Who wrote Dubrovsky's summary. "Dubrovsky" by Pushkin: plot and history of creation. Why the novel does not become obsolete
Chapter I
A few years ago, an old Russian gentleman, Kirila Petrovich Troekurov, lived in one of his estates. His wealth, noble family and connections gave him great weight in the provinces where his estate was located. The neighbors were glad to cater to his slightest whims; provincial officials trembled at his name; Kirila Petrovich accepted signs of servility as a proper tribute; his house was always full of guests, ready to amuse his lordly idleness, sharing his noisy and sometimes violent amusements. No one dared to refuse his invitation or, on certain days, not to appear with due respect in the village of Pokrovskoye. In domestic life, Kirila Petrovich showed all the vices of an uneducated person. Spoiled by everything that only surrounded him, he was accustomed to give full rein to all the impulses of his ardent disposition and all the undertakings of a rather limited mind. Despite the extraordinary strength of his physical abilities, he suffered from gluttony twice a week and was tipsy every evening. In one of the outbuildings of his house, sixteen maids lived, doing needlework peculiar to their sex. The windows in the wing were barred with wooden bars; the doors were locked with locks, for which the keys were kept by Kiril Petrovich. Young hermits at the appointed hours went to the garden and walked under the supervision of two old women. From time to time, Kirila Petrovich gave some of them in marriage, and new ones took their place. He dealt with peasants and serfs sternly and capriciously; despite the fact that they were devoted to him: they conceited the wealth and glory of their master and, in turn, allowed themselves a lot in relation to their neighbors, hoping for his strong patronage. Troekurov's usual occupations consisted of traveling about his vast estates, in lengthy feasts and pranks, daily, moreover, invented and the victim of which was usually some new acquaintance; although their old friends did not always avoid them, with the exception of one Andrey Gavrilovich Dubrovsky. This Dubrovsky, a retired lieutenant of the guard, was his closest neighbor and owned seventy souls. Troyekurov, arrogant in dealing with people of the highest rank, respected Dubrovsky in spite of his humble state. Once they were comrades in the service, and Troekurov knew from experience the impatience and determination of his character. Circumstances separated them for a long time. Dubrovsky, in an upset state, was forced to retire and settle in the rest of his village. Kirila Petrovich, having learned about this, offered him his patronage, but Dubrovsky thanked him and remained poor and independent. A few years later, Troekurov, a retired general-in-chief, arrived at his estate, they saw each other and were delighted with each other. Since then, they have been together every day, and Kirila Petrovich, who never deigned to visit anyone, easily stopped by his old comrade's house. Being the same age, born in the same class, brought up the same way, they partly resembled both in characters and inclinations. In some respects, their fate was the same: both married for love, both were soon widowed, both had a child. Dubrovsky’s son was brought up in St. Petersburg, Kiril Petrovich’s daughter grew up in the eyes of his parent, and Troekurov often said to Dubrovsky: “Listen, brother, Andrei Gavrilovich: if there is a path in your Volodya, then I will give Masha for him; for nothing that he is naked as a falcon. Andrei Gavrilovich shook his head and usually answered: “No, Kirila Petrovich: my Volodya is not Maria Kirilovna's fiancé. It is better for a poor nobleman, what he is, to marry a poor noblewoman, and be the head of the house, than to become the clerk of a spoiled woman. Everyone envied the harmony that reigned between the arrogant Troyekurov and his poor neighbor, and were surprised at the courage of this latter, when he directly expressed his opinion at Kiril Petrovich's table, not caring whether it contradicted the opinions of the owner. Some tried to imitate him and go beyond the bounds of due obedience, but Kirila Petrovich frightened them so much that he forever discouraged them from such attempts, and Dubrovsky alone remained outside the general law. An accident upset and changed everything. Once, at the beginning of autumn, Kirila Petrovich was getting ready to go to the outfield. The day before, an order had been given to the kennel and aspirants to be ready by five o'clock in the morning. The tent and kitchen were sent forward to the place where Kirila Petrovich was to dine. The owner and guests went to the kennel, where more than five hundred hounds and greyhounds lived in contentment and warmth, glorifying the generosity of Kiril Petrovich in their dog language. There was also an infirmary for sick dogs, under the supervision of the head doctor Timoshka, and a department where noble females whelped and fed their puppies. Kirila Petrovich was proud of this fine establishment and never missed an opportunity to boast of it to his guests, each of whom had visited it at least for the twentieth time. He paced around the kennel, surrounded by his guests and accompanied by Timoshka and the chief kennels; he stopped in front of some kennels, now inquiring about the health of the sick, now making remarks more or less strict and fair, now calling familiar dogs to him and talking affectionately with them. The guests considered it their duty to admire Kiril Petrovich's kennel. Only Dubrovsky was silent and frowning. He was an ardent hunter. His condition allowed him to keep only two hounds and one pack of greyhounds; he could not help feeling some envy at the sight of this splendid establishment. “Why are you frowning, brother,” Kirila Petrovich asked him, “or do you not like my kennel?” “No,” he answered sternly, “the kennel is wonderful, it’s unlikely that your people live the same as your dogs.” One of the psars was offended. “We don’t complain about our life,” he said, “thanks to God and the master, and what’s true is true, it would not be bad for another and a nobleman to exchange the estate for any local kennel. He would have been better fed and warmer.” Kirila Petrovich laughed out loud at the impudent remark of his serf, and the guests after him burst out laughing, although they felt that the kennel's joke could apply to them as well. Dubrovsky turned pale and did not say a word. At this time, newborn puppies were brought to Kiril Petrovich in a basket; he took care of them, chose two for himself, and ordered the rest to be drowned. Meanwhile Andrei Gavrilovich disappeared without anyone noticing. Returning with the guests from the kennel, Kirila Petrovich sat down to supper, and only then, not seeing Dubrovsky, missed him. People answered that Andrei Gavrilovich had gone home. Troekurov ordered to immediately overtake him and bring him back without fail. He never went hunting without Dubrovsky, an experienced and subtle connoisseur of canine virtues and an unmistakable resolver of all kinds of hunting disputes. The servant, who had galloped after him, returned as they were still sitting at the table, and reported to his master that, they say, Andrey Gavrilovich did not obey and did not want to return. Kirila Petrovich, inflamed with liqueurs as usual, got angry and sent the same servant a second time to tell Andrei Gavrilovich that if he did not immediately come to spend the night in Pokrovskoye, then he, Troyekurov, would quarrel with him forever. The servant galloped again, Kirila Petrovich got up from the table, dismissed the guests and went to bed. The next day his first question was: Is Andrey Gavrilovich here? Instead of answering, they gave him a letter folded in a triangle; Kirila Petrovich ordered his clerk to read it aloud and heard the following:"My merciful lord,
Until then, I do not intend to go to Pokrovskoye until you send me the kennel Paramoshka with a confession; but it will be my will to punish him or pardon him, but I do not intend to endure jokes from your lackeys, and I will not endure them from you either, because I am not a jester, but an old nobleman. For this I remain obedient to the services Andrey Dubrovsky.
Volume One
Chapter I
A few years ago, an old Russian gentleman, Kirila Petrovich Troekurov, lived in one of his estates. His wealth, noble family and connections gave him great weight in the provinces where his estate was located. The neighbors were glad to cater to his slightest whims; provincial officials trembled at his name; Kirila Petrovich accepted signs of servility as a proper tribute; his house was always full of guests, ready to amuse his lordly idleness, sharing his noisy and sometimes violent amusements. No one dared to refuse his invitation or, on certain days, not to appear with due respect in the village of Pokrovskoye. In domestic life, Kirila Petrovich showed all the vices of an uneducated person. Spoiled by everything that only surrounded him, he was accustomed to give full rein to all the impulses of his ardent disposition and all the undertakings of a rather limited mind. Despite the extraordinary strength of his physical abilities, he suffered from gluttony twice a week and was tipsy every evening. In one of the outbuildings of his house, sixteen maids lived, doing needlework peculiar to their sex. The windows in the wing were barred with wooden bars; the doors were locked with locks, for which the keys were kept by Kiril Petrovich. Young hermits at the appointed hours went to the garden and walked under the supervision of two old women. From time to time, Kirila Petrovich gave some of them in marriage, and new ones took their place. He dealt with peasants and serfs sternly and capriciously; despite the fact that they were devoted to him: they conceited the wealth and glory of their master and, in turn, allowed themselves a lot in relation to their neighbors, hoping for his strong patronage.
Troekurov's usual occupations consisted of traveling about his vast estates, in lengthy feasts and pranks, daily, moreover, invented and the victim of which was usually some new acquaintance; although their old friends did not always avoid them, with the exception of one Andrey Gavrilovich Dubrovsky. This Dubrovsky, a retired lieutenant of the guard, was his closest neighbor and owned seventy souls. Troekurov, haughty in dealing with people of the highest rank, respected Dubrovsky, despite his humble state. Once they were comrades in the service, and Troekurov knew from experience the impatience and determination of his character. Circumstances separated them for a long time. Dubrovsky, in an upset state, was forced to retire and settle in the rest of his village. Kirila Petrovich, having learned about this, offered him his patronage, but Dubrovsky thanked him and remained poor and independent. A few years later, Troyekurov, a retired general-in-chief, arrived at his estate; they met and rejoiced at each other. Since then, they have been together every day, and Kirila Petrovich, who never deigned to visit anyone, easily stopped by his old comrade's house. Being the same age, born in the same class, brought up the same way, they partly resembled both in characters and inclinations. In some respects, their fate was the same: both married for love, both were soon widowed, both had a child. Dubrovsky’s son was brought up in St. Petersburg, Kiril Petrovich’s daughter grew up in the eyes of his parent, and Troekurov often said to Dubrovsky: “Listen, brother, Andrei Gavrilovich: if there is a path in your Volodya, then I will give Masha for him; for nothing that he is naked as a falcon. Andrei Gavrilovich shook his head and usually answered: “No, Kirila Petrovich: my Volodya is not Maria Kirilovna's fiancé. It is better for a poor nobleman, what he is, to marry a poor noblewoman and be the head of the house than to become a spoiled woman's clerk.
Everyone envied the harmony that reigned between the arrogant Troyekurov and his poor neighbor, and were surprised at the courage of this latter, when he directly expressed his opinion at Kiril Petrovich's table, not caring whether it contradicted the opinions of the owner. Some tried to imitate him and go beyond the bounds of due obedience, but Kirila Petrovich frightened them so much that he forever discouraged them from such attempts, and Dubrovsky alone remained outside the general law. An accident upset and changed everything.
Once, at the beginning of autumn, Kirila Petrovich was getting ready to go to the outfield. The day before, an order had been given to the kennel and aspirants to be ready by five o'clock in the morning. The tent and kitchen were sent forward to the place where Kirila Petrovich was to dine. The owner and guests went to the kennel, where more than five hundred hounds and greyhounds lived in contentment and warmth, glorifying the generosity of Kiril Petrovich in their dog language. There was also an infirmary for sick dogs under the supervision of the head doctor Timoshka and a department where the noble females whelped and fed their puppies. Kirila Petrovich was proud of this fine establishment and never missed an opportunity to show off it to his guests, each of whom had visited it at least for the twentieth time. He paced around the kennel, surrounded by his guests and accompanied by Timoshka and the chief kennels; he stopped in front of some kennels, now inquiring about the health of the sick, now making remarks more or less strict and fair, now calling familiar dogs to him and talking affectionately with them. The guests considered it their duty to admire Kiril Petrovich's kennel. Only Dubrovsky was silent and frowning. He was an ardent hunter. His condition allowed him to keep only two hounds and one pack of greyhounds; he could not help feeling some envy at the sight of this splendid establishment. “Why are you frowning, brother,” Kirila Petrovich asked him, “or do you not like my kennel?” “No,” he answered sternly, “the kennel is wonderful, it’s unlikely that your people live the same as your dogs.” One of the psars was offended. “We don’t complain about our life,” he said, “thanks to God and the master, and what’s true is true, it would not be bad for another and a nobleman to exchange the estate for any local kennel. He would have been better fed and warmer.” Kirila Petrovich laughed out loud at the impudent remark of his serf, and the guests after him burst out laughing, although they felt that the kennel's joke could apply to them as well. Dubrovsky turned pale and did not say a word. At this time, newborn puppies were brought to Kiril Petrovich in a basket; he took care of them, chose two for himself, and ordered the rest to be drowned. Meanwhile Andrey Gavrilovich disappeared without anyone noticing. Returning with the guests from the kennel, Kirila Petrovich sat down to supper, and only then, not seeing Dubrovsky, missed him. People answered that Andrei Gavrilovich had gone home. Troekurov ordered to immediately overtake him and bring him back without fail. He never went hunting without Dubrovsky, an experienced and subtle connoisseur of canine virtues and an unmistakable resolver of all kinds of hunting disputes. The servant, who had galloped after him, returned as they were still sitting at the table, and reported to his master that, they say, Andrey Gavrilovich did not obey and did not want to return. Kirila Petrovich, inflamed with liqueurs as usual, got angry and sent the same servant a second time to tell Andrei Gavrilovich that if he did not immediately come to spend the night in Pokrovskoye, then he, Troyekurov, would quarrel with him forever. The servant galloped again, Kirila Petrovich, getting up from the table, dismissed the guests and went to bed.
The next day his first question was: Is Andrey Gavrilovich here? Instead of answering, they gave him a letter folded in a triangle; Kirila Petrovich ordered his clerk to read it aloud and heard the following:
"My merciful lord,
Until then, I do not intend to go to Pokrovskoye until you send me the kennel Paramoshka with a confession; but it will be my will to punish him or pardon him, but I do not intend to endure jokes from your lackeys, and I will not endure them from you either - because I am not a jester, but an old nobleman. - For this I remain obedient to the services
Andrey Dubrovsky.
According to today's notions of etiquette, this letter would have been very indecent, but it angered Kiril Petrovich not by its strange style and disposition, but only by its essence. “How,” thundered Troekurov, jumping out of bed barefoot, “send my people to him with a confession, he is free to pardon them, punish them! What was he really up to? does he know who he's talking to? Here I am him ... He will cry with me, he will find out what it is like to go to Troekurov!
Kirila Petrovich dressed himself and went out hunting with his usual pomp, but the hunt failed. All day long they saw only one hare, and that one was poisoned. Dinner in the field under the tent also failed, or at least was not to the taste of Kiril Petrovich, who killed the cook, scolded the guests, and on his way back, with all his desire, purposely drove through the fields of Dubrovsky.
Several days passed, and the enmity between the two neighbors did not subside. Andrei Gavrilovich did not return to Pokrovskoye, Kirila Petrovich missed him, and his annoyance poured out loudly in the most insulting terms, which, thanks to the zeal of the nobles there, reached Dubrovsky, corrected and supplemented. The new circumstance also destroyed the last hope for reconciliation.
Dubrovsky once went round his small estate; approaching a birch grove, he heard the blows of an ax and a minute later the crack of a fallen tree. He hurried into the grove and ran into the Pokrovsky peasants, who were calmly stealing the wood from him. Seeing him, they rushed to run. Dubrovsky and his coachman caught two of them and brought them bound to his yard. Three enemy horses immediately fell into prey to the winner. Dubrovsky was remarkably angry: never before had Troekurov's people, the well-known robbers, dared to play pranks within the limits of his possessions, knowing his friendly connection with their master. Dubrovsky saw that they were now taking advantage of the gap that had occurred, and he decided, contrary to all notions of the right of war, to teach his captives a lesson with the rods that they stocked up in his own grove, and put the horses to work, assigning them to the lord's cattle.
The rumor of this incident reached Kiril Petrovich the same day. He lost his temper and in the first moment of anger wanted to attack Kistenevka (that was the name of his neighbor's village), with all his yard servants, to ruin it to the ground and besiege the landowner himself in his estate. Such feats were not unusual for him. But his thoughts soon took a different direction.
Walking with heavy steps up and down the hall, he accidentally glanced out the window and saw a troika stopped at the gate; a small man in a leather cap and a frieze overcoat got out of the cart and went into the wing to the clerk; Troyekurov recognized assessor Shabashkin and ordered him to be called. A minute later Shabashkin was already standing in front of Kiril Petrovich, making bow after bow and reverently awaiting his orders.
“Great, what’s your name,” Troyekurov told him, “why did you come here?”
“I was on my way to the city, Your Excellency,” answered Shabashkin, “and I went to Ivan Demyanov to find out if there would be any order from Your Excellency.
- Very opportunely stopped by, what's your name; I need you. Drink vodka and listen.
Such an affectionate reception pleasantly surprised the assessor. He refused vodka and began to listen to Kiril Petrovich with all possible attention.
“I have a neighbor,” said Troyekurov, “a rude small landowner; I want to take the estate from him - what do you think about that?
“Your Excellency, if there are any documents or—”
- You're lying, brother, what documents do you need. There are orders for that. That is the strength to take away the property without any right. Stay, however. This estate once belonged to us, it was bought from some Spitsyn and then sold to Dubrovsky's father. Isn't it possible to complain about this?
- It is wise, your excellency; it is likely that this sale was made legally.
- Think, brother, look carefully.
- If, for example, your Excellency could somehow get from your neighbor a note or bill of sale, by virtue of which he owns his estate, then of course ...
- I understand, but that's the trouble - all his papers burned down during the fire.
- How, Your Excellency, his papers burned! what is better for you? - in this case, please act according to the laws, and without any doubt you will receive your perfect pleasure.
- You think? Well, look. I rely on your diligence, and you can be sure of my gratitude.
Shabashkin bowed almost to the ground, went out, from the same day began to fuss over the planned business, and thanks to his agility, exactly two weeks later, Dubrovsky received an invitation from the city to immediately deliver proper explanations about his ownership of the village of Kistenevka.
Andrei Gavrilovich, amazed at the unexpected request, on the same day wrote in response to a rather rude attitude, in which he announced that he had inherited the village of Kistenevka after the death of his deceased parent, that he owned it by right of inheritance, that Troekurov had nothing to do with him and that any extraneous claim to this property of his is a sneak and a fraud.
This letter made a very pleasant impression in the soul of assessor Shabashkin. He saw in 1) that Dubrovsky knew little about business, and 2) that it would not be difficult to put a man so ardent and imprudent in the most disadvantageous position.
Andrey Gavrilovich, having considered in cold blood the requests of the assessor, saw the need to answer in more detail. He wrote a rather efficient paper, but in the course of time it turned out to be insufficient.
The case began to drag on. Confident in his rightness, Andrei Gavrilovich worried little about him, had neither the desire nor the opportunity to pour money around him, and although he used to be always the first to mock the corrupt conscience of the ink tribe, the thought of becoming a victim of a sneak did not cross his mind. For his part, Troekurov cared just as little about winning the business he had started, Shabashkin fussed for him, acting on his behalf, intimidating and bribing judges and interpreting all sorts of decrees in a twisted and true way. Be that as it may, on February 9, 18 ..., Dubrovsky received an invitation through the city police to appear before the ** zemstvo judge to hear the decision of this on the case of the disputed estate between him, Lieutenant Dubrovsky, and General-in-Chief Troekurov, and to sign his pleasure or displeasure. On the same day, Dubrovsky went to the city; Troekurov overtook him on the road. They looked proudly at each other, and Dubrovsky noticed an evil smile on his opponent's face.
Chapter II
Arriving in the city, Andrei Gavrilovich stopped at a merchant friend, spent the night with him, and the next morning appeared in the presence of the district court. Nobody paid any attention to him. Following him came Kirila Petrovich. The clerks stood up and put the feathers behind their ears. The members greeted him with expressions of deep subservience, moved him chairs out of respect for his rank, years and corpulence; he sat down with the doors open—Andrei Gavrilovich stood leaning against the wall—there was a profound silence, and the secretary began to read the ruling of the court in a ringing voice.
We place it completely, believing that it will be pleasant for everyone to see one of the ways in which we can lose property in Russia, the possession of which we have an indisputable right to.
On October 18, on the 27th of the day, ** the county court considered the case of the improper possession of the guards by lieutenant Andrey Gavrilov, son of the Dubrovsky estate, owned by general-in-chief Kiril Petrov, son of Troekurov, consisting of ** province in the village of Kistenevka, male ** souls, and lands with meadows and land ** acres. From which case it can be seen: the aforementioned general-in-chief Troekurov of the past 18 ... June 9 days went up to this court with a petition that his late father, collegiate assessor and cavalier Peter Efimov, the son of Troekurov in 17 ... August 14 days, who served at that time time in ** governorship as a provincial secretary, bought from the nobles from the clerk Fadey Yegorov, the son of Spitsyn, an estate consisting of ** districts in the aforementioned village of Kistenevka (which the village was then called Kistenevsky settlements according to ** revision), all listed according to the 4th revision of the male sex ** souls with all their peasant property, the estate, with plowed and unplowed land, forests, hay meadows, fishing along the river called Kistenevka, and with all the land belonging to this estate and the master's wooden house, and in a word, everything without a trace, that after his father, from the nobles of the constable Yegor Terentyev, the son of Spitsyn was inherited and was in his possession, leaving not a single soul from the people, and not a single quadrangle from the earth, at the cost of z and 2500 rubles, for which the bill of sale was made on the same day in the ** chamber of the court and the reprisals were made, and his father was taken into possession on the same day on the 26th day of August ** by the Zemstvo court and a refusal was made for him. - And finally, on September 17, on the 6th day, his father, by the will of God, died, and meanwhile he was a petitioner, General-in-Chief Troekurov, from 17 ... almost from childhood he was in military service and for the most part was on campaigns abroad, which is why he could not have information about the death of his father, as well as about the estate left after him. Now, after completely leaving that service in retirement and returning to his father’s estates, consisting of ** and ** provinces **, ** and ** counties, in different villages, up to 3000 souls in total, he finds that from among those of the estates with the above ** souls (of which, according to the current ** revision, there are only ** souls in that village) with the land and with all the land, Lieutenant Andrei Dubrovsky, the above-mentioned guard, owns without any fortifications, why, presenting at this request that genuine bill of sale given to his father the seller Spitsyn, asks, having taken away the aforementioned estate from Dubrovsky's wrong possession, to give according to ownership to Troekurov's full disposal. And for the unfair appropriation of this, from which he used the income received, upon the initiation of a proper inquiry about them, to put from him, Dubrovsky, the penalty following the laws and satisfy him, Troekurov.
According to the order of the Zemstvo Court, according to this request for research, it was discovered that the aforementioned current owner of the disputed estate of the Guards, Lieutenant Dubrovsky, gave an explanation to the noble assessor on the spot that the estate he now owns, consisting in the aforementioned village of Kistenevka, ** souls with land and lands, went to he inherited after the death of his father, artillery lieutenant Gavril Evgrafov, son of Dubrovsky, and he received from the purchase from the father of this petitioner, formerly a former provincial secretary, and then a collegiate assessor Troekurov, by proxy given from him in 17 ... August 30 days, testified in the ** county court, to the titular adviser Grigory Vasilyev, son Sobolev, according to which there should be a bill of sale from him for this estate to his father, because it says in it that he, Troekurov, all the estate inherited from the clerk Spitsyn by the bill of sale, * * soul with land, sold to his father, Dubrovsky, and the money following the contract, 3200 rubles, all in full from his father without return received and asked this trusted Sobolev to give his father his decreed fortress. In the meantime, his father, in the same power of attorney, on the occasion of paying the entire amount, to own that estate purchased from him and dispose of it until the completion of this fortress, as the real owner, and he, the seller Troekurov, henceforth and no one will intervene in that estate. But when exactly and in what public place such a bill of sale from the attorney Sobolev was given to his father, he, Andrei Dubrovsky, does not know, because at that time he was in complete infancy, and after the death of his father he could not find such a fortress, but believes that didn’t it burn down with other papers and the estate during the fire in their house in 17 ..., which was also known to the inhabitants of that village. And that they, the Dubrovskys, undoubtedly owned this estate from the date of the sale by Troekurov or the issuance of a power of attorney to Sobolev, that is, from 17 ... years, and after the death of his father from 17 ... years to this day, this is evidenced by roundabout residents, who, in total, 52 of a person, when questioned under oath, they showed that indeed, as they can remember, the aforementioned disputed estate began to be owned by the aforementioned years. The Dubrovskys back this year from 70 without any dispute from anyone, but they don’t know by what act or fortress. “The former buyer of this estate mentioned in this case, the former provincial secretary Pyotr Troekurov, whether he owned this estate, they will not remember. The house of Messrs. Dubrovskikh, about 30 years ago, from a fire that happened in their village at night, burned down, and third-party people admitted that the aforementioned disputed estate could bring income, believing since that time in difficulty, annually not less than 2000 rubles.
Opposite to this, General-in-Chief Kirila Petrov, son of the Troekurovs, on the 3rd of January of this year, went up to this court with a petition that, although Lieutenant Andrei Dubrovsky, mentioned by the guards, submitted during the investigation, to this case, issued by his late father Gavril Dubrovsky to titular adviser Sobolev, a power of attorney for the sold to him the estate, but according to this, not only a genuine bill of sale, but even for ever making it, he did not provide any clear evidence of the force of the general regulations of chapter 19 and the decree of November 29, 1752, on 29 days. Consequently, the very power of attorney is now, after the death of the giver of it, his father, by decree of May 1818 ... the day, completely destroyed. - And on top of that - it was ordered to give the disputed estates into possession - serfs by fortresses, and non-serfs by search.
On what estate belonging to his father, a serf deed has already been presented from him as evidence, according to which, on the basis of the aforementioned laws, taking away the aforementioned Dubrovsky from the wrong possession, give it to him by right of inheritance. And as the aforementioned landowners, having in possession of an estate that did not belong to them and without any strengthening, and used from it incorrectly and income that did not belong to them, then after calculating how many of them will be due according to strength ... to recover from the landowner Dubrovsky and him, Troyekurov, to satisfy them . - After consideration of which case and the extract made from it and from the laws in the ** county court, it was determined:
As it can be seen from this case, that General-in-Chief Kirila Petrov, son of Troekurov, on the aforementioned disputed estate, which is now in the possession of the Guard Lieutenant Andrei Gavrilov, son of Dubrovsky, consisting in the village of Kistenevka, according to the current ... revision of the entire male sex ** souls, with land, and land, presented a genuine bill of sale for the sale of this to his late father, a provincial secretary, who later was a collegiate assessor, in 17 ... from the nobles, clerk Fadey Spitsyn, and that, in addition to this, this buyer, Troekurov, as seen from the inscription made on that bill of sale, was in the same year ** taken into possession by the zemstvo court, which the estate had already been denied for him, and although, on the contrary, on the part of the guard lieutenant Andrey Dubrovsky, a power of attorney was presented, given by that deceased buyer Troekurov to the titular adviser Sobolev to make a bill of sale in the name of his father , Dubrovsky, but under such transactions, not only approve serf immovable estates, but even temporarily own by decree .... forbidden, moreover, the power of attorney itself is completely destroyed by the death of the giver. But so that, in addition to this, where and when a deed of sale was actually made by this power of attorney, on the part of Dubrovsky, no clear evidence has been presented to the case from the beginning of the proceedings, that is, from 18 ... years, and to this time has not been presented. And therefore this court also believes: the aforementioned estate, ** souls, with land and lands, in what position it will now be, to approve according to the bill of sale presented for it for general-in-chief Troekurov; on the removal of Lieutenant Dubrovsky from his command and on the proper taking into possession for him, Mr. Troekurov, and on the refusal for him, as he had inherited, to prescribe ** to the Zemstvo court. And although, in addition to this, general-in-chief Troekurov asks for the recovery from the guards of lieutenant Dubrovsky for the wrongful possession of his hereditary estate, the income used from it. - But how this estate, according to the testimony of old-timers, was in the hands of Messrs. The Dubrovskys have been in undisputed possession for several years, and it is not clear from this case that there have been any petitions from Mr. Troekurov until now about such improper possession of the Dubrovsky estate, according to the code, if someone sows someone else's land or fences off the estate , and they will beat him about the wrong possession with a brow, and it is found out for sure, then to the right to give that land with sown grain, and gorodboi, and buildings, and therefore General-Anshef Troekurov in the claim expressed on the guards of Lieutenant Dubrovsky to refuse, because belonging to his property is returned to his possession, without taking anything from it. And that when entering for him, everything can be refused without a trace, while providing General-Anshef Troekurov, if he has any clear and legitimate evidence of such a claim, he can ask where it should be especially. - What decision should be announced in advance both to the plaintiff and the defendant, on a legal basis, by the procedure of appeal, whom to summon to this court to hear this decision and sign pleasure or displeasure through the police.
What decision was signed by all present of that court. -
The secretary fell silent, the assessor got up and with a low bow turned to Troyekurov, inviting him to sign the proposed paper, and the triumphant Troyekurov, taking a pen from him, signed his complete pleasure under the decision of the court.
The queue was behind Dubrovsky. The secretary handed him the paper. But Dubrovsky became motionless, his head bowed.
The secretary repeated to him his invitation to sign his full and complete pleasure or obvious displeasure, if, more than aspirations, he feels in his conscience that his cause is just, and intends to appeal to the appropriate place at the time prescribed by laws. Dubrovsky was silent... Suddenly he raised his head, his eyes sparkled, he stamped his foot, pushed the secretary away with such force that he fell, and, seizing the inkwell, threw it at the assessor. Everyone was horrified. "How! do not honor the church of God! away, boorish tribe! Then, turning to Kiril Petrovich: “I heard a thing, Your Excellency,” he continued, “houndsmen are bringing dogs into God's church! dogs run around the church. I’ll teach you a lesson already ... ”The watchmen ran to the noise and took possession of it by force. They took him out and put him in a sledge. Troyekurov followed him out, accompanied by the entire court. Dubrovsky's sudden madness had a strong effect on his imagination and poisoned his triumph.
The judges, hoping for his gratitude, did not receive a single friendly word from him. On the same day he went to Pokrovskoye. Dubrovsky, meanwhile, was lying in bed; the district doctor, fortunately not a complete ignoramus, managed to bleed him, put leeches and Spanish flies. By evening he felt better, the patient came to his memory. The next day they took him to Kistenevka, which almost no longer belonged to him.
Chapter III
Some time passed, but poor Dubrovsky's health was still bad; True, the fits of madness did not resume, but his strength was noticeably weakening. He forgot his previous activities, rarely left his room and thought for days on end. Yegorovna, the kind old woman who had once taken care of his son, now became his nurse too. She looked after him like a child, reminded him of the time of food and sleep, fed him, put him to bed. Andrei Gavrilovich quietly obeyed her and had no intercourse with anyone except her. He was unable to think about his affairs, economic orders, and Egorovna saw the need to notify the young Dubrovsky, who served in one of the guards infantry regiments and was at that time in St. Petersburg, about everything. So, tearing off a sheet from the account book, she dictated to the cook Khariton, the only literate Kistenev, a letter, which on the same day she sent to the city by post.
But it's time to introduce the reader to the real hero of our story.
Vladimir Dubrovsky was brought up in the Cadet Corps and was released as a cornet in the guard; his father spared nothing for his decent maintenance, and the young man received from the house more than he should have expected. Being extravagant and ambitious, he allowed himself luxurious whims, played cards and entered into debts, not worrying about the future and foreseeing sooner or later a rich bride, the dream of poor youth.
One evening, when several officers were sitting with him, lounging on sofas and smoking from his ambers, Grisha, his valet, handed him a letter, whose inscription and seal immediately struck the young man. He hastily opened it and read the following:
“You are our sovereign, Vladimir Andreevich, - I, your old nanny, decided to report to you about papa’s health. He is very bad, sometimes he talks, and all day he sits like a stupid child, and in his stomach and death God is free. Come to us, my clear falcon, we will send you horses to Pesochnoe. It is heard that the zemstvo court is coming to us to give us under the command of Kiril Petrovich Troekurov, because we, they say, are theirs, and we are yours from time immemorial - and we have never heard of that. - You could, living in St. Petersburg, report about that to the tsar-father, and he would not let us be offended. - I remain your faithful slave, nanny
Orina Egorovna Buzyreva.
I send my maternal blessing to Grisha, does he serve you well? “It has been raining here for a week now, and the shepherd Rodya died around Mikolin Day.”
Vladimir Dubrovsky re-read these rather stupid lines several times in a row with unusual emotion. He lost his mother from childhood and, almost not knowing his father, was brought to Petersburg in the eighth year of his age; for all that, he was romantically attached to him and loved family life the more, the less he had time to enjoy its quiet joys.
The thought of losing his father painfully tormented his heart, and the situation of the poor patient, which he guessed from the letter of his nurse, horrified him. He imagined his father, left in a remote village, in the arms of a stupid old woman and a servant, threatened by some kind of disaster and fading away without help in torment of body and soul. Vladimir reproached himself for criminal negligence. For a long time he did not receive letters from his father and did not think about inquiring about him, believing him to be on the road or on household chores.
He decided to go to him and even retire, if his father's ill state required his presence. The comrades, noticing his anxiety, left. Vladimir, left alone, wrote a request for a vacation, lit his pipe and plunged into deep thought.
On the same day he began to fuss about a vacation, and three days later he was already on the high road.
Vladimir Andreevich was approaching the station from which he was to turn off towards Kistenevka. His heart was filled with sad forebodings, he was afraid that he would no longer find his father alive, he imagined the sad way of life that awaited him in the countryside, the wilderness, desertion, poverty and chores for business in which he knew no sense. Arriving at the station, he entered the stationmaster and asked for free horses. The caretaker inquired where he needed to go, and announced that the horses sent from Kistenevka had been waiting for him for the fourth day. Soon the old coachman Anton appeared to Vladimir Andreevich, who had once led him around the stable and looked after his little horse. Anton shed tears when he saw him, bowed to the ground, told him that his old master was still alive, and ran to harness the horses. Vladimir Andreevich refused the offered breakfast and hurried off. Anton took him along country roads, and a conversation began between them.
- Tell me, please, Anton, what is the matter with my father and Troekurov?
- And God knows them, father Vladimir Andreevich ... Master, listen, did not get along with Kiril Petrovich, and he sued, although often he is his own judge. It's not our serf's job to sort out the master's wills, but by God, your father went to Kiril Petrovich in vain, you can't break a butt with a whip.
- So, it is clear that this Kirila Petrovich does what he wants with you?
- And, of course, master: listen, he doesn’t put a penny on an assessor, he has a police officer on the premises. The gentlemen come to bow to him, and that would be a trough, but there will be pigs.
“Is it true that he takes our property from us?”
- Oh, sir, we heard it too. The other day, the intercession sexton said at the christening at our headman: it’s enough for you to walk; now Kirila Petrovich will take you into his hands. Mikita is a blacksmith and said to him: and that's it, Savelich, do not sadness godfather, do not stir up the guests. Kirila Petrovich is on his own, and Andrei Gavrilovich is on his own, and we are all God's and sovereigns; but you can't sew buttons on someone else's mouth.
“So you don’t want to go into the possession of Troyekurov?”
- Into the possession of Kiril Petrovich! God forbid and deliver: he has a bad time with his own people, but strangers will get it, so he will not only skin them, but even tear off the meat. No, God grant a long hello to Andrey Gavrilovich, and if God takes him away, then we don’t need anyone but you, our breadwinner. Don't betray us, but we'll stand for you. - With these words, Anton waved his whip, shook the reins, and his horses ran at a large trot.
Touched by the devotion of the old coachman, Dubrovsky fell silent and indulged in thoughts again. More than an hour passed, when suddenly Grisha woke him up with an exclamation: “Here is Pokrovskoye!” Dubrovsky raised his head. He rode along the shore of a wide lake, from which a river flowed and meandered in the distance between the hills; on one of them, above the dense greenery of the grove, rose the green roof and the belvedere of a huge stone house, on the other, a five-domed church and an ancient bell tower; village huts with their kitchen gardens and wells were scattered around. Dubrovsky recognized these places; he remembered that on that very hill he had played with little Masha Troekurova, who was two years younger than he, and then already promised to be a beauty. He wanted to inquire about her from Anton, but some kind of shyness held him back.
As he drove up to the manor's house, he saw a white dress flickering between the trees in the garden. At this time, Anton hit the horses and, obeying the ambition of the general and village coachmen as well as the cabbies, set off at full speed across the bridge and past the village. Leaving the village, they climbed a mountain, and Vladimir saw a birch grove and to the left in an open area a gray house with a red roof; his heart began to beat; before him he saw Kistenevka and his father's poor house.
Ten minutes later he drove into the manor's yard. He looked around him with indescribable excitement. For twelve years he did not see his homeland. The birch trees that had just been planted near the fence under him have grown and have now become tall, branched trees. The yard, once decorated with three regular flower beds, between which there was a wide road, carefully swept, was turned into an unmowed meadow, on which a entangled horse was grazing. The dogs began to bark, but, recognizing Anton, fell silent and waved their shaggy tails. The servants poured out of the human images and surrounded the young master with noisy expressions of joy. He could hardly push through their zealous crowd and ran up to the dilapidated porch; Egorovna met him in the hallway and wept and hugged her pupil. “Great, great, nanny,” he repeated, clutching the good old woman to his heart, “what’s up, father, where is he? what is he like?
At that moment, an old man of tall stature, pale and thin, in a dressing gown and a cap entered the hall, forcibly moving his legs.
- Hello, Volodya! he said in a weak voice, and Vladimir warmly embraced his father. Joy produced too much shock in the patient, he weakened, his legs gave way under him, and he would have fallen if his son had not supported him.
“Why did you get out of bed,” Yegorovna told him, “you don’t stand on your feet, but you strive to go where people go.”
The old man was carried into the bedroom. He tried to talk to him, but thoughts interfered in his head, and the words had no connection. He fell silent and fell into a slumber. Vladimir was struck by his condition. He settled in his bedroom and asked to be left alone with his father. The household obeyed, and then everyone turned to Grisha and took him to the servants' room, where they treated him in a rustic way, with all sorts of cordiality, exhausting him with questions and greetings.
Chapter IV
Where the table was food, there is a coffin.
A few days after his arrival, young Dubrovsky wanted to get down to business, but his father was unable to give him the necessary explanations; Andrei Gavrilovich did not have an attorney. Going through his papers, he found only the first letter from the assessor and a draft reply to it; from this he could not get a clear idea of the lawsuit and decided to wait for the consequences, hoping for the rightness of the case itself.
Meanwhile, Andrei Gavrilovich's health was getting worse hour by hour. Vladimir foresaw its imminent destruction and did not leave the old man, who had fallen into perfect childhood.
Meanwhile, the deadline has passed, and the appeal has not been filed. Kistenevka belonged to Troekurov. Shabashkin appeared to him with bows and congratulations and a request to appoint, when it pleases His Excellency, to take possession of the newly acquired estate - to himself or to whom he deigns to give power of attorney. Kirila Petrovich was embarrassed. By nature, he was not selfish, the desire for revenge lured him too far, his conscience murmured. He knew the condition of his opponent, an old comrade of his youth, and victory did not gladden his heart. He looked menacingly at Shabashkin, looking for something to attach himself to in order to scold him, but not finding a sufficient pretext for this, he said angrily to him: "Get out, not up to you."
Shabashkin, seeing that he was not in good spirits, bowed and hurried away. And Kirila Petrovich, left alone, began to pace back and forth, whistling: "The thunder of victory is heard," which always signified in him an unusual excitement of thoughts.
Finally, he ordered the racing droshky to be harnessed, dressed warmly (it was already at the end of September), and, driving himself, drove out of the yard.
Soon he saw Andrei Gavrilovich's house, and opposite feelings filled his soul. Satisfied vengeance and lust for power stifled to some extent nobler feelings, but the latter finally triumphed. He decided to make peace with his old neighbor, to destroy the traces of the quarrel, returning to him his property. Relieving his soul with this good intention, Kirila Petrovich set off at a trot to the estate of his neighbor and rode straight into the yard.
At this time, the patient was sitting in the bedroom by the window. He recognized Kiril Petrovich, and a terrible confusion appeared on his face: a crimson blush took the place of his usual pallor, his eyes flashed, he uttered indistinct sounds. His son, who was sitting right there at the household books, raised his head and was amazed at his condition. The patient pointed his finger at the yard with an air of horror and anger. He hurriedly picked up the skirts of his dressing gown, about to get up from his chair, got up ... and suddenly fell. The son rushed to him, the old man lay unconscious and breathless, his paralysis hit him. “Hurry, hurry to the city for a doctor!” Vladimir shouted. “Kirila Petrovich is asking you,” said the servant who entered. Vladimir gave him a terrible look.
“Tell Kiril Petrovich to get out as soon as possible before I tell him to be driven out of the yard… go!” - The servant joyfully ran to fulfill the order of his master; Yegorovna threw up her hands. “You are our father,” she said in a squeaky voice, “you will ruin your little head! Kirila Petrovich will eat us." “Be quiet, nanny,” Vladimir said heartily, “now send Anton to the city for a doctor.” Yegorovna left.
There was no one in the hall, all the people ran into the yard to look at Kiril Petrovich. She went out onto the porch and heard the answer of the servant, informing on behalf of the young master. Kirila Petrovich listened to him while sitting in the droshky. His face became darker than the night, he smiled contemptuously, looked menacingly at the servants, and rode at a pace around the yard. He also looked out the window, where Andrei Gavrilovich had been sitting a minute before, but where he was no longer there. The nanny stood on the porch, forgetting about the order of the master. The housekeeper noisily talked about this incident. Suddenly, Vladimir appeared among the people and abruptly said: “There is no need for a doctor, the father is dead.”
There was confusion. People rushed to the old master's room. He lay in the armchairs on which Vladimir carried him; his right hand hung to the floor, his head was lowered on his chest, there was no longer a sign of life in this body, not yet cooled, but already disfigured by death. Yegorovna howled, the servants surrounded the corpse left in their care, washed it, dressed it in a uniform sewn back in 1797, and laid it on the very table at which they had served their master for so many years.
Chapter V
The funeral took place on the third day. The body of the poor old man lay on the table, covered with a shroud and surrounded by candles. The dining room was full of courtyards. Getting ready for takeout. Vladimir and three servants lifted the coffin. The priest went forward, the deacon accompanied him, singing funeral prayers. The owner of Kistenevka crossed the threshold of his house for the last time. The coffin was carried in a grove. The church was behind her. The day was clear and cold. Autumn leaves fell from the trees.
When leaving the grove, they saw the Kistenevskaya wooden church and the cemetery, overshadowed by old lindens. There lay the body of Vladimir's mother; there, near her grave, a fresh pit had been dug the day before.
The church was full of Kistenev peasants who had come to pay their last respects to their master. Young Dubrovsky stood at the kliros; he neither wept nor prayed, but his face was fearful. The sad ceremony is over. Vladimir was the first to go to say goodbye to the body, followed by all the servants. They brought the lid and nailed the coffin. The women howled loudly; the peasants occasionally wiped away tears with their fists. Vladimir and the same three servants carried him to the cemetery, accompanied by the whole village. The coffin was lowered into the grave, all those present threw a handful of sand into it, the pit was filled up, bowed to it and dispersed. Vladimir hurriedly withdrew, got ahead of everyone and disappeared into the Kistenevskaya grove.
Yegorovna, on behalf of him, invited the priest and all the ecclesiastical honors to the funeral dinner, announcing that the young master did not intend to attend it, and thus Father Anton, the priest Fedotovna, and the deacon went on foot to the manor’s yard, discussing with Yegorovna about the virtues of the deceased and about , which, apparently, awaited his heir. (Troyekurov's arrival and the reception given to him were already known to the entire neighborhood, and the local politicians foreshadowed important consequences for him).
“What will be, will be,” said the priest, “but it’s a pity if Vladimir Andreevich isn’t our master.” Well done, nothing to say.
“And who, if not him, should be our master,” Yegorovna interrupted. - In vain Kirila Petrovich is getting excited. He did not attack the timid: my falcon will stand up for himself, and, God willing, benefactors will not leave him. Painfully arrogant Kirila Petrovich! and I suppose he tucked his tail when my Grishka shouted to him: get out, old dog! - out of the yard!
“Ahti, Yegorovna,” said the deacon, “but how Grigory’s tongue turned; I would rather agree, it seems, to bark at the lord than to look askance at Kiril Petrovich. As soon as you see him, fear and trembling, and sweat drips, and the back itself bends and bends ...
- Vanity of vanities, - said the priest, - and Kiril Petrovich will be buried in eternal memory, just like now Andrey Gavrilovich, unless the funeral will be richer and more guests will be called, but God cares!
- Oh, dad! and we wanted to invite the whole neighborhood, but Vladimir Andreevich did not want to. I suppose we have enough of everything, there is something to treat, but what you order to do. At least if there are no people, then at least I will treat you, our dear guests.
This affectionate promise and the hope of finding a delicious pie hastened the steps of the interlocutors, and they safely arrived at the manor's house, where the table was already set and vodka served.
Meanwhile, Vladimir went deeper into the thicket of trees, trying to drown out his spiritual grief with movement and fatigue. He walked without looking at the road; the branches continually touched and scratched him, his feet continually got stuck in the swamp—he did not notice anything. Finally he reached a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by forest; the brook meandered silently beside the trees, half-naked in autumn. Vladimir stopped, sat down on the cold turf, and one thought more gloomy than the other became shy in his soul... He strongly felt his loneliness. The future for him was covered with menacing clouds. The enmity with Troekurov foreshadowed new misfortunes for him. His poor property could depart from him into the wrong hands; in that case, poverty awaited him. For a long time he sat motionless in the same place, gazing at the quiet current of the stream, carrying away a few faded leaves and vividly presenting to him a true semblance of life - a semblance so ordinary. At last he noticed that it was beginning to get dark; he got up and went to look for the way home, but for a long time he wandered through the unfamiliar forest until he came to a path that led him straight to the gate of his house.
Towards Dubrovsky came across a pop with all the bells and whistles. The thought of an unfortunate omen crossed his mind. He involuntarily went sideways and disappeared behind a tree. They did not notice him, and spoke fervently among themselves as they passed him.
- Get away from evil and do good, - said the popadye, - there is nothing for us to stay here. It's not your problem, no matter how it ends. - Popadya answered something, but Vladimir could not hear her.
As he approached, he saw a multitude of people; peasants and serfs crowded into the manor's yard. From afar, Vladimir heard an unusual noise and conversation. There were two troikas by the barn. On the porch several strangers in uniform coats seemed to be talking about something.
- What does it mean? he asked angrily at Anton, who was running towards him. Who are they and what do they need?
“Ah, Father Vladimir Andreevich,” answered the old man, panting. The court has arrived. They are handing us over to Troekurov, taking us away from your mercy!..
Vladimir bowed his head, his people surrounded their unfortunate master. “You are our father,” they shouted, kissing his hands, “we don’t want another gentleman but you, order, sir, we will manage the court. We will die, but we will not extradite." Vladimir looked at them, and strange feelings agitated him. "Stand still," he told them, "and I'll talk to the order." “Speak, father,” they shouted to him from the crowd, “for the conscience of the damned.”
Vladimir approached the officials. Shabashkin, with a cap on his head, stood on his hips and proudly gazed beside him. The police officer, a tall and stout man of about fifty with a red face and moustaches, seeing Dubrovsky approaching, grunted and said in a hoarse voice: represented here by Mr. Shabashkin. Obey him in everything that he commands, and you, women, love and honor him, and he is a great hunter of you. At this sharp joke, the police officer burst out laughing, and Shabashkin and the other members followed him. Vladimir seethed with indignation. “Let me know what this means,” he asked the cheerful police officer with feigned coldness. “And this means,” answered the intricate official, “that we have come to take possession of this Kiril Petrovich Troekurov and ask other others to get out in a good way.” - "But you could, it seems, treat me before my peasants, and announce the abdication of the landowner from power ..." - "And who are you," said Shabashkin with a defiant look. “The former landowner Andrey Gavrilov son Dubrovsky, by the will of God, will die, we don’t know you, and we don’t want to know.”
“Vladimir Andreevich is our young master,” said a voice from the crowd.
- Who dared to open his mouth there, - the police officer said threateningly, - what a gentleman, what Vladimir Andreevich? your master Kirila Petrovich Troekurov, do you hear, boobies.
Yes, it's a riot! - shouted the police officer. - Hey, headman, come here!
The elder stepped forward.
- Find this very hour, who dared to talk to me, I'm his!
The headman turned to the crowd, asking who spoke? but everyone was silent; soon a murmur arose in the back rows, began to intensify and in one minute turned into the most terrible cries. The police officer lowered his voice and tried to persuade them. “Why look at him,” shouted the courtyards, “guys! down with them!” and the whole crowd moved. Shabashkin and the other members hastily rushed into the passage and locked the door behind them.
"Guys, knit!" - shouted the same voice, - and the crowd began to press on ... "Stop," Dubrovsky shouted. - Fools! what are you? you are destroying yourself and me. Step into the yards and leave me alone. Do not be afraid, the sovereign is merciful, I will ask him. He won't hurt us. We are all his children. And how will he intercede for you if you begin to rebel and rob.
The speech of the young Dubrovsky, his sonorous voice and majestic appearance produced the desired effect. The people calmed down, dispersed, the yard was empty. The members sat in the hallway. At last Shabashkin quietly unlocked the door, went out onto the porch, and with humiliated bows began to thank Dubrovsky for his merciful intercession. Vladimir listened to him with contempt and did not answer. “We decided,” continued the assessor, “with your permission, to stay here for the night; otherwise it's dark, and your men can attack us on the road. Do this kindness: order us to put at least hay in the living room; than light, we will go home.
“Do what you like,” Dubrovsky answered them dryly, “I am no longer the master here. - With these words, he retired to his father's room and locked the door behind him.
Chapter VI
"So it's all over," he said to himself; - I had a corner and a piece of bread in the morning. Tomorrow I will have to leave the house where I was born and where my father died, the culprit of his death and my poverty. And his eyes rested motionless on the portrait of his mother. The painter presented her leaning on the railing, in a white morning dress with a scarlet rose in her hair. “And this portrait will go to the enemy of my family,” Vladimir thought, “it will be thrown into the pantry along with broken chairs or hung in the hallway, the subject of ridicule and remarks of his hounds, and his clerk will settle in her bedroom, in the room where his father died. or fit his harem. Not! No! let him not get the sad house from which he drives me out. Vladimir clenched his teeth, terrible thoughts were born in his mind. The voices of the clerks reached him, they played host, demanded this or that, and unpleasantly entertained him in the midst of his sad reflections. Finally, everything calmed down.
Vladimir unlocked chests of drawers and drawers, began sorting through the papers of the deceased. They mostly consisted of household accounts and correspondence on various matters. Vladimir tore them apart without reading them. Between them he came across a package with the inscription: letters from my wife. With a strong movement of feeling, Vladimir set to work on them: they were written during the Turkish campaign and were addressed to the army from Kistenevka. She described to him her desert life, household chores, tenderly lamented the separation and called him home, into the arms of a kind friend; in one of them she expressed to him her anxiety about the health of little Vladimir; in another, she rejoiced at his early abilities and foresaw a happy and brilliant future for him. Vladimir read and forgot everything in the world, plunging his soul into the world of family happiness, and did not notice how time passed. The wall clock struck eleven. Vladimir put the letters in his pocket, took the candle and left the office. In the hall, the clerks slept on the floor. There were glasses on the table that had been emptied by them, and a strong smell of rum could be heard throughout the room. Vladimir walked past them in disgust and into the hall. - The doors were locked. Not finding the key, Vladimir returned to the hall - the key lay on the table, Vladimir opened the door and stumbled upon a man huddled in a corner; his ax shone, and turning to him with a candle, Vladimir recognized Arkhip the blacksmith. "Why are you here?" - he asked. “Ah, Vladimir Andreevich, it’s you,” Arkhip answered in a whisper, “God have mercy and save me! it’s good that you went with a candle!” Vladimir looked at him in amazement. "What are you hiding here?" he asked the blacksmith.
"I wanted... I came... to see if everyone was at home," Arkhip answered quietly, stammering.
“Why do you have an ax with you?”
- Why an axe? Yes, how can one walk without an ax anyway. These clerks are such, you see, mischievous - just look ...
- You're drunk, drop the ax, go get some sleep.
- I'm drunk? Father Vladimir Andreevich, God knows, there wasn’t a single drop in my mouth ... and whether the wine comes to mind, whether the case has been heard, the clerks have planned to own us, the clerks are driving our masters from the manor’s yard ... Oh, they are snoring, cursed; all at once, and the ends in the water.
Dubrovsky frowned. “Listen, Arkhip,” he said, after a pause, “you didn’t start a business. Not the clerks are to blame. Light the lantern, follow me."
Arkhip took the candle from the master's hands, found a lantern behind the stove, lit it, and both quietly left the porch and walked around the yard. The watchman began to beat on the cast-iron board, the dogs barked. "Who is the watchman?" Dubrovsky asked. “We, father,” answered a thin voice, “Vasilisa and Lukerya.” “Go around the yards,” Dubrovsky told them, “you are not needed.” “Sabbat,” said Arkhip. “Thank you, breadwinner,” the women answered and immediately went home.
Dubrovsky went further. Two people approached him; they called out to him. Dubrovsky recognized the voice of Anton and Grisha. "Why don't you sleep?" he asked them. “Whether we sleep,” answered Anton. “What have we lived up to, who would have thought…”
- Quiet! interrupted Dubrovsky, “where is Yegorovna?”
- In the manor house, in his room, - answered Grisha.
“Go, bring her here and take all our people out of the house so that not a single soul is left in it, except for the clerks, and you, Anton, harness the cart.”
Grisha left and a minute later appeared with his mother. The old woman did not undress that night; except for the clerks, no one in the house closed his eyes.
Is everyone here? Dubrovsky asked, “is there no one left in the house?”
“No one but the clerks,” answered Grisha.
“Give me hay or straw here,” said Dubrovsky.
The people ran to the stables and returned carrying armfuls of hay.
- Put it under the porch. Like this. Well guys, fire!
Arkhip opened the lantern, Dubrovsky lit the torch.
“Wait,” he said to Arkhip, “it seems that in a hurry I locked the doors to the front room, go and unlock them quickly.”
Arkhip ran into the passage - the doors were unlocked. Arkhip locked them with a key, saying in an undertone: What's wrong, unlock it! and returned to Dubrovsky.
Dubrovsky brought the torch closer, the hay flared up, the flame soared and lit up the whole yard.
“Ahti,” cried Yegorovna plaintively, “Vladimir Andreevich, what are you doing!”
"Be quiet," said Dubrovsky. - Well, children, goodbye, I'm going where God leads; be happy with your new master.
“Our father, breadwinner,” the people answered, “we will die, we will not leave you, we will go with you.”
The horses were brought; Dubrovsky sat down with Grisha in a cart and appointed the Kistenevskaya grove as a meeting place for them. Anton hit the horses and they rode out of the yard.
The wind got stronger. In one minute the whole house was on fire. Red smoke billowed from the roof. Glass crackled, fell, flaming logs began to fall, a plaintive cry and shouts were heard: “We are burning, help, help.” “How wrong,” said Arkhip, looking at the fire with an evil smile. “Arkhipushka,” Yegorovna told him, “save them, the damned, God will reward you.”
“How not so,” answered the blacksmith.
At that moment the clerks appeared at the windows, trying to break the double frames. But then the roof collapsed with a crash, and the screams subsided.
Soon the whole household poured out into the yard. The women, screaming, hurried to save their junk, the children jumped, admiring the fire. Sparks flew like a fiery blizzard, the huts caught fire.
“Now everything is all right,” said Arkhip, “how is it burning, huh? tea, it's nice to watch from Pokrovsky.
At that moment a new phenomenon caught his attention; the cat ran along the roof of the burning barn, wondering where to jump; flames surrounded her on all sides. The poor animal called for help with a miserable meow. The boys were dying of laughter, looking at her despair. “Why are you laughing, you imps,” the blacksmith said angrily to them. “You are not afraid of God: God’s creature is dying, and you are foolishly rejoicing,” and, placing a ladder on the blazing roof, he climbed after the cat. She understood his intention and clutched at his sleeve with an air of hurried gratitude. The half-burnt blacksmith climbed down with his prey. “Well, guys, goodbye,” he said to the embarrassed household, “I have nothing to do here. Happily, do not remember me dashingly.
The blacksmith is gone; the fire raged for some time. At last he calmed down, and the heaps of coals without a flame burned brightly in the darkness of the night, and the burnt inhabitants of Kistenevka wandered around them.
Chapter VII
The next day, the news of the fire spread throughout the neighborhood. Everyone talked about him with various conjectures and assumptions. Some assured that Dubrovsky's people, drunk and drunk at the funeral, set fire to the house out of imprudence, others accused the clerks who had played a housewarming party, many assured that he himself had burned down with the Zemstvo court and with all the courtyards. Some guessed the truth and claimed that Dubrovsky himself, driven by malice and despair, was responsible for this terrible disaster. Troekurov came the very next day to the place of the fire and carried out the investigation himself. It turned out that the police officer, the assessor of the zemstvo court, the lawyer and the clerk, as well as Vladimir Dubrovsky, the nanny Egorovna, the courtyard man Grigory, the coachman Anton and the blacksmith Arkhip, disappeared to no one knows where. All the servants testified that the clerks had burned down at the same time as the roof had collapsed; their charred bones were unearthed. Baba Vasilisa and Lukerya said that they had seen Dubrovsky and Arkhip the blacksmith a few minutes before the fire. The blacksmith Arkhip, by all accounts, was alive and probably the main, if not the only, culprit of the fire. Strong suspicions lay on Dubrovsky. Kirila Petrovich sent the governor a detailed description of the whole incident, and a new case began.
Soon other messages gave other food for curiosity and talk. Robbers appeared in ** and spread terror throughout the neighborhood. The measures taken against them by the government proved insufficient. Robbery, one more remarkable than the other, followed one after another. There was no security either on the roads or in the villages. Several troikas, filled with robbers, traveled throughout the province during the day, stopped travelers and mail, came to villages, robbed the landlords' houses and set them on fire. The head of the gang was famous for his intelligence, courage and some kind of generosity. Miracles were told about him; Dubrovsky's name was on everyone's lips, everyone was sure that he, and no one else, led the brave villains. They were surprised at one thing - Troekurov's estates were spared; the robbers did not rob him of a single barn, did not stop a single cart. With his usual arrogance, Troekurov attributed this exception to the fear that he was able to instill in the entire province, as well as the excellently good police he had established in his villages. At first, the neighbors laughed among themselves at Troekurov's arrogance and every day expected the uninvited guests to visit Pokrovskoe, where they had something to profit from, but, finally, they were forced to agree with him and admit that the robbers showed him incomprehensible respect ... Troekurov triumphed and at every the news of Dubrovsky's new robbery was scattered in ridicule about the governor, police officers and company commanders, from whom Dubrovsky always escaped unscathed.
Meanwhile, the 1st of October came - the day of the temple holiday in the village of Troekurova. But before we begin to describe this celebration and subsequent incidents, we must introduce the reader to persons new to him or whom we briefly mentioned at the beginning of our story.
Chapter VIII
The reader has probably already guessed that Kiril Petrovich's daughter, about whom we have only said a few more words, is the heroine of our story. In the age we are describing, she was seventeen years old, and her beauty was in full bloom. Her father loved her to the point of madness, but treated her with his characteristic willfulness, now trying to please her slightest whims, now frightening her with harsh and sometimes cruel treatment. Confident in her affection, he could never obtain her power of attorney. She used to hide her feelings and thoughts from him, because she could never know for sure how they would be received. She had no girlfriends and grew up in seclusion. The wives and daughters of the neighbors rarely went to see Kiril Petrovich, whose ordinary conversations and amusements demanded the companionship of men, and not the presence of ladies. Rarely did our beauty appear among the guests feasting at Kiril Petrovich's. A huge library, composed for the most part of the works of French writers of the 18th century, was placed at her disposal. Her father, who had never read anything but The Perfect Cook, could not guide her in choosing books, and Masha, naturally, taking a break from writing all kinds, settled on novels. Thus she completed her education, which had once begun under the guidance of Mamzel Mimi, to whom Kirila Petrovich showed great confidence and favor, and whom he was finally forced to quietly send to another estate, when the consequences of this friendship turned out to be too obvious. Mamzel Mimi left behind a rather pleasant memory. She was a kind girl and never used for evil the influence that she apparently had over Kiril Petrovich, in which she differed from the other confidantes who were constantly replaced by him. Kirila Petrovich himself seemed to love her more than anyone else, and the black-eyed boy, a naughty boy of about nine years old, reminiscent of m-lle Mimi's midday features, was brought up under him and was recognized as his son, despite the fact that many barefoot children are like two drops of water similar on Kiril Petrovich, ran in front of his windows and were considered yard. Kirila Petrovich ordered a French teacher from Moscow for his little Sasha, who arrived in Pokrovskoye during the incidents we are now describing.
Kiril Petrovich liked this teacher for his pleasant appearance and simple manner. He presented Kiril Petrovich with his certificates and a letter from one of Troekurov's relatives, with whom he lived as a tutor for four years. Kirila Petrovich reviewed all this and was dissatisfied with the mere youth of his Frenchman - not because he would consider this amiable shortcoming incompatible with the patience and experience so needed in the unfortunate rank of teacher, but he had his own doubts, which he immediately decided to explain to him. For this, he ordered Masha to be called to him (Kirila Petrovich did not speak French, and she served as his translator).
- Come here, Masha: tell this monsieur that it is so, I accept him; only with the fact that he doesn’t dare to drag himself after my girls, otherwise I’m his dog’s son ... translate it to him, Masha.
Masha blushed and, turning to the teacher, told him in French that her father hoped for his modesty and decent behavior.
The Frenchman bowed to her and replied that he hoped to earn respect, even if he was denied favor.
Masha translated his answer word for word.
“Good, good,” said Kirila Petrovich, “he needs neither favor nor respect. His job is to follow Sasha and teach grammar and geography, translate it for him.
Marya Kirilovna softened her father's rude expressions in her translation, and Kirila Petrovich let his Frenchman go to the wing, where a room was assigned to him.
Masha did not pay any attention to the young Frenchman, brought up in aristocratic prejudices, the teacher was for her a kind of servant or artisan, and the servant or artisan did not seem to her like a man. She did not notice the impression she made on Mr. Deforge, nor his embarrassment, nor his trembling, nor his changed voice. For several days afterwards she met him quite often, without deigning to be more attentive. Unexpectedly, she received a completely new concept of him.
In Kiril Petrovich's yard, several cubs were usually brought up and constituted one of the main pastimes of the Pokrov landowner. In their first youth, the cubs were brought daily into the living room, where Kirila Petrovich spent whole hours fiddling with them, playing them against cats and puppies. Having matured, they were put on a chain, in anticipation of a real persecution. From time to time they would bring an empty wine barrel studded with nails in front of the windows of the manor's house and roll it up to them; the bear sniffed at her, then softly touched her, pricked her paws, angrily pushed her harder, and the pain grew stronger. He went into a complete frenzy, with a roar threw himself on the barrel, until the object of his futile fury was taken from the poor beast. It happened that a couple of bears were harnessed to the cart, willy-nilly they put guests in it and let them gallop to the will of God. But Kiril Petrovich considered the best joke the following one.
They used to lock up a bear that had been ironed out in an empty room, tying it with a rope to a ring screwed into the wall. The rope was almost the length of the entire room, so that only the opposite corner could be safe from the attack of a terrible beast. They usually brought a novice to the door of this room, accidentally pushed him to the bear, the doors were locked, and the unfortunate victim was left alone with the shaggy hermit. The poor guest, with a ragged skirt and scratched to the point of blood, soon found a safe corner, but was sometimes forced to stand pressed against the wall for three whole hours and see how the angry beast, two steps away from him, roared, jumped, reared up, rushed and struggled to reach him. Such were the noble amusements of the Russian master! A few days after the teacher's arrival, Troekurov remembered him and set out to treat him to the bear's room: for this, calling him one morning, he led him along the dark corridors; suddenly the side door opens, two servants push the Frenchman in and lock it with a key. Coming to his senses, the teacher saw a tied bear, the beast began to snort, sniffing at his guest from a distance, and suddenly, rising on his hind legs, went to him ... The Frenchman was not embarrassed, did not run and waited for the attack. The bear approached, Deforge took a small pistol from his pocket, put it in the ear of the hungry beast and fired. The bear fell. Everything came running, the doors opened, Kirila Petrovich entered, amazed at the denouement of his joke. Kirila Petrovich certainly wanted an explanation of the whole matter: who had anticipated Deforge about the joke prepared for him, or why he had a loaded pistol in his pocket. He sent for Masha, Masha came running and translated her father's questions to the Frenchman.
“I have never heard of a bear,” answered Desforges, “but I always carry pistols with me, because I do not intend to endure an insult for which, in my rank, I cannot demand satisfaction.
Masha looked at him in amazement and translated his words to Kiril Petrovich. Kirila Petrovich did not answer, ordered the bear to be pulled out and skinned; then, turning to his people, he said: “What a fine fellow! I didn’t get scared, by God, I didn’t get scared. From that moment on, he fell in love with Deforge and did not even think of trying him.
But this incident made an even greater impression on Marya Kirilovna. Her imagination was amazed: she saw a dead bear and Desforges, calmly standing over him and calmly talking to her. She saw that courage and proud pride did not exclusively belong to one class, and since then she began to show respect to the young teacher, which became more attentive from hour to hour. Some relations were established between them. Masha had a wonderful voice and great musical abilities; Desforges volunteered to give her lessons. After that, it is not difficult for the reader to guess that Masha fell in love with him, without even admitting it to herself.
Volume two
Chapter IX
On the eve of the holiday, guests began to arrive, some stayed in the master's house and in the outbuildings, others with the clerk, others with the priest, and fourth with wealthy peasants. The stables were full of road horses, the yards and barns were cluttered with various carriages. At nine o'clock in the morning the annunciation was announced for mass, and everyone was drawn to the new stone church built by Kiril Petrovich and annually decorated with his offerings. So many honorary pilgrims gathered that ordinary peasants could not fit in the church and stood on the porch and in the fence. Mass did not begin, they were waiting for Kiril Petrovich. He arrived in a wheelchair and solemnly went to his place, accompanied by Maria Kirilovna. The eyes of men and women turned to her; the former marveled at her beauty, the latter carefully examined her attire. Mass began, the house singers sang on the krylos, Kirila Petrovich himself pulled up, prayed, not looking either to the right or to the left, and with proud humility bowed to the ground when the deacon loudly mentioned the builder of this temple.
Lunch is over. Kirila Petrovich was the first to approach the cross. Everyone moved after him, then the neighbors approached him with reverence. The ladies surrounded Masha. Kirila Petrovich, leaving the church, invited everyone to dinner, got into the carriage and went home. Everyone went after him. The rooms filled with guests. Every minute new faces entered and by force could make their way to the owner. The ladies sat in a stately semicircle, dressed in a late fashion, in worn and expensive clothes, all in pearls and diamonds, the men crowded around caviar and vodka, talking among themselves with noisy disagreement. In the hall, a table was set for eighty cutlery. Servants bustled about, arranging bottles and carafes and adjusting tablecloths. Finally, the butler proclaimed: “The meal is set,” and Kirila Petrovich was the first to go to sit down at the table, the ladies moved behind him and took their places importantly, observing a certain seniority, the young ladies shy away from each other like a timid herd of goats and chose their places one next to the other. Opposite them were the men. At the end of the table sat the teacher next to little Sasha.
The servants began to pass the plates to the ranks, in case of bewilderment guided by Lavater's guesses*, and almost always without error. The ringing of plates and spoons merged with the noisy conversation of the guests, Kirila Petrovich cheerfully reviewed his meal and fully enjoyed the happiness of the hospitality. At that moment, a carriage drawn by six horses drove into the yard. "Who is this?" the owner asked. "Anton Pafnutich," several voices answered. The doors opened, and Anton Pafnutich Spitsyn, a fat man of about 50 with a round and pockmarked face adorned with a triple chin, burst into the dining room, bowing, smiling and already about to apologize ... “The device is here,” Kirila Petrovich shouted, “you are welcome, Anton Pafnutich, sit down and tell us what it means: you were not at my mass and you were late for dinner. This is not like you: you are both devout and love to eat. “I’m sorry,” answered Anton Pafnutich, tying a napkin into the buttonhole of his pea caftan, “I’m sorry, father Kirila Petrovich, I started on the road early, but I didn’t have time to drive even ten miles, suddenly the tire at the front wheel was cut in half - what do you order? Fortunately, it was not far from the village; until they dragged themselves to it, but found a blacksmith, and somehow settled everything, exactly three hours passed, there was nothing to do. I did not dare to take a short route through the Kistenevsky forest, but set off on a detour ... "
- Ege! interrupted Kirila Petrovich, “yes, you know, you are not one of the brave ten; what are you afraid of?
- How - what am I afraid of, father Kirila Petrovich, but Dubrovsky; and look you will fall into his paws. He doesn’t miss a beat, he won’t let anyone down, and he’ll probably tear off two skins from me.
- Why, brother, such a difference?
- What for, Father Kirila Petrovich? but for the litigation of the late Andrei Gavrilovich. Was it not for your pleasure, that is, in conscience and justice, that I showed that the Dubrovskys own Kistenevka without any right to do so, but solely by your indulgence. And the dead man (God rest his soul) promised to talk to me in his own way, and the son, perhaps, will keep the word of the father. So far God has been merciful. All in all, they plundered one hut from me, and even then they will get to the estate.
“But the estate will give them freedom,” remarked Kirila Petrovich, “I have tea, the red casket is full...
- Where, father Kirila Petrovich. It used to be full, but now it's completely empty!
- Full of lies, Anton Pafnutich. We know you; where do you spend your money, you live like a pig at home, you don’t accept anyone, you rip off your men, you know, you save up and nothing more.
“You all deign to joke, father Kirila Petrovich,” Anton Pafnutich muttered with a smile, “but we, by God, were ruined,” and Anton Pafnutich began to jam the master’s joke with a fat piece of kulebyaki. Kirila Petrovich left him and turned to the new police officer, who had come to visit him for the first time and was sitting at the other end of the table next to the teacher.
- And what, will you at least catch Dubrovsky, mister police officer?
The police officer got scared, bowed, smiled, stammered, and finally said:
We'll try, Your Excellency.
"Um, we'll try." They have been trying for a long, long time, but still there is no use. Yes, really, why catch him. Dubrovsky's robberies are a blessing for police officers: patrols, investigations, carts, and money in his pocket. How can such a benefactor be known? Isn't that right, sir?
“The real truth, Your Excellency,” answered the police officer, completely embarrassed.
The guests laughed.
- I love the young man for his sincerity, - said Kirila Petrovich, - but I feel sorry for our late police officer Taras Alekseevich; if they didn’t burn it, it would be quieter in the neighborhood. What do you hear about Dubrovsky? where was he last seen?
- At my place, Kirila Petrovich, - squeaked a thick lady's voice, - last Tuesday he dined with me ...
All eyes turned to Anna Savishna Globova, a rather simple widow, beloved by everyone for her kind and cheerful disposition. Everyone eagerly prepared to hear her story.
- You need to know that three weeks ago I sent a clerk to the post office with money for my Vanyusha. I do not spoil my son, and I am not able to spoil it, even if I wanted to; however, if you please know yourself: an officer of the guard needs to support himself in a decent manner, and I share with Vanyusha my income as best I can. So I sent him two thousand rubles, even though Dubrovsky came to my mind more than once, but I think: the city is close, only seven miles, maybe God will carry it. I look: in the evening my clerk returns, pale, ragged and on foot - I just gasped. - "What's happened? what happened to you?" He told me: “Mother Anna Savishna, the robbers robbed; they almost killed him himself, Dubrovsky himself was here, he wanted to hang me, but he took pity on me and let me go, but he robbed me of everything, took away both the horse and the cart. I died; my heavenly king, what will happen to my Vanyusha? There is nothing to do: I wrote a letter to my son, told everything and sent him my blessing without a penny of money.
A week passed, another - suddenly a carriage drives into my yard. Some general asks to see me: you are welcome; a man of about thirty-five enters me, swarthy, black-haired, in a mustache, in a beard, a real portrait of Kulnev, he is recommended to me as a friend and colleague of the late husband Ivan Andreevich; he was driving past and could not help but call on his widow, knowing that I live here. I treated him to what God sent, we talked about this and that, and finally about Dubrovsky. I told him my grief. My general frowned. “This is strange,” he said, “I heard that Dubrovsky does not attack everyone, but famous rich people, but even here he shares with them, and does not rob completely, and no one accuses him of murders; if there is no trickery here, order me to call your clerk. Send for the clerk, he appeared; As soon as I saw the general, he was dumbfounded. "Tell me, brother, how Dubrovsky robbed you and how he wanted to hang you." My clerk trembled and fell at the general's feet. "Father, I'm guilty - I beguiled a sin - I lied." “If so,” answered the general, “then tell the mistress how the whole thing happened, and I will listen.” The clerk could not come to his senses. “Well then,” continued the general, “tell me: where did you meet Dubrovsky?” “By two pines, father, by two pines.” “What did he say to you?” – “He asked me, whose are you, where are you going and why?” “Well, what about after?” “And then he demanded a letter and money.” - "Well". “I gave him the letter and the money.” - "And he? .. Well, and he?" - "Father, it's my fault." - "Well, what did he do? .." - "He returned the money to me and the letter and said: go with God, give it to the post office." - "Well, what about you?" - "Father, it's my fault." “I’ll manage with you, my dear,,” the general said menacingly, “and you, madam, order to search the chest of this swindler and hand it over to me, and I will teach him a lesson. Know that Dubrovsky himself was a Guards officer, he will not want to offend a comrade. I guessed who His Excellency was, there was nothing for me to talk to him. The coachmen tied the clerk to the goats of the carriage. Money found; the general dined with me, then immediately left and took the clerk with him. My clerk was found the next day in the forest, tied to an oak tree and peeled like sticky.
Everyone listened in silence to the story of Anna Savishna, especially the young lady. Many of them secretly benevolent him, seeing in him a romantic hero, especially Marya Kirilovna, an ardent dreamer, imbued with the mysterious horrors of Radcliffe.
“And you, Anna Savishna, think that you had Dubrovsky himself,” asked Kirila Petrovich. - You are very wrong. I don't know who was visiting you, but not Dubrovsky.
- How, father, not Dubrovsky, but who, if not him, will go out onto the road and begin to stop passers-by and inspect them.
- I don’t know, and certainly not Dubrovsky. I remember him as a child; I don’t know if his hair turned black, and then he was a curly, blond boy, but I know for sure that Dubrovsky is five years older than my Masha and that, consequently, he is not thirty-five years old, but about twenty-three.
“Just so, Your Excellency,” the police officer proclaimed, “I also have Vladimir Dubrovsky’s signs in my pocket. They accurately say that he is twenty-three years old.
- BUT! - said Kirila Petrovich, - by the way: read it, and we will listen; it is not bad for us to know his signs; maybe it gets in the eye, it won't come out.
The police officer took a rather soiled sheet of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it with dignity, and began to read in a singsong voice.
“The signs of Vladimir Dubrovsky, compiled according to the tales of his former yard people.
He is 23 years old, of medium height, has a clean face, shaves his beard, has brown eyes, blond hair, and a straight nose. Special signs: there were none.”
"That's all," said Kirila Petrovich.
“Only,” answered the police officer, folding up the paper.
“Congratulations, sir. Oh yeah paper! according to these signs, it will not be surprising for you to find Dubrovsky. Yes, who is not of medium height, who does not have blond hair, not a straight nose, and not brown eyes! I bet you'll be talking to Dubrovsky himself for three hours in a row, and you won't guess who God brought you into contact with. There is nothing to say, smart little heads of orders!
The police officer humbly put his paper in his pocket and silently set to work on the goose with the cabbage. Meanwhile, the servants had already managed to go around the guests several times, pouring each of his glasses. Several bottles of Gorsky and Tsimlyansky had already been loudly uncorked and accepted favorably under the name of champagne, faces began to blush, conversations became louder, more incoherent and more cheerful.
“No,” continued Kirila Petrovich, “we will never see such a police officer as the deceased Taras Alekseevich was!” This was not a mistake, not a blunder. It is a pity that they burned the young man, otherwise not a single person from the whole gang would have left him. He would have caught every single one, and Dubrovsky himself would not wriggle out of it and pay off. Taras Alekseevich would have taken money from him, and he didn’t let him out himself: such was the custom with the deceased. There is nothing to do, apparently, I should intervene in this matter and go to the robbers with my family. In the first case, I will send twenty people, so they will clear the thieves' grove; the people are not cowardly, each one walks alone on a bear, they will not back away from the robbers.
“Is your bear healthy, father Kirila Petrovich,” said Anton Pafnutich, remembering at these words about his shaggy acquaintance and about some jokes, of which he was once a victim.
“Misha ordered to live long,” answered Kirila Petrovich. He died a glorious death at the hands of the enemy. There is his winner, - Kirila Petrovich pointed to Deforge, - exchange the image of my Frenchman. He avenged your...if I may say...Remember?
- How not to remember, - said Anton Pafnutich, scratching himself, - I remember very well. So Misha died. Sorry Misha, by God, sorry! what an entertainer he was! what a smart girl! You won't find another bear like this. Why did Monsieur kill him?
Kirila Petrovich with great pleasure began to tell the feat of his Frenchman, for he had the happy ability to be conceited by everything that surrounded him. The guests listened with attention to the story of Misha's death and looked with amazement at Deforge, who, not suspecting that the conversation was about his courage, calmly sat in his place and made moral remarks to his frisky pupil.
The dinner, which had lasted about three hours, was over; the host put his napkin on the table, everyone got up and went into the living room, where they were waiting for coffee, cards, and the continuation of the drinking party that had been so nicely started in the dining room.
Chapter X
At about seven o'clock in the evening some of the guests wanted to go, but the host, cheered up by the punch, ordered the gates to be locked and announced that no one would be allowed out of the yard until the next morning. Soon the music boomed, the doors to the hall opened, and the ball began. The owner and his entourage sat in a corner, drinking glass after glass and admiring the cheerfulness of the youth. The old ladies were playing cards. Cavaliers, as elsewhere, where no uhlan brigade lodgings, was less than ladies, all the men fit for it were recruited. The teacher was different from everyone, he danced more than anyone, all the young ladies chose him and found that it was very clever to waltz with him. Several times he circled with Marya Kirilovna, and the young ladies mockingly noticed them. Finally, around midnight, the tired host stopped dancing, ordered supper to be served, and went to bed himself.
The absence of Kiril Petrovich gave society more freedom and liveliness. The gentlemen dared to take their place beside the ladies. The girls laughed and whispered with their neighbors; the ladies were talking loudly across the table. The men drank, argued and laughed - in a word, the dinner was extremely cheerful and left behind many pleasant memories.
Only one person did not participate in the general joy: Anton Pafnutich sat gloomy and silent in his place, ate absently and seemed extremely restless. Talk of robbers excited his imagination. We shall soon see that he had good reason to fear them.
Anton Pafnutich, calling on the Lord to witness that his red box was empty, did not lie and did not sin: the red box was definitely empty, the money that had once been stored in it passed into a leather bag that he wore on his chest under his shirt. It was only by this precaution that he calmed his distrust of everyone and his eternal fear. Being forced to spend the night in someone else's house, he was afraid that they would not take him to spend the night somewhere in a secluded room where thieves could easily get in, he looked for a reliable comrade with his eyes and finally chose Deforge. His appearance, revealing his strength, and even more so, the courage he showed when meeting with a bear, which poor Anton Pafnutich could not remember without a shudder, decided his choice. When they got up from the table, Anton Pafnutich began to circle around the young Frenchman, grunting and clearing his throat, and finally turned to him with an explanation.
“Hm, hm, is it possible, monsieur, to spend the night in your kennel, because if you please see ...
- Que desire monsieur? (What do you want? (fr.)) asked Desforges, bowing politely to him.
- Oh, the trouble is, you, monsieur, have not yet learned Russian. Same ve, mua, she woo kush (I want to sleep with you (fr.)) do you understand?
“Monsieur, très volontiers,” replied Desforges, “veuillez donner des ordres en conséquence (Do me a favor, sir ... if you please, arrange accordingly (fr.)).
Anton Pafnutich, very pleased with his knowledge of French, immediately went to give orders.
The guests began to say goodbye to each other, and each went to the room assigned to him. And Anton Pafnutich went with the teacher to the wing. The night was dark. Deforge illuminated the road with a lantern, Anton Pafnutich followed him quite cheerfully, occasionally clutching a hidden bag to his chest in order to make sure that his money was still with him.
Arriving in the wing, the teacher lit a candle, and both began to undress; meanwhile Anton Pafnutitch was pacing up and down the room, examining the locks and windows, and shaking his head at this disappointing inspection. The doors were locked with a single bolt, the windows did not yet have double frames. He tried to complain about it to Desforges, but his knowledge of French was too limited for such a complicated explanation; the Frenchman did not understand him, and Anton Pafnutich was forced to leave his complaints. Their beds stood one against the other, both lay down, and the teacher put out the candle.
- Purkua vu touche, purkua vu touche? (Why are you extinguishing? (fr.)) shouted Anton Pafnutich, conjugating the Russian verb carcass in half with a sin in the French way. – I can’t dormir (to sleep (fr.)) in the dark. - Deforge did not understand his exclamation and wished him good night.
“Damned basurman,” Spitsyn grumbled, wrapping himself in a blanket. He needed to put out the candle. He's worse. I can't sleep without fire. “Monsieur, monsieur,” he continued, “well, ve avek vu parle (I want to talk to you (fr.)). But the Frenchman did not answer, and soon began to snore.
“The Frenchman is snoring,” thought Anton Pafnutich, “but sleep doesn’t even cross my mind. That and look, thieves will enter the open doors or climb through the window, but you won’t get him, the beast, even with guns.
- Monsieur! ah, monsieur! devil take you.
Anton Pafnutich fell silent, fatigue and wine vapors gradually overcame his timidity, he began to doze, and soon a deep sleep took possession of him completely.
A strange awakening was preparing for him. He felt through his sleep that someone was gently tugging at his shirt collar. Anton Pafnutich opened his eyes and in the pale light of an autumn morning he saw Deforge in front of him: the Frenchman held a pocket pistol in one hand, and with the other he unfastened his cherished bag. Anton Pafnutich froze.
- Kes ke se, monsieur, kes ke se? (What is it, sir, what is it (fr.)) he said in a trembling voice.
- Hush, be silent, - the teacher answered in pure Russian, - be silent, or you are lost. I am Dubrovsky.
Chapter XI
Now let us ask the reader for permission to explain the last incidents of our story by previous circumstances, which we have not yet had time to tell.
At the station ** in the house of the superintendent, whom we have already mentioned, a traveler sat in a corner with a humble and patient air, denouncing a commoner or a foreigner, that is, a person who does not have a voice on the postal route. His britzka stood in the yard, waiting for some grease. In it lay a small suitcase, skinny evidence of a not very sufficient condition. The traveler did not ask himself for tea or coffee, looked out the window and whistled to the great displeasure of the caretaker, who was sitting behind the partition.
“Here, God sent a whistler,” she said in an undertone, “the ek whistles so that he bursts, the accursed bastard.
- And what? - said the caretaker, - what a trouble, let him whistle.
- What's the trouble? replied the angry wife. "Don't you know the omens?"
- What signs? that whistle money survives. AND! Pakhomovna, we don’t whistle, we don’t have any: but there’s still no money.
“Let him go, Sidorych. You want to keep him. Give him the horses, let him go to hell.
- Wait, Pakhomovna; there are only three triples in the stable, the fourth is resting. Togo, and look, good travelers will arrive in time; I don't want to answer for a Frenchman with my neck. Whoa, it is! jump out. E-ge-ge, but how fast; isn't it a general?
The carriage stopped at the porch. The servant jumped off the goat, unlocked the doors, and a minute later a young man in a military overcoat and a white cap entered the caretaker; after him the servant brought in the casket and placed it on the window.
“Horses,” the officer said in an authoritative voice.
“Now,” said the caretaker. - Please traveller.
- I don't have a road ticket. I'm going to the side... Don't you recognize me?
The superintendent began to fuss and rushed to hurry the coachmen. The young man began to pace up and down the room, went behind the partition and quietly asked the caretaker: who was the traveler.
“God knows,” the caretaker answered, “some Frenchman.” For five hours now he has been waiting for the horses and whistling. Tired, damn.
The young man spoke to the traveler in French.
– Where would you like to go? he asked him.
“To the nearest city,” answered the Frenchman, “from there I go to a certain landowner, who hired me behind my back as a teacher. I thought I would be there today, but the keeper, it seems, judged otherwise. It's hard to get horses in this land, officer.
- And to which of the local landowners did you decide? the officer asked.
“To Mr. Troyekurov,” answered the Frenchman.
- To Troyekurov? who is this Troyekurov?
- Ma foi, mon officier... (Right, mister officer ... (fr.)) I have heard little good about him. They say that he is a proud and capricious gentleman, cruel in his treatment of his household, that no one can get along with him, that everyone trembles at his name, that he does not stand on ceremony with teachers (avec les outchitels) and has already marked two to death.
- Have mercy! and you decided to decide on such a monster.
What to do, officer. He offers me a good salary, three thousand rubles a year and everything ready. Perhaps I will be happier than others. I have an old mother, half of my salary I will send to her for food, from the rest of the money in five years I can save up a small capital sufficient for my future independence, and then bonsoir (farewell (fr.)), going to Paris and indulging in commercial operations.
“Does anyone in Troyekurov’s house know you?” - he asked.
“No one,” the teacher replied. - He ordered me from Moscow through one of his friends, whom the cook, my compatriot, recommended me. You need to know that I trained not as a teacher, but as a confectioner, but they told me that in your land the title of teacher is much more profitable ...
The officer considered.
“Listen,” he interrupted the Frenchman, “what if, instead of this future, they offered you ten thousand in pure money so that you would immediately go back to Paris.”
The Frenchman looked at the officer in amazement, smiled and shook his head.
“The horses are ready,” said the caretaker who entered. The servant confirmed the same.
“Now,” replied the officer, “get out for a minute.” The overseer and servant left. “I'm not kidding,” he continued in French, “I can give you ten thousand, I only need your absence and your papers. - With these words, he unlocked the box and took out several piles of banknotes.
The Frenchman rolled his eyes. He didn't know what to think.
“My absence… my papers,” he repeated in astonishment. - Here are my papers ... But you are joking: why do you need my papers?
- You don't care about that. I ask you, do you agree or not?
The Frenchman, still not believing his ears, handed his papers to the young officer, who quickly reviewed them.
The Frenchman stood stock-still.
The officer returned.
- I forgot the most important thing. Give me your word of honor that all this will remain between us, your word of honor.
“My word of honor,” replied the Frenchman. “But my papers, what am I to do without them?”
- In the first city, announce that you have been robbed by Dubrovsky. They will believe you and give you the necessary evidence. Farewell, God grant you get to Paris sooner and find your mother in good health.
Dubrovsky left the room, got into the carriage and galloped off.
The caretaker looked out the window, and when the carriage left, he turned to his wife with an exclamation: “Pakhomovna, do you know what? because it was Dubrovsky.
The caretaker rushed headlong to the window, but it was already too late: Dubrovsky was already far away. She began to scold her husband:
“You are not afraid of God, Sidorych, why didn’t you tell me that before, I should have at least looked at Dubrovsky, and now wait for him to turn around again.” You are unscrupulous, really, unscrupulous!
The Frenchman stood stock-still. The contract with the officer, the money, everything seemed to him a dream. But piles of banknotes were here in his pocket and eloquently repeated to him about the significance of the amazing incident.
He decided to hire horses to the city. The coachman took him at a walk, and at night he dragged himself to the city.
Before reaching the outpost, where instead of a sentry there was a collapsed booth, the Frenchman ordered to stop, got out of the britzka and went on foot, explaining by signs to the driver that the britzka and suitcase were giving him vodka. The coachman was as astonished at his generosity as the Frenchman was at Dubrovsky's proposal. But, concluding from the fact that the German had gone mad, the coachman thanked him with an earnest bow and, not judging it for the good to enter the city, went to a place of entertainment known to him, whose owner was very familiar to him. He spent the whole night there, and the next day, on an empty troika, he went home without a britzka and without a suitcase, with a plump face and red eyes.
Dubrovsky, having taken possession of the Frenchman's papers, boldly appeared, as we have already seen, to Troekurov and settled in his house. Whatever his secret intentions (we will find out later), but there was nothing reprehensible in his behavior. True, he did little to educate little Sasha, gave him complete freedom to hang out and did not strictly exact for lessons given only for the form, but with great diligence he followed the musical successes of his student and often sat for hours with her at the pianoforte. Everyone loved the young teacher - Kiril Petrovich for his bold agility on the hunt, Marya Kirilovna for unlimited zeal and timid attentiveness, Sasha - for condescension to his pranks, domestic - for kindness and generosity, apparently incompatible with his condition. He himself, it seemed, was attached to the whole family and already considered himself a member of it.
About a month had passed from his entry into the rank of teacher to the memorable celebration, and no one suspected that a formidable robber lurked in a modest young Frenchman, whose name terrified all the surrounding owners. During all this time, Dubrovsky did not leave Pokrovsky, but the rumor about his robberies did not subside thanks to the inventive imagination of the villagers, but it could also be that his gang continued its actions even in the absence of the chief.
Sleeping in the same room with a man whom he could consider his personal enemy and one of the main culprits of his misfortune, Dubrovsky could not resist the temptation. He knew about the existence of the bag and decided to take possession of it. We saw how he amazed poor Anton Pafnutich by his sudden transformation from teacher to robber.
At nine o'clock in the morning the guests who had spent the night at Pokrovsky gathered one by one in the drawing-room, where the samovar was already boiling, before which Marya Kirilovna was sitting in her morning dress, while Kirila Petrovich, in a flannelette frock coat and slippers, was drinking his wide cup, which looked like a gargle. The last to appear was Anton Pafnutich; he was so pale and seemed so upset that the sight of him amazed everyone, and that Kirila Petrovich inquired about his health. Spitsyn answered without any sense and looked with horror at the teacher, who immediately sat there as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later a servant came in and announced to Spitsyn that his carriage was ready; Anton Pafnutich hastened to take his leave and, despite the admonitions of the host, hastily left the room and left at once. They did not understand what had happened to him, and Kirila Petrovich decided that he had overate. After tea and a farewell breakfast, the other guests began to leave, soon Pokrovskoe was empty, and everything went back to normal.
Chapter XII
Several days passed and nothing remarkable happened. The life of the inhabitants of Pokrovsky was monotonous. Kirila Petrovich went hunting every day; reading, walking and music lessons occupied Marya Kirilovna, especially music lessons. She began to understand her own heart and confessed, with involuntary annoyance, that it was not indifferent to the virtues of the young Frenchman. For his part, he did not go beyond the limits of respect and strict propriety, and thereby calmed her pride and fearful doubts. She indulged in a fascinating habit with more and more confidence. She missed Deforge, in his presence she was busy with him every minute, she wanted to know his opinion about everything and always agreed with him. Perhaps she was not yet in love, but at the first accidental obstacle or a sudden persecution of fate, the flame of passion must have flared up in her heart.
One day, having come into the hall where her teacher was waiting, Marya Kirilovna noticed with amazement the embarrassment on his pale face. She opened the piano, sang a few notes, but Dubrovsky, on the pretext of a headache, apologized, interrupted the lesson and, closing the notes, furtively handed her a note. Marya Kirilovna, not having time to change her mind, accepted her and repented at that very moment, but Dubrovsky was no longer in the hall. Marya Kirilovna went to her room, unfolded the note, and read the following:
“Be today at 7 o’clock in the gazebo by the stream. I need to talk to you."
Her curiosity was greatly aroused. She had long awaited recognition, wanting and fearing it. She would have been pleased to hear confirmation of what she suspected, but she felt that it would be indecent for her to hear such an explanation from a man who, by his condition, could not hope to ever receive her hand. She made up her mind to go on a date, but hesitated about one thing: how she would accept the recognition of the teacher, whether with aristocratic indignation, with exhortations of friendship, with merry jokes, or with silent participation. Meanwhile, she kept looking at her watch. It grew dark, candles were lit, Kirila Petrovich sat down to play Boston with visiting neighbors. The table clock struck the third quarter of seven, and Marya Kirilovna quietly went out onto the porch, looked around in all directions, and ran into the garden.
The night was dark, the sky was covered with clouds, it was impossible to see anything two paces away, but Marya Kirilovna walked in the darkness along familiar paths and a minute later found herself at the arbor; here she stopped to catch her breath and appear before Desforges with an air of indifference and unhurriedness. But Desforges was already standing before her.
“Thank you,” he said to her in a low and sad voice, “that you did not refuse my request. I would be in despair if you did not agree to it.
Marya Kirilovna answered with a prepared phrase:
“I hope you won't make me repent of my indulgence.
He was silent and seemed to be gathering his courage.
“Circumstances require ... I must leave you,” he said at last, “you may soon hear ... But before parting, I must explain myself to you ...
Marya Kirilovna made no answer. In these words she saw the preface to the expected confession.
“I am not what you suppose,” he continued, bowing his head, “I am not the Frenchman Deforge, I am Dubrovsky.
Marya Kirilovna screamed.
“Don't be afraid, for God's sake, you mustn't be afraid of my name. Yes, I am the unfortunate one whom your father deprived of a piece of bread, expelled from his father's house and sent to rob on the high roads. But you don't have to be afraid of me, not for yourself, not for him. Its end. I forgave him. Look, you saved him. My first bloody feat was to be accomplished over him. I walked around his house, appointing where to break out a fire, from where to enter his bedroom, how to cut off all his escape routes, at that moment you passed me like a heavenly vision, and my heart humbled. I realized that the house where you live is sacred, that not a single creature connected with you by ties of blood is subject to my curse. I have given up vengeance as madness. For whole days I wandered around the gardens of Pokrovsky in the hope of seeing your white dress from afar. In your careless walks, I followed you, sneaking from bush to bush, happy at the thought that I was guarding you, that there was no danger for you where I was secretly present. Finally the opportunity presented itself. I settled in your house. These three weeks have been days of happiness for me. Their remembrance will be the joy of my sad life ... Today I received the news, after which it is impossible for me to stay here any longer. I part with you today... this very hour... But first I had to open up to you, so that you would not curse me, would not despise me. Think of Dubrovsky sometimes. Know that he was born for a different purpose, that his soul knew how to love you, that never ...
Here there was a slight whistle, and Dubrovsky fell silent. He seized her hand and pressed it to his burning lips. The whistle was repeated.
“Forgive me,” said Dubrovsky, “my name is, a minute can ruin me. - He moved away, Marya Kirilovna stood motionless, Dubrovsky turned back and again took her hand. “If ever,” he said to her in a gentle and touching voice, “if sometime misfortune befalls you and you expect neither help nor protection from anyone, in that case do you promise to resort to me, to demand from me all for your salvation? Do you promise not to reject my devotion?
Marya Kirilovna wept silently. The whistle rang out for the third time.
- You're ruining me! Dubrovsky shouted. “I will not leave you until you give me an answer, do you promise or not?”
“I promise,” whispered the poor beauty.
Excited by her meeting with Dubrovsky, Marya Kirilovna was returning from the garden. It seemed to her that all the people were running away, the house was in motion, there were a lot of people in the yard, a troika was standing at the porch, she heard Kiril Petrovich's voice from a distance and hurried into the rooms, fearing that her absence would not be noticed. Kirila Petrovich met her in the hall, the guests surrounded the police officer, our acquaintance, and showered him with questions. The police officer in a traveling dress, armed from head to toe, answered them with a mysterious and fussy air.
“Where have you been, Masha,” asked Kirila Petrovich, “did you meet Mr. Deforge?” Masha could hardly answer in the negative.
“Imagine,” continued Kirila Petrovich, “the police officer has come to seize him and assures me that it is Dubrovsky himself.
“All signs, Your Excellency,” said the police officer respectfully.
“Oh, brother,” interrupted Kirila Petrovich, “get out, you know where, with your signs. I won't give you my Frenchman until I sort things out myself. How can you take the word of Anton Pafnutich, a coward and a liar: he dreamed that the teacher wanted to rob him. Why didn't he say a word to me that very morning?
“The Frenchman intimidated him, Your Excellency,” answered the police officer, “and took an oath from him to remain silent ...
- Lies, - decided Kirila Petrovich, - now I will bring everything to clean water. Where is the teacher? he asked the entering servant.
“They won’t find them anywhere,” answered the servant.
“Then look for him,” shouted Troekurov, beginning to doubt. “Show me your vaunted signs,” he said to the police officer, who immediately handed him the paper. - Hm, hm, twenty-three years ... It is true, but it still does not prove anything. What is a teacher?
"They won't find it, sir," was the answer again. Kirila Petrovich began to worry, Marya Kirilovna was neither alive nor dead.
“You are pale, Masha,” her father remarked to her, “they frightened you.”
“No, papa,” answered Masha, “my head hurts.
- Go, Masha, to your room and don't worry. - Masha kissed his hand and quickly went to her room, where she threw herself on the bed and sobbed in a fit of hysteria. The maids came running, undressed her, forcibly managed to calm her down with cold water and all kinds of spirits, they laid her down, and she fell into lulling.
Meanwhile, the Frenchman was not found. Kirila Petrovich paced up and down the hall, whistling menacingly. The thunder of victory resounded. The guests whispered among themselves, the police chief seemed like a fool, the Frenchman was not found. He probably managed to escape, having been warned. But by whom and how? it remained a secret.
It was eleven o'clock, and no one thought about sleeping. At last Kirila Petrovich said angrily to the police chief:
- Well? after all, it’s not up to the light for you to stay here, my house is not a tavern, not with your agility, brother, to catch Dubrovsky, if it’s Dubrovsky. Go on your way and be quick ahead. And it’s time for you to go home,” he continued, turning to the guests. - Tell me to pawn, but I want to sleep.
So ungraciously parted Troekurov from his guests!
Chapter XIII
Some time passed without any remarkable event. But at the beginning of the following summer, many changes took place in Kiril Petrovich's family life.
Thirty versts from him was the rich estate of Prince Vereisky. The prince spent a long time in foreign lands, his entire estate was managed by a retired major, and no communication existed between Pokrovsky and Arbatov. But at the end of May, the prince returned from abroad and arrived at his village, which he had never seen before. Accustomed to absent-mindedness, he could not endure solitude, and on the third day after his arrival he went to dine with Troyekurov, whom he had once known.
The prince was about fifty years old, but he seemed much older. Extravagances of every kind have exhausted his health and left their indelible mark on him. Despite the fact that his appearance was pleasant, remarkable, and the habit of always being in society gave him a certain courtesy, especially with women. He had an incessant need for distraction and was incessantly bored. Kirila Petrovich was extremely pleased with his visit, accepting it as a sign of respect from a person who knows the world; he, as usual, began to treat him with a review of his establishments and led him to the kennel. But the prince almost suffocated in the canine atmosphere and hurried out, holding his nose with a handkerchief sprinkled with perfume. He did not like the ancient garden with its sheared lindens, quadrangular pond and regular alleys; he loved English gardens and so-called nature, but praised and admired; the servant came to report that the meal had been set. They went to dinner. The prince was limping, tired from his walk and already repenting of his visit.
But Marya Kirilovna met them in the hall, and the old red tape was struck by her beauty. Troekurov seated the guest beside her. The prince was enlivened by her presence, was cheerful and managed to attract her attention several times with his curious stories. After dinner, Kirila Petrovich suggested riding, but the prince apologized, pointing to his velvet boots and joking about his gout; he preferred a walk in the line, so as not to be separated from his dear neighbor. The line has been laid down. The old men and the beauty sat down together and drove off. The conversation did not stop. Marya Kirilovna listened with pleasure to the flattering and cheerful greetings of a man of the world, when suddenly Vereisky, turning to Kiril Petrovich, asked him what this burnt building meant and whether it belonged to him? .. Kirila Petrovich frowned; the memories aroused in him by the burnt estate were unpleasant to him. He replied that the land was now his and that it had formerly belonged to Dubrovsky.
“Dubrovsky,” repeated Vereisky, “how about this glorious robber?”
“His father,” answered Troekurov, “and his father was a decent robber.
Where did our Rinaldo go? is he alive, is he captured?
- And he is alive, and in the wild, and for the time being we will have police officers along with the thieves, until he is caught; By the way, Prince, Dubrovsky visited you in Arbatov, didn't he?
“Yes, last year, it seems, he burned or plundered something ... Isn’t it true, Marya Kirilovna, that it would be interesting to get to know this romantic hero more briefly?
- What is curious! - said Troyekurov, - she is familiar with him: he taught her music for three whole weeks, but thank God he didn’t take anything for the lessons. - Here Kirila Petrovich began to tell a story about his French teacher. Marya Kirilovna was sitting on pins and needles. Vereisky listened with deep attention, found all this very strange, and changed the conversation. Come back, he ordered his carriage to be brought, and, despite Kiril Petrovich's earnest requests to stay the night, he left immediately after tea. But first he asked Kiril Petrovich to come to visit him with Marya Kirilovna, and the proud Troyekurov promised, for, having respected the princely dignity, two stars and three thousand souls of the family estate, he to some extent considered Prince Vereisky his equal.
Two days after this visit, Kirila Petrovich went with his daughter to visit Prince Vereisky. Approaching Arbatov, he could not help admiring the clean and cheerful huts of the peasants and the stone manor house, built in the style of English castles. In front of the house was a thick green meadow, on which Swiss cows grazed, ringing their bells. A spacious park surrounded the house on all sides. The host met the guests at the porch and offered his hand to the young beauty. They entered a splendid hall, where the table was set for three cutlery. The prince led the guests to the window, and a lovely view opened up to them. The Volga flowed in front of the windows, loaded barges sailed along it under stretched sails and fishing boats flashed by, so expressively called gas chambers. Hills and fields stretched beyond the river, several villages enlivened the surroundings. Then they began to examine the galleries of paintings bought by the prince in foreign lands. The prince explained to Marya Kirilovna their different content, the history of painters, pointed out their advantages and disadvantages. He spoke of paintings not in the conventional language of a pedantic connoisseur, but with feeling and imagination. Marya Kirilovna listened to him with pleasure. Let's go to the table. Troyekurov did full justice to the wines of his Amphitrion and the art of his cook, but Marya Kirilovna did not feel the slightest embarrassment or compulsion in a conversation with a man whom she saw only for the second time in her life. After dinner, the host invited the guests to go to the garden. They drank coffee in a gazebo on the shore of a wide lake dotted with islands. Suddenly there was brass music, and a six-oared boat moored to the arbor itself. They drove across the lake, near the islands, visited some of them, on one they found a marble statue, on another a solitary cave, on the third a monument with a mysterious inscription that aroused girlish curiosity in Marya Kirilovna, not completely satisfied by the courteous omissions of the prince; time passed imperceptibly, it began to get dark. The prince, under the pretext of freshness and dew, hastened to return home; the samovar was waiting for them. The prince asked Marya Kirilovna to host in the house of an old bachelor. She poured out tea, listening to the inexhaustible stories of the kind talker; suddenly a shot rang out, and the racket lit up the sky. The prince gave Marya Kirilovna a shawl and called her and Troekurov to the balcony. In front of the house in the darkness, multi-colored lights flared up, spun, rose up like ears of corn, palm trees, fountains, rained down, stars, faded and flared up again. Marya Kirilovna enjoyed herself like a child. Prince Vereisky rejoiced at her admiration, and Troekurov was extremely pleased with him, for he accepted tous les frais (all expenses (fr.)) prince, as signs of respect and desire to please him.
Dinner was in no way inferior to lunch in its dignity. The guests went to the rooms allotted for them, and the next day in the morning they parted from the amiable host, giving each other a promise to see each other again soon.
Chapter XIV
Marya Kirilovna was sitting in her room, embroidering in a hoop, in front of the open window. She was not tangled in silks, like Conrad's mistress, who, in her loving absent-mindedness, embroidered a rose with green silk. Under her needle, the canvas repeated unmistakably the patterns of the original, despite the fact that her thoughts did not follow the work, they were far away.
Suddenly a hand quietly reached out through the window, someone placed a letter on the embroidery frame and disappeared before Marya Kirilovna had time to come to her senses. At that very moment a servant came in and called her to Kiril Petrovich. With trepidation, she hid the letter behind her scarf and hurried to her father in the study.
Kirila Petrovich was not alone. Prince Vereisky was sitting with him. When Marya Kirilovna appeared, the prince stood up and silently bowed to her with unusual confusion for him.
“Come here, Masha,” said Kirila Petrovich, “I’ll tell you some news that, I hope, will make you happy.” Here is your fiancé, the prince is wooing you.
Masha was dumbfounded, deathly pallor covered her face. She was silent. The prince approached her, took her hand and, with a touched look, asked if she agreed to make him happy. Masha was silent.
- I agree, of course, I agree, - said Kirila Petrovich, - but you know, prince: it is difficult for a girl to pronounce this word. Well, kids, kiss and be happy.
Masha stood motionless, the old prince kissed her hand, suddenly tears ran down her pale face. The prince frowned slightly.
“Go, go, go,” said Kirila Petrovich, “dry your tears and come back to us, merry little one.” They all cry at their engagement,” he continued, turning to Vereisky, “that’s how it is with them ... Now, prince, let’s talk about business, that is, about dowry.
Marya Kirilovna greedily availed herself of the permission to leave. She ran to her room, shut herself up, and gave vent to her tears, imagining herself to be the wife of the old prince; he suddenly seemed disgusting and hateful to her... marriage frightened her like a chopping block, like a grave... "No, no," she repeated in despair, "it's better to die, better to go to a monastery, I'd better marry Dubrovsky." Then she remembered the letter and greedily rushed to read it, foreseeing that it was from him. In fact, it was written by him and contained only the following words: “In the evening at 10 o’clock. in the same place."
Chapter XV
The moon was shining, the July night was quiet, a breeze rose from time to time, and a slight rustle ran through the whole garden.
Like a light shadow, the young beauty approached the place of the appointment. No one was yet to be seen, when suddenly, from behind the pavilion, Dubrovsky found himself in front of her.
“I know everything,” he told her in a low and sad voice. Remember your promise.
“You offer me your patronage,” answered Masha, “but don’t be angry: it frightens me. How will you help me?
“I could rid you of the hated man.
- For God's sake, do not touch him, do not dare to touch him, if you love me; I don't want to be the cause of some horror...
- I will not touch him, your will is sacred to me. He owes you his life. Villainy will never be committed in your name. You must be pure even in my crimes. But how can I save you from a cruel father?
“There is still hope. I hope to touch him with my tears and despair. He's stubborn, but he loves me so much.
- Do not hope in vain: in these tears he will see only ordinary timidity and disgust, common to all young girls when they marry not out of passion, but out of prudent calculation; what if he takes it into his head to make your happiness in spite of yourself; if they forcibly take you down the aisle in order to forever betray your fate into the power of your old husband ...
- Then, then there is nothing to do, come for me, I will be your wife.
Dubrovsky trembled, his pale face was covered with a crimson blush, and at the same moment became paler than before. He was silent for a long time, bowing his head.
- Collect with all the strength of your soul, beg your father, throw yourself at his feet: imagine to him all the horror of the future, your youth, fading near a frail and depraved old man, decide on a cruel explanation: say that if he remains implacable, then ... then you will find a terrible protection ... say that wealth will not bring you even one minute of happiness; luxury comforts only poverty, and then out of habit for a moment; do not lag behind him, do not be afraid of his anger or threats, as long as there is even a shadow of hope, for God's sake, do not lag behind. If there is no other way...
Here Dubrovsky covered his face with his hands, he seemed to be suffocating, Masha was crying ...
“My poor, poor fate,” he said, sighing bitterly. - For you I would give my life, to see you from afar, to touch your hand was rapture for me. And when the opportunity opens up for me to press you to my worried heart and say: angel, let's die! poor, I must beware of bliss, I must keep it away with all my might ... I do not dare to fall at your feet, thank heaven for an incomprehensible undeserved reward. Oh, how I must hate that one, but I feel that now there is no place for hatred in my heart.
He quietly embraced her slender figure and quietly drew her to his heart. Trustingly she bowed her head on the shoulder of the young robber. Both were silent.
Time flew. "It's time," Masha finally said. Dubrovsky seemed to wake up from sleep. He took her hand and placed the ring on her finger.
“If you decide to resort to me,” he said, “then bring the ring here, lower it into the hollow of this oak, I will know what to do.”
Dubrovsky kissed her hand and disappeared between the trees.
Chapter XVI
The courtship of Prince Vereisky was no longer a secret for the neighborhood. Kirila Petrovich accepted congratulations, the wedding was being prepared. Masha postponed the decisive announcement day by day. Meanwhile, her treatment of her old fiancé was cold and forced. The prince didn't care. He did not bother about love, pleased with her silent consent.
But time passed. Masha finally decided to act and wrote a letter to Prince Vereisky; she tried to arouse in his heart a feeling of generosity, frankly admitted that she had not the slightest affection for him, begged him to refuse her hand and protect her himself from the power of a parent. She quietly handed the letter to Prince Vereisky, who read it in private and was not in the least touched by the frankness of his bride. On the contrary, he saw the need to hasten the wedding, and for this he considered it necessary to show the letter to his future father-in-law.
Kirila Petrovich went berserk; the prince could hardly persuade him not to show Masha and the mind that he was notified of her letter. Kirila Petrovich agreed not to tell her about it, but decided not to waste time and appointed the wedding to be the next day. The prince found this very prudent, went to his bride, told her that the letter saddened him very much, but that he hoped in time to earn her affection, that the thought of losing her was too hard for him and that he was unable to agree to his death sentence. After this, he respectfully kissed her hand and left without saying a word to her about Kiril Petrovich's decision.
But as soon as he left the yard, her father came in and bluntly ordered her to be ready for the next day. Marya Kirilovna, already agitated by Prince Vereisky's explanation, burst into tears and threw herself at her father's feet.
“What does that mean,” Kirila Petrovich said menacingly, “until now you have been silent and agreed, but now that everything has been decided, you have taken it into your head to be capricious and renounce. Don't fool around; you won't win anything with me.
“Don’t ruin me,” repeated poor Masha, “why are you driving me away from you and giving me to a man you don’t love? am I tired of you? I want to stay with you as before. Papa, you will be sad without me, even sadder when you think that I am unhappy, papa: don't force me, I don't want to get married...
Kirila Petrovich was touched, but he concealed his embarrassment and, pushing her away, said sternly:
“It’s all nonsense, you hear. I know better than you what is needed for your happiness. Tears will not help you, the day after tomorrow will be your wedding.
- Day after tomorrow! Masha screamed, “Oh my God! No, no, it's impossible, it can't be. Papa, listen, if you have already decided to destroy me, then I will find a protector that you don’t even think about, you will see, you will be horrified at what you have brought me to.
- What? what? - said Troekurov, - threats! Threats to me, impudent girl! Do you know that I will do with you what you do not even imagine. You dare to scare me as a defender. Let's see who this defender will be.
“Vladimir Dubrovsky,” answered Masha in despair.
Kirila Petrovich thought she had gone mad, and looked at her in astonishment.
“Good,” he said to her, after some silence, “wait for whoever you want to be your deliverer, but for now sit in this room, you won’t leave it until the wedding itself.” With that word, Kirila Petrovich went out and locked the doors behind him.
The poor girl wept for a long time, imagining everything that awaited her, but a stormy explanation lightened her soul, and she could more calmly talk about her fate and what she had to do. The main thing was for her: to get rid of a hated marriage; The fate of the robber's wife seemed to her a paradise in comparison with the lot prepared for her. She glanced at the ring left for her by Dubrovsky. She ardently wished to see him alone and once again before the decisive moment to consult for a long time. A presentiment told her that in the evening she would find Dubrovsky in the garden near the pavilion; she made up her mind to go and wait for him there as soon as it was getting dark. It got dark. Masha got ready, but her door was locked. The maid answered her from behind the door that Kirila Petrovich had not ordered her to be let out. She was under arrest. Deeply offended, she sat under the window and sat without undressing until late at night, gazing motionlessly at the dark sky. At dawn, she dozed off, but her thin sleep was disturbed by sad visions, and the rays of the rising sun had already awakened her.
Chapter XVII
She woke up, and with her first thought, the whole horror of her situation presented itself to her. She called, the girl came in and answered her questions that Kirila Petrovich went to Arbatovo in the evening and returned late, that he gave strict orders not to let her out of her room and to see that no one spoke to her, which, however, did not no special preparations for the wedding can be seen, except that the priest was ordered not to leave the village under any pretext. After this news, the girl left Marya Kirilovna and locked the doors again.
Her words hardened the young recluse, her head boiled, her blood agitated, she decided to let Dubrovsky know about everything and began to look for a way to send the ring into the hollow of the cherished oak; at that moment a pebble struck her window, the glass rang, and Marya Kirilovna looked out into the yard and saw little Sasha making secret signs to her. She knew his affection and rejoiced at him. She opened the window.
“Hello, Sasha,” she said, “why are you calling me?”
- I came, sister, to ask you if you need anything. Papa is angry and forbade the whole house to obey you, but tell me to do what you want, and I will do everything for you.
- Thank you, my dear Sashenka, listen: do you know the old oak tree with a hollow near the gazebo?
- I know, sister.
- So if you love me, run there as soon as possible and put this ring in the hollow, but take care that no one sees you.
With that, she tossed him the ring and locked the window.
The boy picked up the ring, started running with all his might, and in three minutes found himself at the treasured tree. Here he stopped breathlessly, looked around in all directions and put the ring in the hollow. Having finished the business safely, he was about to inform Marya Kirilovna about it at the same time, when suddenly a red-haired and slanting ragged boy flashed from behind the arbor, rushed to the oak and thrust his hand into the hollow. Sasha rushed to him faster than a squirrel and caught hold of him with both hands.
- What are you doing here? he said sternly.
- Do you care? – answered the boy, trying to free himself from him.
- Leave this ring, red hare, - Sasha shouted, - or I will teach you a lesson in my own way.
Instead of answering, he hit him in the face with his fist, but Sasha did not let him go and shouted at the top of his voice: “Thieves, thieves! here, here…”
The boy struggled to get rid of him. He was, apparently, two years older than Sasha and much stronger than him, but Sasha was more evasive. They fought for several minutes, finally the red-haired boy overcame. He threw Sasha to the ground and grabbed him by the throat.
But at that moment a strong hand seized his red and bristly hair, and the gardener Stepan lifted him half an arshin from the ground ...
“Oh, you red-haired beast,” said the gardener, “but how dare you beat the little master ...
Sasha managed to jump up and recover.
“You grabbed me by the snares,” he said, “otherwise you would never have knocked me down. Give me the ring now and get out.
“It’s not like that,” answered the redhead, and suddenly turning over in one place, freed his bristles from Stepanova’s hand. Then he started to run, but Sasha caught up with him, pushed him in the back, and the boy fell from all legs. The gardener seized him again and tied him with a sash.
- Give me the ring! Sasha shouted.
“Wait, master,” said Stepan, “we will bring him to the clerk for reprisal.”
The gardener led the prisoner to the manor's yard, and Sasha accompanied him, glancing anxiously at his trousers, torn and stained with greenery. Suddenly all three found themselves in front of Kiril Petrovich, who was going to inspect his stable.
- What's this? he asked Stepan. Stepan briefly described the whole incident. Kirila Petrovich listened to him with attention.
“You rake,” he said, turning to Sasha, “why did you contact him?”
- He stole a ring from the hollow, papa, order me to give the ring back.
- What ring, from what hollow?
- Give me Marya Kirilovna ... yes, that ring ...
Sasha was embarrassed, confused. Kirila Petrovich frowned and said, shaking his head:
- Here Marya Kirilovna got confused. Confess to everything, or I'll rip you off with a rod that you won't even recognize your own.
- By God, papa, I, papa ... Marya Kirilovna did not order anything from me, papa.
- Stepan, go and cut me a pretty fresh birch rod ...
- Wait, daddy, I'll tell you everything. Today I was running around the yard, and sister Marya Kirilovna opened the window, and I ran up, and the sister did not intentionally drop the ring, and I hid it in a hollow, and - and ... this red-haired boy wanted to steal the ring ...
- I didn’t drop it on purpose, but you wanted to hide ... Stepan, go get the rods.
- Daddy, wait, I'll tell you everything. Sister Marya Kirilovna told me to run to the oak and put the ring in the hollow, and I ran and put the ring, but that nasty boy...
Kirila Petrovich turned to the bad boy and asked him menacingly: “Whose are you?”
“I am a servant of the Dubrovskys,” answered the red-haired boy.
Kiril Petrovich's face darkened.
“You don’t seem to recognize me as a master, good,” he answered. What were you doing in my garden?
“He stole raspberries,” the boy answered with great indifference.
- Yeah, a servant to the master: what is the priest, such is the parish, but does raspberry grow on my oaks?
The boy didn't answer.
“Daddy, order him to hand over the ring,” Sasha said.
"Be quiet, Alexander," answered Kirila Petrovich, "don't forget that I'm going to deal with you." Go to your room. You, oblique, you seem to me not a small miss. Give back the ring and go home.
The boy opened his fist and showed that there was nothing in his hand.
- If you confess everything to me, I won’t whip you, I’ll give you another nickel for nuts. Otherwise, I will do something to you that you do not expect. Well!
The boy did not answer a word and stood with his head bowed and assuming the look of a real fool.
“It’s good,” said Kirila Petrovich, “to lock him up somewhere and watch so that he doesn’t run away, or I’ll skin the whole house.”
Stepan took the boy to the dovecote, locked him there, and put Agafia, the old poultry-keeper, to look after him.
- Now go to the city for the police officer, - said Kirila Petrovich, following the boy with his eyes, - but as soon as possible.
“There is no doubt about it. She kept in touch with the accursed Dubrovsky. But did she really call him for help? thought Kirila Petrovich, pacing up and down the room angrily whistling the Thunder of Victory. “Maybe I finally found his hot tracks, and he won’t dodge us. We will use this opportunity. Chu! bell, thank God, this is a police officer.
“Hey, bring the kid that was caught here.
In the meantime, the cart drove into the yard, and the police officer, already familiar to us, entered the room, covered with dust.
“Glorious news,” Kirila Petrovich told him, “I caught Dubrovsky.
“Thank God, Your Excellency,” said the police officer with an air of delight, “where is he?”
- That is, not Dubrovsky, but one of his gang. Now he will be brought. He will help us catch the ataman himself. Here they brought him.
The police officer, who was waiting for the formidable robber, was amazed to see a 13-year-old boy, rather weak in appearance. He turned to Kiril Petrovich in bewilderment and waited for an explanation. Kirila Petrovich immediately began to recount the morning's incident, without, however, mentioning Marya Kirilovna.
The police officer listened to him attentively, glancing from moment to moment at the little scoundrel, who, pretending to be a fool, seemed not to pay any attention to everything that was going on around him.
“Allow me, Your Excellency, to talk to you in private,” said the police officer at last.
Kirila Petrovich led him into another room and locked the door behind him.
Half an hour later they went out again into the hall, where the slave awaited the decision of his fate.
- The master wanted, - the police officer told him, - to put you in a city jail, whip you and then send you to a settlement, but I stood up for you and begged for your forgiveness. - Untie him.
The boy was untied.
“Thank the master,” said the police officer. The boy went up to Kiril Petrovich and kissed his hand.
“Go home to yourself,” Kirila Petrovich told him, “but don’t steal raspberries in the hollows ahead.”
The boy went out, merrily jumped off the porch, and set off at a run, without looking back, across the field to Kistenevka. Having reached the village, he stopped at a dilapidated hut, the first from the edge, and knocked on the window; The window went up and the old woman appeared.
“Grandma, bread,” the boy said, “I haven’t eaten anything since morning, I’m dying of hunger.”
“Ah, it’s you, Mitya, but where have you been, you imp,” answered the old woman.
“I’ll tell you later, grandma, for God’s sake.”
- Yes, come into the hut.
- Once, grandmother, I need to run to one more place. Bread, for Christ's sake, bread.
“What a fidget,” the old woman grumbled, “here’s a slice for you,” and she thrust a slice of black bread out the window. The boy greedily bit him and chewing instantly went on.
It was starting to get dark. Mitya made his way through the barns and vegetable gardens to the Kistenevskaya grove. Having reached two pines, standing as the advanced guards of the grove, he stopped, looked around in all directions, whistled with a piercing and abrupt whistle, and began to listen; a light and prolonged whistle was heard in response to him, someone came out of the grove and approached him.
Chapter XVIII
Kirila Petrovich paced up and down the hall, whistling his song louder than usual; the whole house was in motion; In the dressing-room of a young lady, in front of a mirror, a lady, surrounded by maids, was cleaning the pale, motionless Marya Kirilovna, her head bowed languidly under the weight of diamonds, she trembled slightly when an incautious hand pricked her, but was silent, staring senselessly into the mirror.
“Just a minute,” the lady replied. - Marya Kirilovna, get up, look around, is it okay?
Marya Kirilovna got up and made no answer. The doors opened.
“The bride is ready,” the lady said to Kiril Petrovich, “order to get into the carriage.”
“God bless you,” Kirila Petrovich answered and, taking the image from the table, “come to me, Masha,” he said to her in a touched voice, “I bless you ...” The poor girl fell at his feet and sobbed.
“Papa… papa…” she said in tears, and her voice died away. Kirila Petrovich hurried to bless her, they lifted her up and almost carried her into the carriage. The planted mother and one of the servants sat down with her. They went to church. There the groom was already waiting for them. He went out to meet the bride and was struck by her pallor and strange appearance. Together they entered the cold, empty church; the doors were locked behind them. The priest left the altar and immediately began. Marya Kirilovna saw nothing, heard nothing, thought of one thing, from the very morning she waited for Dubrovsky, her hope did not leave her for a moment, but when the priest turned to her with the usual questions, she shuddered and fainted, but still hesitated, still expected ; the priest, without waiting for her answer, uttered irrevocable words.
The rite was over. She felt the cold kiss of her unloving husband, she heard the merry congratulations of those present, and still could not believe that her life was forever fettered, that Dubrovsky had not flown to free her. The prince turned to her with affectionate words, she did not understand them, they left the church, peasants from Pokrovsky crowded on the porch. Her gaze quickly ran over them and again showed its former insensibility. The young people got into a carriage together and drove to Arbatovo; Kirila Petrovich had already gone there to meet the young people there. Alone with his young wife, the prince was not in the least embarrassed by her cold appearance. He did not bother her with cloying explanations and ridiculous delights, his words were simple and did not require answers. In this way they traveled about ten versts, the horses galloping quickly over the hummocks of the country road, and the carriage barely swayed on its English springs. Suddenly there were shouts of pursuit, the carriage stopped, a crowd of armed people surrounded it, and a man in a half-mask, opening the doors from the side where the young princess was sitting, said to her: “You are free, get out.” “What does this mean,” the prince shouted, “who are you? ..” “This is Dubrovsky,” said the princess.
The prince, without losing his presence of mind, took out a traveling pistol from his side pocket and fired at the masked robber. The princess shrieked and covered her face with both hands in horror. Dubrovsky was wounded in the shoulder, blood appeared. The prince, without losing a moment, took out another pistol, but they did not give him time to shoot, the doors opened, and several strong hands pulled him out of the carriage and snatched the pistol from him. Knives flashed over him.
- Don't touch him! Doubrovsky shouted, and his gloomy accomplices retreated.
“You are free,” continued Dubrovsky, turning to the pale princess.
“No,” she answered. - It's too late, I'm married, I'm the wife of Prince Vereisky.
“What are you saying,” Dubrovsky shouted in despair, “no, you are not his wife, you were forced, you could never agree ...
“I agreed, I swore an oath,” she objected with firmness, “the prince is my husband, order to release him and leave me with him. I didn't cheat. I was waiting for you until the last minute ... But now, I tell you, now it's too late. Let us go.
But Dubrovsky no longer heard her, the pain of the wound and the strong emotions of the soul deprived him of strength. He fell at the wheel, the robbers surrounded him. He managed to say a few words to them, they put him on horseback, two of them supported him, the third took the horse by the bridle, and everyone rode aside, leaving the carriage in the middle of the road, people tied up, horses harnessed, but without plundering anything and not spilling a single drops of blood in vengeance for the blood of his chieftain.
Chapter XIX
In the middle of a dense forest on a narrow lawn rose a small earthen fortification, consisting of a rampart and a moat, behind which there were several huts and dugouts.
In the yard, a multitude of people, who, by the variety of clothes and by the general armament, could immediately be recognized as robbers, dined, sitting without hats, near the fraternal cauldron. On the rampart near the small cannon sat a sentry with his legs tucked under him; he inserted a patch into some part of his clothes, wielding a needle with an art that denounces an experienced tailor, and constantly looked in all directions.
Although a certain ladle passed from hand to hand several times, a strange silence reigned in this crowd; the robbers dined, one after the other got up and prayed to God, some dispersed to their huts, while others scattered through the forest or lay down to sleep, according to the Russian custom.
The sentry finished his work, shook out his junk, admired the patch, pinned a needle to his sleeve, mounted the cannon and sang at the top of his voice the melancholy old song:
Don't make noise, mother green dubrovushka,
Don't bother me, young man, to think.
At that moment the door of one of the huts opened, and an old woman in a white cap, neatly and primly dressed, appeared at the threshold. “Enough for you, Styopka,” she said angrily, “the master is resting, and you know you bawl; You have no conscience or pity." “I’m sorry, Yegorovna,” answered Styopka, “okay, I won’t do it again, let him, our father, rest and get better.” The old woman left, and Styopka began to pace along the rampart.
In the hut from which the old woman came out, behind the partition, the wounded Dubrovsky was lying on a camp bed. In front of him on the table lay his pistols, and his saber hung in his head. The dugout was covered and hung with rich carpets, in the corner there was a women's silver toilet and a dressing table. Dubrovsky held an open book in his hand, but his eyes were closed. And the old woman, looking at him from behind the partition, could not know whether he had fallen asleep or was just thinking.
Suddenly Dubrovsky shuddered: there was an alarm in the fortification, and Styopka stuck his head in at him through the window. “Father, Vladimir Andreevich,” he shouted, “our sign is being given, they are looking for us.” Dubrovsky jumped out of bed, grabbed his weapon and left the hut. Robbers crowded noisily in the yard; there was a deep silence when he appeared. "Is everyone here?" Dubrovsky asked. “Everyone except the sentinels,” they answered him. "In places!" Dubrovsky shouted. And the robbers each took a certain place. At this time, three sentinels ran to the gate. Dubrovsky went to meet them. "What's happened?" he asked them. “Soldiers in the forest,” they answered, “we are surrounded.” Dubrovsky ordered the gates to be locked and went himself to inspect the cannon. Several voices resounded through the forest and began to approach; the robbers waited in silence. Suddenly three or four soldiers appeared from the forest and immediately leaned back, letting their comrades know with shots. “Prepare for battle,” said Dubrovsky, and there was a rustle between the robbers, everything calmed down again. Then they heard the sound of an approaching team, weapons flashed between the trees, about a hundred and fifty soldiers poured out of the forest and rushed to the rampart with a cry. Dubrovsky put a wick, the shot was successful: one was blown off his head, two were wounded. There was confusion among the soldiers, but the officer rushed forward, the soldiers followed him and fled into the ditch; the robbers fired at them with rifles and pistols and, with axes in their hands, began to defend the shaft, on which the frenzied soldiers climbed, leaving about twenty wounded comrades in the ditch. A hand-to-hand fight ensued, the soldiers were already on the ramparts, the robbers began to give way, but Dubrovsky, approaching the officer, put a pistol to his chest and fired, the officer burst on his back. Several soldiers picked him up and hurried to carry him into the forest, others, having lost their leader, stopped. The emboldened robbers took advantage of this moment of bewilderment, crushed them, forced them into a ditch, the besiegers ran, the robbers rushed after them with a cry. The victory was decided. Dubrovsky, relying on the perfect disorder of the enemy, stopped his own people and locked himself in the fortress, ordering to pick up the wounded, doubling the guards and ordering no one to leave.
Recent incidents have already drawn the attention of the government in earnest to Dubrovsky's daring robberies. Information was collected about his whereabouts. A company of soldiers was sent to take him dead or alive. They caught several people from his gang and learned from them that Dubrovsky was not among them. A few days after the battle, he gathered all his accomplices, announced to them that he intended to leave them forever, and advised them to change their lifestyle. “You have grown rich under my command, each of you has the appearance with which he can safely make his way to some remote province and spend the rest of his life there in honest labor and in abundance. But you are all swindlers and you probably won't want to leave your craft." After this speech, he left them, taking one ** with him. Nobody knew where he had gone. At first, they doubted the truth of these testimonies: the commitment of the robbers to the ataman was known. It was believed that they were trying to save him. But the consequences justified them; formidable visitations, fires and robberies ceased. The roads have become free. According to other news, they learned that Dubrovsky had fled abroad.
About the work
The story of A.S. Pushkin's "Dubrovsky" could be called an imitation of Walter Scott, if you do not know that the plot of the story was suggested to the Russian writer P.V. Nashchokin, one of his friends. He said that in the Minsk prison he met a Belarusian nobleman, a certain Ostrovsky, whose rich neighbor took away his estate and left him without a roof over his head. The indignant nobleman gathered his peasants and together with them began to rob first the officials responsible for his misfortunes, and then the rest.
True, Pushkin changed the nobleman's surname to a more courageous and euphonious one - Dubrovsky. The events of the story cover a year and a half and take place in the early 20s. Pushkin did not immediately come up with the title of the story. In the process, his notes were dated "October 21, 1832". Most likely this date meant the beginning of work. Pushkin's biographer Annenkov writes that Pushkin worked on the Dubrovsky pencil for speed. Indeed, the story was written in three months.
From the surviving drafts of the writer, it is known that he planned to continue working on the story and tell about the return of Vladimir Dubrovsky from abroad to Russia in the guise of an Englishman.
Critics reacted ambiguously to this story. V. G. Belinsky wrote:
“Dubrovsky, despite all the skill that the author showed in his portrayal, nevertheless remained a melodramatic face and did not arouse participation. In general, the whole story strongly resonates with melodrama. But there are wonderful things about it. The ancient life of the Russian nobility, in the person of Troekurov, is depicted with terrifying fidelity. The clerks and legal proceedings of that time also belong to the brilliant sides of the story.
However, the famous poetess of the twentieth century, Anna Akhmatova, spoke unflatteringly about Dubrovsky. She considered:
"Dubrovsky" - Pushkin's failure. And, thank God, he didn't finish it. It was a desire to earn a lot, a lot of money, so that you don’t have to think about it anymore. "Dubrovsky", finished, by that time would have been a great "reading".
In the 30s, a new stage begins in. From romantic heroes and paintings, the writer moves on to realistic sketches, trying to show reality as it is. He begins to worry about the problems of Russian society, to which he dedicates one of his most famous novels.
Documentary basis of the novel
Once, while talking with his friend P. V. Nashchokin, Pushkin heard the story of a poor Belarusian nobleman Pavel Ostrovsky, who owned a small village in the Minsk province. During the war of 1812, the documents for the ownership of the estate burned down. The rich neighbor of the young Ostrovsky took advantage of this, took away his home from the young man. The peasants of Ostrovsky revolted, refusing to submit to the new master, and preferred to rob. According to rumors, the young nobleman first became a teacher, and then joined his former subjects. He was arrested for robbery, but Pavel managed to escape from custody and hide. The further fate of this person, as well as, is unknown.
Ostrovsky's situation impressed Pushkin so much that he immediately decided to write about the novel, initially giving the protagonist the name of his desperate, daring prototype.
Creation of a work
Alexander Sergeevich began work on it in 1832. In the drafts of the writer, the place of events is marked - the Kozlovsky district of the Tambov province. It was there that another real story took place, which was reflected in the novel: Colonel Kryukov won a lawsuit about the ownership of the estate from his neighbor Lieutenant Martynov. Litigation with similar outcomes occurred repeatedly. All over Russia, more wealthy noblemen took away the estates from poor landowners. The flagrant injustice of the court in such a situation outraged Pushkin, he decided to describe a similar situation with the most subtle details. Among the victims of eminent and unprincipled aristocratic neighbors was the landowner Dubrovsky. Alexander Sergeevich chose this sonorous surname for his noble hero.
Pushkin worked on the work for a year. The last draft notes date back to 1833.
How did the novel appear in print?
Pushkin did not have time to complete the novel about the noble robber. The author did not even give the final title to the work (instead of the title in the drafts, there is simply the date “October 21, 1821”). The work appeared in print after the death of the great poet, in 1841. Such is the history of the creation of the novel "Dubrovsky".
But the researchers of Pushkin's drafts found a continuation of the story in him. According to the writer's plan, the elderly man was to die, and Dubrovsky was to return to Russia, hide his identity, be exposed and then run away again. If Alexander Sergeevich had not died, perhaps the ending of the novel would have been happy.
"Dubrovsky"- unfinished (at least unprocessed) and not published during his lifetime, the story of A. S. Pushkin (1833), which is a romantic love story of Vladimir Dubrovsky and Maria Troekurova - the offspring of two warring landowner families. Many phrases from this novel survived to our time. Such as "Calm down, Masha, I'm Dubrovsky." The word "Troekurovshchina" is also often used, which means the rules and procedures that Troekurov had. (cruel treatment of courtyards, disrespect for important ranks, etc.)
History of creation
A. S. Pushkin's story had no title. Instead of the name, it was written "October 21, 1832". The last chapter was written October 21, 1833. The story is written in pencil
The plot of the story
The rich and wayward Russian master Kirila Petrovich Troekurov, whose whims are catered to by neighbors and whose name provincial officials tremble, maintains friendly relations with his closest neighbor and former workmate, the poor and independent nobleman Andrei Gavrilovich Dubrovsky. Troyekurov has a cruel and wayward personality, often subjecting his guests to cruel jokes by locking them in a room with a hungry bear without warning.
Due to the audacity of Dubrovsky, a quarrel occurs between him and Troekurov, turning into enmity between neighbors. Troyekurov bribes the provincial court and, taking advantage of his impunity, sues Dubrovsky for his estate Kistenevka. Senior Dubrovsky goes crazy in the courtroom. The younger Dubrovsky, Vladimir, a guards cornet in St. Petersburg, is forced to leave the service and return to his seriously ill father, who soon dies. Dubrovsky's servant sets fire to Kistenevka; the estate given to Troekurov burns down along with the court officials who came to formalize the transfer of property. Dubrovsky becomes a robber like Robin Hood, terrifying the local landowners, but not touching Troekurov's estate. Dubrovsky bribes a passing teacher, the Frenchman Deforge, who intends to enter the service of the Troekurov family, and under his guise becomes a tutor in the Troekurov family. He is tested with a bear and shoots him through the ear. Between Dubrovsky and Troekurov's daughter Masha, a mutual affection-love arises.
Troekurov gives the seventeen-year-old Masha in marriage to the old Prince Vereisky against her will. Vladimir Dubrovsky tries in vain to prevent this unequal marriage. Having received the agreed sign from Masha, he arrives to save her, however, too late. During the wedding procession from the church to the Vereisky estate, Dubrovsky's armed men surround the prince's carriage, Dubrovsky tells Masha that she is free, but she refuses his help, explaining her refusal by the fact that she has already taken an oath. Some time later, the provincial authorities try to surround Dubrovsky's detachment, after which he disbands the "gang" and hides abroad. Pushkin preserved the end of the story in drafts. Vereisky dies, Dubrovsky comes to Russia under the guise of an Englishman, and he and Masha reunite.
Screen adaptations
- Dubrovsky (film) - film directed by Alexander Ivanovsky, 1935.
- The noble robber Vladimir Dubrovsky - a film directed by Vyacheslav Nikiforov and his 4-episode extended television version called "Dubrovsky", 1989.
see also
- Novels by A. S. Pushkin
Notes
- Ozhigov online dictionary http://slovarozhegova.ru/
- Alexander Bely "About Pushkin, Kleist and the unfinished Dubrovsky". "New World", No. 11, 2009. P.160.
Links
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Books
- Dubrovsky: A Tale (Study manual + literary entry in C D), Pushkin Alexander Sergeevich. Textbook from the series New Library `Russian Word`. The manual is an accentuated and commented text of a classic work, plus a disc with a recording of this ...
The rich and willful landowner Troekurov quarreled with his proud, independent but poor neighbor Andrei Dubrovsky. Having great influence in the province, Troekurov entered into a deal as a local assessor in order to take away his village of Kistenevka from Dubrovsky by judicial means. Dubrovsky, having learned about the passing of such a sentence, fell seriously ill. The servants hurried to summon his son, Vladimir, a young man who served in one of the St. Petersburg guards regiments, to the estate. Vladimir barely had time to arrive. His father died almost immediately in his arms.
As soon as they had time to bury the elder Dubrovsky, the assessor and the police officer came to take Kistenevka into Troekurov's property. Dubrovsky-son was to lose all his property. Hopelessness pushed him to a desperate act. Vladimir gathered devoted peasants at night, locked the officials sleeping in the master's house and burned them, lining the room with straw. Together with the most courageous peasants, Dubrovsky left for the forest. They created a gang of robbers there, which began to organize daring robberies of neighboring noble estates, without touching the poor people.
Dubrovsky was going to ruin the possessions of his main enemy, Troekurov, first of all. But when he came to reconnoiter his house, he saw near the daughter of this landowner, Masha whom he vaguely knew in his distant childhood. Masha's beauty captivated Dubrovsky so much that he began to bypass the Troekurovsky estate in robberies. Vladimir was looking for a way to get there under a false name in order to be close to the object of his love.
Soon the right opportunity presented itself to him. At the post station, Dubrovsky accidentally met a young Frenchman, Deforge, who was on his way to Troekurov's estate to become a teacher for his son. None of the Troekurov family knew Deforge by sight. For a large sum of money, Dubrovsky persuaded the Frenchman to return to Paris, while he himself took Deforge's documents and went instead of him.
According to the documents, he was accepted without any suspicion. Troekurov soon played on Dubrovsky the rude, cruel fun he liked to arrange with many of his guests. The servants pushed Vladimir into a room where a hungry bear was sitting on a chain. The beast rushed at Dubrovsky, but he was not afraid and shot the predator with a pistol. After such a courageous act, the "Frenchman" earned the respect of Troekurov, and love for him arose in the soul of the admired Masha.
Film based on the novel by A. S. Pushkin "Dubrovsky", 1988
Guests gathered at the Troekurov estate for a holiday, including Anton Spitsyn, a landowner who once testified perjury against Father Vladimir at the trial in the case of the village. Fearing an attack by the Dubrovsky gang on his estate, the miser Spitsyn began to carry all his money with him in a leather bag. Vladimir, who hated Spitsyn, took away his bag at night at gunpoint. Out of fear of Dubrovsky, Spitsyn did not tell anyone about this the next day, but, returning home, he reported the incident to the police.
The exposed Dubrovsky had to flee from Troekurov's estate. Before escaping, he revealed his name to Masha, saying that she could ask him for help in any difficulties. As a signal, Masha was supposed to put the ring received from Vladimir into the hollow of the oak near the gazebo.
A wealthy but elderly neighbor, Prince Vereisky, soon wooed Masha. Masha did not want to marry the old man, but the greedy father began to force her and even locked her in a room so that she could not escape. Throwing the ring out of the window to her younger brother, Masha asked him to take it to the hollow of the oak. But the messenger boy of Dubrovsky, who took the ring from the hollow, was seized by the gardener and brought to Troekurov. Although he was later released, due to this delay, Dubrovsky found out about Machine's request belatedly.
A day later, the girl was taken to the church and married to the old prince. On the way back from the temple, Dubrovsky with his people attacked the carriage and wanted to free his beloved, but Masha said that now she could no longer violate the completed church rite. Dubrovsky left with a broken heart. Soon he disbanded his gang and disappeared to no one knows where.
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