bottle of brandy in each hand; for he knew that when Ivan summoned him
he gained in two ways, as innkeeper and as boon companion. Ivan did not
disappoint these hopes, and Gregory was invited to share in the
entertainment. The conversation turned on slavery, and some of the
unhappy men, who had only four days in the year of respite from their
eternal labour, talked loudly of the happiness Gregory had enjoyed since
he had obtained his freedom.
"Bah!" said Ivan, on whom the brandy had begun to take effect, "there
are some slaves who are freer than their masters."
"What do you mean?" said Gregory, pouring him out another glass of
brandy.
"I meant to say happier," said Ivan quickly.
"It is difficult to prove that," said Gregory doubtingly.
"Why difficult? Our masters, the moment they are born, are put into the
hands of two or three pedants, one French, another German, and a third
English, and whether they like them or not, they must be content with
their society till they are seventeen, and whether they wish to or not,
must learn three barbarous languages, at the expense of our noble
Russian tongue, which they have sometimes completely forgotten by the
time the others are acquired. Again, if one of them wishes for some
career, he must become a soldier: if he is a sublieutenant, he is the
slave of the lieutenant; if he is a lieutenant, he is the slave of the
captain, and the captain of the major, and so on up to the emperor, who
is nobody's slave, but who one fine day is surprised at the table, while
walking, or in his bed, and is poisoned, stabbed, or strangled. If he
chooses a civil career, it is much the same. He marries a wife, and does
not love her; children come to him he knows not how, whom he has to
provide for; he must struggle incessantly to provide for his family if
he is poor, and if he is rich to prevent himself being robbed by his
steward and cheated by his tenants. Is this life? While we, gentlemen,
we are born, and that is the only pain we cost our mothers--all the rest
is the master's concern. He provides for us, he chooses our calling,
always easy enough to learn if we are not quite idiots. Are we ill? His
doctor attends us gratis; it is a loss to him if we die. Are we well? We
have our four certain meals a day, and a good stove to sleep near at
night. Do we fall in love? There is never any hindrance to our marriage,
if the woman loves us; the master himself asks us to hasten our
marriage, for he wishes us to have as many children as possible. And
when the children are born, he does for them in their turn all he has
done for us. Can you find me many great lords as happy as their slaves?"
"All this is true," said Gregory, pouring him out another glass of
brandy; "but, after all, you are not free."
"Free to do what?" asked Ivan.
"Free to go where you will and when you will."
"I am as free as the air," replied Ivan.
"Nonsense!" said Gregory.
"Free as air, I tell you; for I have good masters, and above all a good
mistress," continued Ivan, with a significant smile, "and I have only to
ask and it is done."
"What! if after having got drunk here to-day, you asked to come back
to-morrow to get drunk again?" said Gregory, who in his challenge to
Ivan did not forget his own interests,--"if you asked that?"
"I should come back again," said Ivan.
"To-morrow?" said Gregory.
"To-morrow, the day after, every day if I liked...."
"The fact is, Ivan is our young lady's favourite," said another of the
count's slaves who was present, profiting by his comrade Ivan's
liberality.
"It is all the same," said Gregory; "for supposing such permission were
given you, money would soon run short."
"Never!" said Ivan, swallowing another glass of brandy, "never will Ivan
want for money as long as there is a kopeck in my lady's purse."
"I did not find her so liberal," said Gregory bitterly.
"Oh, you forget, my friend; you know well she does not reckon with her
friends: remember the strokes of the knout."
"I have no wish to speak about that," said Gregory. "I know that she is
generous with blows, but her money is another thing. I have never seen
the colour of that."
"Well, would you like to see the colour of mine?" said Ivan, getting
more and more drunk. "See here, here are kopecks, sorok-kopecks, blue
notes worth five roubles, red notes worth twenty five roubles, and
to-morrow, if you like, I will show you white notes worth fifty roubles.
A health to my lady Vaninka!" And Ivan held out his glass again, and
Gregory filled it to the brim.
"But does money," said Gregory, pressing Ivan more and more,--"does
money make up for scorn?"
"Scorn!" said Ivan,--"scorn! Who scorns me? Do you, because you are
free? Fine freedom! I would rather be a well-fed slave than a free man
dying of hunger."
"I mean the scorn of our masters," replied Gregory.
"The scorn of our masters! Ask Alexis, ask Daniel there, if my lady
scorns me."
"The fact is," said the two slaves in reply, who both belonged to the
general's household, "Ivan must certainly have a charm; for everyone
talks to him as if to a master."
"Because he is Annouschka's brother," said Gregory, "and Annouschka is
my lady's foster-sister."
"That may be so," said the two slaves.
"For that reason or for some other," said Ivan; "but, in short, that is
the case."
"Yes; but if your sister should die?" said Gregory. "Ah!"
"If my sister should die, that would be a pity, for she is a good girl.
I drink to her health! But if she should die, that would make no
difference. I am respected for myself; they respect me because they fear
me."
"Fear my lord Ivan!" said Gregory, with a loud laugh. "It follows, then,
that if my lord Ivan were tired of receiving orders, and gave them in
his turn, my lord Ivan would be obeyed."
"Perhaps," said Ivan.
"He said 'perhaps,' repeated Gregory," laughing louder than ever,--"he
said 'perhaps.' Did you hear him?"
"Yes," said the slaves, who had drunk so much that they could only
answer in monosyllables.
"Well, I no longer say 'perhaps,' I now say 'for certain.'"
"Oh, I should like to see that," said Gregory; "I would give something
to see that."
"Well, send away these fellows, who are getting drunk like pigs, and for
nothing, you will find."
"For nothing?" said Gregory. "You are jesting. Do you think I should
give them drink for nothing?"
"Well, we shall see. How much would be their score, for your atrocious
brandy, if they drank from now till midnight, when you are obliged to
shut up your tavern?"
"Not less than twenty roubles."
"Here are thirty; turn there out, and let us remain by ourselves."
"Friends," said Gregory, taking out his watch as if to look at the time,
"it is just upon midnight; you know the governor's orders, so you must
go." The men, habituated like all Russians to passive obedience, went
without a murmur, and Gregory found himself alone with Ivan and the two
other slaves of the general.
"Well, here we are alone," said Gregory. "What do you mean to do?"
"Well, what would you say," replied Ivan, "if in spite of the late hour
and the cold, and in spite of the fact that we are only slaves, my lady
were to leave her father's house and come to drink our healths?"
"I would say that you ought to take advantage of it," said Gregory,
shrugging his shoulders, "and tell her to bring at the same time a
bottle of brandy. There is probably better brandy in the general's
cellar than in mine."
"There is better," said Ivan, as if he was perfectly sure of it, "and my
lady shall bring you a bottle of it."
"You are mad!" said Gregory.
"He is mad!" repeated the other two slaves mechanically.
"Oh, I am mad?" said Ivan. "Well, will you take a wager?"
"What will you wager?"
"Two hundred roubles against a year of free drinking in your inn."
"Done!" said Gregory.
"Are your comrades included?" said the two moujiks.
"They are included," said Ivan, "and in consideration of them we will
reduce the time to six months. Is that agreed?"
"It is agreed," said Gregory.
The two who were making the wager shook hands, and the agreement was
perfected. Then, with an air of confidence, assumed to confound the
witnesses of this strange scene, Ivan wrapped himself in the fur coat
which, like a cautious man, he had spread on the stove, and went out.
At the end of half an hour he reappeared.
"Well!" cried Gregory and the two slaves together.
"She is following," said Ivan.
The three tipplers looked at one another in amazement, but Ivan quietly
returned to his place in the middle of them, poured out a new bumper,
and raising his glass, cried--
"To my lady's health! It is the least we can do when she is kind enough
to come and join us on so cold a night, when the snow is falling fast."
"Annouschka," said a voice outside, "knock at this door and ask Gregory
if he has not some of our servants with him."
Gregory and the two other slaves looked at one another, stupefied: they
had recognised Vaninka's voice. As for Ivan, he flung himself back in
his chair, balancing himself with marvellous impertinence.
Annouschka opened the door, and they could see, as Ivan had said, that
the snow was falling heavily.
"Yes, madam," said the girl; "my brother is there, with Daniel and
Alexis."
Vaninka entered.
"My friends," said she, with a strange smile, "I am told that you were
drinking my health, and I have come to bring you something to drink it
again. Here is a bottle of old French brandy which I have chosen for you
from my father's cellar. Hold out your glasses."
Gregory and the slaves obeyed with the slowness and hesitation of
astonishment, while Ivan held out his glass with the utmost effrontery.
Vaninka filled them to the brim herself, and then, as they hesitated to
drink, "Come, drink to my health, friends," said she.
"Hurrah!" cried the drinkers, reassured by the kind and familiar tone of
their noble visitor, as they emptied their glasses at a draught.
Vaninka at once poured them out another glass; then putting the bottle
on the table, "Empty the bottle, my friends," said she, "and do not
trouble about me. Annouschka and I, with the permission 2668 of the
master of the house, will sit near the stove till the storm is over."
Gregory tried to rise and place stools near the stove, but whether he
was quite drunk or whether some narcotic had been mixed with the brandy,
he fell back on his seat, trying to stammer out an excuse.
"It is all right," said Vaninka: "do not disturb yourselves; drink, my
friends, drink."
The revellers profited by this permission, and each emptied the glass
before him. Scarcely had Gregory emptied his before he fell forward on
the table.
"Good!" said Vaninka to her maid in a low voice: "the opium is taking
effect."
"What do you mean to do?" said Annouschka.
"You will soon see," was the answer.
The two moujiks followed the example of the master of the house, and
fell down side by side on the ground. Ivan was left struggling against
sleep, and trying to sing a drinking song; but soon his tongue refused
to obey him, his eyes closed in spite of him, and seeking the tune that
escaped him, and muttering words he was unable to pronounce, he fell
fast asleep near his companions.
Immediately Vaninka rose, fixed them with flashing eyes, and called them
by name one after another. There was no response.
Then she clapped her hands and cried joyfully, "The moment has come!"
Going to the back of the room, she brought thence an armful of straw,
placed it in a corner of the room, and did the same in the other
corners. She then took a flaming brand from the stove and set fire in
succession to the four corners of the room.
"What are you doing?" said Annouschka, wild with terror, trying to stop
her.
"I am going to bury our secret in the ashes of this house," answered
Vaninka.
"But my brother, my poor brother!" said the girl.
"Your brother is a wretch who has betrayed me, and we are lost if we do
not destroy him."
"Oh, my brother, my poor brother!"
"You can die with him if you like," said Vaninka, accompanying the
proposal with a smile which showed she would not have been sorry if
Annouschka had carried sisterly affection to that length.
"But look at the fire, madam--the fire!"
"Let us go, then," said Vaninka; and, dragging out the heart-broken
girl, she locked the door behind her and threw the key far away into the
snow.
"In the name of Heaven," said Annouschka, "let us go home quickly: I
cannot gaze upon this awful sight!"
"No, let us stay here!" said Vaninka, holding her back with a grasp of
almost masculine strength. "Let us stay until the house falls in on
them, so that we may be certain that not one of them escapes."
"Oh, my God!" cried Annouschka, falling on her knees, "have mercy upon
my poor brother, for death will hurry him unprepared into Thy presence."
"Yes, yes, pray; that is right," said Vaninka. "I wish to destroy their
bodies, not their souls."
Vaninka stood motionless, her arms crossed, brilliantly lit up by the
flames, while her attendant prayed. The fire did not last long: the
house was wooden, with the crevices filled with oakum, like all those of
Russian peasants, so that the flames, creeping out at the four corners,
soon made great headway, and, fanned by the wind, spread rapidly to all
parts of the building. Vaninka followed the progress of the fire with
blazing eyes, fearing to see some half-burnt spectral shape rush out of
the flames. At last the roof fell in, and Vaninka, relieved of all fear,
then at last made her way to the general's house, into which the two
women entered without being seen, thanks to the permission Annouschka
had to go out at any hour of the day or night.
The next morning the sole topic of conversation in St. Petersburg was
the fire at the Red House. Four half-consumed corpses were dug out from
beneath the ruins, and as three of the general's slaves were missing, he
had no doubt that the unrecognisable bodies were those of Ivan, Daniel,
and Alexis: as for the fourth, it was certainly that of Gregory.
The cause of the fire remained a secret from everyone: the house was
solitary, and the snowstorm so violent that nobody had met the two women
on the deserted road. Vaninka was sure of her maid. Her secret then had
perished with Ivan. But now remorse took the place of fear: the young
girl who was so pitiless and inflexible in the execution of the deed
quailed at its remembrance. It seemed to her that by revealing the
secret of her crime to a priest, she would be relieved of her terrible
burden. She therefore sought a confessor renowned for his lofty charity,
and, under the seal of confession, told him all. The priest was
horrified by the story. Divine mercy is boundless, but human forgiveness
has its limits. He refused Vaninka the absolution she asked. This
refusal was terrible: it would banish Vaninka from the Holy Table; this
banishment would be noticed, and could not fail to be attributed to some
unheard-of and secret crime. Vaninka fell at the feet of the priest, and
in the name of her father, who would be disgraced by her shame, begged
him to mitigate the rigour of this sentence.
The confessor reflected deeply, then thought he had found a way to
obviate such consequences. It was that Vaninka should approach the Holy
Table with the other young girls; the priest would stop before her as
before all the others, but only say to her, "Pray and weep"; the
congregation, deceived by this, would think that she had received the
Sacrament like her companions. This was all that Vaninka could obtain.
This confession took place about seven o'clock in the evening, and the
solitude of the church, added to the darkness of night, had given it a
still more awful character. The confessor returned home, pale and
trembling. His wife Elizabeth was waiting for him alone. She had just
put her little daughter Arina, who was eight years old, to bed in an
adjoining room. When she saw her husband, she uttered a cry of terror,
so changed and haggard was his appearance. The confessor tried to
reassure her, but his trembling voice only increased her alarm. She
asked the cause of his agitation; the confessor refused to tell her.
Elizabeth had heard the evening before that her mother was ill; she
thought that her husband had received some bad news. The day was Monday,
which is considered an unlucky day among the Russians, and, going out
that day, Elizabeth had met a man in mourning; these omens were too
numerous and too strong not to portend misfortune.
Elizabeth burst into tears, and cried out, "My mother is dead!"
The priest in vain tried to reassure her by telling her that his
agitation was not due to that. The poor woman, dominated by one idea,
made no response to his protestations but this everlasting cry, "My
mother is dead!"
Then, to bring her to reason, the confessor told her that his emotion
was due to the avowal of a crime which he had just heard in the
confessional. But Elizabeth shook her head: it was a trick, she said, to
hide from her the sorrow which had fallen upon her. Her agony, instead
of calming, became more violent; her tears ceased to flow, and were
followed by hysterics. The priest then made her swear to keep the
secret, and the sanctity of the confession was betrayed.
Little Arina had awakened at Elizabeth's cries, and being disturbed and
at the same time curious as to what her parents were doing, she got up,
went to listen at the door, and heard all.
The day for the Communion came; the church of St. Simeon was crowded.
Vaninka came to kneel at the railing of the choir. Behind her was her
father and his aides-de-camp, and behind them their servants.
Arina was also in the church with her mother. The inquisitive child
wished to see Vaninka, whose name she had heard pronounced that terrible
night, when her father had failed in the first and most sacred of the
duties imposed on a priest. While her mother was praying, she left her
chair and glided among the worshippers, nearly as far as the railing.
But when she had arrived there, she was stopped by the group of the
general's servants. But Arina had not come so far to be, stopped so
easily: she tried to push between them, but they opposed her; she
persisted, and one of them pushed her roughly back. The child fell,
struck her head against a seat, and got up bleeding and crying, "You are
very proud for a slave. Is it because you belong to the great lady who
burnt the Red House?"
These words, uttered in a loud voice, in the midst of the silence which
preceded, the sacred ceremony, were heard by everyone. They were
answered by a shriek. Vaninka had fainted. The next day the general, at
the feet of Paul, recounted to him, as his sovereign and judge, the
whole terrible story, which Vaninka, crushed by her long struggle, had
at last revealed to him, at night, after the scene in the church.
The emperor remained for a moment in thought at the end of this strange
confession; then, getting up from the chair where he had been sitting
while the miserable father told his story, he went to a bureau, and
wrote on a sheet of paper the following sentence:
"The priest having violated what should have been inviolable, the
secrets of the confessional, is exiled to Siberia and deprived of his
priestly office. His wife will follow him: she is to be blamed for not
having respected his character as a minister of the altar. The little
girl will not leave her parents.
"Annouschka, the attendant, will also go to Siberia for not having made
known to her master his daughter's conduct.
"I preserve all my esteem for the general, and I mourn with him for the
deadly blow which has struck him.
"As for Vaninka, I know of no punishment which can be inflicted upon
her. I only see in her the daughter of a brave soldier, whose whole life
has been devoted to the service of his country. Besides, the
extraordinary way in which the crime was discovered, seems to place the
culprit beyond the limits of my severity. I leave her punishment in her
own hands. If I understand her character, if any feeling of dignity
remains to her, her heart and her remorse will show her the path she
ought to follow."
Paul handed the paper open to the general, ordering him to take it to
Count Pahlen, the governor of St. Petersburg.
On the following day the emperor's orders were carried out.
Vaninka went into a convent, where towards the end of the same year she
died of shame and grief.
The general found the death he sought on the field of Austerlitz.
----