Works of Alexander Pushkin (64 page)

Translated by T. Keane

You’re pretty, Dushenka, no matter what you wear.

Bogdanovich

IN one of our remote provinces was situated the estate of Ivan Petrovich Berestov. In his youth he had served in the Guards, but having quitted the service at the beginning of the year 1797, he repaired to his village, and since that time he had not stirred from it. He had been married to a penniless gentlewoman, who had died in child-bed at a time when he was absent from home on a visit to one of the outlying fields of his estate. He soon found consolation in attending to his affairs. He built a house on a plan of his own, established a textile mill, tripled his revenues, and began to consider himself the most intelligent man in the whole country roundabout, and in this he was not contradicted by his neighbors, who came to visit him with their families and their dogs. On week-days he wore a velveteen jacket, but on Sundays and holidays he appeared in a surtout of cloth that had been manufactured on his own premises. He himself kept an account of all his expenses, and he never read anything except the “Senate Bulletins.”

In general he was liked, although he was considered proud. There was only one person who was not on good terms with him, and that was Grigory Ivano- vich Muromsky, his nearest neighbor. This latter was a genuine Russian gentleman. After having squandered the greater part of his fortune in Moscow, and having become a widower about the same time, he retired to his last remaining estate, where he continued to indulge in habits of extravagance, but of a new kind. He laid out an English garden, on which he expended nearly the whole of his remaining revenue. His grooms were dressed like English jockeys, his daughter had an English governess, and his fields were cultivated after the English method.

But Russian corn fares ill when foreign ways are followed,
and in spite of a considerable reduction in his expenses, the revenues of Grigory Ivanovich did not increase. He found means, even in the country, of contracting new debts. Nevertheless he was not considered a fool, for he was the first landowner in his province who conceived the idea of mortgaging his estate in the Tutorial Council — a proceeding which at that time was considered exceedingly complicated and venturesome. Of all those who censured him, Berestov showed himself the most severe. Hatred of all innovation was a distinguishing trait in his character. He could not bring himself to speak calmly of his neighbor’s Anglomania, and he constantly found occasion to criticise him. If he showed his possessions to a guest, in reply to the praises bestowed upon him for his economical arrangements, he would say with a sly smile:

“Yes, sir, it is not the same with me as with my neighbor Grigory Ivanovich. What need have we to ruin ourselves in the English style, when we have enough to do to keep the wolf from the door in the Russian style?”

These, and similar sarcastic remarks, thanks to the zeal of obliging neighbors, did not fail to reach the ears of Grigory Ivanovich greatly embellished. The Anglomaniac bore criticism as impatiently as our journalists. He became furious, and called his traducer a boor and a country bumpkin.

Such were the relations between the two proprietors, when Berestov’s son came home. He had been educated at the University of- — -----, and intended to enter the military service, but to this his father would not give his consent. For the civil service the young man had not the slightest inclination, and as neither felt inclined to yield to the other, the young Alexey lived in the meantime like a gentleman, and at any rate allowed his mustache to grow.

Alexey was indeed a fine young fellow, and it would really have been a pity were his slender frame never to be set off to advantage by a military uniform, and were he to be compelled to spend his youth in bending over the papers of the chancery office, instead of cutting a figure on horseback. The neighbors, observing how at the hunt he always dashed ahead across the fields, agreed that he would never make a proper clerk. The young ladies cast glances at him, and sometimes could not leave off looking at him, but Alexey troubled himself very little about them, and they attributed this insensibility to some secret love affair. Indeed, there passed from hand to hand a copy of the address on one of his letters: “To Akulina Petrovna Kurochkina in Moscow, opposite the Alexeyevsky Monastery, in the house of the coppersmith Savelyev, with the request that she hand this letter to A. N. R.”

Those of my readers who have never lived in the country, cannot imagine how charming these provincial young ladies are! Brought up in the pure air, under the shadow of their own apple trees, they derive their knowledge of the world and of life from books.

Solitude, freedom, and reading develop very early within them sentiments and passions unknown to our town-bred beauties. For the young ladies of the country the sound of harness-bells is an event; a journey to the nearest town marks an epoch in their lives, and the visit of a guest leaves behind a long, and sometimes an everlasting memory. Of course everybody is at liberty to laugh at some of their peculiarities, but the jokes of a superficial observer cannot nullify their essential merits, the chief of which is that quality of character, that
individualité,
without which, in Jean Paul’s opinion, there can be no human greatness. In the capitals, women receive perhaps a better education, but intercourse with the world soon smooths down the character and makes their souls as uniform as their head-dresses. This is said neither by way of judgment nor of censure, but “
nota nostra manet,”
as one of the old commentators writes.

It can easily be imagined what impression Alexey produced in the circle of our young ladies. He was the first who appeared before them gloomy and disenchanted, the first who spoke to them of lost happiness and of his blighted youth; in addition to which he wore a black ring engraved with a death’s head. All this was something quite new in that province. The young ladies went mad over him.

But not one of them felt so much interest in him as the daughter of our Anglomaniac, Liza, or Betsy, as Grigory Ivanovich usually called her. As their parents did not visit each other, she had not yet seen Alexey, even when he had become the sole topic of conversation among all the young ladies of the neighborhood. She was seventeen years old. Dark eyes illuminated her swarthy and exceedingly pleasant countenance. She was an only and consequently a spoiled child. Her liveliness and continual pranks delighted her father and filled with despair the heart of Miss Jackson, her governess, an affected old maid of forty, who powdered her face and darkened her eyebrows, read through
Pamela
twice a year, for which she received two thousand rubles, and was dying of boredom in this barbarous Russia.

Liza was waited upon by Nastya, who, although somewhat older, was quite as giddy as her mistress. Liza was very fond of her, confided to her all her secrets, and planned pranks together with her; in a word, Nastya was a far more important person in the village of Priluchino, than the trusted confidante in a French tragedy.

“Will you allow me to go out to-day on a visit?” said Nastya one morning, as she was dressing her mistress.

“Certainly; but where are you going to?”

“To Tugilovo, to the Berestovs’. The wife of their cook is going to celebrate her name-day to-day, and she came over yesterday to invite us to dinner.”

“Well!” said Liza: “the masters are at odds with each other, but the servants entertain each other.”

“What have the masters to do with us?” replied Nastya. “Besides, I belong to you, and not to your papa. You have not had any quarrel with young Berestov; let the old ones quarrel and fight, if it gives them any pleasure.”

“Try and see Alexey Berestov, Nastya, and then tell me what he looks like and what sort of a person he is.”

Nastya promised to do so, and all day long Liza waited with impatience for her return. In the evening Nastya made her appearance.

“Well, Lizaveta Grigoryevna,” said she, on entering the room, “I have seen young Berestov, and I had ample opportunity for taking a good look at him, for we have been together all day.”

“How did that happen? Tell me about it, tell me everything just as it happened.”

“Very well. We set out, I, Anisya Yegorovna, Nenila, Dunka....”

“Yes, yes, I know. And then?”

“With your leave, I will tell you everything in detail. We arrived just in time for dinner. The room was full of people. The folk from Kolbino were there, from Zakharyevo, the bailiff’s wife and her daughters, the people from Khlupino....”

“Well, and Berestov?”

“Wait a moment. We sat down to table; the bailiff’s wife had the place of honor. I sat next to her... the daughters sulked, but I didn’t care about them....”

“Good heavens, Nastya, how tiresome you are with your never-ending details!”

“How impatient you are! Well, we rose from the table... we had been sitting down for three hours, and the dinner was excellent: pastry, blanc-mange, blue, red and striped.... Well, we left the table and went into the garden to have a game of tag, and it was then that the young master made his appearance.”

“Well, and is it true that he is so very handsome?”

“Exceedingly handsome: tall, well-built, and with red cheeks....”

“Really? And I was under the impression that he was pale. Well, and how did he seem to you? Sad, thoughtful?”

“Nothing of the kind! I have never in my life seen such a madcap. He joined in our game.”

“Joined in your game of tag? Impossible!”

“Not at all impossible. And what else do you think he did? He’d catch you and kiss you!”

“With your permission, Nastya, you are fibbing.”

“With your permission, I am not fibbing. I had the greatest trouble in the world to get away from him. He spent the whole day with us.”

“But they say that he is in love, and hasn’t eyes for anybody.”

“I don’t know anything about that, but I know that he looked at me a good deal, and so he did at Tanya, the bailiff’s daughter, and at Pasha from Kolbino, too. But it cannot be said that he misbehaved — the scamp!”

“That is extraordinary! And what do they say about him in the house?”

“They say that he is an excellent master — so kind, so cheerful. They have only one fault to find with him: he is too fond of running after the girls. But for my part, I don’t think that is a very great fault: he will settle down with age.”

“How I should like to see him!” said Liza, with a sigh.

“What is so difficult about it? Tugilovo is not far from us — only about three versts. Go and take a walk in that direction, or a ride on horseback, and you will assuredly meet him. He goes out early every morning with his gun.”

“No, no, that would not do. He might think that I was running after him. Besides, our fathers are not on good terms, so that I cannot make his acquaintance.... Ah! Nastya, do you know what I’ll do? I will dress myself up as a peasant girl!”

“Exactly! Put on a coarse blouse and a
sarafan,
and then go boldly to Tugilovo; I will answer for it that Berestov will not pass you by.”

“And I know how to speak like the peasants about here. Ah, Nastya! my dear Nastya! what an excellent idea!”

And Liza went to bed, firmly resolved on putting her plan into execution.

The next morning she began to prepare to carry out her plan. She sent to the market and bought some coarse linen, some blue nankeen and some copper buttons, and with the help of Nastya she cut out for herself a blouse and
sarafan.
She then set all the female servants to work to do the necessary sewing, so that by evening everything was ready. Liza tried on the new costume, and as she stood before the mirror, she confessed to herself that she had never looked so charming. Then she rehearsed her part. As she walked she made a low bow, and then nodded her head several times, after the manner of a clay cat, spoke in the peasants’ dialect, smiled behind her sleeve, and earned Nastya’s complete approval. One thing only proved irksome to her: she tried to walk barefooted across the courtyard, but the turf pricked her tender feet, and she found the sand and gravel unbearable. Nastya immediately came to her assistance. She took the measurement of Liza’s foot, ran to the fields to find Tro- fim the shepherd, and ordered him to make a pair of bast shoes to fit.

The next morning, at crack o’ dawn, Liza was already awake. Everybody in the house was still asleep. Nastya, at the gate was waiting for the shepherd. The sound of a horn was heard, and the village flock defiled past the manor-house. Trofim, as he passed Nastya, gave her a small pair of colored bast shoes, and received from her a half-ruble in exchange. Liza quietly dressed herself in the peasant’s costume, whispered her instructions to Nastya with reference to Miss Jackson, descended the back staircase and made her way through the kitchen garden into the field beyond.

The eastern sky was all aglow, and the golden rows of clouds seemed to be awaiting the sun, as courtiers await their monarch. The clear sky, the freshness of the morning, the dew, the light breeze, and the singing of the birds filled the heart of Liza with childish joy. The fear of meeting some acquaintance seemed to give her wings, for she flew rather than walked. But as she approached the grove which formed the boundary of her father’s estate, she slackened her pace. Here she resolved to wait for Alexey. Her heart beat violently, she knew not why; but is not the fear which accompanies our youthful escapades their greatest charm? Liza advanced into the depth of the grove. The muffled, undulating murmur of the branches welcomed the young girl. Her gaiety vanished. Little by little she abandoned herself to sweet reveries. She thought — but who can say exactly what a young lady of seventeen thinks of, alone in a grove, at six o’clock of a spring morning? And so she walked musingly along the pathway, which was shaded on both sides by tall trees, when suddenly a magnificent hunting dog barked at her. Liza became frightened and cried out. But at the same moment a voice called out:
“Tout beau, Sbogar, ici!”..
. and a young hunter emerged from behind a clump of bushes.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear,” said he to Liza: “my dog does not bite.”