_FATHER PETER ANDRÉEF._
The last warm days of autumn had already passed, and cold and gloomy
November had brought its rains and mists.
Father Peter Andréef, the high priest of the Cathedral of Kazan, was a
man in the prime of life, highly educated and well read.
In the autumn of 1775 he was expecting from Tchernigoff, his niece
and god-daughter Vâra. She had written to her uncle, that she would
arrive in Petersburg with a companion, a young lady, who was coming
in the hope of presenting personally to the empress a petition on a
very important subject. The little house of Father Peter, with an
_entresol_,[45] and a _perron_ standing out in the street, was built
behind the cathedral, and stood by the side of the palace of the
Hetman, Razoumovski. The old oaks and the lindens threw their shade
over its red-tiled roof, even extending their wide-spreading branches
over the priest’s little yard.
A widower for already several years, the childless Father Peter led
the life of a hermit. His gates were always closed, and an enormous
watch-dog, Polkan, on hearing the slightest noise would bark in the
most furious fashion. The few and far between visitors who wished to
speak to the priest always came through the street-door, which was
also kept constantly closed. The letter of his niece gave a great
deal of pleasure to Father Peter, but he also found in it something
very extraordinary. Vâra wrote to him, that the young mistress of
the neighbouring estate had a little while ago received from abroad,
together with a letter addressed to her, a packet of papers covered
with writing, which, as the letter told her, had been found on
the sea-shore in a bottle. “Dear godfather and uncle, forgive my
foolishness,” wrote Vâra to her uncle, “but after having read these
papers together, the young lady and I have decided on coming to
Petersburg, and we shall soon be there. Whom could I recommend the
unfortunate orphan to go to if not you. She buried her parents a year
ago. In the papers sent her there is so much concerning an important
person, that before deciding on speaking about it, there is a great
deal to think over. First, the young lady thought of sending the papers
to Moscow, to the empress, but on reflection we decided otherwise. You,
dear uncle, know everything. You go everywhere, you are respected by
every one, therefore you can easily advise us what to do. The name of
the young lady is Irena Lvovna, and her surname--she is the daughter of
the Brigadier Rakitin.”
“Ah! youth, youth!” thoughtfully shaking his head, said the priest
on reading this letter. “Ah! the magpies, what crazy ideas! to come
all the way from Tchernigoff to Petersburg to get my advice.… They’ve
fallen--well--they’ve found some one!”
Every evening, at twilight, Father Peter was wont to light the candles,
and having put on his house cassock, to walk up and down the little
linen drugget which ran through all the rooms, from the little hall,
through the drawing-room, dining-room, and into the bedroom. He would
look after his plants, especially his geraniums, standing on the
window-sills; pull off the dry leaves and pick out the weeds; and would
arrange the books on the table, and gaze at his favourite blackbird
asleep in its cage, at the “ikons” and images in the corner, at the
lighted lamp, and would begin musing and thinking--when at last would
those rooms be filled with mirth and life, when would his magpie come?
The two girls arrived. The house of the priest became at once bright
and lively. The sprightly gay Vârushka quite bewildered her uncle
with news about his birthplace, their acquaintances, and journey
adventures. Listening to her, Father Peter thought within himself,
“How time flies! Is it so long ago that she was brought here, a wild,
snub-nosed, and sulky little lass? and now--look at her, so sprightly,
so gay, so clever! Yes, and her companion, she is a beauty! Those thick
black braids, and what eyes! But quite in another style to my Vâra; so
thoughtful, discreet, serious and proud!”
After the first joyful questions and answers, the priest was
obliged to celebrate the vesper service, and his visitors having
hastily established themselves in the attic, took everything that
was necessary, and started for the bath, accompanied by the cook.
On returning home they established themselves in the corner by the
fireside, and there Father Peter found them, as red as boiled lobsters,
their heads tied up with coloured handkerchiefs, drinking tea. It was
long past midnight when they at last rose to go to bed.
“Well! my young lady, and where are the papers you have brought with
you?” said Father Peter, rising. “It interests me also; what is it all
about?”
The girls began searching in their bundles, found the roll--on it was
the inscription, “Diary of Lieutenant Konsov.”