Sister Pelagia and the White Bulldog (6 page)

Unfortunately this idyllic or, as Matvei Bentsionovich himself referred to it out of a certain tendency toward cynicism, herbivorous opposition came to an end when a thundercloud appeared on the peaceful horizon of Zavolzhsk, borne by a westerly wind from the direction of sly, ominous St. Petersburg.

ONE EVENING THREE weeks before, the police sentry who stands at the entrance to the town of Zavolzhsk to maintain order, who by old habit is known in these parts as the “dutyman,” saw an apparition. Far down the Moscow highway, above which the thunderclouds were swelling in dense purple billows, a small cloud of dust appeared, approaching Zavolzhsk at a speed quite without precedent in our local customs. Some time later the dutyman heard a loud guttural screeching and whooping that was quite clearly not Christian, and already at that point he felt the desire to cross himself, but was too idle (let us add, for our own part, that this was a mistake). Soon thereafter, from out of the sphere of dust tumbling smartly along the highway, there erupted a pair of lathered raven horses, their crazed eyes bulging out of their heads from strain, and standing above them, whistling his whip through the air, a black-bearded bandit in a shaggy astrakhan hat and patched Circassian coat, screeching like an eagle and furiously rolling eyes that were as bloody as the horses’. The dutyman’s jaw dropped at such a sight, and he even forgot to ask for the warrant for post horses. He only caught a quick glimpse through the small window of some gray-haired, respectable-looking man who nodded to him graciously and an even vaguer glimpse of a second man in the depths of the carriage—nothing more than a sharp-nosed profile and an eye that glinted with an intimidating gleam. The carriage rumbled over the cobblestones of Moscow Street, a mile and a half long, cut across Cathedral Square, and turned in at the gates of the finest hotel in Zavolzhsk, the Grand Duke. There are those who say that at the very moment when the carriage hurtled past the episcopal see, there was a sign: a flock of black crows flew up out of nowhere and drove the peaceful gray pigeons off the crosses of the bishop’s church, which exalted position they had always regarded as their own inalienable private domain. But this attack by crows is most probably a lie, because in our town people in general lie with inspired fluency.

The following day it was already known that an inspector from the Holy Synod had arrived in Zavolzhsk, Chief Procurator Pobedin’s very own assistant for special assignments. Pobedin was known throughout the empire simply by his first name and patronymic. If they said: “Konstantin Petrovich gave the emperor another talking-to yesterday” or, for instance: “Konstantin Petrovich’s health is on the mend,” no one would even ask who this Konstantin Petrovich was; it was already perfectly clear.

Informed individuals in higher political circles immediately stated with confidence that Konstantin Petrovich was displeased with the province, which augured serious unpleasantness for both the bishop and Anton Antonovich. They also immediately named the reason: The rulers of Zavolzhie were not demonstrating sufficient zeal in the extermination of alien creeds and the propagation of Orthodoxy.

The personal identity of the inspector also became known. Our town may be far away from Russia’s capital cities, but we do not, after all, live on the moon. We have our own high society and our aristocracy takes its daughters to St. Petersburg for the season and receives letters from its friends. And so all the noteworthy and merely curious events that take place in their high society reach even as far as Zavolzhsk.

Vladimir Lvovich Bubentsov turned out to be a most interesting individual indeed. Prior to a scandal the previous year, which was described in great detail not only in private letters from St. Petersburg but also in the newspapers, he had served in the Guards and had the reputation of being one of those dissolute and dangerous men who are not infrequently encountered among our brilliant Guard officers. He received his inheritance at an early age, rapidly dissipated it in revels and binges, then grew rich again playing cards, and he played with such truly remarkable success that duels were even fought, but without any consequences. Our army command takes an indulgent view of duels between officers if the business goes off without a fatal outcome or severe injuries, and it even encourages them to some extent, believing that these jousts reinforce the spirit of chivalry and soldierly honor. And, as they say, a pleasurable habit becomes second nature.

In addition to cards, Vladimir Lvovich had another passion—women, and he had a reputation as one of the capital’s leading lady-killers. Then he seduced a woman from a family that was not noble, but perfectly respectable, and treated her especially cruelly, so that the poor creature even tried to hang herself. Bubentsov had many similar stories to his name, but this time he did not get away with it. The seduced woman had protectors in the persons of her two brothers, an officer and a student. Everyone knew that Vladimir Lvovich’s skill as a marksman was God-given or, more likely, inspired by the devil, and he had no fear of duels, since he could quite easily shoot his opponent’s pistol out of his hand and had done so more than once. A duelist who lives by gambling at cards needs a reputation of that kind—it is excellent protection against suspicions of cheating and unnecessary scandals.

Realizing that in this case satisfaction could not be gained simply by issuing a challenge, the girl’s brothers decided to settle accounts with the offender in their own way. They were both bold young men with powerful physiques who went bear hunting with a forked stick. One morning they lay in wait for Vladimir Lvovich at the entrance to his apartment as he was returning home from his usual game. They deliberately chose a time when he would be wearing civilian clothes—otherwise they could not have avoided being charged with insulting the honor of the uniform. One of them, the student, grabbed Bubentsov’s shoulders from behind and lifted him up off the ground, because he was much taller, and the other, the dragoon, lashed Vladimir Lvovich across the face with his hunting crop. And all this in the open street, where passers-by could see. At first Bubentsov kicked out with his feet and tried to break free, but when he realized that he wasn’t strong enough, he only squeezed his eyes tightly shut so that they would not be put out. When the brothers had had enough of their amusement and tossed him on the ground, the beaten man, speaking in a voice that was quiet but clearly audible, told them: “I swear by the devil: I shall put an end to your family line.” That was exactly what he said.

At dawn the following day he fought them both, something that is supposedly not customary here in Russia, but this was a special case, and the seconds had to agree.

According to the agreed-upon terms, Vladimir Lvovich first exchanged shots with the elder brother. Beginning at thirty paces, with an approach to the deadline. Bubentsov gave his opponent no chance to advance even an inch, but fired immediately. The bullet struck a place that it is shameful even to name. The dragoon was a genuinely strong man and no weakling, but he rolled about on the ground, howling and shrieking and weeping floods of tears. And it was quite clear that the bullet had struck the very spot at which Bubentsov had been aiming with his diabolical precision.

He immediately went on to exchange shots with the younger brother, who was trembling and whose face was whiter than a sheet, because his elder brother was still screaming and would not let a doctor near him. In his nervousness the student fired first without taking proper aim and, of course, he shot wide. Then Vladimir Lvovich mocked and humiliated him. He set him right on the deadline, at ten paces, and took his time aiming his pistol. The seconds were already thinking that he would take pity on the boy, and just frighten him by shooting into the air. But Bubentsov had other ideas.

The student was standing sideways to him, and covering his loins with the pistol to protect them. His knees were giving way, the cold sweat was running down his face. Only his head kept twitching back and forth, from the black mouth of Bubentsov’s pistol to his wounded brother. And so Vladimir Lvovich timed his shot for the moment when the student was perfectly in profile—and took his jaw clean off with the heavy bullet.

He didn’t kill the brothers, but he did put an end to their line as he had threatened to do. From that time on the elder brother could not have any issue, and who would marry the younger now, when the bottom of his face was covered with a foulard, his saliva drained into a small tank, and he spoke so indistinctly that it required long practice to understand him?

The incident of the double duel provoked a great furor, and Bubentsov was given a severe sentence—ten years in prison. He ought to have rotted away in his stone cell, but somehow this cruel avenger managed to attract the attention of Konstantin Petrovich. The chief procurator visited the prisoner in his prison not once or twice, or even ten times, but many more times than that, holding quiet heartfelt conversations with him about the human soul, about the true meaning of Orthodoxy and Russia’s way of the cross. And these conversations had such a great effect on Vladimir Lvovich that he saw his sinful life in an entirely different light and he took fright. They said that through this revelation he was granted the gift of tears and it would often happen that he and Konstantin Petrovich did not speak of anything at all, but simply wept and prayed together. The prisoner began inclining toward the idea of taking monastic vows and, in all probability, strict ascetic vows as well, but Konstantin Petrovich would not permit it. He told Bubentsov that it was too soon, that he was not worthy to serve the Ruler of Heaven until he had atoned for his guilt before his earthly ruler. He told Vladimir Lvovich first to serve in an inconspicuous, modest, unprofitable capacity, to learn humility and piety. Bubentsov was willing to agree even to this in order to please his mentor. And so the chief procurator then petitioned and obtained the emperor’s pardon for the convicted prisoner and took him into his own department as a trusted official.

It is well known that those we love best are not those who have done good to us, but those to whom we ourselves have been benefactors and who we, in our eternal error, believe must feel a boundless gratitude to us. Evidently, this is the very reason why Konstantin Petrovich loved with all his heart the sinner whom he had saved, and began entertaining considerable hopes for him, especially since Bubentsov was universally acknowledged to have demonstrated that he was a talented and indefatigable worker. They say Vladimir Lvovich was genuinely completely transformed, absolutely abandoned his dueling, and began behaving toward the fair sex with the most circumspect discretion. He managed his first responsible mission—the eradication of the self-castrating Skoptsy sect in one of the northern provinces, so decisively and energetically that he earned praise from the emperor himself as well as his benefactor and was even granted an audience by the ruler. But it is only natural that vicious tongues will always be found to slander anyone favored by Fortune. It was said that the chief procurator’s new favorite was concerned not so much for the great future of Russia as for his own future within that of Russia, but is this not a reproach that can ultimately be leveled at all servants of the state, with only extremely rare exceptions?

Such was the unusual envoy despatched by the supreme church authorities to the sleepy realm of Zavolzhie, in order to provoke revolution and upheaval in it. And the method to which Vladimir Lvovich had recourse in order to achieve his as yet not entirely clear goals was so original that it deserves to be described in detail.

THE EMISSARY OF the Holy Synod began by making a series of visits, beginning with the governor himself, as required by common courtesy and the official nature of his visit.

Anton Antonovich, already apprised of all the information given above concerning his visitor from the capital, expected to see a neophyte, a sort of Matthew the Publican, that most dangerous variety of the tribe of guardians of the faith, and therefore adopted an attitude of extreme caution in advance. However, Ludmila Platonovna, whose imagination had been caught not so much by this bandit’s spiritual re-birth as by his previous transgressions, was inclined decisively and irreconcilably against him, although inwardly she was also a little fearful. The governor’s wife pictured the appearance in her drawing room of an infernally handsome devil, a devourer of innocent maidens, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and she readied herself, on the one hand, not to submit to his satanic charms, and, on the other, to put the upstart in his place from the very beginning, for Zavolzhsk was not debauched St. Petersburg, where the women were immoral and loose.

It need hardly be said that in such an empty provincial backwater any man with a reputation like Bubentsov’s, even though his appearance might not be particularly advantageous, would have every chance of appearing to be, if not strikingly handsome, then at least an “interesting character.”

Even so, at first the governor’s wife felt a profound disappointment. The gentleman who entered the drawing room with a bow was frail, not to say puny. He appeared to be about thirty years of age, with extremely mobile joints (“wobbly,” thought Ludmila Platonovna, who was fond of simple, sweeping definitions). To be fair, however, she did acknowledge that her visitor had a good figure, and the elastic flexibility of a rapier blade could be sensed in his narrow frame, but that merely lent Vladimir Lvovich a disadvantageous similarity to the local dandy Monsieur Dudeval, the dance teacher at the Zavolzhsk boarding school for noble girls. Nor did Bubentsov prove to be handsome of face: sharp features, somewhat predatory, a beak of a nose, bright unblinking eyes somehow reminiscent of an owl’s. A certain attractiveness was lent to this physiognomy only by the sweeping eyebrows and long, soft eyelashes. Ludmila Platonovna supposed that these must be what he had used to seduce his unfortunate victims. But winning the favor of the mistress of the governor’s mansion required rather more substantial qualities, as she gave him to understand by not proffering her hand for a kiss.