Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow

by Irina Reyfman

  SPASSKAYA POLEST

  I galloped in pursuit of my friend at such speed that I reached him while he was still at the next postal station. I attempted to persuade him to return to Petersburg, attempted to demonstrate to him that the small and partial flaws of a society will not destroy its bonds, just as a speck that falls into the expanse of the sea is unable to trouble the surface of the water. But he answered me brusquely: “If I, a small speck, sank to the bottom, it is of course clear that no storm would occur in the Bay of Finland. I’d be off to swim with seals, though.” Taking his leave of me with obvious indignation, he sat in his carriage and departed hastily.

  The horses were already harnessed, I had already lifted my leg to climb into the carriage when it suddenly began to rain. “Not a terrible misfortune,” I thought, “I shall take cover under a piece of coarse fabric and stay dry.” No sooner had this thought flown into my brain than I felt like I was plunged into an ice hole. Without asking my view, the sky burst a cloud open and the rain came bucketing down.—Nothing to be done about the weather. As the saying goes, “the slower you travel, the farther you go.” I dismounted from the carriage and ran into the nearest cabin. The owner was going to bed and it was dark in the cabin. Nonetheless, even in the dark I asked leave to dry off. I removed my wet clothing and, placing what was drier under my head, soon fell asleep on a bench. My bedding was not exactly fluffy and did not afford me a chance to luxuriate for long. Awakening, I overheard a whisper. I could distinguish two voices having a chat between themselves. “Well, husband, give us a story then…,” said a female voice. “Listen, wife.”

  “Once upon a time….” “And it’s just like a fairy tale; not that one can believe a fairy tale,” said the wife in a soft voice, yawning from sleep, “as if I could believe that there used to be a Polkan, Bova, and Nightingale-Robber.”25 “Well, who is browbeating you; believe if you like. But it is true that in olden times physical strength was held in respect and certain strongmen abused their powers. That’s where Polkan comes in. And on Nightingale-Robber, mother mine, read the interpreters of Russian antiquity. They will tell you that he was named Nightingale thanks to his eloquence…. Do not interrupt my speech. And so, once upon a time somewhere there lived a governor-general.26 In his youth he bummed around foreign lands, learned to eat oysters for which he had a keen appetite. For as long as he had little moolah of his own he refrained from his craving, eating about ten at a time, and then only when he happened to be in Petersburg. As soon as he climbed in rank the number of oysters on his table began to increase. As soon as he joined the ranks of governors-general and then had a lot of his own money, and a lot of government money at his disposal, concerning oysters he became like a pregnant female. He sleeps and dreams of eating oysters. When they are in season nobody gets any rest. His subordinates, all, become martyrs. He will eat oysters—no matter what! He sends an order to the Department to supply a courier whom he intends to dispatch to Petersburg with important reports. Everyone knows the courier will go off at a gallop to fetch oysters. No matter what, just fork out the travel costs. The departmental purse is full of holes. A messenger, equipped with a pass, travel expenses, fully prepared, wearing britches and a riding jacket, comes before His Excellency. ‘Make haste, my friend,’ he intones, medal-laden, ‘make haste, take this envelope, deliver it to Bolshaya Morskaya Street.’27 ‘The order is to whom?’ ‘Read the address.’ ‘His … His….’ ‘That’s not how you should read.’ ‘To my Lord … Lor….’ ‘Wrong … to Mr. Korzinkin, honorable shopkeeper in St. Petersburg on Bolshaya Morskaya.’ ‘I know, Your Excellency.’ ‘Get on with it then, my friend, and return as soon as you receive it, delay not an instant; I shall say more than one thank-you.’

  “Giddy up to all three horses all the way to Piter, and direct to Korzinkin at his business. ‘Welcome. That Excellency is a veritable joker, he is, sending for such rubbish from a thousand versts.* A good master though. Happy to serve him. The oysters here are straight from the Exchange. Tell him that they are not less than one hundred fifty a barrel, no discount, they cost us a lot. But we, I and his grace, will settle up.’ A barrel was dumped into the carriage. Heading back, the courier gallops once again; he had only enough time to pop into a tavern and down two thimbles of moonshine.

  “Ding-ding…. As soon as the bell of the postal carriage was heard at the city gates the watch officer dashes off to the governor-general (isn’t it good when everything works) and reports to him that from a distance the carriage is visible and the ring of the little bell audible. He had scarce managed to get the words out when the courier darted through the door. ‘Your Excellency, I have brought them.’ ‘Very timely.’ (Turning to the assembled:) ‘A genuinely good man, responsible and not a drunkard. Quite a few years now that he makes the journey twice a year to Petersburg, and as for how many times to Moscow—I cannot fathom. Secretary, write a recommendation for promotion: “For his numerous deeds in dispatches and his most accurate completion thereof I reward him with promotion by a rank….” ’

  “In the treasurer’s expenditure ledger there is an entry: ‘by the motion of his Excellency to the courier N.N. dispatched to S.P. with the most important documents is granted from the reserve budget travel expenses in both directions for three horses….’ The ledger of the accounts department has gone off for an audit but there’s not a whiff of oysters.

  “On the recommendation of the General Sir etc. IT WAS ORDAINED: Sergeant N.N. is to be a warrant officer…. Well, wife,” said the male voice, “this is how to progress in the ranks, and what do I gain by serving flawlessly? I shall not get ahead by one jot. According to the rules, it is mandated that competent service be rewarded. A Tsar’s generosity is only as good as his ministers. That’s the way it is here with our Mr. Treasurer. Once again, for the second time by his order, I am being sent for criminal trial. If we had been more hand in glove, that would have been like being a pig in clover.”28 “Enough, Klementich, of talking nonsense. Do you know why he doesn’t like you? Because you take payments for the exchange from everyone and don’t share round with them.”29 “Shush, Kuzminichna, quiet, what if someone is listening.” Both voices fell silent, and I fell asleep again.

  In the morning I learned that a treasury clerk and his wife, who departed for Novgorod before daylight, had slept in the same cabin with me.

  While the horses were being harnessed for my cart, another carriage drawn by three horses arrived. A man wrapped in a large cape got out, and the hat he wore, its floppy brim pulled down, hindered me from seeing his face. He demanded horses even though he did not have a pass, and since lots of coach drivers swarmed round him and haggled, he did not wait for them to finish their bargaining and impatiently said to one of them, “Harness up quickly, I shall give you four kopecks per verst.”* The coachman ran for the horses. The others, seeing that there was nothing left to negotiate about, all walked away from him.

  I stood not more than five sazhen† from him. Without removing his hat, he approached me and said, “My dear sir, give an unhappy man whatever you can.” This astonished me exceedingly, and I could not refrain from telling him that I was surprised by his request for aid when he had not bargained over the fee for the relay horses and paid twice as much as others did. “I see,” he told me, “that in your life nothing untoward has crossed you.” So firm a response I liked a good deal and I readily pulled out my wallet …: “Do not disapprove of me,” I said, “I cannot do any more for you right now; but if we travel to our destination then perhaps I shall do something more.” My intention in this respect was to make him come clean, and I was not wrong. “I see,” he said to me, “that you still possess sensitivity, that mixing in society and the quest for your own advantage have not closed your heart to it. Allow me to take a seat in your carriage, and bid your servant to take a seat in mine.” Meanwhile, our horses were readied, I fulfilled his wish—and off we go.

  “Ah! dear sir, I find it hard to fathom that I am unfortunate. No more than a week ago was
I cheerful, gratified, had no want, was loved, at least so it seemed since my house daily was full of people sporting marks of distinction already conferred; my table was always like some magnificent celebration. But if my vanity was greatly satisfied, the genuine bliss the soul enjoyed was its equal. After repeated, initially fruitless efforts, approaches, and failures, finally I had acquired for a wife her whom I desired. Our mutual passion, delighting feeling and soul, presented everything to us in a bright guise. We never saw a cloudy day. We attained the zenith of our bliss. My spouse was pregnant and the hour of her delivery approached. Fate had decided that all this bliss would collapse in a single instant.

  “I hosted a luncheon, and a multitude of so-called friends, having gathered, were sating their idle appetite at my expense. One of those present, someone who privately did not like me, began to speak to someone next to him, albeit in a low voice though still sufficiently loud so that what was spoken could be audible to my wife and many others. ‘Are you not aware that our host’s case in the criminal court has already been decided….’

  “You will think it odd,” said my fellow traveler, addressing his speech to me, “that a man not in service and in the situation I describe could become subject to a criminal trial. That is how I thought for a long while—indeed, until the moment when my case, after wending its way through the lower courts, reached the highest one. This is what it was about. I belonged to the merchant estate. In putting my capital into circulation, I took a share in a private concession. My inexperience was the reason I trusted a devious man who, having personally been caught in a crime, was banned from a business concession and, supposedly on the evidence of his accounts, it seemed a substantial liability had accumulated against him. He vanished, I remained available, and it was decided to recover the financial shortfall from me. After doing calculations the best I could, I found that the sum for which I was liable either did not exist; or, if it did, was very small, and for that reason asked that a final account be struck with me, since I was the guarantor. But instead of complying with my request, it was decided to seek the arrears from me. This was the first unjust ruling. To this a second one was added. At the time I became the guarantor of concession, I owned no property; but, as was customary, a forfeit was issued on my property in the civil court. A strange matter it is to prohibit the selling of property that does not exist as an actual possession! Afterwards, I bought a home and made other acquisitions. At this very time, chance allowed me by rising in rank to move from the merchant estate into that of the nobility. Seeing an advantage, I had an opportunity to sell my home on good terms, having completed its purchase in the very same court of justice where the forfeiture of my belongings was established. This was attributed to me as a crime, for there were people whose satisfaction was overshadowed by the blessings of my life. The solicitor of fiscal matters produced a denunciation of me to the effect that I evaded payment of the liability when I sold the house, I swindled the civil court of justice, by having identified myself by the status to which I belonged rather than the one in which I was at the time of the purchase of the home. It was to no effect that I said that no prohibition could exist against something that was not my property; it was to no effect that I said that at the very least any remaining property had to be sold first and the payment of the debt had to be financed through that sale before resorting to other means, and that I had not hidden my social position since I bought the house when already a nobleman. All this was rejected, the sale of the home was annulled, for a fraudulent deed I was condemned to be stripped of my rank. ‘And they are now demanding that,’ said the narrator, ‘our host be brought to court so that he be placed under arrest until the case has been concluded.’

  “While narrating the last part, the storyteller raised his voice. As soon as my wife heard this, she embraced me, cried out: ‘No, my friend, I am going with you.’ She was unable to speak any more. Her limbs went all weak and she fell senseless into my arms. I lifted her from the chair, carried her into the bedroom, and have no idea how supper ended.

  “On reviving after a bit of time, she began to feel pains auguring the approaching birth of the fruit of our passion. No matter their severity, the thought that I would be under arrest caused her such alarm that she just said over and over: ‘I too will go with you.’ This unhappy event hastened the birth of the baby by an entire month, and all the efforts of the midwife and doctor summoned to help were in vain and could not prevent my wife from giving birth the next day. Far from calming down with the birth of the child, the movements of her soul greatly intensified and caused her a fever.—Why should I carry on in this narration? On the third day after delivery my wife died. You will well believe that seeing her suffering I did not leave her for a minute. In my grief, I altogether forgot my legal case and condemnation. The day before the death of my darling, the unripe fruit of our passion also died. The illness of the mother had completely absorbed me and this loss was at the time not great to me. Imagine,” said my storyteller, clutching at his hair with both hands, “imagine my situation when I saw that my beloved was parting from me forever.—Forever!” he cried in a wild voice. “But why do I flee? Let them put me in prison. I am already insensate; let them torture me, let them deprive me of life.—O barbarians, tigers, fierce serpents, gnaw at this heart, release into it your excruciating poison.—Forgive my frenzy, I think that I shall soon lose my mind. As soon as I imagine the minute when my darling was leaving me I become oblivious to everything and the light in my eyes goes dark. But I shall complete my tale. When I was prostrate in such dire grief over the lifeless body of my beloved, one of my sincere friends ran to me: ‘They have come to take you into custody, the police are in the courtyard. Flee from here, a carriage is ready at the back gates, be on your way to Moscow or another place of your choosing and live there until it becomes possible to alleviate your lot.’ I didn’t heed what he was saying but he overcame me by force and took and carried me out with the help of his servants and placed me in the carriage; and remembering then that I needed money gave me a purse in which there were only fifty rubles. He went into my study to find money there and bring it out to me; but on discovering an officer in my bedroom he had time only to send word to me to leave. I do not recall how I was driven the distance to the first station. My friend’s servant, having told me all that had happened, took his leave, and at present I am travelling wherever my eyes lead, as the saying goes.”

  The tale of my fellow traveler moved me ineffably. Is it possible, I said to myself, that under a government as lenient as our present one, such acts of cruelty could have been committed? Is it possible that there were judges mad enough that for the enrichment of the Treasury (which is what in reality one could call every unfair confiscation of property for the satisfaction of the Treasury’s need) they deprived people of their property, honor, life? I considered the way in which such an occurrence might reach the ears of the supreme power. For I thought justly that in an absolute government only the very top can be dispassionate in relation to everyone else.—But can I not assume myself his defense? I will compose an official petition to the highest level of government. I shall give a detailed account of the incident and shall present the miscarriage of justice of those who judged and the innocence of the victim.—But they will not accept a petition from me. They will ask what right I have to do it, will require of me power of attorney.—What right do I have? The right of suffering humanity. The right of a man deprived of his property, honor, deprived of half of his life who is in voluntary exile in order to avoid shameful incarceration. And for this one needs power of attorney? From whom? Is it insufficient that my fellow citizen suffers?—There is no need even for that. He is a human being: there is my right, my power of attorney.—O God-Man! Why did You write Your law for barbarians? Even while they cross themselves in Your name, they make bloody sacrifices to malice. Why were You so clement to them? Instead of a promise of future punishment, You should have exacerbated their current punishment; and by inflaming consc
ience commensurate with their evildoing You would have given them no peace day and night until through their suffering they expunged the evil they committed.—Such thoughts so exhausted my body that I fell into a deep sleep and did not wake up for a long time.

  Juices stirred up by my thoughts flowed to the head while I slept and, disturbing the tender substance of my brain, stimulated in it the imagination.30 Countless pictures appeared to me in my sleep, but vanished like thin vapors in the air. Finally, as can happen, some sort of mental fiber, strongly stirred by the vapors rising up from the internal vessels of the body, vibrated longer than the others, and this is what I saw in my dream.

  It appeared to me that I was the Tsar, Shah, Khan, King, Bey, Nabob, Sultan, or something else from these designations for one sitting in power on the throne.

  The place of my enthronement was made from pure gold and, cleverly clad with precious stones of different colors, shone radiantly. Nothing could compare with the brilliance of my raiment. My head was adorned with a laurel wreath. Around me were disposed signs attesting my power. Here a sword lay on a column carved from silver. On it were depicted naval and land battles, the conquest of cities, and more in that vein. Everywhere at the top one could see my name, borne by the Genius of Fame, flying over all these triumphs. Here my scepter was visible, laid out on sheaves laden with wheaten spokes carved out of pure gold and imitating nature perfectly. Hung on a firm beam scales were showing. On one of the scales lay a book with the inscription “Law of Mercy”; on the other there was also a book with the inscription “Law of Conscience.” The royal orb, carved out of a single stone, was being supported by a gaggle of cherubs carved from white marble. My crown was elevated higher than everything and reposed on the shoulders of a mighty giant, its edging supported by Truth. A serpent of enormous proportion, forged from shining steel, lay entwined round the entire base of the royal seat and, clasping the end of its tail in its maw, represented eternity.