The Queen of Spades and Other Stories

by Alexander Pushkin

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘I wanted… I came to find out if they were all in the house,’ stammered Arhip in a low voice.

  ‘But why have you got your axe?’

  ‘Why have I got my axe? A man can’t go about without an axe these days. These Court people are such wicked folk, you never know –’

  ‘You are drunk. Put down the axe now, and go and sleep it off.’

  ‘Me drunk? Vladimir Andreyevich, sir, God is my witness I haven’t touched a drop… is it likely, at a time like this? It’s unheard of – quill-drivers taking possession of us, turning our masters out of their houses… How they snore, the brutes! I’d like to make an end of ‘em in a single go, and no one the wiser.’

  Dubrovsky frowned.

  ‘Listen, Arhip,’ he said after a pause. ‘You must put such ideas out of your head. It’s not the fault of these men here. Light the lantern and follow me.’

  Arhip took the candle from his master’s hand, found a lantern behind the stove, lit it, and the pair went quietly down the steps and walked along the side of the courtyard. The watchman’s rattle sounded; the dogs barked.

  ‘Who is on the watch?’ asked Dubrovsky.

  ‘We are, sir,’ replied a piping voice. ‘Vassilissa and Lukerya.’

  ‘Go back to your homes,’ Dubrovsky said. ‘There is no need for you to stay here.’

  ‘Knock off,’ added Arhip.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ the women answered, and repaired home at once.

  Dubrovsky walked on. Two men approached. They challenged him, and Dubrovsky recognized Anton’s and Grisha’s voices.

  ‘Why aren’t you asleep?’ he asked them.

  ‘How could we sleep?’ Anton answered. ‘To think we have lived to see this!…’

  ‘Hush,’ interrupted Dubrovsky. ‘Where is Yegorovna?’

  ‘In the big house, upstairs in her room.’

  ‘Go and fetch her, and get all our people out of the house. See that not a soul is left indoors except the officials. And you, Anton, have a cart ready.’

  Grisha departed, and a minute later appeared with his mother. The old woman had not undressed that night; with the exception of the officials nobody had closed an eye.

  ‘Are you all here?’ Dubrovsky asked. ‘Nobody left in the house?’

  ‘Nobody except the clerks,’ Grisha answered.

  ‘Bring me some hay or some straw,’ said Dubrovsky.

  The men ran to the stables and returned with armfuls of hay.

  ‘Put it under the steps – that’s right. Now, lads, a light!’

  Arhip opened the lantern and Dubrovsky kindled a splinter of wood.

  ‘Wait,’ he said to Arhip. ‘I believe in my haste I shut the doors into the hall. Hurry and open them.’

  Arhip ran into the vestibule – the inner doors were open. He locked them, muttering in an undertone: ‘Open them, indeed! Not likely!’ and returned to Dubrovsky.

  Dubrovsky applied the lighted splinter to the hay, which burst into a blaze; the flames leaped up, lighting the whole courtyard.

  ‘A-ah!’ wailed Yegorovna. ‘Vladimir Andreyevich, what are you doing?’

  ‘Quiet!’ said Dubrovsky. ‘Now, children, farewell! I go where God may lead me; be happy with your new master!’

  ‘You are our dear master,’ cried the peasants. ‘We will die rather than leave you – we are coming with you!’

  The horses were brought up. Dubrovsky took his seat in the cart with Grisha. Anton applied the whip and they drove out of the courtyard.

  In a minute the whole house was in flames. The floors crackled and gave way; burning beams began to fall; red smoke curled above the roof; pitiful wails and cries of ‘Help! help!’ were heard.

  ‘Not likely!’ said Arhip, watching the fire with a malicious smile.

  ‘Arhip, son, save them, the scoundrels,’ Yegorovna said to him. ‘God will reward you.’

  ‘Not I,’ the blacksmith answered.

  Just then the officials appeared at the window, trying to smash the double frames. But at the same instant the roof crashed down – and the screams stopped.

  Soon all the house-serfs came pouring into the courtyard. The women with loud cries hastened to save their belongings; the children skipped about, delighted with the blaze. Sparks flew up in a fiery shower, setting light to the peasant-huts.

  ‘Now all is as it should be,’ said Arhip. ‘Burns well, eh? It must be a fine sight from Pokrovskoe.’

  At that moment a new apparition attracted his attention: a cat was running about the roof of the burning barn, not knowing where to jump. Flames were on all sides of it. The poor creature mewed plaintively for help; the small boys yelled with laughter, watching the animal’s despair.

  ‘What are you laughing at, you little devils?’ the blacksmith said to them angrily. ‘Aren’t you ashamed? One of God’s creatures perishing, and you little fools pleased about it!’ – and putting a ladder against the burning roof he climbed up to save the cat. It understood his intention and with grateful eagerness clutched at his sleeve. The blacksmith, half scotched, descended with his burden.

  ‘Well, lads, good-bye,’ he said to the crowd, which was somewhat abashed. ‘There is nothing more for me to do here. Good luck to you. Think kindly of me.’

  The blacksmith went off. The fire continued to rage for some time but subsided at last. Piles of red-hot embers glowed brightly in the darkness, while round about them wandered the inhabitants of Kistenyovka who had lost their all in the conflagration.

  7

  THE next day news of the fire spread throughout the neighbourhood. Everybody explained it in a different way, making various guesses and surmises. Some maintained that Dubrovsky’s servants, having got drunk at the funeral, had set the house on fire through their carelessness; others accused the officials, who had taken a drop too much in their new quarters. Some guessed the truth, asserting that the author of the terrible calamity was none other than Dubrovsky, moved by anger and despair. Many declared that he had himself perished in the flames, together with the officials and all his servants. Troyekurov drove over next morning to the scene of the fire, and personally conducted the inquiry. It seemed that the police-captain, the assessor of the District Court and two clerks, as well as Vladimir Dubrovsky, the old nurse Yegorovna, his man Grisha, the coachman Anton and the blacksmith Arhip had disappeared nobody knew where. All the servants testified that the officials perished when the roof fell in. Their charred remains were in fact discovered. The women Vassilissa and Lukeria told how they had seen Dubrovsky and Arhip the blacksmith a few minutes before the conflagration. The blacksmith, according to the general showing, was alive, and was probably the chief, if not the sole person responsible for the fire. Grave suspicions rested on Dubrovsky. Kiril Petrovich sent the Governor a detailed account of all that had happened, and the law was brought into action again.

  Soon other reports gave fresh food for curiosity and gossip. Brigands appeared, spreading terror throughout the countryside. Measures taken against them by the district authorities proved unavailing. Robberies, each more daring than the last, followed one after another. There was no safety either on the high road or in the villages. Brigands drove about in troikas in broad daylight all over the province, holding up travellers and the mail. They went into the villages, robbed and set fire to the manor-houses. The chief of the band gained a reputation for his cleverness, his daring and a sort of generosity. Extraordinary things were related of him. The name of Dubrovsky was on every lip. All were convinced that he and no other was the leader of the fearless villains. The only wonder was that Troyekurov’s estates had been spared: the brigands had not attacked a single barn of his, or stopped a single cart belonging to him. With his usual arrogance Troyekurov attributed this exception to the awe and dread which he inspired throughout the province, as well as to the excellent police-watch which he had organized in his villages. At first Troyekurov’s neighbours laughed at his presumption,
and everyone waited for the uninvited guests to visit Pokrovskoe, where they would find plenty to loot, but at last they had to agree with him and admit that even robbers treated him with unaccountable respect. Troyekurov was triumphant, and at the news of each fresh exploit on the part of Dubrovsky he indulged in reflections at the expense of the Governor, the police-officers of the district and the company commanders, who always allowed Dubrovsky to escape with impunity.

  Meanwhile the first of October arrived, and with it the patronal festival of the church in Troyekurov’s village. But before we proceed to describe the events that followed we must introduce the reader to characters who are new to him, or whom we mentioned only briefly at the beginning of our tale.

  8

  THE reader has probably already guessed that Kiril petrovich’s daughter, of whom so far only a few words have been said, is the heroine of our story. At the time of which we are writing she was seventeen and in the full bloom of her beauty. Her father loved her to distraction but treated her in his characteristically arbitrary fashion, at one moment doing his best to gratify her slightest whim, at another frightening her by his harsh discipline and even cruelty. Convinced of her affection, he could never win her confidence. She was too uncertain what his response would be, ever to share her thoughts and feelings with her father. She had no friends and had grown up in solitude. The neighbours’ wives and daughters seldom visited Kiril Petrovich, whose amusements and conversation usually called for the company of men rather than the presence of ladies. Our beautiful young heroine rarely appeared among the guests making merry in her father’s house. She had the run of the extensive library, consisting mostly of the works of the French writers of the eighteenth century. Her father never read anything except the Perfect Cook and could not guide her in her choice of books, and Masha, after dipping into volumes of various kinds, naturally gave her preference to romances. In this manner she was completing the education that had begun under the tuition of Mademoiselle Michaud. Kiril Petrovich had reposed great trust in that lady and had shown her much good will, until he had been obliged to send her in secret to another estate when the consequences of their friendship became too apparent. Mademoiselle Michaud had left rather a pleasant memory behind her. She was a good-hearted girl and had never abused her influence on Kiril Petrovich, unlike some of the other favourites who constantly superseded one another in his affections. Kiril Petrovich himself seemed to be fonder of her than of the others, and a dark-eyed, roguish little boy of nine, whose features bore a resemblance to Mademoiselle Michaud’s southern looks, was being brought up by him and was recognized as his son, in spite of the fact that a considerable number of little boys who were as like Kiril Petrovich as one drop of water is to another ran about barefoot outside his windows, and were regarded as serf-children. Kiril Petrovich had sent to Moscow for a French tutor for his little Sasha, and the tutor arrived at Pokrovskoe during the events we are now describing.

  Kiril Petrovich was agreeably taken with his pleasant appearance and simple manner. He presented his testimonials and a letter from one of Troyekurov’s relatives in whose house he had been tutor for four years. Kiril Petrovich examined all these, and the only point that was not satisfactory was the Frenchman’s youth – not because he considered this amiable defect to be incompatible with patience and experience, so necessary in the wretched calling of a tutor, but for reasons of his own, which he decided to put before the young man at once. For this purpose he sent for Masha (Kiril Petrovich did not speak French, and she acted as interpreter for him).

  ‘Come here, Masha. Tell this monsoo that, so be it, I engage him, but only on condition that he does not venture to run after my servant-girls, or I’ll give it him, the puppy…. Translate that to him, Masha.’

  Masha blushed, and turning to the tutor told him in French that her father counted on his virtue and decorous behaviour.

  The Frenchman bowed, and answered that he hoped to earn their respect even if they refused him their favour.

  Masha translated his reply word for word.

  ‘Very well, very well!’ said Kiril Petrovich. ‘He needn’t trouble about either respect or favour. His business is to look after Sasha and teach him grammar and geography…. Translate that to him.’

  Masha softened her father’s discourtesy in her translation, and Kiril Petrovich dismissed his Frenchman to the wing where a room had been allotted to him.

  Masha had not given a thought to the young Frenchman. Brought up with aristocratic prejudices, a tutor to her mind was only a sort of servant or workman, and servants or workmen were not men in her eyes. She did not even remark the impression she had produced on Monsieur Desforges, or his confusion, his agitation, the tremor in his voice. For several days she came across him fairly often but without taking any particular notice of him. An unexpected incident put him in quite a new light.

  A number of bear-cubs were generally kept in the courtyard, providing Kiril Petrovich with one of his chief forms of amusement. While they were young they were fetched every day to the parlour, where Kiril Petrovich played with them for hours on end, setting them on cats and puppies. When they grew up they were put on a chain, to await being baited in real earnest. Sometimes a bear would be brought out in front of the manor-house windows, and an empty wine-barrel studded with nails was rolled towards it. The bear would sniff it, then touch it cautiously and get its paws pricked. Angrily it would give the cask a more violent push, and so be hurt still more. Then the beast would work itself up into a perfect frenzy and fling itself upon the barrel, growling furiously, until they removed from the poor animal the object of its hopeless rage. On other occasions a couple of bears were harnessed to a cart and visitors, willing or unwilling, seated in it and sent off at a gallop whither chance would take them. But the trick Kiril Petrovich loved best was as follows:

  A hungry bear would be shut up in an empty room, tied by a rope to a ring in the wall. The rope was almost the length of the room, so that only the far corner was out of reach of the terrible creature. An unsuspecting caller was taken to the door of the room and, as if by accident, pushed in along with the bear; the door was locked and the luckless victim left alone with the shaggy recluse. The poor visitor, with the skirts of his coat in shreds and a torn arm, soon discovered the safe corner, but sometimes had to stand for three whole hours, pressed against the wall while the savage beast, a couple of steps away, reared up, stood growling on its hind legs and jerked at the rope in an effort to get at him. Such were the noble amusements of a Russian country gentleman!

  A few days after the tutor’s arrival Troyekurov thought of him and decided he should have a taste of the bear’s room. For this purpose the young man was summoned one morning and conducted along several dark passages; suddenly a side door opened – two servants pushed the Frenchman through the door and locked it after him. Recovering from his surprise, the tutor saw a bear chained to the wall. The brute began to snort, sniffing from a distance at his visitor, and then suddenly, rearing up on its hind legs, made for him…. The Frenchman was not scared; he did not retreat but waited for the attack. The bear drew near; Desforges took a small pistol from his pocket, thrust it into the ravening beast’s ear, and fired. The bear rolled over. Everyone came running back, the door was opened, and Kiril Petrovich entered, wideeyed at the outcome of his jest.

  Kiril Petrovich was determined to get to the bottom of the affair. Who had warned Desforges of the practical joke that was to be played on him, or how was it he had a loaded pistol in his pocket? He sent for Masha. Masha hurried in and translated her father’s questions to the Frenchman.

  ‘I did not know anything about the bear,’ replied Desforges, ‘but I always carry a pistol about with me because I do not intend to put up with insults for which, on account of my calling, I cannot demand satisfaction.’

  Masha stared at him in amazement and translated his words to Kiril Petrovich. Kiril Petrovich made no answer. He gave orders for the bear to be removed and skinned. Then, turning t
o his men, he said:

  ‘What a brave fellow! Nothing of the coward about him – by heaven, no!’

  From that day he took a fancy to Desforges and never again thought of putting him to the test.

  But this incident produced a still greater impression upon Maria Kirilovna. Her imagination had been struck by the sight of the dead bear and Desforges standing calmly beside its body and as calmly talking to her. She saw that courage and a proud sense of personal dignity did not belong exclusively to one class, and from that day she began to show a regard for the young tutor which grew more and more marked as time went on. A certain intimacy sprang up between them. Masha had a lovely voice and great musical ability; Desforges suggested giving her lessons. After this it will not be difficult for the reader to guess that, without acknowledging it to herself, Masha fell in love with him.

  9

  VISITORS began to arrive on the eve of the patronal festival; some were accommodated in the manor-house, others put in the wings. Still others were quartered at the steward’s, at the priest’s and with the more well-to-do of the peasants. The stables were full of the visitors’ horses, the coach-houses and barns were blocked with carriages of all sorts. At nine o’clock the bells began to ring for Mass, and everybody set out for the new stone church that Kiril Petrovich had built and which every year he improved and made more beautiful. Such a number of distinguished worshippers had come to Mass that there was no room for the peasants who had to stand in the porch or in the open air inside the fence. The Mass had not begun: they were waiting for Kiril Petrovich. He arrived in a carriage drawn by six horses, and solemnly walked to his place accompanied by Maria Kirilovna. The eyes of both men and women were turned on her – the first admiring her beauty, the second scrutinizing her attire. The service began. Singers from his household formed the choir and Kiril Petrovich joined in with them. He prayed, keeping his eyes from straying to right or to left, and with proud humility bowed to the ground when the deacon entreated in a loud voice ‘for the founder of this temple’.