The fortress of Belogorsk is situated forty versts from Orenbourg. The
route from this city is along the high banks of the river Iaik. The
stream was not yet frozen, and its lead-colored waters took a black tint
between banks whitened by the snow. Before me lay the Kirghis steppes. I
fell into a moody train of thought, for to me garrison life offered few
attractions. I tried to picture my future chief, Captain Mironoff.
I imagined a severe, morose old man, knowing nothing outside of the
service, ready to arrest me for the least slip. Dusk was falling; we
were advancing rapidly.
“How far is it from here to the fortress?” said I to the coachman.
“You can see it now,” he answered.
I looked on all sides, expecting to see high bastions, a wall, and
a ditch. I saw nothing but a little village surrounded by a wooden
palisade. On one side stood some hay-stacks half covered with snow; on
the other a wind-mill, leaning to one side; the wings of the mill, made
of the heavy bark of the linden tree, hung idle.
“Where is the fortress?” I asked, astonished.
“There it is,” said the coachman, pointing to the village which we had
just entered. I saw near the gate an old iron cannon. The streets were
narrow and winding, and nearly all the huts were thatched with straw.
I ordered the coachman to drive to the Commandant’s, and almost
immediately my kibitka stopped before a wooden house built on an
eminence near the church, which was also of wood. From the front door
I entered the waiting-room. An old pensioner, seated on a table, was
sewing a blue piece on the elbow of a green uniform. I told him to
announce me.
“Enter, my good sir,” said he, “our people are at home.”
I entered a very neat room, furnished in the fashion of other days. On
one side stood a cabinet containing the silver. Against the wall hung
the diploma of an officer, with colored engravings arranged around its
frame; notably, the “Choice of the Betrothed,” the “Taking of Kurstrin,”
and the “Burial of the Cat by the Mice.” Near the window sat an old
woman in a mantilla, her head wrapped in a handkerchief. She was winding
a skein of thread held on the separated hands of a little old man, blind
of one eye, who was dressed like an officer.
“What do you desire, my dear sir?” said the woman to me, without
interrupting her occupation. I told her that I had come to enter the
service, and that, according to rule, I hastened to present myself to
the captain. In saying this, I turned to the one-eyed old man, whom I
took for the commandant. The good lady interrupted the speech which I
had prepared in advance:
“Ivan Mironoff is not at home; he is gone to visit Father Garasim;
but it is all the same; I am his wife. Deign to love us and have us in
favor! Take a seat, my dear sir.” She ordered a servant to send her the
Corporal. The little old man gazed at me curiously, with his only eye.
“May I dare to ask,” said he, “in what regiment you have deigned to
serve?”