Natasha asked: “Who has come in?”
The old lady turned faint. Gavrila Afanasyevich drew back the curtain, looked coldly at the sick girl, and asked how she was. The invalid wanted to smile at him, but could not. Her father’s stern look struck her, and uneasiness took possession of her. At that moment it seemed to her that someone was standing at the head of her bed. She raised her head with an effort and suddenly recognized the Czar’s Negro. Then she remembered everything, and all the horror of the future presented itself to her. But she was too exhausted to be perceptibly shocked. Natasha laid her head down again upon the pillow and closed her eyes … her heart beat painfully. Tatyana Afanasyevna made a sign to her brother that the invalid wanted to go to sleep, and all quitted the room very quietly, except the maid, who resumed her seat at the spinning wheel.
The unhappy girl opened her eyes, and no longer seeing anybody by her bedside, called the maid and sent her for the dwarf. But at that moment a round, old figure rolled up to her bed, like a ball. Lastochka (for so the dwarf was called) with all the speed of her short legs had followed Gavrila Afanasyevich and Ibrahim up the stairs, and concealed herself behind the door, in accordance with the promptings of that curiosity which is inborn in the fair sex. Natasha, seeing her, sent the maid away, and the dwarf sat down upon a stool by the bedside.
Never had so small a body contained within itself so much energy. She meddled in everything, knew everything, and busied herself about everything. By cunning and insinuating ways she had succeeded in gaining the love of her masters, and the hatred of all the household, which she controlled in the most autocratic manner. Gavrila Afanasyevich listened to her talebearing, complaints, and petty requests. Tatyana Afanasyevna constantly asked her opinion, and followed her advice, and Natasha had the most unbounded affection for her, and confided to her all the thoughts, all the emotions of her sixteen-year-old heart.
“Do you know, Lastochka,” said she, “my father is going to marry me to the Negro.”
The dwarf sighed deeply, and her wrinkled face became still more wrinkled.
“Is there no hope?” continued Natasha. “Will my father not take pity upon me?”
The dwarf shook her cap.
“Will not my grandfather or my aunt intercede for me?”
“No, miss; during your illness the Negro succeeded in bewitching everybody. The master dotes upon him, the Prince raves about him alone, and Tatyana Afanasyevna says it is a pity that he is a Negro, as a better bridegroom we could not wish for.”
“My God! my God!” moaned poor Natasha.
“Do not grieve, my pretty one,” said the dwarf, kissing her feeble hand. “If you are to marry the Negro, you will have your own way in everything. Nowadays it is not as it was in the olden times: husbands no longer keep their wives under lock and key; they say the Negro is rich; you will have a splendid house—you will lead a merry life.”
“Poor Valeryan!” said Natasha, but so softly, that the dwarf could only guess what she said, rather than hear the words.
“That is just it, miss,” said she, mysteriously lowering her voice; “if you thought less of the streletz orphan, you would not rave about him in your delirium and your father would not be angry.”
“What!” said the alarmed Natasha. “I have raved about Valeryan? And my father heard it? And my father is angry?”
“That is just the trouble,” replied the dwarf. “Now, if you were to ask him not to marry you to the Negro, he would think that Valeryan was the cause. There is nothing to be done; submit to the will of your parents, for what is to be, will be.”
Natasha did not reply. The thought that the secret of her heart was known to her father, produced a powerful effect upon her imagination. One hope alone remained to her: to die before the consummation of the odious marriage. This thought consoled her. Weak and sad at heart she resigned herself to her fate.
VII
IN THE house of Gavrila Afanasyevich, to the right of the vestibule, was a narrow room with one window. In it stood a simple bed covered with a woolen counterpane; in front of the bed was a small deal table, on which a tallow candle was burning, and some sheets of music lay open. On the wall hung an old blue uniform and its contemporary, a three-cornered hat; above it, fastened by three nails, was a cheap print representing Charles XII on horseback. The notes of a flute resounded through this humble abode. The captive dancing-master, its lonely occupant, in a nightcap and nankeen dressing gown, was relieving the tedium of a winter evening by playing some old Swedish marches which reminded him of the gay days of his youth. After devoting two whole hours to this exercise, the Swede took his flute to pieces, placed it in a box, and began to undress….
Just then the latch of his door was lifted and a tall, handsome young man, in uniform, entered the room. The Swede rose, surprised.
“You do not recognize me, Gustav Adamych,” said the young visitor in a moved voice. “You do not remember the boy to whom you used to give military instruction, and with whom you nearly started a fire in this very room, shooting off a toy cannon.”
Gustav Adamych looked closely….
“Eh, eh,” he cried at last, embracing him. “Greetings! How long have you been here? Sit down, you scapegrace, let us talk.”
* John Law, the famous projector of financial schemes (TRANSLATOR’S NOTE).
† The mother of Peter the Great (TRANSLATOR’S NOTE).
‡ A fur-lined or wadded sleeveless jacket (EDITOR’S NOTE).
§ The national headdress of the Russian women (TRANSLATOR’S NOTE).
‖ The allusion is to Menshikov, who is said to have sold pancakes or pies on the Moscow streets in his youth (EDITOR’S NOTE).
a A soldier in the standing army of old Muscovy (EDITOR’S NOTE).
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