soldiers, arriving at St. Petersburg as soon as possible, where a
triumphal entry awaited them.
The same ukase declared that Souvarow should be quartered in the
imperial palace for the rest of his life, and lastly that a monument
should be raised to him in one of the public places of St. Petersburg.
Foedor was thus about to see Vaninka once more. Throughout the campaign,
where there was a chance of danger, whether in the plains of Italy, in
the defiles of Tesino, or on the glaciers of Mount Pragal, he was the
first to throw himself into it, and his name had frequently been
mentioned as worthy of distinction. Souvarow was too brave himself to be
prodigal of honours where they were not merited. Foedor was returning,
as he had promised, worthy of his noble protector's friendship, and who
knows, perhaps worthy of Vaninka's love. Field-Marshal Souvarow had made
a friend of him, and none could know to what this friendship might not
lead; for Paul honoured Souvarow like one of the ancient heroes.
But no one could rely upon Paul, for his character was made up of
extreme impulses. Without having done anything to offend his master, and
without knowing the cause of his disgrace, Souvarow, on arriving at
Riga, received a private letter which informed him, in the emperor's
name, that, having tolerated an infraction of the laws of discipline
among his soldiers, the emperor deprived him of all the honours with
which he had been invested, and also forbade him to appear before him.
Such tidings fell like a thunderbolt upon the old warrior, already
embittered by his reverses: he was heart-broken that such storm-clouds
should tarnish the end of his glorious day.
In consequence of this order, he assembled all his officers in the
market-place of Riga, and took leave of them sorrowfully, like a father
taking leave of his family. Having embraced the generals and colonels,
and having shaken hands with the others, he said good-bye to them once
more, and left them free to continue their march to their destination.
Souvarow took a sledge, and, travelling night and day, arrived incognito
in the capital, which he was to have entered in triumph, and was driven
to a distant suburb, to the house of one of his nieces, where he died of
a broken heart fifteen days afterwards.
On his own account, Foedor travelled almost as rapidly as his general,
and entered St. Petersburg without having sent any letter to announce
his arrival. As he had no parent in the capital, and as his entire
existence was concentrated in one person, he drove direct to the
general's house, which was situated in the Prospect of Niewski, at an
angle of the Catherine Canal.
Having arrived there, he sprang out of his carriage, entered the
courtyard, and bounded up the steps. He opened the ante-chamber door,
and precipitated himself into the midst of the servants and subordinate
household officers. They cried out with surprise upon seeing him: he
asked them where the general was; they replied by pointing to the door
of the dining-room; he was in there, breakfasting with his daughter.
Then, through a strange reaction, Foedor felt his knees failing him, and
he was obliged to lean against a wall to prevent himself from falling.
At this moment, when he was about to see Vaninka again, this soul of his
soul, for whom alone he had done so much, he dreaded lest he should not
find her the same as when he had left her. Suddenly the dining-room door
opened, and Vaninka appeared. Seeing the young man, she uttered a cry,
and, turning to the general, said, "Father, it is Foedor"; and the
expression of her voice left no doubt of the sentiment which inspired
it.
"Foedor!" cried the general, springing forward and holding out his arms.
Foedor did not know whether to throw himself at the feet of Vaninka or
into the arms of her father. He felt that his first recognition ought to
be devoted to respect and gratitude, and threw himself into the
general's arms. Had he acted otherwise, it would have been an avowal of
his love, and he had no right to avow this love till he knew that it was
reciprocated.
Foedor then turned, and as at parting, sank on his knee before Vaninka;
but a moment had sufficed for the haughty girl to banish the feeling she
had shown. The blush which had suffused her cheek had disappeared, and
she had become again cold and haughty like an alabaster statue-a
masterpiece of pride begun by nature and finished by education. Foedor
kissed her hand; it was trembling but cold he felt his heart sink, and
thought he was about to die.
"Why, Vaninka," said the general--"why are you so cool to a friend who
has caused us so much anxiety and yet so much pleasure? Come, Fordor,
kiss my daughter."
Foedor rose entreatingly, but waited motionless, that another permission
might confirm that of the general.
"Did you not hear my father?" said Vaninka, smiling, but nevertheless
possessing sufficient self-control to prevent the emotion she was
feeling from appearing in her voice.
Foedor stooped to kiss Vaninka, and as he held her hands it seemed to
him that she lightly pressed his own with a nervous, involuntary
movement. A feeble cry of joy nearly escaped him, when, suddenly looking
at Vaninka, he was astonished at her pallor: her lips were as white as
death.
The general made Foedor sit down at the table: Vaninka took her place
again, and as by chance she was seated with her back to the light, the
general noticed nothing.
Breakfast passed in relating and listening to an account of this strange
campaign which began under the burning sun of Italy and ended in the
glaciers of Switzerland. As there are no journals in St. Petersburg
which publish anything other than that which is permitted by the
emperor, Souvarow's successes were spread abroad, but his reverses were
ignored. Foedor described the former with modesty and the latter with
frankness.
One can imagine, the immense interest the general took in Foedor's
story. His two captain's epaulets and the decorations on his breast
proved that the young man had modestly suppressed his own part in the
story he had told. But the general, too courageous to fear that he might
share in Souvarow's disgrace, had already visited the dying
field-marshal, and had heard from him an account of his young protege's
bravery. Therefore, when Foedor had finished his story, it was the
general's turn to enumerate all the fine things Foedor had done in a
campaign of less than a year. Having finished this enumeration, he added
that he intended next day to ask the emperor's permission to take the
young captain for his aide-de-camp. Foedor hearing this wished to throw
himself at the general's feet, but he received him again in his arms,
and to show Foedor how certain he was that he would be successful in his
request, he fixed the rooms that the young man was to occupy in the
house at once.
The next day the general returned from the palace of St. Michel with the
pleasant news that his request had been granted.
Foedor was overwhelmed with joy: from this time he was to form part of
the general's family. Living under the same roof as Vaninka, seeing her
constantly, meeting her frequently in the rooms, seeing her pass like an
apparition at the end of a corridor, finding himself twice a day at the
same table with her, all this was more than Foedor had ever dared hope,
and he thought for a time that he had attained complete happiness.
For her part, Vaninka, although she was so proud, at the bottom of her
heart took a keen interest in Foedor. He had left her with the certainty
that he loved her, and during his absence her woman's pride had been
gratified by the glory he had acquired, in the hope of bridging the
distance which separated them. So that, when she saw him return with
this distance between them lessened, she felt by the beating of her
heart that gratified pride was changing into a more tender sentiment,
and that for her part she loved Foedor as much as it was possible for
her to love anyone.
She had nevertheless concealed these feelings under an appearance of
haughty indifference, for Vaninka was made so: she intended to let
Foedor know some day that she loved him, but until the time came when it
pleased her to reveal it, she did not wish the young man to discover her
love. Things went on in this way for several months, and the
circumstances which had at first appeared to Foedor as the height of
happiness soon became awful torture.
To love and to feel his heart ever on the point of avowing its love, to
be from morning till night in the company of the beloved one, to meet
her hand at the table, to touch her dress in a narrow corridor, to feel
her leaning on his arm when they entered a salon or left a ballroom,
always to have ceaselessly to control every word, look, or movement
which might betray his feelings, no human power could endure such a
struggle.
Vaninka saw that Foedor could not keep his secret much longer, and
determined to anticipate the avowal which she saw every moment on the
point of escaping his heart.
One day when they were alone, and she saw the hopeless efforts the young
man was making to hide his feelings from her, she went straight up to
him, and, looking at him fixedly, said:
"You love me!"
"Forgive me, forgive me," cried the young man, clasping his hands.
"Why should you ask me to forgive you, Foedor? Is not your love
genuine?"
"Yes, yes, genuine but hopeless."
"Why hopeless? Does not my father love you as a son?" said Vaninka.
"Oh, what do you mean?" cried Foedor. "Do you mean that if your father
will bestow your hand upon me, that you will then consent--?"
"Are you not both noble in heart and by birth, Foedor? You are not
wealthy, it is true, but then I am rich enough for both."
"Then I am not indifferent to you?"
"I at least prefer you to anyone else I have met."
"Vaninka!" The young girl drew herself away proudly.
"Forgive me!" said Foedor. "What am I doing? You have but to order: I
have no wish apart from you. I dread lest I shall offend you. Tell me
what to do, and I will obey."
"The first thing you must do, Foedor, is to ask my father's consent."
"So you will allow me to take this step?"
"Yes, but on one condition."
"What is it? Tell me."
"My father, whatever his answer, must never know that I have consented
to your making this application to him; no one must know that you are
following my instructions; the world must remain ignorant of the
confession I have just made to you; and, lastly, you must not ask me,
whatever happens, to help you in any other way than with my good
wishes."
"Whatever you please. I will do everything you wish me to do. Do you not
grant me a thousand times more than I dared hope, and if your father
refuses me, do I not know myself that you are sharing my grief?" cried
Foedor.
"Yes; but that will not happen, I hope," said Vaninka, holding out her
hand to the young officer, who kissed it passionately.
"Now be hopeful and take courage;" and Vaninka retired, leaving the
young man a hundred times more agitated and moved than she was herself,
woman though she was.
The same day Foedor asked for an interview with the general. The general
received his aide-de-camp as usual with a genial and smiling
countenance, but with the first words Foedor uttered his face darkened.
However, when he heard the young man's description of the love, so true,
constant, and passionate, that he felt for Vaninka, and when he heard
that this passion had been the motive power of those glorious deeds he
had praised so often, he held out his hand to Foedor, almost as moved as
the young soldier.
And then the general told him, that while he had been away, and ignorant
of his love for Vaninka, in whom he had observed no trace of its being
reciprocated, he had, at the emperor's desire, promised her hand to the
son of a privy councillor. The only stipulation that the general had
made was, that he should not be separated from his daughter until she
had attained the age of eighteen. Vaninka had only five months more to
spend under her father's roof. Nothing more could be said: in Russia the
emperor's wish is an order, and from the moment that it is expressed, no
subject would oppose it, even in thought. However, the refusal had
imprinted such despair on the young man's face, that the general,
touched by his silent and resigned sorrow, held out his arms to him.
Foedor flung himself into them with loud sobs.
Then the general questioned him about his daughter, and Foedor answered,
as he had promised, that Vaninka was ignorant of everything, and that
the proposal came from him alone, without her knowledge. This assurance
calmed the general: he had feared that he was making two people
wretched.
At dinner-time Vaninka came downstairs and found her father alone.
Foedor had not enough courage to be present at the meal and to meet her
again, just when he had lost all hope: he had taken a sleigh, and driven
out to the outskirts of the city.
During the whole time dinner lasted Vaninka and the general hardly
exchanged a word, but although this silence was so expressive, Vaninka
controlled her face with her usual power, and the general alone appeared
sad and dejected.
That evening, just when Vaninka was going downstairs, tea was brought to
her room, with the message that the general was fatigued and had
retired. Vaninka asked some questions about the nature of his
indisposition, and finding that it was not serious, she told the servant
who had brought her the message to ask her father to send for her if he
wanted anything. The general sent to say that he thanked her, but he
only required quiet and rest. Vaninka announced that she would retire
also, and the servant withdrew.
Hardly had he left the room when Vaninka ordered Annouschka, her
foster-sister, who acted as her maid, to be on the watch for Foedor's
return, and to let her know as soon as he came in.
At eleven o'clock the gate of the mansion opened: Foedor got out of his
sleigh, and immediately went up to his room. He threw himself upon a
sofa, overwhelmed by his thoughts. About midnight he heard someone
tapping at the door: much astonished, he got up and opened it. It was
Annouschka, who came with a message from her mistress, that Vaninka
wished to see him immediately. Although he was astonished at this
message, which he was far from expecting, Foedor obeyed.
He found Vaninka seated, dressed in a white robe, and as she was paler
than usual he stopped at the door, for it seemed to him that he was
gazing at a marble statue.
"Come in," said Vaninka calmly.
Foedor approached, drawn by her voice like steel to a magnet. Annouschka
shut the door behind him.
"Well, and what did my father say?" said Vaninka.
Foedor told her all that had happened. The young girl listened to his
story with an unmoved countenance, but her lips, the only part of her
face which seemed to have any colour, became as white as the
dressing-gown she was wearing. Foedor, on the contrary, was consumed by
a fever, and appeared nearly out of his senses.
"Now, what do you intend to do?" said Vaninka in the same cold tone in
which she had asked the other questions.
"You ask me what I intend to do, Vaninka? What do you wish me to do?
What can I do, but flee from St. Petersburg, and seek death in the first
corner of Russia where war may break out, in order not to repay my
patron's kindness by some infamous baseness?"
"You are a fool," said Vaninka, with a mixed smile of triumph and
contempt; for from that moment she felt her superiority over Foedor, and
saw that she would rule him like a queen for the rest of her life.
"Then order me--am I not your slave?" cried the young soldier.
"You must stay here," said Vaninka.
"Stay here?"
"Yes; only women and children will thus confess themselves beaten at the
first blow: a man, if he be worthy of the name, fights."
"Fight!--against whom?--against your father? Never!"
"Who suggested that you should contend against my father? It is against
events that you must strive; for the generality of men do not govern
events, but are carried away by them. Appear to my father as though you
were fighting against your love, and he will think that you have
mastered yourself. As I am supposed to be ignorant of your proposal, I
shall not be suspected. I will demand two years' more freedom, and I
shall obtain them. Who knows what may happen in the course of two years?
The emperor may die, my betrothed may die, my father--may God protect
him!--my father himself may die--!"
"But if they force you to marry?"
"Force me!" interrupted Vaninka, and a deep flush rose to her cheek and
immediately disappeared again. "And who will force me to do anything?
Father? He loves me too well. The emperor? He has enough worries in his
own family, without introducing them into another's. Besides, there is
always a last resource when every other expedient fails: the Neva only
flows a few paces from here, and its waters are deep."
Foedor uttered a cry, for in the young girl's knit brows and tightly
compressed lips there was so much resolution that he understood that
they might break this child but that they would not bend her. But
Foedor's heart was too much in harmony with the plan Vaninka had
proposed; his objections once removed, he did not seek fresh ones.
Besides, had he had the courage to do so; Vaninka's promise to make up
in secret to him for the dissimulation she was obliged to practise in
public would have conquered his last scruples.
Vaninka, whose determined character had been accentuated by her
education, had an unbounded influence over all who came in contact with
her; even the general, without knowing why, obeyed her. Foedor submitted
like a child to everything she wished, and the young girl's love was
increased by the wishes she opposed and by a feeling of gratified pride.
It was some days after this nocturnal decision that the knouting had
taken place at which our readers have assisted. It was for some slight
fault, and Gregory had been the victim; Vaninka having complained to her
father about him. Foedor, who as aide-de-camp had been obliged to
preside over Gregory's punishment, had paid no more attention to the
threats the serf had uttered on retiring.
Ivan, the coachman, who after having been executioner had become
surgeon, had applied compresses of salt and water to heal up the scarred
shoulders of his victim. Gregory had remained three days in the
infirmary, and during this time he had turned over in his mind every
possible means of vengeance. Then at the end of three days, being
healed, he had returned to his duty, and soon everyone except he had
forgotten the punishment. If Gregory had been a real Russian, he would
soon have forgotten it all; for this punishment is too familiar to the
rough Muscovite for him to remember it long and with rancour. Gregory,
as we have said, had Greek blood in his veins; he dissembled and
remembered. Although Gregory was a serf, his duties had little by little
brought him into greater familiarity with the general than any of the
other servants. Besides, in every country in the world barbers have
great licence with those they shave; this is perhaps due to the fact
that a man is instinctively more gracious to another who for ten minutes
every day holds his life in his hands. Gregory rejoiced in the immunity
of his profession, and it nearly always happened that the barber's daily
operation on the general's chin passed in conversation, of which he bore
the chief part.
One day the general had to attend a review: he sent for Gregory before
daybreak, and as the barber was passing the razor as gently as possible
over his master's cheek, the conversation fell, or more likely was led,
on Foedor. The barber praised him highly, and this naturally caused his
master to ask him, remembering the correction the young aide-decamp had
superintended, if he could not find some fault in this model of
perfection that might counterbalance so many good qualities. Gregory
replied that with the exception of pride he thought Foedor
irreproachable.
"Pride?" asked the astonished general. "That is a failing from which I
should have thought him most free."
"Perhaps I should have said ambition," replied Gregory.
"Ambition!" said the general. "It does not seem to me that he has given
much proof of ambition in entering my service; for after his
achievements in the last campaign he might easily have aspired to the
honour of a place in the emperor's household."
"Oh yes, he is ambitious," said Gregory, smiling. "One man's ambition is
for high position, another's an illustrious alliance: the former will
owe everything to himself, the latter will make a stepping-stone of his
wife, then they raise their eyes higher than they should."
"What do you mean to suggest?" said the general, beginning to see what
Gregory was aiming at.
"I mean, your excellency," replied Gregory, "there are many men who,
owing to the kindness shown them by others, forget their position and
aspire to a more exalted one; having already been placed so high, their
heads are turned."
"Gregory," cried the general, "believe me, you are getting into a
scrape; for you are making an accusation, and if I take any notice of
it, you will have to prove your words."
"By St. Basilius, general, it is no scrape when you have truth on your
side; for I have said nothing I am not ready to prove."
"Then," said the general, "you persist in declaring that Foedor loves my
daughter?"
"Ah! I have not said that: it is your excellency. I have not named the
lady Vaninka," said Gregory, with the duplicity of his nation.
"But you meant it, did you not? Come, contrary to your custom, reply
frankly."
"It is true, your excellency; it is what I meant."
"And, according to you, my daughter reciprocates the passion, no doubt?"
"I fear so, your excellency."
"And what makes you think this, say?"
"First, Mr. Foedor never misses a chance of speaking to the lady
Vaninka."
"He is in the same house with her, would you have him avoid her?"
"When the lady Vaninka returns late, and when perchance Mr. Foedor has
not accompanied you, whatever the hour Mr. Foedor is there, ready, to
help her out of the carriage."
"Foedor attends me, it is his duty," said the general, beginning to
believe that the serf's suspicions were founded on slight grounds. "He
waits for me," he, continued, "because when I return, at any hour of the
day or night, I may have orders to give him."
"Not a day passes without Mr. Foedor going into my lady Vaninka's room,
although such a favour is not usually granted to a young man in a house
like that of your excellency."
"Usually it is I who send him to her," said the general.
"Yes, in the daytime," replied Gregory, "but at night?"
"At night!" cried the general, rising to his feet, and turning so pale
that, after a moment, he was forced to lean for support on a table.
"Yes, at night, your excellency," answered Gregory quietly; "and since,
as you say, I have begun to mix myself up in a bad business, I must go
on with it; besides, even if there were to result from it another
punishment for me, even more terrible than that I have already endured,
I should not allow so good, a master to be deceived any longer."
"Be very careful about what you are going to say, slave; for I know the
men of your nation. Take care, if the accusation you are making by way
of revenge is not supported by visible, palpable, and positive proofs,
you shall be punished as an infamous slanderer."
"To that I agree," said Gregory.
"Do you affirm that you have seen Foedor enter my daughter's chamber at
night?"
"I do not say that I have seen him enter it, your excellency. I say that
I have seen him come out."
"When was that?"
"A quarter of an hour ago, when I was on my way to your excellency."
"You lie!" said the general, raising his fist.
"This is not our agreement, your excellency," said the slave, drawing
back. "I am only to be punished if I fail to give proofs."
"But what are your proofs?"
"I have told you."
"And do you expect me to believe your word alone?"
"No; but I expect you to believe your own eyes."
"How?"
"The first time that Mr. Foedor is in my lady Vaninka's room after
midnight, I shall come to find your excellency, and then you can judge
for yourself if I lie; but up to the present, your excellency, all the
conditions of the service I wish to render you are to my disadvantage."
"In what way?"