punishment was a common enough sight in St.
Petersburg, it nevertheless attracted all passers-by when it was
publicly administered. This was the occurrence which had caused a
crowd, as just mentioned, before General Tchermayloff's house.
The spectators, even had they been in a hurry, would have had no
cause to complain of being kept waiting, for at half-past four a
young man of about five-and-twenty, in the handsome uniform of an
aide-de-camp, his breast covered with decorations, appeared on the
steps at the farther end of the court-yard in front of the house.
These steps faced the large gateway, and led to the general's
apartments.
Arrived on the steps, the young aide-de-camp stopped a moment and
fixed his eyes on a window, the closely drawn curtains of which did
not allow him the least chance of satisfying his curiosity, whatever
may have been its cause. Seeing that it was useless and that he was
only wasting time in gazing in that direction, he made a sign to a
bearded man who was standing near a door which led to the servants'
quarters. The door was immediately opened, and the culprit was seen
advancing in the middle of a body of serfs and followed by the
executioner. The serfs were forced to attend the spectacle, that it
might serve as an example to them. The culprit was the general's
barber, as we have said, and the executioner was merely the coachman,
who, being used to the handling of a whip, was raised or degraded,
which you will, to the office of executioner every time punishment
with the knout was ordered. This duty did not deprive him of either
the esteem or even the friendship of his comrades, for they well knew
that it was his arm alone that punished them and that his heart was
not in his work. As Ivan's arm as well as the rest of his body was
the property of the general, and the latter could do as he pleased
with it, no one was astonished that it should be used for this
purpose. More than that, correction administered by Ivan was nearly
always gentler than that meted out by another; for it often happened
that Ivan, who was a good-natured fellow, juggled away one or two
strokes of the knout in a dozen, or if he were forced by those
assisting at the punishment to keep a strict calculation, he
manoeuvred so that the tip of the lash struck the deal plank on which
the culprit was lying, thus taking much of the sting out of the
stroke. Accordingly, when it was Ivan's turn to be stretched upon the
fatal plank and to receive the correction he was in the habit of
administering, on his own account, those who momentarily played his
part as executioner adopted the same expedients, remembering only the
strokes spared and not the strokes received. This exchange of mutual
benefits, therefore, was productive of an excellent understanding
between Ivan and his comrades, which was never so firmly knit as at
the moment when a fresh execution was about to take place. It is
true that the first hour after the punishment was generally so full
of suffering that the knouted was sometimes unjust to the knouter,
but this feeling seldom out-lasted the evening, and it was rare when
it held out after the first glass of spirits that the operator drank
to the health of his patient.
The serf upon whom Ivan was about to exercise his dexterity was a man
of five or six-and-thirty, red of hair and beard, a little above
average height. His Greek origin might be traced in his countenance,
which even in its expression of terror had preserved its habitual
characteristics of craft and cunning.
When he arrived at the spot where the punishment was to take place,
the culprit stopped and looked up at the window which had already
claimed the young aide-de-camp's attention; it still remained shut.
With a glance round the throng which obstructed the entrance leading
to the street, he ended by gazing, with a horror-stricken shudder
upon the plank on which he was to be stretched. The shudder did not
escape his friend Ivan, who, approaching to remove the striped shirt
that covered his shoulders, took the opportunity to whisper under his
breath--
"Come, Gregory, take courage!"
"You remember your promise?" replied the culprit, with an indefinable
expression of entreaty.
"Not for the first lashes, Gregory; do not count on that, for during
the first strokes the aide-de-camp will be watching; but among the
later ones be assured I will find means of cheating him of some of
them."
"Beyond everything you will take care of the tip of the lash?"
"I will do my best, Gregory, I will do my best. Do you not know that
I will?"
"Alas! yes," replied Gregory.
"Now, then!" said the aide-de-camp.
"We are ready, noble sir," replied Ivan.
"Wait, wait one moment, your high origin," cried poor Gregory,
addressing the young captain as though he had been a colonel, "Vache
Vousso Korodie," in order to flatter him. "I believe that the lady
Vaninka's window is about to open!"
The young captain glanced eagerly towards the spot which had already
several times claimed his attention, but not a fold of the silken
curtains, which could be seen through the panes of the window, had
moved.
"You are mistaken, you rascal," said the aide-decamp, unwillingly
removing his eyes from the window, as though he also had hoped to see
it open," you are mistaken; and besides, what has your noble mistress
to do with all this?"
"Pardon, your excellency," continued Gregory, gratifying the aide-de-
camp with yet higher rank,--"pardon, but it is through her orders I
am about to suffer. Perhaps she might have pity upon a wretched
servant!"
"Enough, enough; let us proceed," said the captain in an odd voice,
as though he regretted as well as the culprit that Vaninka had not
shown mercy.
"Immediately, immediately, noble sir," said Ivan; then turning to
Gregory, he continued, "Come, comrade; the time has come."
Gregory sighed heavily, threw a last look up at the window, and
seeing that everything remained the same there, he mustered up
resolution enough to lie down on the fatal plank. At the same time
two other serfs, chosen by Ivan for assistants, took him by the arms
and attached his wrists to two stakes, one at either side of him, so
that it appeared as though he were stretched on a cross. Then they
clamped his neck into an iron collar, and seeing that all was in
readiness and that no sign favourable to the culprit had been made
from the still closely shut window, the young aide-de-camp beckoned
with his hand, saying, "Now, then, begin!"
"Patience, my lord, patience," said Ivan, still delaying the
whipping, in the hope that some sign might yet be made from the
inexorable window. "I have a knot in my knout, and if I leave it
Gregory will have good right to complain."
The instrument with which the executioner was busying himself, and
which is perhaps unknown to our readers, was a species of whip, with
a handle about two feet long. A plaited leather thong, about four
feet long and two inches broad, was attached to this handle, this
thong terminating in an iron or copper ring, and to this another band
of leather was fastened, two feet long, and at the beginning about
one and a half inches thick: this gradually became thinner, till it
ended in a point. The thong was steeped in milk and then dried in
the sun, and on account of this method of preparation its edge became
as keen and cutting as a knife; further, the thong was generally
changed at every sixth stroke, because contact with blood softened
it.
However unwillingly and clumsily Ivan set about untying the knot, it
had to come undone at last. Besides, the bystanders were beginning
to grumble, and their muttering disturbed the reverie into which the
young aide-de-camp had fallen. He raised his head, which had been
sunk on his breast, and cast a last look towards the window; then
with a peremptory sign; and in a voice which admitted of no delay, he
ordered the execution to proceed.
Nothing could put it off any longer: Ivan was obliged to obey, and he
did not attempt to find any new pretext for delay. He drew back two
paces, and with a spring he returned to his place, and standing on
tiptoe, he whirled the knout above his head, and then letting it
suddenly fall, he struck Gregory with such dexterity that the lash
wrapped itself thrice round his victim's body, encircling him like a
serpent, but the tip of the thong struck the plank upon which Gregory
was lying. Nevertheless, in spite of this precaution, Gregory
uttered a loud shriek, and Ivan counted "One."
At the shriek, the young aide-de-camp again turned towards the
window; but it was still shut, and mechanically his eyes went back to
the culprit, and he repeated the word "One."
The knout had traced three blue furrows on Gregory's shoulders. Ivan
took another spring, and with the same skill as before he again
enveloped the culprit's body with the hissing thong, ever taking care
that the tip of it should not touch him. Gregory uttered another
shriek, and Ivan counted "Two." The blood now began to colour the
skin.
At the third stroke several drops of blood appeared; at the fourth
the blood spurted out; at the fifth some drops spattered the young
officer's face; he drew back, and wiped them away with his
handkerchief. Ivan profited by his distraction, and counted seven
instead of six: the captain took no notice. At the ninth stroke Ivan
stopped to change the lash, and in the hope that a second fraud might
pass off as luckily as the first, he counted eleven instead of ten.
At that moment a window opposite to Vaninka's opened, and a man about
forty-five or fifty in general's uniform appeared. He called out in
a careless tone, "Enough, that will do," and closed the window again.
Immediately on this apparition the young aide-de-camp had turned
towards his general, saluting, and during the few seconds that the
general was present he remained motionless. When the window had been
shut again, he repeated the general's words, so that the raised whip
fell without touching the culprit.
"Thank his excellency, Gregory," said Ivan, rolling the knout's lash
round his hand, "for having spared you two strokes;" and he added,
bending down to liberate Gregory's hand, "these two with the two I
was able to miss out make a total of eight strokes instead of twelve.
Come, now, you others, untie his other hand."
But poor Gregory was in no state to thank anybody; nearly swooning
with pain, he could scarcely stand.
Two moujiks took him by the arms and led him towards the serfs'
quarters, followed by Ivan. Having reached the door, however,
Gregory stopped, turned his head, and seeing the aide-de-camp gazing
pitifully at him, "Oh sir," he cried, "please thank his excellency
the general for me. As for the lady Vaninka," he added in a low
tone, "I will certainly thank her myself."
"What are you muttering between your teeth?" cried the young officer,
with an angry movement; for he thought he had detected a threatening
tone in Gregory's voice.
"Nothing, sir, nothing," said Ivan. "The poor fellow is merely
thanking you, Mr. Foedor, for the trouble you have taken in being
present at his punishment, and he says that he has been much
honoured, that is all."
"That is right," said the young man, suspecting that Ivan had
somewhat altered the original remarks, but evidently not wishing to
be better informed. "If Gregory wishes to spare me this trouble
another time, let him drink less vodka; or else, if he must get
drunk, let him at least remember to be more respectful."
Ivan bowed low and followed his comrades, Foedor entered the house
again, and the crowd dispersed, much dissatisfied that Ivan's
trickery and the general's generosity had deprived them of four
strokes of the knout--exactly a third of the punishment.
Now that we have introduced our readers to some of the characters in
this history, we must make them better acquainted with those who have
made their appearance, and must introduce those who are still behind
the curtain.
General Count Tchermayloff, as we have said, after having been
governor of one of the most important towns in the environs of
Pultava, had been recalled to St. Petersburg by the Emperor Paul, who
honoured him with his particular friendship. The general was a
widower, with one daughter, who had inherited her mother's fortune,
beauty, and pride. Vaninka's mother claimed descent from one of the
chieftains of the Tartar race, who had invaded Russia, under the
leadership of D'Gengis, in the thirteenth century. Vaninka's
naturally haughty disposition had been fostered by the education she
had received. His wife being dead, and not having time to look after
his daughter's education himself, General Tchermayloff had procured
an English governess for her. This lady, instead of suppressing her
pupil's scornful propensities, had encouraged them, by filling her
head with those aristocratic ideas which have made the English
aristocracy the proudest in the world. Amongst the different studies
to which Vaninka devoted herself, there was one in which she was
specially interested, and that one was, if one may so call it, the
science of her own rank. She knew exactly the relative degree of
nobility and power of all the Russian noble families--those that were
a grade above her own, and those of whom she took precedence. She
could give each person the title which belonged to their respective
rank, no easy thing to do in Russia, and she had the greatest
contempt for all those who were below the rank of excellency. As for
serfs and slaves, for her they did not exist: they were mere bearded
animals, far below her horse or her dog in the sentiments which they
inspired in her; and she would not for one instant have weighed the
life of a serf against either of those interesting animals.
Like all the women of distinction in her nation, Vaninka was a good
musician, and spoke French, Italian, German, and English equally
well.
Her features had developed in harmony with her character. Vaninka
was beautiful, but her beauty was perhaps a little too decided. Her
large black eyes, straight nose, and lips curling scornfully at the
corners, impressed those who saw her for the first time somewhat
unpleasantly. This impression soon wore off with her superiors and
equals, to whom she became merely an ordinary charming woman, whilst
to subalterns and such like she remained haughty and inaccessible as
a goddess. At seventeen Vaninka's education was finished, and her
governess who had suffered in health through the severe climate of
St. Petersburg, requested permission to leave. This desire was
granted with the ostentatious recognition of which the Russian
nobility are the last representatives in Europe. Thus Vaninka was
left alone, with nothing but her father's blind adoration to direct
her. She was his only daughter, as we have mentioned, and he thought
her absolutely perfect.
Things were in this state in the-general's house when he received a
letter, written on the deathbed of one of the friends of his youth.
Count Romayloff had been exiled to his estates, as a result of some
quarrel with Potemkin, and his career had been spoilt. Not being
able to recover his forfeited position, he had settled down about
four hundred leagues from St. Petersburg; broken-hearted, distressed
probably less on account of his own exile and misfortune than of the
prospects of his only son, Foedor. The count feeling that he was
leaving this son alone and friendless in the world, commended the
young man, in the name of their early friendship, to the general,
hoping that, owing to his being a favourite with Paul I, he would be
able to procure a lieutenancy in a regiment for him. The general
immediately replied to the count that his son should find a second
father in himself; but when this comforting message arrived,
Romayloff was no more, and Foedor himself received the letter and
carried it back with him to the general, when he went to tell him of
his loss and to claim the promised protection. So great was the
general's despatch, that Paul I, at his request, granted the young
man a sub-lieutenancy in the Semonowskoi regiment, so that Foedor
entered on his duties the very next day after his arrival in St.
Petersburg.
Although the young man had only passed through the general's house on
his way to the barracks, which were situated in the Litenoi quarter,
he had remained there long enough for him to have seen Vaninka, and
she had produced a great impression upon him. Foedor had arrived
with his heart full of primitive and noble feelings; his gratitude to
his protector, who had opened a career for him, was profound, and
extended to all his family. These feelings caused him perhaps to
have an exaggerated idea of the beauty of the young girl who was
presented to him as a sister, and who, in spite of this title,
received him with the frigidity and hauteur of a queen.
Nevertheless, her appearance, in spite of her cool and freezing
manner, had left a lasting impression upon the young man's heart, and
his arrival in St. Petersburg had been marked by feelings till then
never experienced before in his life.
As for Vaninka, she had hardly noticed Foedor; for what was a young
sub-lieutenant, without fortune or prospects, to her? What she
dreamed of was some princely alliance, that would make her one of the
most powerful ladies in Russia, and unless he could realise some
dream of the Arabian Nights, Foedor could not offer her such a
future.
Some time after this first interview, Foedor came to take leave of
the general. His regiment was to form part of a contingent that
Field-Marshal Souvarow was taking to Italy, and Foedor was about to
die, or show himself worthy of the noble patron who had helped him to
a career.
This time, whether on account of the elegant uniform that heightened
Foedor's natural good looks, or because his imminent departure,
glowing with hope and enthusiasm, lent a romantic interest to the
young man, Vaninka was astonished at the marvellous change in him,
and deigned, at her father's request, to give him her hand when he
left. This was more than Foedor had dared to hope. He dropped upon
his knee, as though in the presence of a queen, and took Vaninka's
between his own trembling hands, scarcely daring to touch it with his
lips. Light though the kiss had been, Vaninka started as though she
had been burnt; she felt a thrill run through her, and she blushed
violently. She withdrew her hand so quickly, that Foedor, fearing
this adieu, respectful though it was, had offended her, remained on
his knees, and clasping his hands, raised his eyes with such an
expression of fear in them, that Vaninka, forgetting her hauteur,
reassured him with a smile. Foedor rose, his heart filled with
inexplicable joy, and without being able to say what had caused this
feeling, he only knew that it had made him absolutely happy, so that,
although he was just about to leave Vaninka, he had never felt
greater happiness in his life.
The young man left dreaming golden dreams; for his future, be it
gloomy or bright, was to be envied. If it ended in a soldier's
grave, he believed he had seen in Vaninka's eyes that she would mourn
him; if his future was glorious, glory would bring him back to St.
Petersburg in triumph, and glory is a queen, who works miracles for
her favourites.
The army to which the young officer belonged crossed Germany,
descended into Italy by the Tyrolese mountains, and entered Verona on
the 14th of April 1799. Souvarow immediately joined forces with
General Melas, and took command of the two armies. General Chasteler
next day suggested that they should reconnoitre. Souvarow, gazing at
him with astonishment, replied, "I know of no other way of
reconnoitring the enemy than by marching upon him and giving him
battle."
As a matter of fact Souvarow was accustomed to this expeditious sort
of strategy: through it he had defeated the Turks at Folkschany and
Ismailoff; and he had defeated the Poles, after a few days' campaign,
and had taken Prague in less than four hours. Catherine, out of
gratitude, had sent her victorious general a wreath of oak-leaves,
intertwined with precious stones, and worth six hundred thousand
roubles, a heavy gold field-marshal's baton encrusted with diamonds;
and had created him a field-marshal, with the right of choosing a
regiment that should bear his name from that time forward. Besides,
when he returned to Russia, she gave him leave of absence, that he
might take a holiday at a beautiful estate she had given him,
together with the eight thousand serfs who lived upon it.
What a splendid example for Foedor! Souvarow, the son of a humble
Russian officer, had been educated at the ordinary cadets' training
college, and had left it as a sub-lieutenant like himself. Why
should there not be two Souvarows in the same century?
Souvarow arrived in Italy preceded by an immense reputation;
religious, strenuous, unwearied, impassible, loving with the
simplicity of a Tartar and fighting with the fury of a Cossack, he
was just the man required to continue General Melas's successes over
the soldiers of the Republic, discouraged as they had been by the
weak vacillations of Scherer.
The Austro-Russian army of one hundred thousand men was opposed by
only twenty-nine or thirty thousand French. Souvarow began as usual
with a thundering blow. On 20th April he appeared before Brescia,
which made a vain attempt at resistance; after a cannonade of about
half an hour's duration, the Preschiera gate was forced, and the
Korsakow division, of which Foedor's regiment formed the vanguard,
charged into the town, pursuing the garrison, which only consisted of
twelve hundred men, and obliged them to take refuge in the citadel.
Pressed with an impetuosity the French were not accustomed to find in
their enemies, and seeing that the scaling ladders were already in
position against the ramparts, the captain Boucret wished to come to
terms; but his position was too precarious for him to obtain any
conditions from his savage conquerors, and he and his soldiers were
made prisoners of war.
Souvarow was experienced enough to know how best to profit by
victory; hardly master of Brescia, the rapid occupation of which had
discouraged our army anew, he ordered General Kray to vigorously
press on the siege of Preschiera. General Kray therefore established
his headquarters at Valeggio, a place situated at an equal distance
between Preschiera and Mantua, and he extended from the Po to the
lake of Garda, on the banks of the Mencio, thus investing the two
cities at the same time.
Meanwhile the commander-in-chief had advanced, accompanied by the
larger part of his forces, and had crossed the Oglio in two columns:
he launched one column, under General Rosenberg, towards Bergamo, and
the other, with General Melas in charge, towards the Serio, whilst a
body of seven or eight thousand men, commanded by General Kaim and
General Hohenzollern, were directed towards Placentia and Cremona,
thus occupying the whole of the left bank of the Po, in such a manner
that the Austro-Russian army advanced deploying eighty thousand men
along a front of forty-five miles.
In view of the forces which were advancing, and which were three
times as large as his own, Scherer beat a retreat all along the line.
He destroyed the bridges over the Adda, as he did not consider that
he was strong enough to hold them, and, having removed his
headquarters to Milan, he awaited there the reply to a despatch which
he had sent to the Directory, in which, tacitly acknowledging his
incapacity, he tendered his resignation. As the arrival of his
successor was delayed, and as Souvarow continued to advance, Scherer,
more and more terrified by the responsibility which rested upon him,
relinquished his command into the hands of his most able lieutenant.
The general chosen by him was Moreau, who was again about to fight
those Russians in whose ranks he was destined to die at last.
Moreau's unexpected nomination was proclaimed amidst the acclamation
of the soldiers. He had been called the French Fabius, on account of
his magnificent campaign on the Rhine. He passed his whole army in
review, saluted by the successive acclamations of its different
divisions, which cried, "Long live Moreau! Long live the saviour of
the army of Italy!" But however great this enthusiasm, it did not
blind Moreau to the terrible position in which he found himself. At
the risk of being out-flanked, it was necessary for him to present a
parallel line to that of the Russian army, so that, in order to face
his enemy, he was obliged to extend his line from Lake Lecco to
Pizzighitone--that is to say, a distance of fifty miles. It is true
that he might have retired towards Piedmont and concentrated his
troops at Alexandria, to await there the reinforcements the Directory
had promised to send him. But if he had done this, he would have
compromised the safety of the army at Naples, and have abandoned it,
isolated as it was, to the mercy of the enemy. He therefore resolved
to defend the passage of the Adda as long as possible, in order to
give the division under Dessolles, which was to be despatched to him
by Massena, time to join forces with him and to defend his left,
whilst Gauthier, who had received orders to evacuate Tuscany and to
hasten with forced marches to his aid, should have time to arrive and
protect his right. Moreau himself took the centre, and personally
defended the fortified bridge of Cassano; this bridge was protected
by the Ritorto Canal, and he also defended it with a great deal of
artillery and an entrenched vanguard. Besides, Moreau, always as
prudent as brave, took every precaution to secure a retreat, in case
of disaster, towards the Apennines and the coast of Genoa. Hardly
were his dispositions completed before the indefatigable Souvarow
entered Triveglio. At the same time as the Russian commander-in-
chief arrived at this last town, Moreau heard of the surrender of
Bergamo and its castle, and on 23rd April he saw the heads of the
columns of the allied army.
The same day the Russian general divided his troops into three strong
columns, corresponding to the three principal points in the French
line, each column numerically more than double the strength of those
to whom they were opposed. The right column, led by General
Wukassowich, advanced towards Lake Lecco, where General Serrurier
awaited it. The left column, under the command of Melas, took up its
position in front of the Cassano entrenchments; and the Austrian
division, under Generals Zopf and Ott, which formed the centre,
concentrated at Canonia, ready at a given moment to seize Vaprio.
The Russian and Austrian troops bivouacked within cannon-shot of the
French outposts.
That evening, Foedor, who with his regiment formed part of
Chasteler's division, wrote to General Tchermayloff:
"We are at last opposite the French, and a great battle must take
place to-morrow morning; tomorrow evening I shall be a lieutenant or
a corpse."
Next morning, 26th April, cannon resounded at break of day from the
extremities of the lines; on our left Prince Bagration's grenadiers
attacked us, on our right General Seckendorff, who had been detached
from the camp of Triveglio, was marching on Crema.
These two attacks met with very different success. Bagration's
grenadiers were repulsed with terrible loss, whilst Seckendorff, on
the contrary, drove the French out of Crema, and pushed forward
towards the bridge of Lodi. Foedor's predictions were falsified: his
portion of the army did nothing the whole day; his regiment remained
motionless, waiting for orders that did not come.
Souvarow's arrangements were not yet quite complete, the night was
needed for him to finish them. During the night, Moreau, having
heard of Seckendorff's success on his extreme right, sent an order to
Serrurier commanding him to leave at Lecco, which was an easy post to
defend, the 18th light brigade and a detachment of dragoons only, and
to draw back with the rest of his troops towards the centre.
Serrurier received this order about two o'clock in the morning, and
executed it immediately.
On their side the Russians had lost no time, profiting by the
darkness of the night. General Wukassowich had repaired the bridge
at Brevio, which had been destroyed by the French, whilst General
Chasteler had built another bridge two miles below the castle of
Trezzo. These two bridges had been, the one repaired and the other
built, without the French outposts having the slightest suspicion of
what was taking place.
Surprised at two o'clock in the morning by two Austrian divisions,
which, concealed by the village of San Gervasio, had reached the
right bank of the Adda without their being discovered, the soldiers
defending the castle of Trezzo abandoned it and beat a retreat. The
Austrians pursued them as far as Pozzo, but there the French suddenly
halted and faced about, for General Serrurier was at Pozzo, with the
troops he had brought from Lecco. He heard the cannonade behind him,
immediately halted, and, obeying the first law of warfare, he marched
towards the noise and smoke. It was therefore through him that the
garrison of Trezzo rallied and resumed the offensive. Serrurier sent
an aide-de-Camp to Moreau to inform him of the manoeuvre he had
thought proper to execute.
The battle between the French and Austrian troops raged with
incredible fury. Bonaparte's veterans, during their first Italian
campaigns, had adopted a custom which they could not renounce: it was
to fight His Imperial Majesty's subjects wherever they found them.
Nevertheless, so great was the numerical superiority of the allies,
that our troops had begun to retreat, when loud shouts from the
rearguard announced that reinforcements had arrived. It was General
Grenier, sent by Moreau, who arrived with his division at the moment
when his presence was most necessary.
One part of the new division reinforced the centre column, doubling
its size; another part was extended upon the left to envelop the
enemy. The drums beat afresh down the whole line, and our grenadiers
began again to reconquer this battle field already twice lost and
won. But at this moment the Austrians were reinforced by the Marquis
de Chasteler and his division, so that the numerical superiority was
again with the enemy. Grenier drew back his wing to strengthen the
centre, and Serrurier, preparing for retreat in case of disaster,
fell back on Pozzo, where he awaited the enemy. It was here that the
battle raged most fiercely: thrice the village of Pozzo was taken and
re-taken, until at last, attacked for the fourth time by a force
double their own in numbers, the French were obliged to evacuate it.
In this last attack an Austrian colonel was mortally wounded, but, on
the other hand, General Beker, who commanded the French rearguard,
refused to retreat with his soldiers, and maintained his ground with
a few men, who were slain as they stood; he was at length obliged to
give up his sword to a young Russian officer of the Semenofskoi
regiment, who, handing over his prisoner to his own soldiers,
returned immediately to the combat.
The two French generals had fixed on the village of Vaprio as a
rallying-place, but at the moment when our troops were thrown into
disorder through the evacuation of Pozzo, the Austrian cavalry
charged heavily, and Serrurier, finding himself separated from his
colleague, was obliged to retire with two thousand five hundred men
to Verderio, whilst Grenier, having reached the appointed place,
Vaprio, halted to face the enemy afresh.
During this time a terrible fight was taking place in the centre.
Melas with eighteen to twenty thousand men had attacked the fortified
posts at the head of the bridge of Cassano and the Ritorto Canal.
About seven o'clock in the morning, when Moreau had weakened himself
by despatching Grenier and his division, Melas, leading three
battalions of Austrian grenadiers, had attacked the fortifications,
and for two hours there was terrible carnage; thrice repulsed, and
leaving more than fifteen hundred men at the base of the
fortifications, the Austrians had thrice returned to the attack, each
time being reinforced by fresh troops, always led on and encouraged
by Melas, who had to avenge his former defeats. At length, having
been attacked for the fourth time, forced from their entrenchments,
and contesting the ground inch by inch, the French took shelter
behind their second fortifications, which defended the entrance to
the bridge itself: here they were commanded by Moreau in person.
There, for two more hours, a hand-to-hand struggle took place, whilst
the terrible artillery belched forth death almost muzzle to muzzle.
At last the Austrians, rallying for a last time, advanced at the
point of the bayonet, and; lacking either ladders or fascines, piled
the bodies of their dead comrades against the fortifications, and
succeeded in scaling the breastworks. There was not a moment to be
lost. Moreau ordered a retreat, and whilst the French were
recrossing the Adda, he protected their passage in person with a
single battalion of grenadiers, of whom at the end of half an hour
not more than a hundred and twenty men remained; three of his aides-
de-camp were killed at his side. This retreat was accomplished
without disorder, and then Moreau himself retired, still fighting the
enemy, who set foot on the bridge as soon as he reached the other
bank. The Austrians immediately rushed forward to capture him, when
suddenly a terrible noise was heard rising above the roar of the
artillery; the second arch of the bridge was blown into the air,
carrying with it all those who were standing on the fatal spot. The
armies recoiled, and into the empty space between them fell like rain
a debris of stones and human beings. But at this moment, when Moreau
had succeeded in putting a momentary obstacle between himself and
Melas, General Grenier's division arrived in disorder, after having
been forced to evacuate Vaprio, pursued by the Austro-Russians under
Zopf, Ott, and Chasteler. Moreau ordered a change of front, and
faced this new enemy, who fell upon him when he least expected them;
he succeeded in rallying Grenier's troops and in re-establishing the
battle. But whilst his back was turned Melas repaired the bridge and
crossed the river; thus Moreau found himself attacked frontally, in
the rear, and on his two flanks, by forces three times larger than
his own. It was then that all the officers who surrounded him begged
him to retreat, for on the preservation of his person depended the
preservation of Italy for France. Moreau refused for some time, for
he knew the awful consequences of the battle he had just lost, and he
did not wish to survive it, although it had been impossible for him
to win it. At last a chosen band surrounded him, and, forming a
square, drew back, whilst the rest of the army sacrificed themselves
to cover his retreat; for Moreau's genius was looked upon as the sole
hope that remained to them.
The battle lasted nearly three hours longer, during which the
rearguard of the army performed prodigies of valour. At length
Melas, seeing that the enemy had escaped him, and believing that his
troops, tired by the stubborn fight, needed rest, gave orders that
the fighting should cease. He halted on the left bank of the Adda,
encamping his army in the villages of Imago, Gorgonzola, and Cassano,
and remained master of the battlefield, upon which we had left two
thousand five hundred dead, one hundred pieces of cannon, and twenty
howitzers.
That night Souvarow invited General Becker to supper with him, and
asked him by whom he had been taken prisoner. Becker replied that it
was a young officer belonging to the regiment which had first entered
Pozzo. Souvarow immediately inquired what regiment this was, and
discovered that it was the Semenofskoi; he then ordered that
inquiries should be made to ascertain the young officer's name.
Shortly afterwards Sub-Lieutenant Foedor Romayloff was announced. He
presented General Becker's sword to Souvarow, who invited him to
remain and to have supper with his prisoner.
Next day Foedor wrote to his protector: "I have kept my word. I am a
lieutenant, and Field-Marshal Souvarow has requested his Majesty
Paul I to bestow upon me the order of Saint Vladimir."
On 28th of April, Souvarow entered Milan, which Moreau had just
abandoned in order to retreat beyond Tesino. The following
proclamation was by his order posted on all the walls of the capital;
it admirably paints the spirit of the Muscovite:
"The victorious army of the Apostolical and Roman Emperor is here; it
has fought solely for the restoration of the Holy Faith,--the clergy,
nobility, and ancient government of Italy. People, join us for God
and the Faith, for we have arrived with an army at Milan and
Placentia to assist you!"
The dearly bought victories of Trebia and Novi succeeded that of
Cassano, and left Souvarow so much weakened that he was unable to
profit by them. Besides, just when the Russian general was about to
resume his march, a new plan of campaign arrived, sent by the Aulic
Council at Vienna. The Allied Powers had decided upon the invasion
of France, and had fixed the route each general must follow in order
to accomplish this new project. It way decided that Souvarow should
invade France by Switzerland, and that the arch-duke should yield him
his positions and descend on the Lower Rhine.
The troops with which Souvarow was to operate against Massena from
this time were the thirty thousand Russians he had with him, thirty
thousand others detached from the reserve army commanded by Count
Tolstoy in Galicia, who were to be led to join him in Switzerland by
General Korsakoff, about thirty thousand Austrians under General
Hotze, and lastly, five or six thousand French emigrants under the
Prince de Conde in all, an army of ninety or ninety-five thousand
men. The Austrians were to oppose Moreau and Macdonald.
Foedor had been wounded when entering Novi, but Souvarow had rewarded
him with a second cross, and the rank of captain hastened his
convalescence, so that the young officer, more happy than proud of
the new rank he had received, was in a condition to follow the army,
when on 13th September it moved towards Salvedra and entered the
valley of Tesino.
So far all had gone well, and as long as they remained in the rich
and beautiful Italian plains, Suovarow had nothing but praise for the
courage and devotion of his soldiers. But when to the fertile fields
of Lombardy, watered by its beautiful river, succeeded the rough ways
of the Levantine, and when the lofty summits of the St. Gothard,
covered with the eternal snows, rose before them, their enthusiasm
was quenched, their energy disappeared, and melancholy forebodings
filled the hearts of these savage children of the North.
Unexpected grumblings ran through the ranks; then suddenly the
vanguard stopped, and declared that it would go no farther. In vain
Foedor, who commanded a company, begged and entreated his own men to
set an example by continuing the march: they threw down their arms,
and lay down beside them. Just as they had given this proof of
insubordination, fresh murmurs, sounding like an approaching storm,
rose from the rear of the army: they were caused by the sight of
Souvarow, who was riding from the rear to the vanguard, and who
arrived at the front accompanied by this terrible proof of mutiny and
insubordination. When he reached the head of the column, the
murmurings had developed into imprecations.
Then Souvarow addressed his soldiers with that savage eloquence to
which he owed the miracles he had effected with them, but cries of
"Retreat! Retreat!" drowned his voice. Then he chose out the most
mutinous, and had them thrashed until they were overcome by this
shameful punishment: But the thrashings had no more influence than
the exhortation, and the shouts continued. Souvarow saw that all was
lost if he did not employ some powerful and unexpected means of
regaining the mutineers. He advanced towards Foedor. "Captain,"
said he, "leave these fools here, take eight non-commissioned
officers and dig a grave." Foedor, astonished, gazed at his general
as though demanding an explanation of this strange order. "Obey
orders," said Souvarow.
Foedor obeyed, and the eight men set to work; and ten minutes later
the grave was dug, greatly to the astonishment of the whole army,
which had gathered in a semicircle on the rising slopes of the two
hills which bordered the road, standing as if on the steps of a huge
amphitheatre.
Souvarow dismounted from his horse, broke his sword in two and threw
it into the grave, detached his epaulets one by one and threw them
after his sword, dragged off the decorations which covered his breast
and cast these after the sword and epaulets, and then, stripping
himself naked, he lay down in the grave himself, crying in a loud
voice--
"Cover me with earth! Leave your general here. You are no longer my
children, and I am no longer your father; nothing remains to me but
death."
At these strange words, which were uttered in so powerful a voice
that they were heard by the whole army, the Russian grenadiers threw
themselves weeping into the grave, and, raising their general, asked
pardon of him, entreating him to lead them again against the enemy.
"At last," cried Souvarow, "I recognise my children again. To the
enemy!"
Not cries but yells of joy greeted his words. Souvarav dressed
himself again, and whilst he was dressing the leaders of the mutiny
crept in the dust to kiss his feet. Then, when his epaulets were
replaced on his shoulders, and when his decorations again shone on
his breast, he remounted his horse, followed by the army, the
soldiers swearing with one voice that they would all die rather than
abandon their father.
The same day Souvarow attacked Aerolo; but his luck had turned: the
conqueror of Cassano, Trebia, and Novi had left his good-fortune
behind in the plains of Italy. For twelve hours six hundred French
opposed three thousand Russian grenadiers beneath the walls of the
town, and so successfully that night fell without Souvarow being able
to defeat them. Next day he marched the whole of his troops against
this handful of brave men, but the sky clouded over and the wind.
blew a bitter rain into the faces of the Russians; the French
profited by this circumstance to beat a retreat, evacuating the
valley of Ursern, crossing the Reuss, and taking up their position on
the heights of the Furka and Grimsel. One portion of the Russian
army's design had been achieved, they were masters of the St.
Gothard. It is true that as soon as they marched farther on, the
French would retake it and cut off their retreat; but what did this
matter to Souvarow? Did he not always march forward?
He marched on, then, without worrying about that which was behind
him, reached Andermatt, cleared Trou d'Ury, and found Lecourbe
guarding the defile of the Devil's Bridge with fifteen hundred men.
There the struggle began again; for three days fifteen hundred
Frenchmen kept thirty thousand Russians at bay. Souvarow raged like
a lion trapped in a snare, for he could not understand this change of
fortune. At last, on the fourth day, he heard that General
Korsakoff, who had preceded him and who was to rejoin him later, had
been beaten by Molitor, and that Massena had recaptured Zurich and
occupied the canton of Glaris. Souvarow now gave up the attempt to
proceed up the valley of the Reuss, and wrote to Korsakoff and
Jallachieh, "I hasten to retrieve your losses; stand firm as
ramparts: you shall answer to me with your heads for every step in
retreat that you take." The aide-de-camp was also charged to
communicate to the Russian and Austrian generals a verbal plan of
battle. Generals Linsken and Jallachieh were to attack the French
troops separately and then to join the forces in the valley of
Glaris, into which Souvarow himself was to descend by the Klon-Thal,
thus hemming Molitor in between two walls of iron.
Souvarow was so sure that this plan would be successful, that when he
arrived on the borders of the lake of Klon-Thal, he sent a bearer
with a flag of truce, summoning Molitor to surrender, seeing that he
was surrounded on every side.
Molitor replied, to the field-marshal that his proposed meeting with
his generals had failed, as he had beaten them one after the other,
and driven them back into the Grisons, and that moreover, in
retaliation, as Massena was advancing by Muotta, it was he, Souvarow,
who was between two fires, and therefore he called upon him to lay
down his arms instead.
On hearing this strange reply, Souvarow thought that he must be
dreaming, but soon recovering himself and realising the danger of his
position in the defiles, he threw himself on General Molitor, who
received him at the point of the bayonet, and then closing up the
pass with twelve hundred men, the French succeeded in holding fifteen
to eighteen thousand Russians in check for eight hours. At length
night came, and Molitor evacuated the Klon Thal, and retired towards
the Linth, to defend the bridges of Noefels and Mollis.
The old field-marshal rushed like a torrent over Glaris and Miltodi;
there he learnt that Molitor had told him the truth, and that
Jallachieh and Linsken had been beaten and dispersed, that Massena
was advancing on Schwitz, and that General Rosenberg, who had been
given the defence of the bridge of Muotta, had been forced to
retreat, so that he found himself in the position in which he had
hoped to place Molitor.
No time was to be lost in retreating. Souvarow hurried through the
passes of Engi, Schwauden, and Elm. His flight was so hurried that
he was obliged to abandon his wounded and part of his artillery.
Immediately the French rushed in pursuit among the precipices and
clouds. One saw whole armies passing over places where chamois-
hunters took off their shoes and walked barefoot, holding on by their
hands to prevent themselves from falling. Three nations had come
from three different parts to a meeting-place in the home of the
eagles, as if to allow those nearest God to judge the justice of
their cause. There were times when the frozen mountains changed into
volcanoes, when cascades now filled with blood fell into the valleys,
and avalanches of human beings rolled down the deepest precipices.
Death reaped such a harvest there where human life had never been
before, that the vultures, becoming fastidious through the abundance,
picked out only the eyes of the corpses to carry to their young--at
least so says the tradition of the peasants of these mountains.
Souvarow was able to rally his troops at length in the neighbourhood
of Lindau. He recalled Korsakoff, who still occupied Bregenz; but
all his troops together did not number more than thirty thousand men-
all that remained of the eighty thousand whom Paul had furnished as
his contingent in the coalition. In fifteen days Massena had
defeated three separate armies, each numerically stronger than his
own. Souvarow, furious at having been defeated by these same
Republicans whom he had sworn to exterminate, blamed the Austrians
for his defeat, and declared that he awaited orders from his emperor,
to whom he had made known the treachery of the allies, before
attempting anything further with the coalition.
Paul's answer was that he should immediately return to Russia with
his soldiers, arriving at St. Petersburg as soon as possible, where a
triumphal entry awaited them.
The same ukase declared that Souvarow should be quartered in the
imperial palace for the rest of his life, and lastly that a monument
should be raised to him in one of the public places of St.
Petersburg.
Foedor was thus about to see Vaninka once more. Throughout the
campaign, where there was a chance of danger, whether in the plains
of Italy, in the defiles of Tesino, or on the glaciers of Mount
Pragal, he was the first to throw himself into it, and his name had
frequently been mentioned as worthy of distinction. Souvarow was too
brave himself to be prodigal of honours where they were not merited.
Foedor was returning, as he had promised, worthy of his noble
protector's friendship, and who knows, perhaps worthy of Vaninka's
love. Field-Marshal Souvarow had made a friend of him, and none
could know to what this friendship might not lead; for Paul honoured
Souvarow like one of the ancient heroes.
But no one could rely upon Paul, for his character was made up of
extreme impulses. Without having done anything to offend his master,
and without knowing the cause of his disgrace, Souvarow, on arriving
at Riga, received a private letter which informed him, in the
emperor's name, that, having tolerated an infraction of the laws of
discipline among his soldiers, the emperor deprived him of all the
honours with which he had been invested, and also forbade him to
appear before him.
Such tidings fell like a thunderbolt upon the old warrior, already
embittered by his reverses: he was heart-broken that such storm-
clouds should tarnish the end of his glorious day.
In consequence of this order, he assembled all his officers in the
market-place of Riga, and took leave of them sorrowfully, like a
father taking leave of his family. Having embraced the generals and
colonels, and having shaken hands with the others, he said good-bye
to them once more, and left them free to continue their march to
their destination.
Souvarow took a sledge, and, travelling night and day, arrived
incognito in the capital, which he was to have entered in triumph,
and was driven to a distant suburb, to the house of one of his
nieces, where he died of a broken heart fifteen days afterwards.
On his own account, Foedor travelled almost as rapidly as his
general, and entered St. Petersburg without having sent any letter to
announce his arrival. As he had no parent in the capital, and as his
entire existence was concentrated in one person, he drove direct to
the general's house, which was situated in the Prospect of Niewski,
at an angle of the Catherine Canal.
Having arrived there, he sprang out of his carriage, entered the
courtyard, and bounded up the steps. He opened the ante-chamber
door, and precipitated himself into the midst of the servants and
subordinate household officers. They cried out with surprise upon
seeing him: he asked them where the general was; they replied by
pointing to the door of the diningroom; he was in there, breakfasting
with his daughter.
Then, through a strange reaction, Foedor felt his knees failing him,
and he was obliged to lean against a wall to prevent himself from
falling. At this moment, when he was about to see Vaninka again,
this soul of his soul, for whom alone he had done so much, he dreaded
lest he should not find her the same as when he had left her.
Suddenly the dining-room door opened, and Vaninka appeared. Seeing
the young man, she uttered a cry, and, turning to the general, said,
"Father, it is Foedor"; and the expression of her voice left no doubt
of the sentiment which inspired it.
"Foedor!" cried the general, springing forward and holding out his
arms.
Foedor did not know whether to throw himself at the feet of Vaninka
or into the arms of her father. He felt that his first recognition
ought to be devoted to respect and gratitude, and threw himself into
the general's arms. Had he acted otherwise, it would have been an
avowal of his love, and he had no right to avow this love till he
knew that it was reciprocated.
Foedor then turned, and as at parting, sank on his knee before
Vaninka; but a moment had sufficed for the haughty girl to banish the
feeling she had shown. The blush which had suffused her cheek had
disappeared, and she had become again cold and haughty like an
alabaster statue-a masterpiece of pride begun by nature and finished
by education. Foedor kissed her hand; it was trembling but cold he
felt his heart sink, and thought he was about to die.
"Why, Vaninka," said the general--"why are you so cool to a friend
who has caused us so much anxiety and yet so much pleasure? Come,
Fordor, kiss my daughter."
Foedor rose entreatingly, but waited motionless, that another
permission might confirm that of the general.
"Did you not hear my father?" said Vaninka, smiling, but nevertheless
possessing sufficient self-control to prevent the emotion she was
feeling from appearing in her voice.
Foedor stooped to kiss Vaninka, and as he held her hands it seemed to
him that she lightly pressed his own with a nervous, involuntary
movement. A feeble cry of joy nearly escaped him, when, suddenly
looking at Vaninka, he was astonished at her pallor: her lips were as
white as death.
The general made Foedor sit down at the table: Vaninka took her place
again, and as by chance she was seated with her back to the light,
the general noticed nothing.
Breakfast passed in relating and listening to an account of this
strange campaign which began under the burning sun of Italy and ended
in the glaciers of Switzerland. As there are no journals in St.
Petersburg which publish anything other than that which is permitted
by the emperor, Souvarow's successes were spread abroad, but his
reverses were ignored. Foedor described the former with modesty and
the latter with frankness.
One can imagine, the immense interest the general took in Foedor's
story. His two captain's epaulets and the decorations on his breast
proved that the young man had modestly suppressed his own part in the
story he had told. But the general, too courageous to fear that he
might share in Souvarow's disgrace, had already visited the dying
field-marshal, and had heard from him an account of his young
protege's bravery. Therefore, when Foedor had finished his story, it
was the general's turn to enumerate all the fine things Foedor had
done in a campaign of less than a year. Having finished this
enumeration, he added that he intended next day to ask the emperor's
permission to take the young captain for his aide-de-camp. Foedor
hearing this wished to throw himself at the general's feet, but he
received him again in his arms, and to show Foedor how certain he was
that he would be successful in his request, he fixed the rooms that
the young man was to occupy in the house at once.
The next day the general returned from the palace of St. Michel with
the pleasant news that his request had been granted.
Foedor was overwhelmed with joy: from this time he was to form part
of the general's family. Living under the same roof as Vaninka,
seeing her constantly, meeting her frequently in the rooms, seeing
her pass like an apparition at the end of a corridor, finding himself
twice a day at the same table with her, all this was more than Foedor
had ever dared hope, and he thought for a time that he had attained
complete happiness.
For her part, Vaninka, although she was so proud, at the bottom of
her heart took a keen interest in Foedor. He had left her with the
certainty that he loved her, and during his absence her woman's pride
had been gratified by the glory he had acquired, in the hope of
bridging the distance which separated them. So that, when she saw
him return with this distance between them lessened, she felt by the
beating of her heart that gratified pride was changing into a more
tender sentiment, and that for her part she loved Foedor as much as
it was possible for her to love anyone.
She had nevertheless concealed these feelings under an appearance of
haughty indifference, for Vaninka was made so: she intended to let
Foedor know some day that she loved him, but until the time came when
it pleased her to reveal it, she did not wish the young man to
discover her love. Things went on in this way for several months,
and the circumstances which had at first appeared to Foedor as the
height of happiness soon became awful torture.
To love and to feel his heart ever on the point of avowing its love,
to be from morning till night in the company of the beloved one, to
meet her hand at the table, to touch her dress in a narrow corridor,
to feel her leaning on his arm when they entered a salon or left a
ballroom, always to have ceaselessly to control every word, look, or
movement which might betray his feelings, no human power could endure
such a struggle.
Vaninka saw that Foedor could not keep his secret much longer, and
determined to anticipate the avowal which she saw every moment on the
point of escaping his heart.
One day when they were alone, and she saw the hopeless efforts the
young man was making to hide his feelings from her, she went straight
up to him, and, looking at him fixedly, said:
"You love me!"
"Forgive me, forgive me," cried the young man, clasping his hands.
"Why should you ask me to forgive you, Foedor? Is not your love
genuine?"
"Yes, yes, genuine but hopeless."
"Why hopeless? Does not my father love you as a son?" said Vaninka.
"Oh, what do you mean?" cried Foedor. "Do you mean that if your
father will bestow your hand upon me, that you will then consent--?"
"Are you not both noble in heart and by birth, Foedor? You are not
wealthy, it is true, but then I am rich enough for both."
"Then I am not indifferent to you?"
"I at least prefer you to anyone else I have met."
"Vaninka!" The young girl drew herself away proudly.
"Forgive me!" said Foedor. "What am I doing? You have but to order:
I have no wish apart from you. I dread lest I shall offend you.
Tell me what to do, and I will obey."
"The first thing you must do, Foedor, is to ask my father's consent."
"So you will allow me to take this step?"
"Yes, but on one condition."
"What is it? Tell me."
"My father, whatever his answer, must never know that I have
consented to your making this application to him; no one must know
that you are following my instructions; the world must remain
ignorant of the confession I have just made to you; and, lastly, you
must not ask me, whatever happens, to help you in any other way than
with my good wishes."
"Whatever you please. I will do everything you wish me to do. Do
you not grant me a thousand times more than I dared hope, and if your
father refuses me, do I not know myself that you are sharing my
grief?" cried Foedor.
"Yes; but that will not happen, I hope," said Vaninka, holding out
her hand to the young officer, who kissed it passionately.
"Now be hopeful and take courage;" and Vaninka retired, leaving the
young man a hundred times more agitated and moved than she was
herself, woman though she was.
The same day Foedor asked for an interview with the general. The
general received his aide-de-camp as usual with a genial and smiling
countenance, but with the first words Foedor uttered his face
darkened. However, when he heard the young man's description of the
love, so true, constant, and passionate, that he felt for Vaninka,
and when he heard that this passion had been the motive power of
those glorious deeds he had praised so often, he held out his hand to
Foedor, almost as moved as the young soldier.
And then the general told him, that while he had been away, and
ignorant of his love for Vaninka, in whom he had observed no trace of
its being reciprocated, he had, at the emperor's desire, promised her
hand to the son of a privy councillor. The only stipulation that the
general had made was, that he should not be separated from his
daughter until she had attained the age of eighteen. Vaninka had
only five months more to spend under her father's roof. Nothing more
could be said: in Russia the emperor's wish is an order, and from the
moment that it is expressed, no subject would oppose it, even in
thought. However, the refusal had imprinted such despair on the
young man's face, that the general, touched by his silent and
resigned sorrow, held out his arms to him. Foedor flung himself into
them with loud sobs.
Then the general questioned him about his daughter, and Foedor
answered, as he had promised, that Vaninka was ignorant of
everything, and that the proposal came from him alone, without her
knowledge. This assurance calmed the general: he had feared that he
was making two people wretched.
At dinner-time Vaninka came downstairs and found her father alone.
Foedor had not enough courage to be present at the meal and to meet
her again, just when he had lost all hope: he had taken a sleigh, and
driven out to the outskirts of the city.
During the whole time dinner lasted Vaninka and the general hardly
exchanged a word, but although this silence was so expressive,
Vaninka controlled her face with her usual power, and the general
alone appeared sad and dejected.
That evening, just when Vaninka was going downstairs, tea was brought
to her room, with the message that the general was fatigued and had
retired. Vaninka asked some questions about the nature of his
indisposition, and finding that it was not serious, she told the
servant who had brought her the message to ask her father to send for
her if he wanted anything. The general sent to say that he thanked
her, but he only required quiet and rest. Vaninka announced that she
would retire also, and the servant withdrew.
Hardly had he left the room when Vaninka ordered Annouschka, her
foster-sister, who acted as her maid, to be on the watch for Foedor's
return, and to let her know as soon as he came in.
At eleven o'clock the gate of the mansion opened: Foedor got out of
his sleigh, and immediately went up to his room. He threw himself
upon a sofa, overwhelmed by his thoughts. About midnight he heard
someone tapping at the door: much astonished, he got up and opened
it. It was Annouschka, who came with a message from her mistress,
that Vaninka wished to see him immediately. Although he was
astonished at this message, which he was far from expecting, Foedor
obeyed.
He found Vaninka seated, dressed in a white robe, and as she was
paler than usual he stopped at the door, for it seemed to him that he
was gazing at a marble statue.
"Come in," said Vaninka calmly.
Foedor approached, drawn by her voice like steel to a magnet.
Annouschka shut the door behind him.
"Well, and what did my father say?" said Vaninka.
Foedor told her all that had happened. The young girl listened to
his story with an unmoved countenance, but her lips, the only part of
her face which seemed to have any colour, became as white as the
dressing-gown she was wearing. Foedor, on the contrary, was consumed
by a fever, and appeared nearly out of his senses.
"Now, what do you intend to do?" said Vaninka in the same cold tone
in which she had asked the other questions.
"You ask me what I intend to do, Vaninka? What do you wish me to do?
What can I do, but flee from St. Petersburg, and seek death in the
first corner of Russia where war may break out, in order not to repay
my patron's kindness by some infamous baseness?"
"You are a fool," said Vaninka, with a mixed smile of triumph and
contempt; for from that moment she felt her superiority over Foedor,
and saw that she would rule him like a queen for the rest of her
life.
"Then order me--am I not your slave?" cried the young soldier.
"You must stay here," said Vaninka.
"Stay here?"
"Yes; only women and children will thus confess themselves beaten at
the first blow: a man, if he be worthy of the name, fights."
"Fight!--against whom?--against your father? Never!"
"Who suggested that you should contend against my father? It is
against events that you must strive; for the generality of men do not
govern events, but are carried away by them. Appear to my father as
though you were fighting against your love, and he will think that
you have mastered yourself. As I am supposed to be ignorant of your
proposal, I shall not be suspected. I will demand two years' more
freedom, and I shall obtain them. Who knows what may happen in the
course of two years? The emperor may die, my betrothed may die, my
father--may God protect him!--my father himself may die--!"
"But if they force you to marry?"
"Force me!" interrupted Vaninka, and a deep flush rose to her cheek
and immediately disappeared again. "And who will force me to do
anything? Father? He loves me too well. The emperor? He has
enough worries in his own family, without introducing them into
another's. Besides, there is always a last resource when every other
expedient fails: the Neva only flows a few paces from here, and its
waters are deep."
Foedor uttered a cry, for in the young girl's knit brows and tightly
compressed lips there was so much resolution that he understood that
they might break this child but that they would not bend her. But
Foedor's heart was too much in harmony with the plan Vaninka had
proposed; his objections once removed, he did not seek fresh ones.
Besides, had he had the courage to do so; Vaninka's promise to make
up in secret to him for the dissimulation she was obliged to practise
in public would have conquered his last scruples.
Vaninka, whose determined character had been accentuated by her
education, had an unbounded influence over all who came in contact
with her; even the general, without knowing why, obeyed her. Foedor
submitted like a child to everything she wished, and the young girl's
love was increased by the wishes she opposed and by a feeling of
gratified pride.
It was some days after this nocturnal decision that the knouting had
taken place at which our readers have assisted. It was for some
slight fault, and Gregory had been the victim; Vaninka having
complained to her father about him. Foedor, who as aide-de-camp had
been obliged to preside over Gregory's punishment, had paid no more
attention to the threats the serf had uttered on retiring.
Ivan, the coachman, who after having been executioner had become
surgeon, had applied compresses of salt and water to heal up the
scarred shoulders of his victim. Gregory had remained three days in
the infirmary, and during this time he had turned over in his mind
every possible means of vengeance. Then at the end of three days,
being healed, he had returned to his duty, and soon everyone except
he had forgotten the punishment. If Gregory had been a real Russian,
he would soon have forgotten it all; for this punishment is too
familiar to the rough Muscovite for him to remember it long and with
rancour. Gregory, as we have said, had Greek blood in his veins; he
dissembled and remembered. Although Gregory was a serf, his duties
had little by little brought him into greater familiarity with the
general than any of the other servants. Besides, in every country in
the world barbers have great licence with those they shave; this is
perhaps due to the fact that a man is instinctively more gracious to
another who for ten minutes every day holds his life in his hands.
Gregory rejoiced in the immunity of his profession, and it nearly
always happened that the barber's daily operation on the general's
chin passed in conversation, of which he bore the chief part.
One day the general had to attend a review: he sent for Gregory
before daybreak, and as the barber was passing the razor as gently as
possible over his master's cheek, the conversation fell, or more
likely was led, on Foedor. The barber praised him highly, and this
naturally caused his master to ask him, remembering the correction
the young aide-decamp had superintended, if he could not find some
fault in this model of perfection that might counterbalance so many
good qualities. Gregory replied that with the exception of pride he
thought Foedor irreproachable.
"Pride?" asked the astonished general. "That is a failing from which
I should have thought him most free."
"Perhaps I should have said ambition," replied Gregory.
"Ambition!" said the general. "It does not seem to me that he has
given much proof of ambition in entering my service; for after his
achievements in the last campaign he might easily have aspired to the
honour of a place in the emperor's household."
"Oh yes, he is ambitious," said Gregory, smiling. "One man's
ambition is for high position, another's an illustrious alliance: the
former will owe everything to himself, the latter will make a
stepping-stone of his wife, then they raise their eyes higher than
they should."
"What do you mean to suggest?" said the general, beginning to see
what Gregory was aiming at.
"I mean, your excellency," replied Gregory, "there are many men who,
owing to the kindness shown them by others, forget their position and
aspire to a more exalted one; having already been placed so high,
their heads are turned."
"Gregory," cried the general, "believe me, you are getting into a
scrape; for you are making an accusation, and if I take any notice of
it, you will have to prove your words."
"By St. Basilius, general, it is no scrape when you have truth on
your side; for I have said nothing I am not ready to prove."
"Then," said the general, "you persist in declaring that Foedor loves
my daughter?"
"Ah! I have not said that: it is your excellency. I have not named
the lady Vaninka," said Gregory, with the duplicity of his nation.
"But you meant it, did you not? Come, contrary to your custom, reply
frankly."
"It is true, your excellency; it is what I meant."
"And, according to you, my daughter reciprocates the passion, no
doubt?"
"I fear so, your excellency."
"And what makes you think this, say?"
"First, Mr. Foedor never misses a chance of speaking to the lady
Vaninka."
"He is in the same house with her, would you have him avoid her?"
"When the lady Vaninka returns late, and when perchance Mr. Foedor
has not accompanied you, whatever the hour Mr. Foedor is there,
ready, to help her out of the carriage."
"Foedor attends me, it is his duty," said the general, beginning to
believe that the serf's suspicions were founded on slight grounds.
"He waits for me," he, continued, "because when I return, at any hour
of the day or night, I may have orders to give him."
"Not a day passes without Mr. Foedor going into my lady Vaninka's
room, although such a favour is not usually granted to a young man in
a house like that of your excellency."
"Usually it is I who send him to her," said the general.
"Yes, in the daytime," replied Gregory, "but at night?"
"At night!" cried the general, rising to his feet, and turning so
pale that, after a moment, he was forced to lean for support on a
table.
"Yes, at night, your excellency," answered Gregory quietly; "and
since, as you say, I have begun to mix myself up in a bad business, I
must go on with it; besides, even if there were to result from it
another punishment for me, even more terrible than that I have
already endured, I should not allow so good, a master to be deceived
any longer."
"Be very careful about what you are going to say, slave; for I know
the men of your nation. Take care, if the accusation you are making
by way of revenge is not supported by visible, palpable, and positive
proofs, you shall be punished as an infamous slanderer."
"To that I agree," said Gregory.
"Do you affirm that you have seen Foedor enter my daughter's chamber
at night?"
"I do not say that I have seen him enter it, your excellency. I say
that I have seen him come out."
"When was that?"
"A quarter of an hour ago, when I was on my way to your excellency."
"You lie!" said the general, raising his fist.
"This is not our agreement, your excellency," said the slave, drawing
back. "I am only to be punished if I fail to give proofs."
"But what are your proofs?"
"I have told you."
"And do you expect me to believe your word alone?"
"No; but I expect you to believe your own eyes."
"How?"
"The first time that Mr. Foedor is in my lady Vaninka's room after
midnight, I shall come to find your excellency, and then you can
judge for yourself if I lie; but up to the present, your excellency,
all the conditions of the service I wish to render you are to my
disadvantage."
"In what way?"
"Well, if I fail to give proofs, I am to be treated as an infamous
slanderer; but if I give them, what advantage shall I gain?"
"A thousand roubles and your freedom."
"That is a bargain, then, your excellency," replied Gregory quietly,
replacing the razors on the general's toilet-table, "and I hope that
before a week has passed you will be more just to me than you are
now."
With these words the slave left the room, leaving the general
convinced by his confidence that some dreadful misfortune threatened
him.
From this time onward, as might be expected, the general weighed
every word and noticed every gesture which passed between Vaninka and
Foedor in his presence; but he saw nothing to confirm his suspicions
on the part of the aide-de-camp or of his daughter; on the contrary,
Vaninka seemed colder and more reserved than ever.
A week passed in this way. About two o'clock in the morning of the
ninth day, someone knocked at the general's door. It was Gregory.
"If your excellency will go into your daughter's room," said Gregory,
"you will find Mr. Foedor there."
The general turned pale, dressed himself without uttering a word, and
followed the slave to the door of Vaninka's room. Having arrived
there, with a motion of his hand he dismissed the informer, who,
instead of retiring in obedience to this mute command, hid himself in
the corner of the corridor.
When the general believed himself to be alone, he knocked once; but
all was silent. This silence, however, proved nothing; for Vaninka
might be asleep. He knocked a second time, and the young girl, in a
perfectly calm voice, asked, "Who is there?"
"It is I," said the general, in a voice trembling with emotion.
"Annouschka!" said the girl to her foster-sister, who slept in the
adjoining room, "open the door to my father. Forgive me, father,"
she continued; "but Annouschka is dressing, and will be with you in a
moment."
The general waited patiently, for he could discover no trace of
emotion in his daughter's voice, and he hoped that Gregory had been
mistaken.
In a few moments the door opened, and the general went in, and cast a
long look around him; there was no one in this first apartment.
Vaninka was in bed, paler perhaps than usual, but quite calm, with
the loving smile on her lips with which she always welcomed her
father.
"To what fortunate circumstance," asked the young girl in her softest
tones, "do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at so late an hour?"
"I wished to speak to you about a very important matter," said the
general, "and however late it was, I thought you would forgive me for
disturbing you."
"My father will always be welcome in his daughter's room, at whatever
hour of the day or night he presents himself there."
The general cast another searching look round, and was convinced that
it was impossible for a man to be concealed in the first room--but
the second still remained.
"I am listening," said Vaninka, after a moment of silence.
"Yes, but we are not alone," replied the general, "and it is
important that no other ears should hear what I have to say to you."
"Annauschka, as you know, is my foster-sister," said Vaninka.
"That makes no difference," said the general, going candle in hand
into the next room, which was somewhat smaller than his daughter's.
"Annouschka," said he, "watch in the corridor and see that no one
overhears us."
As he spoke these words, the general threw the same scrutinizing
glance all round the room, but with the exception of the young girl
there was no one there.
Annouschka obeyed, and the general followed her out, and, looking
eagerly round for the last time, re-entered his daughter's room, and
seated himself on the foot of her bed. Annouschka, at a sign from
her mistress, left her alone with her father. The general held out
his hand to Vaninka, and she took it without hesitation.
"My child," said the general, "I have to speak to you about a very
important matter."
"What is it, father?" said Vaninka.
"You will soon be eighteen," continued the general, "and that is the
age at which the daughters of the Russian nobility usually marry."
The general paused for a moment to watch the effect of these words
upon Vaninka, but her hand rested motionless in his. "For the last
year your hand has been engaged by me," continued the general.
"May I know to whom?" asked Vaninka coldly.
"To the son of the Councillor-in-Ordinary," replied the general.
"What is your opinion of him?"
"He is a worthy and noble young man, I am told, but I can have formed
no opinion except from hearsay. Has he not been in garrison at
Moscow for the last three months?"
"Yes," said the general, "but in three months' time he should
return."
Vaninka remained silent.
"Have you nothing to say in reply?" asked the general.
"Nothing, father; but I have a favour to ask of you."
"What is it?"
"I do not wish to marry until I am twenty years old."
"Why not?"
"I have taken a vow to that effect."
"But if circumstances demanded the breaking of this vow, and made the
celebration of this marriage imperatively necessary?"
"What circumstances?" asked Vaninka.
"Foedor loves you," said the general, looking steadily at Vaninka.
"I know that," said Vaninka, with as little emotion as if the
question did not concern her.
"You know that!" cried the general.
"Yes; he has told me so."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"And you replied--?"
"That he must leave here at once."
"And he consented?"
"Yes, father."
"When does he go?"
"He has gone."
"How can that be?" said the general: "he only left me at ten
o'clock."
"And he left me at midnight," said Vaninka.
"Ah!" said the general, drawing a deep breath of relief, "you are a
noble girl, Vaninka, and I grant you what you ask-two years more.
But remember it is the emperor who has decided upon this marriage."
"My father will do me the justice to believe that I am too submissive
a daughter to be a rebellious subject."
"Excellent, Vaninka, excellent," said the general. "So, then, poor
Foedor has told you all?"
"Yes," said Vaninka.
"You knew that he addressed himself to me first?"
"I knew it."
"Then it was from him that you heard that your hand was engaged?"
"It was from him."
"And he consented to leave you? He is a good and noble young man,
who shall always be under my protection wherever he goes. Oh, if my
word had not been given, I love him so much that, supposing you did
not dislike him, I should have given him your hand."
"And you cannot recall your promise?" asked Vaninka.
"Impossible," said the general.
"Well, then, I submit to my father's will," said Vaninka.
"That is spoken like my daughter," said the general, embracing her.
"Farewell, Vaninka; I do not ask if you love him. You have both
done your duty, and I have nothing more to exact."
With these words, he rose and left the room. Annouschka was in the
corridor; the general signed to her that she might go in again, and
went on his way. At the door of his room he found Gregory waiting
for him.
"Well, your excellency?" he asked.
"Well," said the general, "you are both right and wrong. Foedor
loves my daughter, but my daughter does not love him. He went into
my daughter's room at eleven o'clock, but at midnight he left her for
ever. No matter, come to me tomorrow, and you shall have your
thousand roubles and your liberty."
Gregory went off, dumb with astonishment.
Meanwhile, Annouschka had re-entered her mistress's room, as she had
been ordered, and closed the door carefully behind her.
Vaninka immediately sprang out of bed and went to the door, listening
to the retreating footsteps of the general. When they had ceased to
be heard, she rushed into Annouschka's room, and both began to pull
aside a bundle of linen, thrown down, as if by accident, into the
embrasure of a window. Under the linen was a large chest with a
spring lock. Annouschka pressed a button, Vaninka raised the lid.
The two women uttered a loud cry: the chest was now a coffin; the
young officer, stifled for want of air, lay dead within.
For a long time the two women hoped it was only a swoon. Annouschka
sprinkled his face with water; Vaninka put salts to his nose. All
was in vain. During the long conversation which the general had had
with his daughter, and which had lasted more than half an hour,
Foedor, unable to get out of the chest, as the lid was closed by a
spring, had died for want of air. The position of the two girls shut
up with a corpse was frightful. Annouschka saw Siberia close at
hand; Vaninka, to do her justice, thought of nothing but Foedor.
Both were in despair. However, as the despair of the maid was more
selfish than that of her mistress, it was Annouschka who first
thought of a plan of escaping from the situation in which they were
placed.
"My lady," she cried suddenly, "we are saved." Vaninka raised her
head and looked at her attendant with her eyes bathed in tears.
"Saved?" said she, "saved? We are, perhaps, but Foedor!"
"Listen now," said Annouschka: "your position is terrible, I grant
that, and your grief is great; but your grief could be greater and
your position more terrible still. If the general knew this."
"What difference would it make to me?" said Vaninka. "I shall weep
for him before the whole world."
"Yes, but you will be dishonoured before the whole world! To-morrow
your slaves, and the day after all St. Petersburg, will know that a
man died of suffocation while concealed in your chamber. Reflect, my
lady: your honour is the honour of your father, the honour of your
family."
"You are right," said Vaninka, shaking her head, as if to disperse
the gloomy thoughts that burdened her brain,--"you are right, but
what must we do?"
"Does my lady know my brother Ivan?"
"Yes."
"We must tell him all."
"Of what are you thinking?" cried Vaninka. "To confide in a man? A
man, do I say? A serf! a slave!"
"The lower the position of the serf and slave, the safer will our
secret be, since he will have everything to gain by keeping faith
with us."
"Your brother is a drunkard," said Vaninka, with mingled fear and
disgust.
"That is true," said Annouschka; "but where will you find a slave
who is not? My brother gets drunk less than most, and is therefore
more to be trusted than the others. Besides, in the position in
which we are we must risk something."
"You are right," said Vaninka, recovering her usual resolution, which
always grew in the presence of danger. "Go and seek your brother."
"We can do nothing this morning," said Annouschka, drawing back the
window curtains. "Look, the dawn is breaking."
"But what can we do with the body of this unhappy man?" cried
Vaninka.
"It must remain hidden where it is all day, and this evening, while
you are at the Court entertainment, my brother shall remove it."
"True," murmured Vaninka in a strange tone, "I must go to Court this
evening; to stay away would arouse suspicion. Oh, my God! my God!"
"Help me, my lady," said Annouschka; "I am not strong enough alone."
Vaninka turned deadly pale, but, spurred on by the danger, she went
resolutely up to the body of her lover; then, lifting it by the
shoulders, while her maid raised it by the legs, she laid it once
more in the chest. Then Annouschka shut down the lid, locked the
chest, and put the key into her breast. Then both threw back the
linen which had hidden it from the eyes of the general. Day dawned,
as might be expected, ere sleep visited the eyes of Vaninka.
She went down, however, at the breakfast hour; for she did not wish
to arouse the slightest suspicion in her father's mind. Only it
might have been thought from her pallor that she had risen from the
grave, but the general attributed this to the nocturnal disturbance
of which he had been the cause.
Luck had served Vaninka wonderfully in prompting her to say that
Foedor had already gone; for not only did the general feel no
surprise when he did not appear, but his very absence was a proof of
his daughter's innocence. The general gave a pretext for his aide-
de-camp's absence by saying that he had sent him on a mission. As
for Vaninka, she remained out of her room till it was time to dress.
A week before, she had been at the Court entertainment with Foedor.
Vaninka might have excused herself from accompanying her father by
feigning some slight indisposition, but two considerations made her
fear to act thus: the first was the fear of making the general
anxious, and perhaps of making him remain at home himself, which
would make the removal of the corpse more difficult; the second was
the fear of meeting Ivan and having to blush before a slave. She
preferred, therefore, to make a superhuman effort to control herself;
and, going up again into her room, accompanied by her faithful
Annouschka, she began to dress with as much care as if her heart were
full of joy. When this cruel business was finished, she ordered
Annouschka to shut the door; for she wished to see Foedor once more,
and to bid a last farewell to him who had been her lover. Annouschka
obeyed; and Vaninka, with flowers in her hair and her breast covered
with jewels, glided like a phantom into her servant's room.
Annouschka again opened the chest, and Vaninka, without shedding a
tear, without breathing a sigh, with the profound and death-like calm
of despair, leant down towards Foedor and took off a plain ring which
the young man had on his finger, placed it on her own, between two
magnificent rings, then kissing him on the brow, she said, "Goodbye,
my betrothed."
At this moment she heard steps approaching. It was a groom of the
chambers coming from the general to ask if she were ready.
Annouschka let the lid of the chest fall, and Vaninka going herself
to open the door, followed the messenger, who walked before her,
lighting the way.
Such was her trust in her foster-sister that she left her to
accomplish the dark and terrible task with which she had burdened
herself.
A minute later, Annouschka saw the carriage containing the general
and his daughter leave by the main gate of the hotel.
She let half an hour go by, and then went down to look for Ivan. She
found him drinking with Gregory, with whom the general had kept his
word, and who had received the same day one thousand roubles and his
liberty. Fortunately, the revellers were only beginning their
rejoicings, and Ivan in consequence was sober enough for his sister
to entrust her secret to him without hesitation.
Ivan followed Annouschka into the chamber of her mistress. There she
reminded him of all that Vaninka, haughty but generous, had allowed
his sister to do for him. The, few glasses of brandy Ivan had
already swallowed had predisposed him to gratitude (the drunkenness
of the Russian is essentially tender). Ivan protested his devotion
so warmly that Annouschka hesitated no longer, and, raising the lid
of the chest, showed him the corpse of Foedor. At this terrible
sight Ivan remained an instant motionless, but he soon began to
calculate how much money and how many benefits the possession of such
a secret would bring him. He swore by the most solemn oaths never to
betray his mistress, and offered, as Annouschka had hoped, to dispose
of the body of the unfortunate aide-decamp.
The thing was easily done. Instead of returning to drink with
Gregory and his comrades, Ivan went to prepare a sledge, filled it
with straw, and hid at the bottom an iron crowbar. He brought this
to the outside gate, and assuring himself he was not being spied
upon, he raised the body of the dead man in his arms, hid it under
the straw, and sat down above it. He had the gate of the hotel
opened, followed Niewski Street as far as the Zunamenie Church,
passed through the shops in the Rejestwenskoi district, drove the
sledge out on to the frozen Neva, and halted in the middle of the
river, in front of the deserted church of Ste. Madeleine. There,
protected by the solitude and darkness, hidden behind the black mass
of his sledge, he began to break the ice, which was fifteen inches
thick, with his pick. When he had made a large enough hole, he
searched the body of Foedor, took all the money he had about him, and
slipped the body head foremost through the opening he had made. He
then made his way back to the hotel, while the imprisoned current of
the Neva bore away the corpse towards the Gulf of Finland. An hour
after, a new crust of ice had formed, and not even a trace of the
opening made by Ivan remained.
At midnight Vaninka returned with her father. A hidden fever had
been consuming her all the evening: never had she looked so lovely,
and she had been overwhelmed by the homage of the most distinguished
nobles and courtiers. When she returned, she found Annouschka in the
vestibule waiting to take her cloak. As she gave it to her, Vaninka
sent her one of those questioning glances that seem to express so
much. "It is done," said the girl in a low voice. Vaninka breathed
a sigh of relief, as if a mountain had been removed from her breast.
Great as was her self-control, she could no longer bear her father's
presence, and excused herself from remaining to supper with him, on
the plea of the fatigues of the evening. Vaninka was no sooner in
her room, with the door once closed, than she tore the flowers from
her hair, the necklace from her throat, cut with scissors the corsets
which suffocated her, and then, throwing herself on her bed, she gave
way to her grief. Annouschka thanked God for this outburst; her
mistress's calmness had frightened her more than her despair. The
first crisis over, Vaninka was able to pray. She spent an hour on
her knees, then, yielding to the entreaties of her faithful
attendant, went to bed. Annouschka sat down at the foot of the bed.
Neither slept, but when day came the tears which Vaninka had shed had
calmed her.
Annouschka was instructed to reward her brother. Too large a sum
given to a slave at once might have aroused suspicion, therefore
Annouschka contented herself with telling Ivan that when he had need
of money he had only to ask her for it.
Gregory, profiting by his liberty and wishing to make use of his
thousand roubles, bought a little tavern on the outskirts of the
town, where, thanks to his address and to the acquaintances he had
among the servants in the great households of St. Petersburg, he
began to develop an excellent business, so that in a short time the
Red House (which was the name and colour of Gregory's establishment)
had a great reputation. Another man took over his duties about the
person of the general, and but for Foedor's absence everything
returned to its usual routine in the house of Count Tchermayloff.
Two months went by in this way, without anybody having the least
suspicion of what had happened, when one morning before the usual
breakfast-hour the general begged his daughter to come down to his
room. Vaninka trembled with fear, for since that fatal night
everything terrified her. She obeyed her father, and collecting all
her strength, made her way to his chamber, The count was alone, but
at the first glance Vaninka saw she had nothing to fear from this
interview: the general was waiting for her with that paternal smile
which was the usual expression of his countenance when in his
daughter's presence.
She approached, therefore, with her usual calmness, and, stooping
down towards the general, gave him her forehead to kiss.
He motioned to her to sit down, and gave her an open letter. Vaninka
looked at him for a moment in surprise, then turned her eyes to the
letter.
It contained the news of the death of the man to whom her hand had
been promised: he had been killed in a duel.
The general watched the effect of the letter on his daughter's face,
and great as was Vaninka's self-control, so many different thoughts,
such bitter regret, such poignant remorse assailed her when she
learnt that she was now free again, that she could not entirely
conceal her emotion. The general noticed it, and attributed it to
the love which he had for a long time suspected his daughter felt for
the young aide-de-camp.
"Well," he said, smiling, "I see it is all for the best."
"How is that, father?" asked Vaninka.
"Doubtless," said the general. "Did not Foedor leave because he
loved you?"
"Yes," murmured the young girl.
"Well, now he may return," said the general.
Vaninka remained silent, her eyes fixed, her lips trembling.
"Return!" she said, after a moment's silence.
"Yes, certainly return. We shall be most unfortunate," continued the
general, smiling, "if we cannot find someone in the house who knows
where he is. Come, Vaninka, tell me the place of his exile, and I
will undertake the rest."
"Nobody knows where Foedor is," murmured Vaninka in a hollow voice;
"nobody but God, nobody!"
"What!" said the general, "he has sent you no news since the day he
left?"
Vaninka shook her head in denial. She was so heart-broken that she
could not speak.
The general in his turn became gloomy. "Do you fear some misfortune,
then?" said he.
"I fear that I shall never be happy again on earth," cried Vaninka,
giving way under the pressure of her grief; then she continued at
once, "Let me retire, father; I am ashamed of what I have said."
The general, who saw nothing in this exclamation beyond regret for
having allowed the confession of her love to escape her, kissed his
daughter on the brow and allowed her to retire. He hoped that, in
spite of the mournful way in which Vaninka had spoken of Foedor, that
it would be possible to find him. The same day he went to the
emperor and told him of the love of Foedor for his daughter, and
requested, since death had freed her from her first engagement, that
he might dispose of her hand. The emperor consented, and the general
then solicited a further favour. Paul was in one of his kindly
moods, and showed himself disposed to grant it. The general told him
that Foedor had disappeared for two months; that everyone, even his
daughter, was ignorant of his whereabouts, and begged him to have
inquiries made. The emperor immediately sent for the chief of
police, and gave him the necessary orders.
Six weeks went by without any result. Vaninka, since the day when
the letter came, was sadder and more melancholy than ever. Vainly
from time to time the general tried to make her more hopeful.
Vaninka only shook her head and withdrew. The general ceased to
speak, of Foedor.
But it was not the same among the household. The young aide-de-camp
had been popular with the servants, and, with the exception of
Gregory, there was not a soul who wished him harm, so that, when it
became known that he had not been sent on a mission, but had
disappeared, the matter became the constant subject of conversation
in the antechamber, the kitchen, and the stables. There was another
place where people busied themselves about it a great deal--this was
the Red House.
From the day when he heard of Foedor's mysterious departure Gregory
had his suspicions. He was sure that he had seen Foedor enter
Vaninka's room, and unless he had gone out while he was going to seek
the general, he did not understand why the latter had not found him
in his daughter's room. Another thing occupied his mind, which it
seemed to him might perhaps have some connection with this event--the
amount of money Ivan had been spending since that time, a very
extraordinary amount for a slave. This slave, however, was the
brother of Vaninka's cherished foster-sister, so that, without being
sure, Gregory already suspected the source from whence this money
came. Another thing confirmed him in his suspicions, which was that
Ivan, who had not only remained his most faithful friend, but had
become one of his best customers, never spoke of Foedor, held his
tongue if he were mentioned in his presence, and to all questions,
however pressing they were, made but one answer: "Let us speak of
something else."
In the meantime the Feast of Kings arrived. This is a great day in
St. Petersburg, for it is also the day for blessing the waters.
As Vaninka had been present at the ceremony, and was fatigued after
standing for two hours on the Neva, the general did not go out that
evening, and gave Ivan leave to do so. Ivan profited by the
permission to go to the Red House.
There was a numerous company there, and Ivan was welcomed; for it was
known that he generally came with full pockets. This time he did not
belie his reputation, and had scarcely arrived before he made the
sorok-kopecks ring, to the great envy of his companions.
At this warning sound Gregory hastened up with all possible
deference, a bottle of brandy in each hand; for he knew that when
Ivan summoned him he gained in two ways, as innkeeper and as boon
companion. Ivan did not disappoint these hopes, and Gregory was
invited to share in the entertainment. The conversation turned on
slavery, and some of the unhappy men, who had only four days in the
year of respite from their eternal labour, talked loudly of the
happiness Gregory had enjoyed since he had obtained his freedom.
"Bah!" said Ivan, on whom the brandy had begun to take effect, "there
are some slaves who are freer than their masters."
"What do you mean?" said Gregory, pouring him out another glass of
brandy.
"I meant to say happier," said Ivan quickly.
"It is difficult to prove that," said Gregory doubtingly.
"Why difficult? Our masters, the moment they are born, are put into
the hands of two or three pedants, one French, another German, and a
third English, and whether they like them or not, they must be
content with their society till they are seventeen, and whether they
wish to or not, must learn three barbarous languages, at the expense
of our noble Russian tongue, which they have sometimes completely
forgotten by the time the others are acquired. Again, if one of them
wishes for some career, he must become a soldier: if he is a
sublieutenant, he is the slave of the lieutenant; if he is a
lieutenant, he is the slave of the captain, and the captain of the
major, and so on up to the emperor, who is nobody's slave, but who
one fine day is surprised at the table, while walking, or in his bed,
and is poisoned, stabbed, or strangled. If he chooses a civil
career, it is much the same. He marries a wife, and does not love
her; children come to him he knows not how, whom he has to provide
for; he must struggle incessantly to provide for his family if he is
poor, and if he is rich to prevent himself being robbed by his
steward and cheated by his tenants. Is this life? While we,
gentlemen, we are born, and that is the only pain we cost our
mothers--all the rest is the master's concern. He provides for us,
he chooses our calling, always easy enough to learn if we are not
quite idiots. Are we ill? His doctor attends us gratis; it is a
loss to him if we die. Are we well? We have our four certain meals
a day, and a good stove to sleep near at night. Do we fall in love?
There is never any hindrance to our marriage, if the woman loves us;
the master himself asks us to hasten our marriage, for he wishes us
to have as many children as possible. And when the children are
born, he does for them in their turn all he has done for us. Can you
find me many great lords as happy as their slaves?"
"All this is true," said Gregory, pouring him out another glass of
brandy; "but, after all, you are not free."
"Free to do what?" asked Ivan.
"Free to go where you will and when you will."
"I am as free as the air," replied Ivan.
"Nonsense!" said Gregory.
"Free as air, I tell you; for I have good masters, and above all a
good mistress," continued Ivan, with a significant smile, "and I have
only to ask and it is done."
"What! if after having got drunk here to-day, you asked to come back
to-morrow to get drunk again?" said Gregory, who in his challenge to
Ivan did not forget his own interests,--"if you asked that?"
"I should come back again," said Ivan.
"To-morrow?" said Gregory.
"To-morrow, the day after, every day if I liked...."
"The fact is, Ivan is our young lady's favourite," said another of
the count's slaves who was present, profiting by his comrade Ivan's
liberality.
"It is all the same," said Gregory; "for supposing such permission
were given you, money would soon run short."
"Never!" said Ivan, swallowing another glass of brandy, "never will
Ivan want for money as long as there is a kopeck in my lady's purse."
"I did not find her so liberal," said Gregory bitterly.
"Oh, you forget, my friend; you know well she does not reckon with
her friends: remember the strokes of the knout."
"I have no wish to speak about that," said Gregory. "I know that she
is generous with blows, but her money is another thing. I have never
seen the colour of that."
"Well, would you like to see the colour of mine?" said Ivan, getting
more and more drunk. "See here, here are kopecks, sorok-kopecks, blue
notes worth five roubles, red notes worth twenty five roubles, and
to-morrow, if you like, I will show you white notes worth fifty
roubles. A health to my lady Vaninka!" And Ivan held out his glass
again, and Gregory filled it to the brim.
"But does money," said Gregory, pressing Ivan more and more,--"does
money make up for scorn?"
"Scorn!" said Ivan,--"scorn! Who scorns me? Do you, because you are
free? Fine freedom! I would rather be a well-fed slave than a free
man dying of hunger."
"I mean the scorn of our masters," replied Gregory.
"The scorn of our masters! Ask Alexis, ask Daniel there, if my lady
scorns me."
"The fact is," said the two slaves in reply, who both belonged to the
general's household, "Ivan must certainly have a charm; for everyone
talks to him as if to a master."
"Because he is Annouschka's brother," said Gregory, "and Annouschka
is my lady's foster-sister."
"That may be so," said the two slaves.
"For that reason or for some other," said Ivan; "but, in short, that
is the case."
"Yes; but if your sister should die?" said Gregory. "Ah!"
"If my sister should die, that would be a pity, for she is a good
girl. I drink to her health! But if she should die, that would make
no difference. I am respected for myself; they respect me because
they fear me."
"Fear my lord Ivan!" said Gregory, with a loud laugh. "It follows,
then, that if my lord Ivan were tired of receiving orders, and gave
them in his turn, my lord Ivan would be obeyed."
"Perhaps," said Ivan.
"He said 'perhaps,' repeated Gregory, laughing louder than ever,--"he
said 'perhaps.' Did you hear him?"
"Yes," said the slaves, who had drunk so much that they could only
answer in monosyllables.
"Well, I no longer say 'perhaps,' I now say 'for certain.'"
"Oh, I should like to see that," said Gregory; "I would give
something to see that."
"Well, send away these fellows, who are getting drunk like pigs, and
for nothing, you will find."
"For nothing?" said Gregory. "You are jesting. Do you think I
should give them drink for nothing?"
"Well, we shall see. How much would be their score, for your
atrocious brandy, if they drank from now till midnight, when you are
obliged to shut up your tavern?"
"Not less than twenty roubles."
"Here are thirty; turn there out, and let us remain by ourselves."
"Friends," said Gregory, taking out his watch as if to look at the
time, "it is just upon midnight; you know the governor's orders, so
you must go." The men, habituated like all Russians to passive
obedience, went without a murmur, and Gregory found himself alone
with Ivan and the two other slaves of the general.
"Well, here we are alone," said Gregory. "What do you mean to do?"
"Well, what would you say," replied Ivan, "if in spite of the late
hour and the cold, and in spite of the fact that we are only slaves,
my lady were to leave her father's house and come to drink our
healths?"
"I would say that you ought to take advantage of it," said Gregory,
shrugging his shoulders, "and tell her to bring at the same time a
bottle of brandy. There is probably better brandy in the general's
cellar than in mine."
"There is better," said Ivan, as if he was perfectly sure of it, "and
my lady shall bring you a bottle of it."
"You are mad!" said Gregory.
"He is mad!" repeated the other two slaves mechanically.
"Oh, I am mad?" said Ivan. "Well, will you take a wager?"
"What will you wager?"
"Two hundred roubles against a year of free drinking in your inn."
"Done!" said Gregory.
"Are your comrades included?" said the two moujiks.
"They are included," said Ivan, "and in consideration of them we will
reduce the time to six months. Is that agreed?"
"It is agreed," said Gregory.
The two who were making the wager shook hands, and the agreement was
perfected. Then, with an air of confidence, assumed to confound the
witnesses of this strange scene, Ivan wrapped himself in the fur coat
which, like a cautious man, he had spread on the stove, and went out.
At the end of half an hour he reappeared.
"Well!" cried Gregory and the two slaves together.
"She is following," said Ivan.
The three tipplers looked at one another in amazement, but Ivan
quietly returned to his place in the middle of them, poured out a new
bumper, and raising his glass, cried--
"To my lady's health! It is the least we can do when she is kind
enough to come and join us on so cold a night, when the snow is
falling fast."
"Annouschka," said a voice outside, "knock at this door and ask
Gregory if he has not some of our servants with him."
Gregory and the two other slaves looked at one another, stupefied:
they had recognised Vaninka's voice. As for Ivan, he flung himself
back in his chair, balancing himself with marvellous impertinence.
Annouschka opened the door, and they could see, as Ivan had said,
that the snow was falling heavily.
"Yes, madam," said the girl; "my brother is there, with Daniel and
Alexis."
Vaninka entered.
"My friends," said she, with a strange smile, "I am told that you
were drinking my health, and I have come to bring you something to
drink it again. Here is a bottle of old French brandy which I have
chosen for you from my father's cellar. Hold out your glasses."
Gregory and the slaves obeyed with the slowness and hesitation of
astonishment, while Ivan held out his glass with the utmost
effrontery.
Vaninka filled them to the brim herself, and then, as they hesitated
to drink, "Come, drink to my health, friends," said she.
"Hurrah!" cried the drinkers, reassured by the kind and familiar tone
of their noble visitor, as they emptied their glasses at a draught.
Vaninka at once poured them out another glass; then putting the
bottle on the table, "Empty the bottle, my friends," said she, "and
do not trouble about me. Annouschka and I, with the permission 2668
of the master of the house, will sit near the stove till the storm is
over."
Gregory tried to rise and place stools near the stove, but whether he
was quite drunk or whether some narcotic had been mixed with the
brandy, he fell back on his seat, trying to stammer out an excuse.
"It is all right," said Vaninka: "do not disturb yourselves; drink,
my friends, drink."
The revellers profited by this permission, and each emptied the glass
before him. Scarcely had Gregory emptied his before he fell forward
on the table.
"Good!" said Vaninka to her maid in a low voice: "the opium is taking
effect."
"What do you mean to do?" said Annouschka.
"You will soon see," was the answer.
The two moujiks followed the example of the master of the house, and
fell down side by side on the ground. Ivan was left struggling
against sleep, and trying to sing a drinking song; but soon his
tongue refused to obey him, his eyes closed in spite of him, and
seeking the tune that escaped him, and muttering words he was unable
to pronounce, he fell fast asleep near his companions.
Immediately Vaninka rose, fixed them with flashing eyes, and called
them by name one after another. There was no response.
Then she clapped her hands and cried joyfully, "The moment has come!"
Going to the back of the room, she brought thence an armful of straw,
placed it in a corner of the room, and did the same in the other
corners. She then took a flaming brand from the stove and set fire
in succession to the four corners of the room.
"What are you doing?" said Annouschka, wild with terror, trying to
stop her.
"I am going to bury our secret in the ashes of this house," answered
Vaninka.
"But my brother, my poor brother!" said the girl.
"Your brother is a wretch who has betrayed me, and we are lost if we
do not destroy him."
"Oh, my brother, my poor brother!"
"You can die with him if you like," said Vaninka, accompanying the
proposal with a smile which showed she would not have been sorry if
Annouschka had carried sisterly affection to that length.
"But look at the fire, madam--the fire!"
"Let us go, then," said Vaninka; and, dragging out the heart-broken
girl, she locked the door behind her and threw the key far away into
the snow.
"In the name of Heaven," said Annouschka, "let us go home quickly: I
cannot gaze upon this awful sight!"
"No, let us stay here!" said Vaninka, holding her back with a grasp
of almost masculine strength. "Let us stay until the house falls in
on them, so that we may be certain that not one of them escapes."
"Oh, my God!" cried Annouschka, falling on her knees, "have mercy
upon my poor brother, for death will hurry him unprepared into Thy
presence."
"Yes, yes, pray; that is right," said Vaninka. "I wish to destroy
their bodies, not their souls."
Vaninka stood motionless, her arms crossed, brilliantly lit up by the
flames, while her attendant prayed. The fire did not last long: the
house was wooden, with the crevices filled with oakum, like all those
of Russian peasants, so that the flames, creeping out at the four
corners, soon made great headway, and, fanned by the wind, spread
rapidly to all parts of the building. Vaninka followed the progress
of the fire with blazing eyes, fearing to see some half-burnt
spectral shape rush out of the flames. At last the roof fell in, and
Vaninka, relieved of all fear, then at last made her way to the
general's house, into which the two women entered without being seen,
thanks to the permission Annouschka had to go out at any hour of the
day or night.
The next morning the sole topic of conversation in St. Petersburg was
the fire at the Red House. Four half-consumed corpses were dug out
from beneath the ruins, and as three of the general's slaves were
missing, he had no doubt that the unrecognisable bodies were those of
Ivan, Daniel, and Alexis: as for the fourth, it was certainly that of
Gregory.
The cause of the fire remained a secret from everyone: the house was
solitary, and the snowstorm so violent that nobody had met the two
women on the deserted road. Vaninka was sure of her maid. Her
secret then had perished with Ivan. But now remorse took the place
of fear: the young girl who was so pitiless and inflexible in the
execution of the deed quailed at its remembrance. It seemed to her
that by revealing the secret of her crime to a priest, she would be
relieved of her terrible burden. She therefore sought a confessor
renowned for his lofty charity, and, under the seal of confession,
told him all. The priest was horrified by the story. Divine mercy
is boundless, but human forgiveness has its limits. He refused
Vaninka the absolution she asked. This refusal was terrible: it
would banish Vaninka from the Holy Table; this banishment would be
noticed, and could not fail to be attributed to some unheard-of and
secret crime. Vaninka fell at the feet of the priest, and in the
name of her father, who would be disgraced by her shame, begged him
to mitigate the rigour of this sentence.
The confessor reflected deeply, then thought he had found a way to
obviate such consequences. It was that Vaninka should approach the
Holy Table with the other young girls; the priest would stop before
her as before all the others, but only say to her, "Pray and weep";
the congregation, deceived by this, would think that she had received
the Sacrament like her companions. This was all that Vaninka could
obtain.
This confession took place about seven o'clock in the evening, and
the solitude of the church, added to the darkness of night, had given
it a still more awful character. The confessor returned home, pale
and trembling. His wife Elizabeth was waiting for him alone. She
had just put her little daughter Arina, who was eight years old, to
bed in an adjoining room. When she saw her husband, she uttered a
cry of terror, so changed and haggard was his appearance. The
confessor tried to reassure her, but his trembling voice only
increased her alarm. She asked the cause of his agitation; the
confessor refused to tell her. Elizabeth had heard the evening
before that her mother was ill; she thought that her husband had
received some bad news. The day was Monday, which is considered an
unlucky day among the Russians, and, going out that day, Elizabeth
had met a man in mourning; these omens were too numerous and too
strong not to portend misfortune.
Elizabeth burst into tears, and cried out, "My mother is dead!"
The priest in vain tried to reassure her by telling her that his
agitation was not due to that. The poor woman, dominated by one
idea, made no response to his protestations but this everlasting cry,
"My mother is dead!"
Then, to bring her to reason, the confessor told her that his emotion
was due to the avowal of a crime which he had just heard in the
confessional. But Elizabeth shook her head: it was a trick, she
said, to hide from her the sorrow which had fallen upon her. Her
agony, instead of calming, became more violent; her tears ceased to
flow, and were followed by hysterics. The priest then made her swear
to keep the secret, and the sanctity of the confession was betrayed.
Little Arina had awakened at Elizabeth's cries, and being disturbed
and at the same time curious as to what her parents were doing, she
got up, went to listen at the door, and heard all.
The day for the Communion came; the church of St. Simeon was crowded.
Vaninka came to kneel at the railing of the choir. Behind her was
her father and his aides-de-camp, and behind them their servants.
Arina was also in the church with her mother. The inquisitive child
wished to see Vaninka, whose name she had heard pronounced that
terrible night, when her father had failed in the first and most
sacred of the duties imposed on a priest. While her mother was
praying, she left her chair and glided among the worshippers, nearly
as far as the railing.
But when she had arrived there, she was stopped by the group of the
general's servants. But Arina had not come so far to be, stopped so
easily: she tried to push between them, but they opposed her; she
persisted, and one of them pushed her roughly back. The child fell,
struck her head against a seat, and got up bleeding and crying, "You
are very proud for a slave. Is it because you belong to the great
lady who burnt the Red House?"
These words, uttered in a loud voice, in the midst of the silence
which preceded, the sacred ceremony, were heard by everyone. They
were answered by a shriek. Vaninka had fainted. The next day the
general, at the feet of Paul, recounted to him, as his sovereign and
judge, the whole terrible story, which Vaninka, crushed by her long
struggle, had at last revealed to him, at night, after the scene in
the church.
The emperor remained for a moment in thought at the end of this
strange confession; then, getting up from the chair where he had been
sitting while the miserable father told his story, he went to a
bureau, and wrote on a sheet of paper the following sentence:
"The priest having violated what should have been inviolable, the
secrets of the confessional, is exiled to Siberia and deprived of his
priestly office. His wife will follow him: she is to be blamed for
not having respected his character as a minister of the altar. The
little girl will not leave her parents.
"Annouschka, the attendant, will also go to Siberia for not having
made known to her master his daughter's conduct.
"I preserve all my esteem for the general, and I mourn with him for
the deadly blow which has struck him.
"As for Vaninka, I know of no punishment which can be inflicted upon
her. I only see in her the daughter of a brave soldier, whose whole
life has been devoted to the service of his country. Besides, the
extraordinary way in which the crime was discovered, seems to place
the culprit beyond the limits of my severity. I leave her punishment
in her own hands. If I understand her character, if any feeling of
dignity remains to her, her heart and her remorse will show her the
path she ought to follow."
Paul handed the paper open to the general, ordering him to take it to
Count Pahlen, the governor of St. Petersburg.
On the following day the emperor's orders were carried out.
Vaninka went into a convent, where towards the end of the same year
she died of shame and grief.
The general found the death he sought on the field of Austerlitz.
Back to Full Books
|