« Captain's daughter"- a historical novel (or story) by Alexander Pushkin, which takes place during the uprising of Emelyan Pugachev. First published without indicating the author's name in the 4th book of the Sovremennik magazine, which went on sale in the last decade of 1836.

Plot

In his declining years, the landowner Pyotr Andreevich Grinev narrates the turbulent events of his youth. He spent his childhood on his parents' estate in the Simbirsk province, until at the age of 16 his strict father, a retired officer, ordered him to be sent to serve in the army: “It’s full of him running around girls’ rooms and climbing pigeon houses.”

By the will of fate, on the way to the place of service, the young officer meets with Emelyan Pugachev, who was then just a runaway, unknown Cossack. During a snowstorm, he agrees to accompany Grinev with his old servant Savelich to the inn. As a sign of gratitude for the service, Peter gives him his hare sheepskin coat.

Arriving at the service in the border fortress Belogorsk, Peter falls in love with the daughter of the commandant of the fortress, Masha Mironova. Grinev's colleague, officer Alexei Shvabrin, whom he met already in the fortress, also turns out to be indifferent to the captain's daughter and challenges Peter to a duel, during which he wounds Grinev. The duel becomes known to Peter's father, who refuses to bless the marriage with the dowry.

Meanwhile, Pugachevshchina flares up, which Pushkin himself described as "Russian revolt, senseless and merciless". Pugachev advances with his army and captures fortresses in the Orenburg steppe. He executes the nobles, and calls the Cossacks into his army. Masha's parents die at the hands of rebels; Shvabrin swears allegiance to Pugachev, but Grinev refuses. Savelich saves him from certain execution, turning to Pugachev. He recognizes the person who helped him in the winter, and gives him life.

Grinev does not agree to the offer to join Pugachev's army. He leaves for Orenburg besieged by the rebels and fights against Pugachev, but one day he receives a letter from Masha, who remained in the Belogorsk fortress due to illness. From the letter, he learns that Shvabrin wants to forcefully marry her. Grinev leaves the service without permission, arrives at the Belogorsk fortress and, with the help of Pugachev, saves Masha. Later, on Shvabrin's denunciation, he was arrested by government troops. Grinev is sentenced to execution, replaced by exile in Siberia for an eternal settlement. After that, Masha goes to Tsarskoe Selo to Catherine II and begs for forgiveness for the groom, telling everything she knew and noting that P. A. Grinev could not justify himself before the court just because he did not want to involve her.

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Book work

« Captain's daughter”is one of the works with which Russian writers of the 1830s responded to the success of the translated novels of Walter Scott. Pushkin planned to write historical novel back in the 1820s (see "Arap of Peter the Great"). The first of the historical novels on the Russian theme saw the light of "Yuri Miloslavsky" by M. N. Zagoskin (1829). Grinev's meeting with the counselor, according to Pushkin scholars, goes back to a similar scene in Zagoskin's novel.

The idea of ​​a story about the Pugachev era matured during Pushkin's work on historical chronicle- "History of the Pugachev rebellion". In search of materials for his work, Pushkin traveled to Southern Urals, where he talked with eyewitnesses of the terrible events of the 1770s. According to P. V. Annenkov, “the compressed and only outwardly dry presentation, adopted by him in the History, seemed to find an addition in his exemplary novel, which has the warmth and charm of historical notes”, in the novel, “which represented the other side of the subject - the side of the mores and customs of the era.

"The Captain's Daughter" was written casually, among the works on Pugachevism, but in it more history than in The History of the Pugachev Rebellion, which seems like a long explanatory note to the novel.

In the summer of 1832, Pushkin intended to make the hero of the novel an officer who went over to the side of Pugachev, Mikhail Shvanvich (1749-1802), uniting him with his father, who was expelled from the life campaign after he cut the cheek of Alexei Orlov with a broadsword in a tavern quarrel. Probably, the idea of ​​\u200b\u200bthe work about a nobleman who succumbed to robbers due to personal resentment was eventually embodied in the novel "Dubrovsky", the action of which was transferred to the modern era.

Catherine II on the engraving by N. Utkin

Later, Pushkin gave the narrative the form of a memoir, and made a nobleman who remained faithful to his duty, despite the temptation to go over to the side of the rebels, as the narrator and main character. The historical figure of Shvanvich, thus, split into the images of Grinev and his antagonist - the "frankly conditional" villain Shvabrin.

The scene of Masha's meeting with the Empress in Tsarskoe Selo was obviously suggested by a historical anecdote about the mercy of Joseph II to the "daughter of one captain". The non-standard, “homely” image of Catherine, drawn in the story, is based on the engraving by N. Utkin from the famous portrait of Borovikovsky (performed, however, much later than the events depicted in the story).

Walterscott motifs

Many of the plot points of The Captain's Daughter echo the novels of Walter Scott, as pointed out, in particular, by N. Chernyshevsky. In Savelich, Belinsky also saw the "Russian Caleb". The comic episode with Savelich's score to Pugachev has an analogue in The Adventures of Nigel (1822). In the Tsarskoe Selo scene, “the daughter of Captain Mironov is placed in the same position as the heroine of the Edinburgh Dungeon” (1818), A. D. Galakhov pointed out at the time.

Publication and first reviews

The Captain's Daughter was published a month before the death of the author in the journal Sovremennik, which he published, under the guise of notes by the late Pyotr Grinev. From this and subsequent editions of the novel, for censorship reasons, a chapter about the peasant riot in the village of Grineva was released, which was preserved in a draft manuscript. Until 1838, no printed reviews of the story followed, but Gogol in January 1837 noted that it "produced a general effect." A. I. Turgenev wrote on January 9, 1837 to K. Ya. Bulgakov:

Pushkin's story ... became so famous here that Barant, not jokingly, suggested that the author, in my presence, translate it into French with his help, but how will he express the originality of this style, this era, these Old Russian characters and this girlish Russian charm - which are outlined in the whole story? The main charm is in the story, and it is difficult to retell the story in another language.

Pushkin successfully transferred the motifs traditional for the Walterscottites to Russian soil: “No more than one-fifth of the average novel by Walter Scott. The manner of the story is concise, precise, economical, although more spacious and unhurried than in Pushkin's stories”, - notes D. Mirsky. In his opinion, "The Captain's Daughter" more than other works of Pushkin influenced the formation of realism in Russian literature - it is "realism, economical in funds, restrainedly humorous, devoid of any pressure."

Discussing the style of the story, N. Grech wrote in 1840 that Pushkin "with amazing skill was able to capture and express the character and tone of the middle of the 18th century." Don’t subscribe Pushkin to the story - “and you really might think that it was actually written by some old man who was an eyewitness and hero of the events described, the story is so naive and artless,” F. Dostoevsky agreed with him. An enthusiastic review was left about the novel by N. V. Gogol:

Decidedly the best Russian work in a narrative way. Compared to The Captain's Daughter, all of our novels and short stories seem like sugary slobs.<...>For the first time, truly Russian characters appeared: a simple commandant of the fortress, a captain, a lieutenant; the fortress itself with a single cannon, the stupidity of time and the simple grandeur of ordinary people.

Foreign critics are far from being as unanimous in their enthusiasm for The Captain's Daughter as the Russians. In particular, a harsh review of the work is attributed to Irish writer James Joyce:

There is not an ounce of intelligence in this story. Not bad for its time, but nowadays people are much more complicated. I can’t understand how one can get carried away with such primitive products - fairy tales that could amuse someone in childhood, about fighters, villains, valiant heroes and horses galloping across the steppes with a beautiful girl of seventeen years old hidden in a corner, who is just waiting that she will be rescued at the right moment.

Characters

• Pyotr Andreevich Grinev, a 17-year-old undergrowth, while still in the womb recorded in the guards of the Semyonovsky regiment; during the events described in the story - ensign. It is he who leads the story for his descendants during the reign of Alexander I, sprinkling the story with old-fashioned maxims. The draft version contained an indication that Grinev died in 1817. According to Belinsky, this is "an insignificant, insensitive character", which the author needs as a relatively impartial witness to Pugachev's actions. However, according to Yu. M. Lotman, in Petr Andreevich Grinev “there is something that attracts the sympathy of the author and readers to him: he does not fit into the framework of the noble ethics of his time, he is too human for this”: 276 .
• colorful figure Emeliana Pugacheva, in which M. Tsvetaeva saw the "single character" of the story, somewhat obscures Grinev. P. I. Tchaikovsky for a long time hatched the idea of ​​an opera based on The Captain's Daughter, but abandoned it because of fears that the censorship "would find it difficult to miss such a stage performance, from which the viewer leaves completely fascinated by Pugachev," because he was taken from Pushkin "in essence of a surprisingly sympathetic villain.
• Alexey Ivanovich Shvabrin, Grinev's antagonist, is "a young officer of short stature with a swarthy and remarkably ugly face" and hair that is "black as pitch." By the time Grinev appeared in the fortress, he had already been transferred from the guard for a duel for five years. He is reputed to be a freethinker, knows French, understands literature, but at the decisive moment changes his oath and goes over to the side of the rebels. In essence, a purely romantic scoundrel (according to Mirsky, this is generally “the only scoundrel in Pushkin”).
• Maria Ivanovna Mironova, "a girl of about eighteen, chubby, ruddy, with light blond hair, combed smoothly behind her ears"; the daughter of the commandant of the fortress, who gave the name to the whole story. "Dress simply and cute." To save his beloved, he travels to the capital and throws himself at the feet of the queen. According to Prince Vyazemsky, the image of Masha falls on the story with a “pleasant and bright shade” - as a kind of variation on the theme of Tatyana Larina. At the same time, Tchaikovsky complains: "Maria Ivanovna is not interesting and characteristic enough, because she is an impeccably kind and honest girl and nothing more." “The empty place of any first love,” echoes him Marina Tsvetaeva.
• Arkhip Savelich, stirrup Grinev, from the age of five assigned to Peter as an uncle. Treats a 17-year-old officer like a minor, remembering the order to "look after the child"

Take care of your honor from a young age.

CHAPTER I. SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS.

If he were a guard, he would be a captain tomorrow.

That is not necessary; let him serve in the army.

Well said! let him push it...

Who is his father?

Knyazhnin.

My father, Andrey Petrovich Grinev, served under Count Munnich in his youth, and retired as prime minister in 1717. Since then, he lived in his Simbirsk village, where he married the girl Avdotya Vasilyevna Yu., the daughter of a poor local nobleman. We were nine children. All my brothers and sisters died in infancy.

My mother was still my belly, as I was already enrolled in the Semenovsky regiment as a sergeant, by the grace of the major of the guard, Prince B., our close relative. If, more than any expectation, the mother had given birth to a daughter, then the father would have announced the death of the non-appearing sergeant, and the matter would have ended. I was considered on vacation until graduation. At that time, we were not brought up in the new way. From the age of five, I was given into the hands of the aspirant Savelich, who was granted me uncles for sober behavior. Under his supervision, in the twelfth year, I learned to read and write Russian and could very sensibly judge the properties of a greyhound dog. At this time, the priest hired a Frenchman for me, Monsieur Beaupre, who was discharged from Moscow along with a year's supply of wine and olive oil. Savelitch did not like his arrival much. “Thank God,” he grumbled to himself, “it seems that the child has been washed, combed, and fed. Where should one spend the extra money, and hire Monsieur, as if his own people were gone!”

Beaupré was a hairdresser in his own country, then a soldier in Prussia, then he came to Russia pour ètre outchitel, not really understanding the meaning of this word. He was a kind fellow, but windy and dissolute to the extreme. His main weakness was a passion for the fair sex; not infrequently for his tenderness he received shocks, from which he groaned for whole days. Moreover, he was not (as he put it) an enemy of the bottle, i.e. (speaking in Russian) he liked to sip too much. But since wine was only served with us at dinner, and then by a glass, and the teachers usually carried it around, then my Beaupré very soon got used to the Russian tincture, and even began to prefer it to the wines of his fatherland, as unlike more useful for the stomach. We immediately got along well, and although under the contract he was obliged to teach me in French, German and all sciences, he preferred to quickly learn from me how to chat in Russian - and then each of us went about his own business. We lived soul to soul. I didn't want another mentor. But soon fate separated us, and here's the occasion:

The washerwoman Palashka, a fat and pockmarked girl, and the crooked cowherd Akulka somehow agreed at one time to throw themselves at mother's feet, confessing their criminal weakness and complaining with tears about the monsieur who had seduced their inexperience. Mother did not like to joke about this, and complained to the father. His reprisal was short. He immediately demanded a French canal. It was reported that Monsieur was giving me his lesson. Father went to my room. At this time, Beaupré slept on the bed with the sleep of innocence. I was busy with business. You need to know that a geographical map was issued for me from Moscow. It hung on the wall without any use and had long tempted me with the breadth and goodness of the paper. I decided to make a snake out of her, and taking advantage of Beaupré's sleep, I set to work. Batiushka came in at the same time as I was fitting a wash tail to the Cape of Good Hope. Seeing my exercises in geography, the priest pulled my ear, then ran up to Beaupre, woke him very carelessly, and began to shower reproaches. Beaupré, in dismay, wanted to get up, but could not: the unfortunate Frenchman was dead drunk. Seven troubles, one answer. Father lifted him from the bed by the collar, pushed him out of the door, and on the same day drove him out of the yard, to Savelich's indescribable joy. That was the end of my upbringing.

I lived underage, chasing pigeons and playing chaharda with the yard boys. Meanwhile, I was sixteen years old. Here my fate changed.

Once in autumn, my mother was making honey jam in the living room, and I, licking my lips, looked at the seething foam. Father at the window read the Court Calendar, which he receives every year. This book always had a strong influence on him: he never reread it without special participation, and reading this always produced in him an amazing excitement of bile. Mother, who knew by heart all his habits and customs, always tried to shove the unfortunate book as far away as possible, and in this way the Court Calendar did not catch his eye sometimes for whole months. But when he accidentally found him, it happened for whole hours he did not let go of his hands. So the priest read the Court Calendar, occasionally shrugging his shoulders and repeating in an undertone: “Lieutenant General! .. He was a sergeant in my company! , and plunged into thoughtfulness, which did not bode well.

Suddenly he turned to his mother: “Avdotya Vasilievna, how old is Petrusha?”

Yes, the seventeenth year has gone, - answered mother. - Petrusha was born in the same year that Aunt Nastasya Garasimovna became crooked, and when else ...

“Good,” the priest interrupted, “it’s time for him to serve. It’s enough for him to run around girls’ rooms and climb dovecotes.”

The thought of an imminent separation from me struck my mother so much that she dropped the spoon into the saucepan, and tears flowed down her face. On the contrary, it is difficult to describe my admiration. The thought of service merged in me with thoughts of freedom, of the pleasures of Petersburg life. I imagined myself as an officer of the guard, which in my opinion was the pinnacle of human well-being.

Take care of your honor from a young age.
Proverb

CHAPTER I. SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS.

- If he were a guard, he would be captain tomorrow.

- That is not necessary; let him serve in the army.

- Pretty well said! let him push it...

…………………………………………….

Who is his father?

Knyazhnin.
My father, Andrey Petrovich Grinev, served under Count Munnich in his youth, and retired as prime minister in 1717. Since then, he lived in his Simbirsk village, where he married the girl Avdotya Vasilyevna Yu., the daughter of a poor local nobleman. We were nine children. All my brothers and sisters died in infancy.

My mother was still my belly, as I was already enrolled in the Semenovsky regiment as a sergeant, by the grace of the major of the guard, Prince B., our close relative. If, more than any expectation, the mother had given birth to a daughter, then the father would have announced the death of the non-appearing sergeant, and the matter would have ended. I was considered on vacation until graduation. At that time, we were not brought up in the new way. From the age of five, I was given into the hands of the aspirant Savelich, who was granted me uncles for sober behavior. Under his supervision, in the twelfth year, I learned to read and write Russian and could very sensibly judge the properties of a greyhound dog. At this time, the priest hired a Frenchman for me, Monsieur Beaupre, who was discharged from Moscow along with a year's supply of wine and olive oil. Savelitch did not like his arrival much. “Thank God,” he grumbled to himself, “it seems that the child has been washed, combed, and fed. Where should one spend the extra money, and hire Monsieur, as if his own people were gone!”

Beaupré was a hairdresser in his own country, then a soldier in Prussia, then he came to Russia pour ètre outchitel, not really understanding the meaning of this word. He was a kind fellow, but windy and dissolute to the extreme. His main weakness was a passion for the fair sex; not infrequently for his tenderness he received shocks, from which he groaned for whole days. Moreover, he was not (as he put it) an enemy of the bottle, i.e. (speaking in Russian) he liked to sip too much. But since wine was only served with us at dinner, and then by a glass, and the teachers usually carried it around, then my Beaupré very soon got used to the Russian tincture, and even began to prefer it to the wines of his fatherland, as unlike more useful for the stomach. We immediately got along well, and although under the contract he was obliged to teach me in French, German and all sciences, he preferred to quickly learn from me how to chat in Russian - and then each of us went about his own business. We lived soul to soul. I didn't want another mentor. But soon fate separated us, and here's the occasion:

The washerwoman Palashka, a fat and pockmarked girl, and the crooked cowherd Akulka somehow agreed at one time to throw themselves at mother's feet, confessing their criminal weakness and complaining with tears about the monsieur who had seduced their inexperience. Mother did not like to joke about this, and complained to the father. His reprisal was short. He immediately demanded a French canal. It was reported that Monsieur was giving me his lesson. Father went to my room. At this time, Beaupré slept on the bed with the sleep of innocence. I was busy with business. You need to know that a geographical map was issued for me from Moscow. It hung on the wall without any use and had long tempted me with the breadth and goodness of the paper. I decided to make a snake out of her, and taking advantage of Beaupré's sleep, I set to work. Batiushka came in at the same time as I was fitting a wash tail to the Cape of Good Hope. Seeing my exercises in geography, the priest pulled my ear, then ran up to Beaupre, woke him very carelessly, and began to shower reproaches. Beaupré, in dismay, wanted to get up, but could not: the unfortunate Frenchman was dead drunk. Seven troubles, one answer. Father lifted him from the bed by the collar, pushed him out of the door, and on the same day drove him out of the yard, to Savelich's indescribable joy. That was the end of my upbringing.

I lived underage, chasing pigeons and playing chaharda with the yard boys. Meanwhile, I was sixteen years old. Here my fate changed.

Once in autumn, my mother was making honey jam in the living room, and I, licking my lips, looked at the seething foam. Father at the window read the Court Calendar, which he receives every year. This book always had a strong influence on him: he never reread it without special participation, and reading this always produced in him an amazing excitement of bile. Mother, who knew by heart all his habits and customs, always tried to shove the unfortunate book as far away as possible, and in this way the Court Calendar did not catch his eye sometimes for whole months. But when he accidentally found him, it happened for whole hours he did not let go of his hands. So the priest read the Court Calendar, occasionally shrugging his shoulders and repeating in an undertone: “Lieutenant General! .. He was a sergeant in my company! , and plunged into thoughtfulness, which did not bode well.

Suddenly he turned to his mother: “Avdotya Vasilievna, how old is Petrusha?”

Yes, the seventeenth year has gone, - answered mother. - Petrusha was born in the same year that Aunt Nastasya Garasimovna became crooked, and when else ...

“Good,” the priest interrupted, “it’s time for him to serve. It’s enough for him to run around girls’ rooms and climb dovecotes.”

The thought of an imminent separation from me struck my mother so much that she dropped the spoon into the saucepan, and tears flowed down her face. On the contrary, it is difficult to describe my admiration. The thought of service merged in me with thoughts of freedom, of the pleasures of Petersburg life. I imagined myself as an officer of the guard, which in my opinion was the pinnacle of human well-being.

Batiushka did not like to change his intentions, nor to postpone their fulfillment. The day of my departure was fixed. The day before, the priest announced that he intended to write with me to my future boss, and demanded a pen and paper.

“Do not forget, Andrey Petrovich,” said mother, “to bow from me to Prince B.; I say I hope that he will not leave Petrusha with his graces.

What nonsense! - replied the father frowning. - Why should I write to Prince B.?

“Why, you said that you would deign to write to Petrusha’s chief.”

Well, what is there?

“Why, the chief Petrushin is Prince B. After all, Petrusha is enlisted in the Semenovsky regiment.”

Recorded by! What do I care if it's recorded? Petrusha will not go to Petersburg. What will he learn while serving in St. Petersburg? wind and hang? No, let him serve in the army, let him pull the strap, let him sniff gunpowder, let him be a soldier, not a shamaton. Registered in the guard! Where is his passport? bring it here.

Mother found my passport, which was kept in her casket along with the shirt in which I was baptized, and handed it to the priest with a trembling hand. Batiushka read it with attention, put it on the table in front of him, and began his letter.

Curiosity tormented me: where are they sending me, if not to Petersburg? I did not take my eyes off Batiushkin's pen, which moved rather slowly. Finally, he finished, sealed the letter in one package with his passport, took off his glasses, and calling me, he said: “Here is a letter for you to Andrey Karlovich R., my old comrade and friend. You are going to Orenburg to serve under his command.”

So all my brilliant hopes collapsed! Instead of a cheerful Petersburg life, boredom awaited me in a deaf and distant side. The service, which for a minute I thought with such enthusiasm, seemed to me a grave misfortune. But there was nothing to argue. The next day, in the morning, a road wagon was brought up to the porch; they put in it a suitcase, a cellar with a tea set, and bundles with rolls and pies, the last signs of home pampering. My parents blessed me. The father said to me: “Goodbye, Peter. Serve faithfully to whom you swear; obey the bosses; do not chase after their affection; do not ask for service; do not excuse yourself from the service; and remember the proverb: take care of the dress from the new, and honor from the youth. Mother, in tears, ordered me to take care of my health, and Savelich to look after the child. They put a rabbit coat on me, and a fox coat on top. I got into the wagon with Savelich and set off on the road, shedding tears.

That very night I arrived in Simbirsk, where I had to stay for a day to purchase the necessary things, which was entrusted to Savelich. I stopped at a tavern. Savelich went to the shops in the morning. Getting bored of looking out the window at the dirty lane, I went to wander through all the rooms. Entering the billiard room, I saw a tall gentleman, about thirty-five, with a long black mustache, in a dressing gown, with a cue in his hand and a pipe in his teeth. He played with a marker that, when he won, drank a glass of vodka, and when he lost, he had to crawl under the billiards on all fours. I started watching them play. The longer it went on, the more frequent the walks on all fours, until at last the marker remained under the pool table. The master uttered several strong expressions over him in the form of a funeral word, and invited me to play a game. I reluctantly refused. This seemed to him apparently strange. He looked at me as if with regret; however, we talked. I learned that his name was Ivan Ivanovich Zurin, that he was a captain in a hussar regiment and was in Simbirsk when he was recruiting, but was standing in a tavern. Zurin invited me to dine with him, like God sent, like a soldier. I readily agreed. We sat down at the table. Zurin drank a lot and regaled me too, saying that one must get used to the service; he told me army jokes, from which I almost collapsed with laughter, and we got up from the table as perfect friends. Then he volunteered to teach me how to play billiards. “This,” he said, “is necessary for our service brother. On a hike, for example, you come to a place - what do you order to do? After all, it’s not all the same to beat the Jews. Involuntarily you will go to a tavern and start playing billiards; And for that you need to know how to play!” I was completely convinced, and with great diligence began to study. Zurin loudly encouraged me, marveled at my quick successes, and after a few lessons, he suggested that I play money, one penny each, not to win, but so as not to play for nothing, which, according to him, is the worst habit. I agreed to this, and Zurin ordered punch to be served and persuaded me to try, repeating that I need to get used to the service; and without punch, what a service! I obeyed him. Meanwhile, our game continued. The more I sipped from my glass, the bolder I became. Balloons kept flying over my side; I got excited, scolded the marker, who considered God knows how, multiplied the game from hour to hour, in a word - behaved like a boy breaking free. In the meantime, time has passed imperceptibly. Zurin glanced at his watch, put down the cue, and announced to me that I had lost a hundred rubles. This confused me a little. Savelich had my money. I began to apologize. Zurin interrupted me: “Have mercy! Don't you dare worry. I can wait, but in the meantime we'll go to Arinushka.

What do you order? I ended the day as dissolutely as I started. We dined at Arinushka's. Zurin poured me every minute, repeating that it was necessary to get used to the service. Rising from the table, I could barely stand on my feet; at midnight Zurin took me to a tavern. Savelich met us on the porch. He gasped, seeing the unmistakable signs of my zeal for the service. "What, sir, has become of you?" he said in a pitiful voice, “where did you load it? Oh my god! there has never been such a sin!” - Shut up, bastard! I answered him, stammering; - you're sure drunk, go to sleep ... and put me down.

The next day I woke up with headache vaguely remembering yesterday's events. My reflections were interrupted by Savelich, who came in with a cup of tea. “It’s early, Pyotr Andreich,” he said to me, shaking his head, “you start walking early. And who did you go to? It seems that neither father nor grandfather were drunkards; there is nothing to say about mother: from birth, except for kvass, she deigned to take nothing in her mouth. And who's to blame? damn monsieur. Every now and then, he would run to Antipyevna: “Madame, wow, vodka.” So much for you! There is nothing to say: good instructed, dog son. And it was necessary to hire a basurman as uncles, as if the master had no more of his own people!

I was ashamed. I turned away and said to him: Get out, Savelich; I don't want tea. But Savelich was wise to calm down when he used to set about preaching. “You see, Pyotr Andreevich, what it’s like to play along. And the head is hard, and you don’t want to eat. A person who drinks is good for nothing ... Drink some cucumber pickle with honey, and it would be better to get drunk with half a glass of tincture. Would you order?

At this time, the boy came in and handed me a note from I. I. Zurin. I opened it and read the following lines:

“Dear Pyotr Andreevich, please send me with my boy a hundred rubles, which you lost to me yesterday. I am in dire need of money.

Ready for service

I> Ivan Zurin.

There was nothing to do. I assumed an air of indifference, and turning to Savelich, who was the caretaker of money and linen and my affairs, ordered me to give the boy a hundred rubles. "How! For what?" asked the astonished Savelich. “I owe them to him,” I replied with all possible coldness. - "Must!" - objected Savelich, hour by hour brought into greater amazement; “But when, sir, did you manage to owe him a debt? Something is not right. Your will, sir, but I will not give out money.

I thought that if I didn’t argue with the stubborn old man at this decisive moment, then later on it would be difficult for me to free myself from his guardianship, and looking at him proudly, I said: “I am your master, and you are my servant. My money. I lost them because I felt like it. And I advise you not to be smart, and do what you are ordered.

Savelich was so struck by my words that he clasped his hands and was dumbfounded. - Why are you standing there! I shouted angrily. Savelich wept. “Father Pyotr Andreich,” he said in a trembling voice, “do not kill me with sadness. You are my light! listen to me, old man: write to this robber that you were joking, that we don’t even have that kind of money. One hundred rubles! God you are merciful! Tell me that your parents firmly ordered you not to play, except for nuts ... "- It's full of lies," I interrupted sternly, "give the money here, or I'll drive you in the neck."

Savelich looked at me with deep sorrow and went to collect my duty. I felt sorry for the poor old man; but I wanted to break free and prove that I was no longer a child. The money was delivered to Zurin. Savelich hurried to take me out of the accursed tavern. He came with the news that the horses were ready. With a troubled conscience and silent remorse I left Simbirsk, without saying goodbye to my teacher and not thinking of seeing him again.

CHAPTER II. COUNSELOR

Is it my side, side,

Unfamiliar side!

Why didn't I come to you myself,

Is it not a good horse that brought me:

Brought me, good fellow,

Agility, valiant vivacity,

And khmelinushka tavern.
old song

My travel thoughts were not very pleasant. My loss, at the then prices, was important. I could not help confessing in my heart that my behavior in the Simbirsk tavern was stupid, and I felt guilty before Savelich. all this tormented me. The old man sat gloomily on the irradiation, turning away from me, and was silent, occasionally only grunting. I certainly wanted to make peace with him, and did not know where to start. Finally I said to him: “Well, well, Savelich! full, reconcile, guilty; I can see that it's my fault. I messed up yesterday, but I offended you in vain. I promise to be smarter and listen to you in the future. Well, don't be angry; let's make up."

Ah, Father Pyotr Andreevich! he answered with a deep sigh. - I'm angry with myself; I myself am to blame. How could I leave you alone in a tavern! What to do? Sin beguiled: he took it into his head to wander to the deacah, to see the godfather. So something: went to the godfather, but sat down in prison. Trouble and only! How will I appear before the eyes of the gentlemen? what will they say, how will they know that the child is drinking and playing.

In order to console poor Savelich, I gave him my word that I would never have a single penny at my disposal without his consent. Little by little he calmed down, although he still grumbled to himself from time to time, shaking his head: “A hundred roubles! is it easy!"

I was approaching my destination. Sad deserts stretched around me, criss-crossed by hills and ravines. everything was covered with snow. The sun was setting. The kibitka rode along a narrow road, or rather, along a trail laid by peasant sledges. Suddenly the coachman began to look away, and finally, taking off his hat, turned to me and said: “Master, would you order me to come back?”

What is this for?

“Time is unreliable: the wind rises slightly; “Look how he sweeps away the powder.”

What a trouble!

“Do you see what is there?” (The coachman pointed east with his whip.)

I see nothing but the white steppe and the clear sky.

"And over there - over there: this is a cloud."

I actually saw a white cloud at the edge of the sky, which at first I took for a distant mound. The coachman explained to me that the cloud foreshadowed a blizzard.

I heard about the mutineers there, and I knew that entire wagon trains were carried by them. Savelich, in accordance with the coachman's opinion, advised him to turn back. But the wind seemed to me not strong; I hoped to get to the next station in advance, and ordered to go faster.

The coachman galloped; but kept looking to the east. The horses ran together. The wind meanwhile grew stronger by the hour. The cloud turned to white cloud, which rose heavily, grew, and gradually hugged the sky. A fine snow began to fall - and suddenly it fell in flakes. The wind howled; became a blizzard. In an instant dark sky mingled with the snowy sea. everything is gone. “Well, sir,” the driver shouted, “trouble: a snowstorm!” ...

I looked out of the wagon: everything was dark and whirlwind. The wind howled with such fierce expressiveness that it seemed animated; the snow covered me and Savelich; the horses walked at a pace - and soon they stopped.

- "Why aren't you eating?" I asked the driver impatiently. - “Yes, why go? - he answered, getting down from the irradiation; God knows where they stopped: there is no road, and darkness is all around. - I began to scold him. Savelich interceded for him: “And the desire was not to obey,” he said angrily, “would return to the inn, eat tea, rest until morning, the storm would subside, we would go further. And where are we going? Welcome to the wedding!“ - Savelich was right. There was nothing to do. The snow fell like that. A snowdrift was rising near the wagon. The horses stood with bowed heads and occasionally trembling. The coachman walked around, having nothing to do, adjusting the harness. Savelich grumbled; I looked in all directions, hoping to see at least a sign of a vein or a road, but I could not distinguish anything except the muddy whirling of snowstorms ... Suddenly I saw something black. "Hey, coachman!" - I shouted - "look: what's blackening there?" The coachman began to peer. “But God knows, master,” he said, sitting down in his place: “the cart is not a cart, the tree is not a tree, but it seems that it is moving.” It must be either a wolf or a man.

I ordered to go to an unfamiliar object, which immediately began to move towards us. Two minutes later we caught up with the man. "Hey, good man!" the coachman shouted to him. - "Tell me, do you know where the road is?"

The road is here; I'm standing on a solid strip, - answered the roadman, - but what's the point?

Listen, man, - I said to him - do you know this side? Will you take me to bed for the night?

- “The side is familiar to me,” answered the roadman, “thank God, it is well-trodden, traveled along and across. Look what the weather is like: you’ll just go astray. It is better to stop here and wait, perhaps the storm will subside and the sky will clear up: then we will find the way by the stars.

His composure encouraged me. I had already decided, betraying myself to God's will, to spend the night in the middle of the steppe, when suddenly the roadman sat down nimbly on the box and said to the driver: “Well, thank God, they lived not far; turn right and go." - Why should I go to the right? asked the driver with displeasure. - Where do you see the road? I suppose: the horses are strangers, the collar is not your own, don’t stop chasing. - The coachman seemed right to me. “Indeed,” I said, “why do you think that you lived not far away?” “Because the wind pulled from there,” answered the traveler, “and I hear it smells of smoke; know the village is close. - His sharpness and subtlety of flair amazed me. I told the driver to go. The horses trod heavily in the deep snow. The kibitka moved quietly, now driving onto a snowdrift, now collapsing into a ravine and wading over to one side or the other. It was like sailing a ship on a stormy sea. Savelich groaned, constantly pushing against my sides. I lowered my mat, wrapped myself in a fur coat and dozed off, lulled by the singing of the storm and the rocking of a quiet ride.

I had a dream that I have never been able to forget, and in which I still see something prophetic when I reflect with it on the strange circumstances of my life. The reader will excuse me: for he probably knows from experience how akin to a person to indulge in superstition, in spite of all possible contempt for prejudice.

I was in that state of feelings and soul when materiality, yielding to dreams, merges with them in obscure visions of the first dream. It seemed to me that the storm was still raging, and we were still wandering through the snowy desert ... Suddenly I saw the gate, and drove into the manor yard of our estate. My first thought was the fear that the priest would not be angry with me for my involuntary return to my parents' roof, and would not consider it a deliberate disobedience. With anxiety, I jumped out of the wagon, and I see: mother meets me on the porch with an air of deep chagrin. “Hush,” she says to me, “father is ill at death and wants to say goodbye to you.” - Stricken with fear, I follow her into the bedroom. I see the room is dimly lit; people with sad faces are standing by the bed. I quietly approach the bed; Mother raises the curtain and says: “Andrei Petrovich, Petrusha has arrived; he returned when he learned about your illness; bless him." I knelt down and fixed my eyes on the patient. Well? ... Instead of my father, I see a man with a black beard lying in bed, looking at me cheerfully. I turned to my mother in bewilderment, saying to her: - What does this mean? This is not a dad. And why should I ask for blessings from a peasant? - “It doesn’t matter, Petrusha,” my mother answered me, “this is your planted father; kiss his hand and let him bless you ... ”I did not agree. Then the peasant jumped out of bed, grabbed the ax from behind his back, and began to wave in all directions. I wanted to run... and I couldn't; the room is filled dead bodies; I stumbled over bodies and slid in bloody puddles... A terrible peasant called me affectionately, saying: "Don't be afraid, come under my blessing..." Horror and bewilderment seized me... And at that moment I woke up; the horses were standing; Savelich tugged at my hand, saying: "Come out, sir; we've arrived."

Where have you arrived? I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"To the inn. The Lord helped, stumbled right on the fence. Come out, sir, hurry up and get warm.”

I got out of the kibitka. The storm still continued, although with less force. It was so dark that you could poke out your eyes. The owner met us at the gate, holding a lantern under the skirt, and led me into the chamber, which was cramped, but rather clean; the beam illuminated her. A rifle and a tall Cossack hat hung on the wall.

The owner, a Yaik Cossack by birth, seemed to be a peasant of about sixty, still fresh and vigorous. Savelich brought in a cellar after me, demanded a fire to prepare tea, which I never seemed to need so much. The owner went to work.

Where is the counselor? I asked Savelich.

“Here, your honor,” a voice answered me from above. I looked at the bed and saw a black beard and two sparkling eyes. - What, brother, vegetate? - “How not to vegetate in one thin Armenian coat. There was a sheepskin coat, but what's the sin to hide? laid the evening at the tsovalnik: the frost did not seem great. At that moment the owner entered with a boiling samovar; I offered our counselor a cup of tea; the man got down from the floor. His appearance seemed remarkable to me: he was about forty, medium height, thin and broad-shouldered. There was gray in his black beard; living large eyes and ran. His face had an expression rather pleasant, but roguish. Her hair was cut in a circle; he was wearing a tattered coat and Tatar trousers. I brought him a cup of tea; he took it and winced. “Your honor, do me such a favor, order me to bring a glass of wine; tea is not our Cossack drink. I gladly granted his wish. The owner took out a damask and a glass from the stall, went up to him, and looking into his face: “Ehe,” he said, “again you are in our land! Where did God bring it from? - My counselor blinked significantly and answered with a saying: “He flew into the garden and pecked hemp; grandmother threw a pebble - yes by. Well, what about yours?

Yes, ours! - answered the owner, continuing the allegorical conversation. - They began to call for vespers, but the priest does not order: the priest is visiting, the devil is in the churchyard. - “Be quiet, uncle,” my tramp objected, “it will rain, there will be fungi; and there will be fungi, there will be a body. And now (here he blinked again) plug the ax behind your back: the forester walks. Your honor! For your health!" - At these words, he took a glass, crossed himself and drank in one breath. Then he bowed to me and returned to the bed.

At that time I could not understand anything from this thieves' conversation, but afterward I guessed that it was about the affairs of the Yaitsky army, which at that time had just been pacified after the 1772 riot. Savelich listened with an air of great displeasure. He glanced suspiciously first at the owner, then at the counselor. The inn, or, according to the locals, umet, was on the sidelines, in the steppe, far from any village, and looked very much like a robber's pier. But there was nothing to be done. It was impossible to think about continuing the path. Savelich's uneasiness amused me greatly. In the meantime, I settled down for the night and lay down on a bench. Savelich made up his mind to get out on the stove; the owner lay down on the floor. Soon the whole hut was snoring, and I fell asleep like the dead.

When I woke up quite late in the morning, I saw that the storm had subsided. The sun was shining. Snow lay in a dazzling shroud on the boundless steppe. The horses were harnessed. I paid the landlord, who took such a moderate payment from us that even Savelich did not argue with him and did not bargain in his usual way, and yesterday's suspicions completely disappeared from his head. I called the counselor, thanked him for the help, and ordered Savelich to give him half a ruble for vodka. Savelich frowned. "Half a vodka!" he said, “what is it for? Because you deigned to give him a ride to the inn? Your will, sir: we don't have extra fifty dollars. Give everyone for vodka, so you yourself will soon have to starve. I couldn't argue with Savelich. The money, according to my promise, was at his full disposal. I was annoyed, however, that I could not thank the person who helped me out, if not out of trouble, then at least out of a very unpleasant situation. Good - I said coolly; - if you do not want to give half a ruble, then take something out of my dress for him. He is dressed too lightly. Give him my bunny coat.

“Have mercy, father Pyotr Andreevich!” Savelich said. - “Why does he need your bunny coat? He will drink it, the dog, in the first tavern.

This, old lady, is no longer your sadness, - said my tramp, - whether I drink or not. His nobility favors me with a fur coat from his shoulder: it is his master's will, and your serf's business is not to argue and obey.

“You are not afraid of God, robber!” Savelich answered him in an angry voice. “You see that the child still does not understand, and you are glad to rob him, for the sake of his simplicity. Why do you need a lord's sheepskin coat? You won't put it on your accursed shoulders."

Please do not be smart, - I said to my uncle; - Now bring the sheepskin coat here.

"Lord Lord!" moaned my Savelich. - “The bunny sheepskin coat is almost brand new! and it would be good for someone, otherwise a bare drunkard!

However, the rabbit coat appeared. The man immediately began to try it on. In fact, the sheepskin coat, from which I also managed to grow, was a little narrow for him. However, he somehow managed to put it on, ripping at the seams. Savelich almost howled when he heard the threads crackle. The tramp was extremely pleased with my gift. He escorted me to the wagon and said with a low bow: “Thank you, your honor! God bless you for your virtue. I will never forget your favors." - He went in his direction, and I went further, not paying attention to Savelich's annoyance, and soon forgot about yesterday's blizzard, about my leader and about the rabbit coat.

Arriving in Orenburg, I went straight to the general. I saw a tall man, but already hunched over by old age. Long hair his were completely white. The old, faded uniform resembled a warrior from the time of Anna Ioannovna, and his speech had a strong German accent. I gave him a letter from my father. At his name, he glanced at me quickly: "Pozhe my!" - he said. - “Is it true, it seems that Andrei Petrovich was still your age, and now what a hammer he has! Ah, fremya, fremya! He opened the letter and began to read it in an undertone, making his remarks. “Dear Sir Andrei Karlovich, I hope that Your Excellency”… What kind of ceremony is this? Phew, how embarrassing for him! Of course: discipline is the first thing, but is this how they write to an old comrade? .. “Your Excellency has not forgotten” ... hm ... and ... when ... the late Field Marshal Ming ... campaign ... also ... Caroline ... Ehe, brooder! so he still remembers our old pranks? “Now about the case ... To you my rake” ... um ... “keep it in a tight rein” ... What are Yesheva mittens? It must be a Russian proverb… he repeated, turning to me.

This means, - I answered him with an air as innocent as possible, - to be kind, not too strict, to give more freedom, to keep in black gloves.

“Hm, I understand… ‘and don’t let him go’… no, it’s obvious that Yesheva’s mittens don’t mean that… ‘At the same time… his passport’… Where is he? And, here ... “to unsubscribe to Semenovsky” ... Well, well: everything will be done ... “Let me hug myself without ranks and ... an old comrade and friend” - ah! finally guessed ... and so on and so forth ... Well, father, - he said, after reading the letter and putting my passport aside - everything will be done: you will be an officer transferred to the *** regiment, and so as not to waste your time, then go tomorrow to the Belogorsk fortress, where you will be in the team of Captain Mironov, a kind and honest person. There you will be in the service of the present, you will learn discipline. There is nothing for you to do in Orenburg; scattering is harmful young man. And today you are welcome: dine with me.

Time after time it doesn't get any easier! I thought to myself; what did it serve me that even in the womb I was already a sergeant of the guard! Where did it take me? To a regiment and to a remote fortress on the border of the Kirghiz-Kaisak steppes! .. I dined with Andrei Karlovich, the three of us with his old adjutant. Strict German economy reigned at his table, and I think that the fear of sometimes seeing an extra guest at my idle meal was partly the reason for my hasty removal to the garrison. The next day I said goodbye to the general and went to my destination.

CHAPTER III. FORTRESS.

We live in a fort

We eat bread and drink water;

And how fierce enemies

They will come to us for pies,

Let's give the guests a feast:

Let's load the cannon.

Soldier song.

Old people, my father.
Undergrowth.

Belogorsk fortress was located forty miles from Orenburg. The road went along the steep bank of the Yaik. The river had not yet frozen over, and its leaden waves gleamed mournfully in the monotonous banks covered with white snow. Behind them stretched the Kirghiz steppes. I plunged into reflections, mostly sad. Garrison life had little attraction for me. I tried to imagine Captain Mironov, my future chief, and imagined him as a strict, angry old man who knew nothing but his service and was ready to put me under arrest on bread and water for every trifle. Meanwhile, it began to get dark. We drove pretty fast. - Is it far from the fortress? I asked my driver. "Not far," he replied. - "It's already visible." - I looked in all directions, expecting to see formidable bastions, towers and ramparts; but he saw nothing but a village surrounded by a log fence. On one side were three or four stacks of hay, half covered with snow; on the other, a crooked windmill, with popular print wings lazily lowered. - Where is the fortress? I asked in surprise. - “Yes, here it is,” the driver answered, pointing to the village, and with this word we drove into it. At the gate I saw an old cast-iron cannon; the streets were cramped and crooked; the huts are low and mostly covered with straw. I ordered to go to the commandant and a minute later the wagon stopped in front of a wooden house built on a high place, near the wooden church.

Nobody met me. I went into the hallway and opened the front door. An old invalid, sitting on a table, was sewing a blue patch on the elbow of his green uniform. I told him to report me. “Come in, father,” answered the invalid: “our houses.” I entered a clean room, decorated in the old fashioned way. In the corner stood a cupboard with dishes; on the wall hung an officer's diploma behind glass and in a frame; flaunted around him lubok pictures representing the capture of Kistrin and Ochakov, as well as the choice of the bride and the burial of the cat. At the window sat an old woman in a padded jacket and with a scarf on her head. She was unwinding the threads, which she held, uncrossed on her hands, a crooked old man in an officer's uniform. "What do you want, father?" she asked, continuing her work. I answered that I had come to the service and appeared on my duty to the captain, and with this word I turned to the crooked old man, mistaking him for the commandant; but the hostess interrupted my hardened speech. “Ivan Kuzmich is not at home,” she said; - “he went to visit Father Gerasim; it doesn't matter, father, I'm his mistress. Please love and respect. Sit down, father." She called the girl and told her to call the constable. The old man looked at me with his lonely eye with curiosity. "I dare to ask," he said; - "In which regiment did you deign to serve?" I satisfied his curiosity. “But I dare to ask,” he continued, “why did you deign to move from the guard to the garrison?” - I answered that such was the will of the authorities. “Certainly, for indecent actions of an officer of the guard,” continued the indefatigable questioner. - “It’s full of lies to trifles,” the captain told him: “you see, the young man is tired from the road; he is not up to you ... (keep your arms straighter ...) And you, my father, ”she continued, turning to me,“ do not be sad that you have been taken to our outback. You are not the first, you are not the last. Endure, fall in love. Shvabrin Alexei Ivanovich has been transferred to us for the fifth year for murder. God knows what sin beguiled him; he, if you please, went out of town with one lieutenant, and they took swords with them, and, well, they stab each other; and Alexey Ivanovich stabbed the lieutenant to death, and even with two witnesses! What are you supposed to do? There is no master for sin."

At that moment the sergeant entered, a young and stately Cossack. "Maximych!" the captain told him. - "Take Mr. Officer an apartment, but cleaner." - "I'm listening, Vasilisa Yegorovna," answered the constable. - “Should not place his nobility with Ivan Polezhaev?” - “You're lying, Maksimych,” said the captain: “Polezhaev is already so crowded; he is my godfather and remembers that we are his bosses. Take Mr. Officer ... what is your name and patronymic, my father? Pyotr Andreevich? Take Pyotr Andreevich to Semyon Kuzov. He, a swindler, let his horse into my garden. Well, Maksimych, is everything all right?

Everything, thank God, is quiet, - answered the Cossack; - only corporal Prokhorov had a fight in the bath with Ustinya Negulina for a gang of hot water.

"Ivan Ignatich! - said the captain to the crooked old man. - “Disassemble Prokhorov with Ustinya, who is right, who is wrong. Yes, punish them both. Well, Maksimych, go with God. Pyotr Andreevich, Maksimych will take you to your apartment.

I bowed out. The constable led me to a hut that stood on the high bank of the river, on the very edge of the fortress. Half of the hut was occupied by the family of Semyon Kuzov, the other was taken to me. It consisted of one room, a fairly neat room, divided in two by a partition. Savelich began to dispose of it; I began to look out the narrow window. Before me stretched the sad steppe. Several huts stood obliquely; several hens wandered along the street, the old woman, standing on the porch with a trough, called the pigs, who answered her with friendly grunts. And this is the direction in which I was condemned to spend my youth! Longing took me; I moved away from the window and went to bed without supper, despite the exhortations of Savelich, who repeated with contrition: “Lord, Vladyka! nothing to eat! What will the lady say if the child becomes ill?

The next day, in the morning, I had just begun to dress, when the door opened and a young officer of short stature entered me, with a swarthy face and remarkably ugly, but extremely lively. “Excuse me,” he said to me in French, “that I come to meet you without ceremony. Yesterday I learned of your arrival; desire to finally see human face took possession of me so much that I could not stand it. You will understand this when you live here a little more time. - I guessed that it was an officer discharged from the guard for a duel. We got to know each other right away. Shvabrin was not very stupid. His conversation was sharp and entertaining. With great cheerfulness he described to me the commandant's family, its society, and the region where fate had taken me. I laughed at pure heart when the same disabled person who was repairing the uniform in the commandant's anteroom entered me, and on behalf of Vasilisa Yegorovna invited me to dine with them. Shvabrin volunteered to go with me.

Approaching the commandant's house, we saw about twenty old invalids with long braids and three-cornered hats on the platform. They were lined up in front. In front stood the commandant, a cheerful old man and tall, in a cap and in a Chinese robe. Seeing us, he approached us, said a few kind words to me, and again began to command. We stopped to look at the doctrine; but he asked us to go to Vasilisa Yegorovna, promising to follow us. “And here,” he added, “there is nothing for you to see.”

Vasilisa Egorovna received us easily and cordially, and treated me as if she had known me for a century. The invalid and Palashka laid the table. “What is it that my Ivan Kuzmich learned so much today!” - said the commandant. - “Palashka, call the master for dinner. But where is Masha? - Here came a girl of about eighteen, round-faced, ruddy, with light-brown hair, combed smoothly behind her ears, which were on fire in her. At first glance, I didn't like her very much. I looked at her with prejudice: Shvabrin described Masha, the captain's daughter, to me as a complete fool. Marya Ivanovna sat down in a corner and began to sew. Meanwhile, cabbage soup was served. Vasilisa Yegorovna, not seeing her husband, sent Palashka for him a second time. “Tell the master: the guests are waiting, cabbage soup will get cold; thank God, learning will not go away; will be able to scream." - The captain soon appeared, accompanied by a crooked old man. "What is it, my father?" his wife told him. - "The food has been served a long time ago, but you will not be called." - And you hear, Vasilisa Yegorovna, - answered Ivan Kuzmich, - I was busy with the service: I taught soldiers.

"And, complete!" the captain retorted. - “Only glory that you teach soldiers: neither service is given to them, nor you know the sense in it. I would sit at home and pray to God; that would be better. Dear guests, welcome to the table.

We sat down to have lunch. Vasilisa Yegorovna did not stop for a minute and showered me with questions: who are my parents, are they alive, where do they live and what is their condition? Hearing that the priest has three hundred souls of peasants, “Is it easy!” - she said; “After all, there are rich people in the world! And with us, my father, there is only one shower girl Palashka; thank God, we live little by little. One trouble: Masha; a marriageable girl, and what dowry does she have? a frequent comb, and a broom, and an altyn of money (God forgive me!), with which to go to the bathhouse. Well, if there is a kind person; otherwise sit yourself in the girls as an eternal bride. - I looked at Marya Ivanovna; she blushed all over, and even tears dripped onto her plate. I felt sorry for her; and I hastened to change the conversation. “I heard,” I said rather inappropriately, “that the Bashkirs are going to attack your fortress. - “From whom, father, did you deign to hear this?” asked Ivan Kuzmich. - I was told so in Orenburg, - I answered. "Nonsense!" - said the commandant. “We haven’t heard anything in a long time. The Bashkirs are a frightened people, and the Kyrgyz are taught a lesson. Probably, they won’t turn on us; but if they poke their noses in, I’ll set such a wit that I’ll calm down for ten years. ” “And you are not afraid,” I continued, turning to the captain, “to remain in a fortress exposed to such dangers?” “A habit, my father,” she answered. - “It’s been twenty years since we were transferred here from the regiment, and God forbid, how I was afraid of these damned infidels! As I envy, it used to be, lynx hats, but as soon as I hear their squeal, do you believe it, my father, my heart will stop! And now I’m so used to it that I won’t even move when they come to tell us that the villains are prowling near the fortress. ”

Vasilisa Yegorovna is a very brave lady, Shvabrin remarked importantly. - Ivan Kuzmich can testify to this.

“Yes, you hear,” said Ivan Kuzmich: “a woman is not a timid ten.”

And Marya Ivanovna? - I asked: - is it as brave as you?

"Did Masha dare?" her mother replied. - “No, Masha is a coward. Until now, he cannot hear a shot from a gun: he will tremble. And just as two years ago Ivan Kuzmich came up with the idea of ​​shooting from our cannon on my name day, so she, my dear, almost went to the next world out of fear. Since then, we haven’t fired from the damned cannon.”

We got up from the table. The captain and the captain's wife went to bed; and I went to Shvabrin, with whom I spent the whole evening.

CHAPTER IV. DUEL.

- Ying if you please, and become the same in positura.

Look, I'll pierce your figure!
Knyazhnin.

Several weeks passed, and my life in the Belogorsk fortress became for me not only tolerable, but even pleasant. In the commandant's house I was accepted as a native. Husband and wife were the most respectable people. Ivan Kuzmich, who came out of the soldiers' children as an officer, was an uneducated and simple man, but the most honest and kind. His wife managed him, which was consistent with his carelessness. Vasilisa Yegorovna looked at the affairs of the service as if they were her own, and managed the fortress as precisely as she did her house. Marya Ivanovna soon stopped being shy with me. We met. I found in her a prudent and sensitive girl. In a subtle way I became attached to a good family, even to Ivan Ignatich, a crooked garrison lieutenant, about whom Shvabrin invented that he was in an inadmissible relationship with Vasilisa Yegorovna, which had not the slightest shadow of plausibility: but Shvabrin did not worry about that.

I was promoted to officer. The service didn't bother me. In the God-saved fortress there were no reviews, no teachings, no guards. The commandant, out of his own free will, sometimes taught his soldiers; but he still could not get them all to know which side is right and which is left, although many of them, in order not to be mistaken in this, put the sign of the cross on themselves before each turn. Shvabrin had several French books. I began to read, and a desire for literature awakened in me. In the mornings I read, practiced translations, and sometimes composing poetry. I almost always dined at the commandant's, where I usually spent the rest of the day, and where Father Gerasim sometimes appeared in the evening with his wife Akulina Pamfilovna, the first gossip in the whole neighborhood. Of course, I saw AI Shvabrin every day; but hour by hour his conversation became less agreeable to me. I didn't like his constant jokes about the commandant's family, especially his caustic remarks about Marya Ivanovna. There was no other society in the fortress, but I did not want another.

Despite the predictions, the Bashkirs were not indignant. Tranquility reigned around our fortress. But the peace was interrupted by a sudden internecine strife.

I have already said that I was engaged in literature. My experiments, for those times, were fair, and Alexander Petrovich Sumarokov, a few years later, praised them very much. Once I managed to write a song, which I was pleased with. It is known that writers sometimes, under the guise of demanding advice, look for a benevolent listener. So, having rewritten my song, I took it to Shvabrin, who alone in the whole fortress could appreciate the works of the poet. After a short preface, I took my notebook out of my pocket and read to him the following verses:

Destroying the thought of love,

I try to forget the beautiful

And ah, avoiding Masha,

I think the liberty to get!

But the eyes that captivated me

All the time before me;

They disturbed my spirit

They destroyed my peace.

You, having recognized my misfortunes,

Have pity, Masha, over me;

In vain me in this fierce part,

And that I am captivated by you.

How do you find it? I asked Shvabrin, expecting praise, like a tribute, which I would certainly follow. But to my great annoyance, Shvabrin, usually condescending, decisively announced that my song was not good.

Why is that? I asked him, hiding my annoyance.

“Because,” he answered, “such poems are worthy of my teacher, Vasily Kirilych Tredyakovsky, and very much remind me of his love couplets”

Then he took the notebook from me and began mercilessly to analyze every verse and every word, mocking me in the most caustic way. I could not stand it, tore my notebook out of his hands and said that I would not show him my compositions in my life. Shvabrin laughed at this threat too. “Let's see,” he said, “whether you keep your word: poets need a listener, like Ivan Kuzmich needs a decanter of vodka before dinner. And who is this Masha, before whom you express yourself in tender passion and in love adversity? Isn't it Marya Ivanovna?

It's none of your business, - I answered with a frown, - whoever this Masha is. I don't want your opinion or your guesses.

"Wow! Proud poet and humble lover!” continued Shvabrin, irritating me more from hour to hour; - "but listen to friendly advice: if you want to be in time, then I advise you to act not with songs."

What does this mean, sir? Feel free to explain.

“With pleasure. This means that if you want Masha Mironova to come to you at dusk, then instead of gentle rhymes, give her a pair of earrings.

My blood boiled. - And why do you think so about her? I asked, holding back my indignation with difficulty.

“Because,” he answered with a hellish smile, “I know from experience her temper and custom.”

You lie, you bastard! I cried furiously, “you lie in the most shameless way.

Shvabrin's face changed. "It won't work for you," he said, squeezing my hand. - "You will give me satisfaction."

Please; when you want to! I answered, delighted. At that moment I was ready to tear him to pieces.

I immediately went to Ivan Ignatich, and found him with a needle in his hands: on the instructions of the commandant, he was stringing mushrooms for drying for the winter. "Ah, Pyotr Andreevich!" - he said when he saw me; - "Welcome! How did God bring you? on what matter, dare I ask?" I briefly explained to him that I had quarreled with Alexei Ivanovich, and I asked him, Ivan Ignatich, to be my second. Ivan Ignatich listened to me with attention, staring at me with his only eye. “You are kind enough to say,” he said to me, “what do you want to stab Alexei Ivanovich and want me to be a witness to? Is not it? dare to ask."

Exactly.

“Have mercy, Pyotr Andreevich! What are you up to! Did you quarrel with Alexei Ivanovich? Great trouble! Hard words break no bones. He scolded you, and you scold him; he is in your snout, and you are in his ear, in the other, in the third - and disperse; and we will reconcile you. And then: is it a good deed to stab your neighbor, I dare to ask? And it would be good if you stabbed him: God be with him, with Alexei Ivanovich; I am not a hunter myself. Well, what if he drills you? What will it look like? Who will be the fool, dare I ask?”

The reasoning of the prudent lieutenant did not shake me. I stayed with my intention. “As you wish,” said Ivan Ignatich, “do as you please. Why am I here to be a witness? Why? People are fighting, what kind of unseen, dare I ask? Thank God, I went under the Swede and under the Turk: I had seen enough of everything.

I somehow began to explain to him the position of a second, but Ivan Ignatich could not understand me. "Your will," he said. - “If I have to intervene in this matter, is it really possible to go to Ivan Kuzmich and inform him on duty that villainy is planned in the fort that is contrary to state interest: wouldn’t it be prudent for the commandant to take appropriate measures ...”

I was frightened and began to ask Ivan Ignatich not to say anything to the commandant; persuaded him by force; he gave me his word, and I decided to back down from him.

I spent the evening, as usual, at the commandant's. I tried to appear cheerful and indifferent, so as not to arouse any suspicion and avoid annoying questions; but I confess that I did not have that composure, which is almost always boasted by those who were in my position. That evening I was disposed towards tenderness and tenderness. I liked Marya Ivanovna more than usual. Thought that maybe see her in last time gave her something touching in my eyes. Shvabrin appeared immediately. I took him aside and informed him of my conversation with Ivan Ignatich. “Why do we need seconds,” he said to me dryly: “we can do without them.” We agreed to fight for stacks that were near the fortress, and to appear there the next day at seven o'clock in the morning. We talked, apparently, so friendly that Ivan Ignatich blabbed for joy. “It would have been like that for a long time,” he said to me with a pleased look; - "a bad world is better than a good quarrel, but also dishonest, so healthy."

"What, what, Ivan Ignatich?" - said the commandant, who was reading cards in the corner: - "I did not listen carefully."

Ivan Ignatich, noticing signs of displeasure in me and remembering his promise, became embarrassed and did not know what to answer. Shvabrin arrived in time to help him.

"Ivan Ignatich" - he said - "approves of our world peace."

And with whom, my father, did you quarrel? "

"We had a rather big argument with Pyotr Andreevich."

Why so?

"For a mere trifle: for a song, Vasilisa Yegorovna."

Found something to quarrel about! for the song! ... but how did it happen?

“Yes, here's how: Pyotr Andreevich recently composed a song and today sang it in front of me, and I dragged on mine, my favorite:

captain's daughter

Don't go for a walk at midnight.

Disorder came out. Pyotr Andreevich was also angry; but then he reasoned that everyone is free to sing whatever they want. That's how it ended."

Shvabrin's shamelessness nearly made me mad; but no one, except me, understood his rude blunt words; at least no one paid any attention to them. From songs, the conversation turned to poets, and the commandant noticed that they were all dissolute people and bitter drunkards, and friendly advised me to leave poetry, as it is contrary to the service and leading to nothing good.

Shvabrin's presence was intolerable to me. I soon took leave of the commandant and his family; having come home, examined his sword, tried its end, and went to bed, ordering Savelich to wake me up at the seventh hour.

The next day, at the appointed time, I was already behind the stacks, waiting for my opponent. Soon he also appeared. “We might be caught,” he told me; - "We must hurry." We took off our uniforms, remained in the same camisoles and drew our swords. At that moment, Ivan Ignatitch suddenly appeared from behind a stack and about five invalids. He demanded us to the commandant. We obeyed with vexation; the soldiers surrounded us, and we went to the fortress after Ivan Ignatich, who led us in triumph, striding with surprising importance.

We entered the commandant's house. Ivan Ignatich opened the doors, solemnly proclaiming "brought in!" We were met by Vasilisa Yegorovna. "Ah, my fathers! What does it look like? How? What? in our fortress start killing! Ivan Kuzmich, now they are under arrest! Pyotr Andreevich! Alexei Ivanovich! bring your swords here, serve, serve. Palashka, take these swords to the closet. Pyotr Andreevich! I didn't expect this from you. How are you not ashamed? Good Alexey Ivanovich: he was discharged from the guards for murder, he does not believe in the Lord God; and what are you? are you going there?"

Ivan Kuzmich fully agreed with his wife and said: “Do you hear, Vasilisa Yegorovna speaks the truth. Fights are formally prohibited in the military article. Meanwhile Palashka took our swords from us and took them to the closet. I couldn't help laughing. Shvabrin retained his importance. “With all due respect to you,” he said to her coolly, “I can’t help but notice that you need not worry about putting us under your judgment. Leave it to Ivan Kuzmich: that's his business." - Ah! my dad! - the commandant objected; Are not husband and wife one spirit and one flesh? Ivan Kuzmich! What are you yawning? Now spread them out different angles for bread and water, so that their foolishness will pass; yes, let Father Gerasim impose penance on them, so that they pray to God for forgiveness, and repent before people.

Ivan Kuzmich did not know what to decide. Marya Ivanovna was extremely pale. Little by little the storm subsided; The commandant calmed down and made us kiss each other. Palashka brought us our swords. We left the commandant apparently reconciled. Ivan Ignatich accompanied us. "Aren't you ashamed," I told him angrily, "to denounce us to the commandant after you gave me your word not to do that?" - "Like God is holy, I did not tell Ivan Kuzmich" - he answered; - “Vasilisa Egorovna found out everything from me. She ordered everything without the knowledge of the commandant. However, thank God that it all ended like that. With that word, he turned back home, and Shvabrin and I were left alone. “Our business cannot end with this,” I told him. "Of course," replied Shvabrin; - “You will answer me with your blood for your insolence; but we will probably be looked after. We'll have to pretend for a few days. Goodbye!" - And we parted, as if nothing had happened.

Returning to the commandant, I, as usual, sat down with Marya Ivanovna. Ivan Kuzmich was not at home; Vasilisa Egorovna was busy with housework. We spoke in undertones. Marya Ivanovna tenderly reprimanded me for the anxiety caused by my whole quarrel with Shvabrin. “I just died,” she said, “when they told us that you were going to fight with swords. How strange men are! For one word, which they would surely forget about in a week, they are ready to cut themselves and sacrifice not only their lives, but also the conscience and well-being of those who ... But I am sure that you are not the instigator of the quarrel. Aleksey Ivanych is surely to blame."

And why do you think so, Marya Ivanovna? "

“Yes, so ... he is such a mocker! I don't like Alexei Ivanovich. He is very disgusting to me; but it is strange: I would never want him to dislike me in the same way. That would have worried me.”

What do you think, Marya Ivanovna? Does he like you or not?

Marya Ivanovna stammered and blushed. “I think,” she said, “I think I like you.”

Why do you think so?

"Because he married me."

Wooed! Did he marry you? When? "

"Last year. Two months before your arrival.

And you didn't go?

“As you wish to see. Aleksei Ivanovich, of course, is an intelligent man, and of a good family, and has a fortune; but when I think that it will be necessary to kiss him under the crown in front of everyone ... No way! for no welfare!”

Marya Ivanovna's words opened my eyes and explained a lot to me. I understood the stubborn slander with which Shvabrin persecuted her. He probably noticed our mutual inclination and tried to distract us from each other. The words that gave rise to our quarrel seemed to me even more vile when, instead of coarse and obscene mockery, I saw in them deliberate slander. The desire to punish the insolent evil-tonguer became even stronger in me, and I began to look forward to an opportunity.

I didn't wait long. The next day, when I was sitting at an elegy and nibbling my pen in anticipation of a rhyme, Shvabrin knocked at my window. I left my pen, took my sword and went out to him. "Why delay?" Shvabrin told me: “They don’t look after us. Let's go to the river. No one will stop us there." We set off in silence. Descending a steep path, we stopped at the very edge of the river and drew our swords. Shvabrin was more skilful than I, but I am stronger and bolder, and Monsieur Beaupré, who was once a soldier, gave me several lessons in swordsmanship, which I took advantage of. Shvabrin did not expect to find such a dangerous adversary in me. For a long time we could not do each other any harm; Finally, noticing that Shvabrin was weakening, I began to attack him with vigor and drove him almost into the river itself. Suddenly I heard my name spoken loudly. I looked around and saw Savelich running towards me along the upland path……. At that very moment I was stung violently in the chest below the right shoulder; I fell and fainted.

CHAPTER V. LOVE.

Oh, girl, red girl!

Do not go, girl, young married;

You ask, girl, father, mother,

Father, mother, clan-tribe;

Save up, girl, mind-reason,

Uma-reason, dowry.

Folk song.

If you find me better, you will forget.

If you find me worse, you will remember.

Same.
When I woke up, for some time I could not come to my senses and did not understand what had happened to me. I was lying on a bed, in an unfamiliar room, and felt very weak. Before me stood Savelitch with a candle in his hands. Someone carefully developed the bandages with which my chest and shoulder were pulled together. Little by little my thoughts cleared up. I remembered my duel, and guessed that I was wounded. At that moment the door creaked open. "What? what?" whispered a voice that made me tremble. - all in one position, - Savelich answered with a sigh; - all without memory, for the fifth day. I wanted to turn around, but I couldn't. - Where I am? Who is there? I said with an effort. Marya Ivanovna came up to my bed and leaned towards me. "What? How are you feeling?" - she said. “Thank God,” I replied in a weak voice. - Is that you, Marya Ivanovna? tell me ... - I was unable to continue and fell silent. Savelich gasped. Joy showed on his face. “I came to my senses! came to his senses!" he repeated. “Glory to you, my lord! Well, Father Pyotr Andreevich! you scared me! is it easy? fifth day! Marya Ivanovna interrupted his speech. "Don't talk to him much, Savelich," she said. - "He's still weak." She went out and quietly closed the door. My thoughts were worried. And so I was in the commandant's house, Marya Ivanovna came in to see me. I wanted to put some questions to Savelich, but the old man shook his head and plugged his ears. I closed my eyes in annoyance and soon fell asleep.

When I woke up, I called Savelich, and instead of him I saw Marya Ivanovna in front of me; her angelic voice greeted me. I cannot express the sweet feeling that took possession of me at that moment. I grabbed her hand and clung to it, shedding tears of tenderness. Masha did not tear it off ... and suddenly her lips touched my cheek, and I felt their hot and fresh kiss. Fire ran through me. “Dear, kind Marya Ivanovna,” I said to her, “be my wife, agree to my happiness.” - She came to her senses. “For God's sake, calm down,” she said, taking her hand from me. “You are still in danger: the wound may open. Save yourself for me." With that, she left, leaving me in a rapture of delight. Happiness revived me. She will be mine! she loves Me! This thought filled my entire existence.

Since then, I have been getting better every hour. The regimental barber treated me, for there was no other doctor in the fortress, and, thank God, he did not play smart. Youth and nature hastened my recovery. the whole family of the commandant took care of me. Marya Ivanovna never left my side. Of course, at the first opportunity, I took up the interrupted explanation, and Marya Ivanovna listened to me more patiently. She confessed to me, without any affectation, her inclination of the heart, and said that her parents would, of course, be glad of her happiness. “But think carefully,” she added, “won’t there be obstacles from your relatives?”

I thought. I had no doubts about my mother's tenderness; but, knowing my father's temper and way of thinking, I felt that my love would not touch him too much, and that he would look at her as a whim of a young man. I frankly confessed this to Marya Ivanovna, and nevertheless decided to write to the priest as eloquently as possible, asking for my parents' blessing. I showed the letter to Marya Ivanovna, who found it so convincing and touching that she did not doubt its success, and gave herself up to the feelings of her tender heart with all the gullibility of youth and love.

I made peace with Shvabrin in the first days of my convalescence. Ivan Kuzmich, reprimanding me for the duel, said to me: “Oh, Pyotr Andreevich! I should have put you under arrest, but you are already punished without that. And Alexey Ivanovich is still sitting in my bakery under guard, and Vasilisa Yegorovna has his sword under lock and key. Let him think for himself, but repent. “I was too happy to keep a feeling of hostility in my heart. I began to ask for Shvabrin, and the good commandant, with the consent of his wife, decided to release him. Shvabrin came to me; he expressed deep regret for what had happened between us; admitted that he was guilty all around, and asked me to forget about the past. Being by nature not vindictive, I sincerely forgave him both our quarrel and the wound I received from him. I saw in his slander the annoyance of offended pride and rejected love, and generously excused my unfortunate rival.

I soon recovered and was able to move into my apartment. I eagerly waited for an answer to the sent letter, not daring to hope, and trying to drown out sad forebodings. With Vasilisa Egorovna and with her husband I have not yet explained; but my suggestion should not have surprised them. Neither Marya Ivanovna nor I tried to hide our feelings from them, and we were sure in advance of their consent.

Finally, one morning, Savelich came to me, holding a letter in his hands. I grabbed it with trepidation. The address was written by the father's hand. This prepared me for something important, for my mother usually wrote letters to me, and he added a few lines at the end. I did not open the package for a long time and re-read the solemn inscription: "To my son Pyotr Andreevich Grinev, to the Orenburg province, to the Belogorsk fortress." I tried to guess from the handwriting the mood in which the letter was written; finally he decided to print it out, and from the first lines he saw that the whole thing had gone to hell. The content of the letter was as follows:

“My son Peter! Your letter, in which you ask us for our parental blessing and consent to marry Marya Ivanovna, daughter of Mironova, we received on the 15th of this month, and not only do I not intend to give you my blessing or my consent, but I also intend to to get to you, but for your leprosy to teach you the way, like a boy, despite your officer rank: for you proved that you are still unworthy to wear a sword, which was granted to you for the defense of the fatherland, and not for duels with the same tomboys like you myself. I will immediately write to Andrei Karlovich, asking him to transfer you from the Belogorsk fortress to somewhere far away, wherever your foolishness has passed. Your mother, having learned about your duel and that you were wounded, fell ill with grief and now lies. What will become of you? I pray to God that you improve, although I do not dare to hope for his great mercy.

Your father A. G. "

Reading this letter aroused different feelings in me. The cruel expressions, which the priest did not stint, deeply offended me. The disdain with which he mentioned Marya Ivanovna seemed to me as obscene as it was unfair. The thought of my transfer from the Belogorsk fortress terrified me; but what upset me most was the news of my mother's illness. I was indignant at Savelich, having no doubt that my duel became known to my parents through him. Walking back and forth across my cramped room, I stopped in front of him and said, looking at him menacingly: “You can see that it’s not enough for you that, thanks to you, I was wounded and spent a whole month on the edge of the coffin: you want to kill my mother too. - Savelich was struck like thunder. “Have mercy, sir,” he said, almost sobbing, “what are you talking about? I'm the reason you were hurt! God sees, I ran to shield you with my chest from the sword of Alexei Ivanovich! Damn old age got in the way. But what have I done to your mother?” - What did you do? I answered. - Who asked you to write denunciations against me? are you assigned to me as a spy? - "I? wrote denunciations against you? Savelich answered with tears. “O Lord, the king of heaven! So if you please read what the master writes to me: you will see how I denounced you. Then he took a letter out of his pocket, and I read the following:

“Shame on you, old dog, that you, despite my strict orders, did not inform me about my son Pyotr Andreevich and that outsiders are forced to notify me of his pranks. Is this how you fulfill your position and master's will? I love you, old dog! I will send pigs to graze for concealing the truth and indulging a young man. Upon receipt of this, I order you to immediately write to me, what is his health now, about which they write to me that he has recovered; Yes, in what place was he wounded and whether he was well healed.

It was obvious that Savelitch had been right before me, and that I had needlessly offended him with reproach and suspicion. I asked his forgiveness; but the old man was inconsolable. “This is what I have lived up to,” he repeated; - “Here are the favors he has risen from his masters! I am an old dog and a swineherd, but am I also the cause of your wound? No, Father Pyotr Andreevich! it’s not me, the accursed monsieur is to blame for everything: he taught you to poke with iron skewers, and to stamp, as if by poking and stomping you will protect yourself from evil person! It was necessary to hire Monsieur and spend extra money!

But who took the trouble to notify my father of my behavior? General? But he didn't seem to care much for me; and Ivan Kuzmich did not consider it necessary to report on my duel. I was at a loss. My suspicions settled on Shvabrin. He alone had the benefit of a denunciation, which could result in my removal from the fortress and a break with the commandant's family. I went to announce everything to Marya Ivanovna. She met me on the porch. "What happened to you?" she said when she saw me. - "How pale you are!" - everything is over! - I answered and gave her father's letter. She turned pale in turn. Having read it, she returned the letter to me with a trembling hand and said in a trembling voice: “It seems to me that it’s not my destiny ... Your relatives do not want me into their family. Be in everything the will of the Lord! God knows better than we what we need. There is nothing to do, Pyotr Andreevich; be at least you are happy ... "- This will not happen! I cried, seizing her by the hand; - Do you love me; I'm ready for anything. Let's go, let's throw ourselves at the feet of your parents; they are simple people, not cruel-hearted, proud... They will bless us; we will get married ... and there in modern times, I am sure, we will beg my father; mother will be for us; he will forgive me ... “No, Pyotr Andreevich,” answered Masha, “I will not marry you without the blessing of your parents. Without their blessing, you will not be happy. Let us submit to the will of God. If you find yourself a betrothed, if you love another - God be with you, Pyotr Andreevich; and I am for both of you ... ”Here she began to cry, and left me; I wanted to follow her into the room, but I felt that I was unable to control myself, and returned home.

I was sitting immersed in deep thought, when suddenly Savelich interrupted my thoughts. "Here, sir," he said, handing me a covered sheet of paper; “Look, if I’m an informer on my master, and if I’m trying to mix up my son with his father.” I took his paper from his hands: it was Savelich's reply to the letter he had received. Here it is word for word:

“Sir Andrey Petrovich, our gracious father!

I received your gracious writing, in which you deign to be angry with me, your servant, that it is shameful for me not to fulfill the master's orders; - and I, not an old dog, but your faithful servant, obey the master's orders and have always served you diligently and lived to gray hair. Well, I didn’t write anything to you about Pyotr Andreevich’s wound, so as not to frighten you in vain, and, you can hear, the lady, our mother Avdotya Vasilyevna, has already fallen ill with fright, and I will pray to God for her health. But Pyotr Andreevich was wounded under the right shoulder, in the chest, just under the bone, an inch and a half deep, and he lay in the commandant's house, where we brought him from the shore, and the local barber Stepan Paramonov treated him; and now Pyotr Andreich, thank God, is in good health, and there is nothing but good things to write about him. The commanders, it is heard, are pleased with him; and Vasilisa Egorovna has him like his own son. And that such an opportunity happened to him, then the truth is not a reproach to the young man: the horse has four legs, but stumbles. And if you please write that you will send me to pasture pigs, and that is your boyar will. For this I bow slavishly.

Your faithful servant

Arkhip Saveliev.

I could not help but smile several times while reading the letter kind old man. I was unable to answer the priest; and Savelich's letter seemed to me sufficient to reassure my mother.

Since then, my position has changed. Marya Ivanovna scarcely spoke to me, and tried her best to avoid me. The commandant's house became a shame for me. Little by little I learned to sit alone at home. Vasilisa Yegorovna at first reproached me for this; but seeing my stubbornness, she left me alone. I saw Ivan Kuzmich only when the service demanded it. I met Shvabrin rarely and reluctantly, all the more so as I noticed in him a hidden dislike for myself, which confirmed me in my suspicions. My life has become unbearable to me. I fell into a dark reverie that was fueled by loneliness and inactivity. My love flared up in solitude and from hour to hour became more burdensome to me. I have lost the desire for reading and literature. My spirit has fallen. I was afraid to either go crazy or fall into debauchery. Unexpected events, which had an important influence on my whole life, suddenly gave my soul a strong and good shock.

CHAPTER VI. PUGACHEV.

You young guys listen

What are we, old people, going to say.
Song.

Before I begin to describe the strange incidents that I witnessed, I must say a few words about the situation in which the Orenburg province found itself at the end of 1773.

This vast and rich province was inhabited by a multitude of semi-savage peoples who had recently recognized the dominion of Russian sovereigns. Their minute indignations, unaccustomed to the laws and civil life, frivolity and cruelty demanded constant supervision from the government to keep them in obedience. The fortresses were built in places deemed convenient, mostly inhabited by Cossacks, long-standing owners of the Yaitsky shores. But the Yaik Cossacks, who were supposed to protect the peace and security of this region, for some time were themselves restless and dangerous subjects for the government. In 1772 there was a riot in their main town. The reason for this was the strict measures taken by Major General Traubenberg in order to bring the army into proper obedience. The result was the barbaric murder of Traubenberg, a masterful change in management, and finally the pacification of the rebellion with buckshot and cruel punishments. This happened some time before my arrival at the Belogorsk fortress. everything was already quiet, or seemed to be; the authorities too easily believed the supposed repentance of the crafty rebels, who were malicious in secret and waited for an opportunity to resume the unrest.

I turn to my story.

One evening (this was early October 1773) I was sitting at home alone, listening to the howling of the autumn wind, and looking out the window at the clouds running past the moon. They came to call me on behalf of the commandant. I set off at once. At the commandant's, I found Shvabrin, Ivan Ignatich, and a Cossack constable. Neither Vasilisa Yegorovna nor Marya Ivanovna was in the room. The commandant greeted me with an air of preoccupation. He locked the doors, seated everyone, except for the officer who was standing at the door, took out a paper from his pocket and told us: “Gentlemen officers, important news! Listen to what the general writes. Then he put on his glasses and read the following:

“To Mr. Commandant of the Belogorsk Fortress, Captain Mironov.

"By secret.

“I hereby inform you that the Don Cossack and schismatic Emelyan Pugachev, who escaped from the guard, committed unforgivable insolence by taking on the name of the late emperor Peter III, gathered a villainous gang, caused an uproar in the Yaitsky villages, and already took and ruined several fortresses, carrying out robberies and mortal murders everywhere. For this reason, with the receipt of this, you, Mr. Captain, immediately take appropriate measures to repulse the mentioned villain and impostor, and if it is possible to completely destroy him, if he turns to the fortress entrusted to your care.

"Take proper action!" - said the commandant, taking off his glasses and folding the paper. “Listen, it’s easy to say. The villain is evidently strong; and we have only one hundred and thirty people, not counting the Cossacks, for whom there is little hope, do not reproach you, Maksimych. (The constable chuckled.) However, there is nothing to be done, gentlemen officers! Be efficient, establish guards, and night patrols; in case of an attack, lock the gates and bring out the soldiers. You, Maksimych, watch your Cossacks closely. Inspect the gun, and clean it thoroughly. And most of all, keep all this a secret, so that no one in the fortress could find out about it prematurely.

Having issued these orders, Ivan Kuzmich dismissed us. I went out with Shvabrin, discussing what we had heard. - How do you think it will end? I asked him. "God knows," he answered; - "We'll see. I don't see anything important yet. If…” Here he became thoughtful, and absent-mindedly began to whistle a French aria.

Despite all our precautions, the news of Pugachev's appearance spread throughout the fortress. Ivan Kuzmich, although he had great respect for his wife, would never have revealed to her the secrets entrusted to him in his service. Having received a letter from the general, he escorted Vasilisa Egorovna out in a rather skillful manner, telling her that Father Gerasim had received some wonderful news from Orenburg, which contains in great secret. Vasilisa Yegorovna immediately wanted to go to visit the priest, and, on the advice of Ivan Kuzmich, she took Masha with her, so that she would not be bored alone.

Ivan Kuzmich, remaining full master, immediately sent for us, and locked Palashka in a closet so that she could not overhear us.

Vasilisa Yegorovna returned home without having time to find out anything from the priest, and learned that during her absence Ivan Kuzmich had a meeting, and that Palashka was under lock and key. She guessed that she had been deceived by her husband, and proceeded to interrogate him. But Ivan Kuzmich prepared for the attack. He was not in the least embarrassed and cheerfully answered his curious cohabitant: “Do you hear, mother, our women decided to heat the stoves with straw; and how misfortune can result from this, then I gave a strict order from now on not to heat the stoves with straw, but to heat with brushwood and deadwood. - And why did you have to lock Palashka? the commandant asked. - Why did the poor girl sit in the closet until we returned? - Ivan Kuzmich was not prepared for such a question; he became confused and muttered something very incoherent. Vasilisa Yegorovna saw the deceit of her husband; but knowing that she would not get anything from him, she stopped her questions and started talking about pickles, which Akulina Pamfilovna cooked in a very special way. All night long Vasilisa Yegorovna could not sleep, and could never guess what was going on in her husband's head that she could not know about.

The next day, returning from mass, she saw Ivan Ignatich, who was pulling rags, pebbles, wood chips, grandmothers and rubbish of all kinds stuffed into it by the children from the cannon. "What would these military preparations mean?" - thought the commandant: - “Are they expecting an attack from the Kirghiz? But would Ivan Kuzmich really hide such trifles from me? She called Ivan Ignatich, with the firm intention of eliciting from him the secret that tormented her feminine curiosity.

Vasilisa Yegorovna made a few remarks to him about the household, like a judge who starts an investigation with extraneous questions, in order to first lull the defendant's caution. Then, after a few minutes of silence, she took a deep breath and said, shaking her head: “My God! Look what news! What will come of it?

And, mother! answered Ivan Ignatich. - God is merciful: we have enough soldiers, a lot of gunpowder, I cleaned out the cannon. Perhaps we will repulse Pugachev. The Lord will not give out, the pig will not eat!

“And what kind of person is this Pugachev?” the commandant asked.

Here Ivan Ignatich noticed that he had let it slip and bit his tongue. But it was already too late. Vasilisa Yegorovna forced him to confess everything, giving him her word not to tell anyone about it.

Vasilisa Yegorovna kept her promise and did not say a single word to anyone except the priest, and that only because her cow was still walking in the steppe and could be captured by villains.

Soon everyone was talking about Pugachev. Tols were different. The commandant sent a constable with instructions to scout thoroughly about everything in the neighboring villages and fortresses. The constable returned two days later and announced that in the steppe sixty versts from the fortress he saw a lot of lights and heard from the Bashkirs that an unknown force was coming. However, he could not say anything positive, because he was afraid to go further.

In the fortress, an unusual excitement became noticeable among the Cossacks; in all the streets they crowded into groups, talked quietly among themselves, and dispersed when they saw a dragoon or a garrison soldier. Scouts were sent to them. Yulai, a baptized Kalmyk, made an important report to the commandant. The testimony of the constable, according to Yulai, was false: upon his return, the crafty Cossack announced to his comrades that he was with the rebels, introduced himself to their leader himself, who allowed him to his hand and talked with him for a long time. The commandant immediately put the constable under guard, and appointed Yulai in his place. This news was accepted by the Cossacks with obvious displeasure. They grumbled loudly, and Ivan Ignatich, the executor of the commandant's order, heard with his own ears how they said: "Here you will be, garrison rat!" The commandant thought that same day to interrogate his prisoner; but the sergeant escaped from the guard, probably with the help of his like-minded people.

The new circumstance increased the commandant's anxiety. A Bashkir with outrageous papers was captured. On this occasion, the commandant thought to gather his officers again, and for this he wanted to send Vasilisa Egorovna away again under a plausible pretext. But as Ivan Kuzmich was the most straightforward and truthful person, he did not find another way, except for the one he had already used once.

“Listen, Vasilisa Yegorovna,” he said to her, coughing. - “Father Gerasim received, they say, from the city ...” - Full of lies, Ivan Kuzmich, - interrupted the commandant; you, know, want to call a meeting, but without me to talk about Emelyan Pugachev; Yes, you won't be fooled! Ivan Kuzmich widened his eyes. “Well, mother,” he said, “if you already know everything, then perhaps stay; we will talk in your presence as well.” - That's it, my father, - she answered; - you should not be cunning; send for the officers.

We have gathered again. Ivan Kuzmich, in the presence of his wife, read to us Pugachev's appeal, written by some semi-literate Cossack. The robber announced his intention to immediately go to our fortress; he invited Cossacks and soldiers to join his gang, and exhorted commanders not to resist, threatening execution otherwise. The proclamation was written in rude but strong terms, and was supposed to make a dangerous impression on the minds of ordinary people.

"What a swindler!" exclaimed the commandant. “What else dares to offer us! Go out to meet him and place banners at his feet! Oh, he's a dog boy! But doesn’t he know that we have been in the service for forty years and, thank God, have seen enough of everything? Are there really such commanders who obeyed the robber?

It seems that it shouldn't, - answered Ivan Kuzmich. - And it is heard, Elodey took possession of many fortresses. "

“It can be seen that he is really strong,” Shvabrin remarked.

But now we will find out his real strength - said the commandant. - Vasilisa Egorovna, give me the key to the hut. Ivan Ignatich, bring the Bashkir, and order Yulai to bring whips here.

“Wait, Ivan Kuzmich,” said the commandant, getting up from her seat. - “Let me take Masha somewhere out of the house; and then he hears a scream, gets scared. Yes, and I, to tell the truth, am not a hunter before the search. Happy to stay."

Torture, in the old days, was so rooted in the customs of legal proceedings that the beneficent decree that destroyed it remained for a long time without any effect. It was thought that the criminal's own confession was necessary for his complete denunciation - a thought not only unfounded, but even completely contrary to common legal sense: for if the defendant's denial is not acceptable as proof of his innocence, then his confession should still be proof of his innocence. guilt. Even now I happen to hear old judges lamenting the destruction of the barbarian custom. In our time, no one doubted the need for torture, neither judges nor defendants. So the commandant's order did not surprise or alarm any of us. Ivan Ignatich went for the Bashkir, who was sitting in the hut under the commandant's key, and a few minutes later the slave was brought into the hall. The commandant ordered him to be introduced to him.

The Bashkirian stepped with difficulty over the threshold (he was in a stock) and, taking off his high hat, stopped at the door. I looked at him and shuddered. I will never forget this person. He seemed to be in his seventies. He had no nose or ears. His head was shaved; instead of a beard, a few gray hairs stuck out; he was short, thin and hunched; but his narrow eyes were still sparkling with fire. - "Ehe!" - said the commandant, recognizing, by his terrible signs, one of the rebels punished in 1741. - “Yes, you can see the old wolf, he visited our traps. You know, it’s not the first time you’ve rebelled, if your head is so smoothly cut. Come closer; Tell me who sent you?

The old Bashkirian was silent and looked at the commandant with an air of complete nonsense. "Why are you silent?" Ivan Kuzmich continued: “You don’t understand belmes in Russian? Yulai, ask him in your opinion who sent him to our fortress?”

Yulai repeated Ivan Kuzmich's question in Tatar. But the Bashkirian looked at him with the same expression, and did not answer a word.

"Yakshi" - said the commandant; “You will speak to me. Guys! take off his stupid striped dressing gown and stitch his back. Look, Yulai: good for him!”

Two invalids began to undress the Bashkir. The face of the unfortunate person showed concern. He looked around in all directions, like an animal caught by children. When one of the invalids took his hands and, putting them near his neck, lifted the old man on his shoulders, and Yulai took the whip and swung: then the Bashkir groaned in a weak, imploring voice and, nodding his head, opened his mouth, in which instead of a tongue a short stump.

When I remember that this happened in my lifetime, and that I have now lived up to the meek reign of Emperor Alexander, I cannot help but marvel at the rapid progress of enlightenment and the spread of the rules of philanthropy. Young man! if my notes fall into your hands, remember that the best and most lasting changes are those that come from the improvement of morals, without any violent upheavals.

Everyone was amazed. "Well," said the commandant; “We can’t seem to get any sense out of him. Yulai, take the Bashkirian to the barn. And we, gentlemen, will talk about something else.”

We began to talk about our position, when suddenly Vasilisa Yegorovna entered the room, out of breath and with a look of extreme alarm.

"What happened to you?" asked the astonished commandant.

Fathers, it’s a disaster! Vasilisa Yegorovna answered. - Nizhneozernaya was taken this morning. Father Gerasim's worker has now returned from there. He saw her being taken. The commandant and all the officers are hanged. All soldiers are taken to full. That and look, the villains will be here.

The unexpected news shocked me greatly. The commandant of the Lower Lake Fortress, a quiet and modest young man, was familiar to me: two months before that, he had traveled from Orenburg with his young wife and stayed with Ivan Kuzmich. Nizhneozernaya was twenty-five versts from our fortress. From hour to hour we should have expected an attack by Pugachev. The fate of Marya Ivanovna vividly presented itself to me, and my heart sank.

Listen, Ivan Kuzmich! I said to the commandant. - Our duty is to defend the fortress until our last breath; there is nothing to say about it. But we need to think about the safety of women. Send them to Orenburg, if the road is still clear, or to a remote, more reliable fortress, where the villains would not have had time to reach.

Ivan Kuzmich turned to his wife and said to her: “Do you hear, mother, and in fact, why not send you away until we deal with the rebels?”

And empty! - said the commandant. - Where is such a fortress, where bullets would not fly? Why is Belogorskaya unreliable? Thank God, we have been living in it for the twenty-second year. We saw both the Bashkirs and the Kirghiz: maybe we'll sit out from Pugachev!

“Well, mother,” Ivan Kuemich objected, “stay, perhaps, if you hope for our fortress. Yes, what should we do with Masha? Well, if we sit out, or wait for the securs; Well, what if the villains take the fortress?”

Well, then ... - Here Vasilisa Egorovna stammered and fell silent with an air of extreme excitement.

“No, Vasilisa Yegorovna,” continued the commandant, noticing that his words had an effect, perhaps for the first time in his life. - “Masha is not good to stay here. We will send her to Orenburg to her godmother: there are enough troops and cannons, and a stone wall. Yes, and I would advise you to go with her there too; for nothing that you are an old woman, but look what will happen to you if they take the fort by attack.

Good, - said the commandant, - so be it, we will send Masha. And don’t ask me in a dream: I won’t go. There is no need for me to part with you in my old age, but to look for a lonely grave on a strange side. Live together, die together.

"And that's the point," said the commandant. - “Well, there is nothing to delay. Go prepare Masha for the road. Tomorrow we will send her as soon as possible, and we will give her an escort, even though we don’t have any extra people. But where is Masha?

At Akulina Pamfilovna's, the commandant's wife replied. - She became ill when she heard about the capture of Nizhneozernaya; I'm afraid I won't get sick. Lord, what have we come to!

Vasilisa Yegorovna went off to make arrangements for her daughter's departure. The commandant's conversation continued; but I no longer interfered with it and did not listen to anything. Marya Ivanovna appeared at supper pale and tearful. We supped in silence, and got up from the table rather than usual; Saying goodbye to the whole family, we went home. But I deliberately forgot my sword and went back for it: I had a presentiment that I would find Marya Ivanovna alone. In fact, she met me at the door and handed me a sword. "Farewell, Pyotr Andreevich!" she told me with tears. - “They send me to Orenburg. Be alive and happy; maybe the Lord will bring us to see each other; if not…” Here she sobbed. I hugged her. - Farewell, my angel, - I said, - farewell, my dear, my desired! Whatever happens to me, believe that my last thought and last prayer will be about you! - Masha sobbed, clinging to my chest. I kissed her passionately and hurried out of the room.

CHAPTER VII. ATTACK.

My head, head

Head serving!

Served my head

Exactly thirty years and three years.

Ah, the little head did not last

Neither self-interest, nor joy,

No matter how good a word

And not a high rank;

Only the head survived

Two tall poles

maple crossbar,

Another loop of silk.
folk song

That night I did not sleep and did not undress. I intended to go at dawn to the fortress gates, from where Marya Ivanovna was to leave, and there to say goodbye to her for the last time. I felt a great change in myself: the excitement of my soul was much less painful for me than the despondency in which I had recently been immersed. With the sadness of parting, vague but sweet hopes, and impatient expectation of dangers, and feelings of noble ambition merged in me. The night passed unnoticed. I was about to leave the house, when my door opened and a corporal came to me with a report that our Cossacks left the fortress at night, forcibly taking Yulai with them, and that unknown people were driving around the fortress. The thought that Marya Ivanovna would not have time to leave horrified me; I hurriedly gave the corporal some instructions, and immediately rushed to the commandant.

It's already dawned. I was flying down the street when I heard my name being called. I stopped. "Where are you going?" - said Ivan Ignatich, catching up with me. - “Ivan Kuzmich is on the shaft, and he sent me for you. The scarecrow has come." - Did Marya Ivanovna leave? I asked with heartfelt trepidation. - “I didn’t have time” - Ivan Ignatich answered: - “the road to Orenburg is cut off; the fortress is surrounded. Too bad, Pyotr Andreevich!”

We went to the rampart, an elevation formed by nature and fortified with a palisade. All the inhabitants of the fortress were already crowding there. The garrison stood at gunpoint. The gun was moved there the day before. The commandant paced in front of his small formation. The proximity of danger animated the old warrior with unusual vivacity. Across the steppe, not far from the fortress, about twenty men rode on horseback. They seemed to be Cossacks, but among them were Bashkirs, who could easily be recognized by their lynx hats and quivers. The commandant walked around his army, saying to the soldiers: “Well, kids, let’s stand up for the empress mother today, and prove to the whole world that we are brave people and a jury!” The soldiers loudly expressed their zeal. Shvabrin stood beside me and gazed intently at the enemy. People traveling around the steppes, noticing movement in the fortress, gathered in a group and began to talk among themselves. The commandant ordered Ivan Ignatich to point his cannon at their crowd, and he himself put the wick. The core whirred and flew over them without doing any harm. The riders, scattered, immediately galloped out of sight, and the steppe became empty.

Then Vasilisa Yegorovna appeared on the rampart, and with her Masha, who did not want to leave her. - "Well?" - said the commandant. - “What is the battle like? Where is the enemy? “The enemy is not far away,” answered Ivan Kuzmich. - God willing, everything will be fine. What, Masha, are you scared? - "No, papa," answered Marya Ivanovna; “It’s scarier at home alone.” Then she looked at me and smiled with an effort. I involuntarily clutched the hilt of my sword, remembering that the day before I had received it from her hands, as if in defense of my dear. My heart was on fire. I imagined myself to be her knight. I was eager to prove that I was worthy of her power of attorney, and I began to look forward to the decisive moment.

At this time, from behind the height, which was half a verst from the fortress, new cavalry crowds appeared, and soon the steppe was littered with a multitude of people armed with spears and tails. Between them rode a man in a red caftan on a white horse, with a drawn saber in his hand: it was Pugachev himself. He stopped; he was surrounded and, apparently, at his command, four people separated and galloped at full speed right under the fortress itself. We recognized them as our traitors. One of them held a sheet of paper under his cap; the other had Yulai's head stuck on a spear, which, shaking it off, he threw over the palisade to us. The poor Kalmyk's head fell at the commandant's feet. The traitors shouted: “Don't shoot; go out to the sovereign. The sovereign is here!

"Here I am!" shouted Ivan Kuzmich. - "Guys! shoot!" Our soldiers fired a volley. The Cossack holding the letter staggered and fell off his horse; others jumped back. I glanced at Marya Ivanovna. Struck by the sight of Yulai's bloody head, stunned by the volley, she seemed to be unconscious. The commandant called the corporal and ordered him to take the sheet from the hands of the murdered Cossack. The corporal went out into the field and returned, leading the dead man's horse under the mouth. He handed the commandant a letter. Ivan Kuzmich read it to himself and then tore it to shreds. Meanwhile, the rebels apparently prepared for action. Soon the bullets began to whistle near our ears, and several arrows stuck near us into the ground and into the stockade. "Vasilisa Egorovna!" - said the commandant. - “This is not a woman's business; take Masha away; you see: the girl is neither alive nor dead.

Vasilisa Yegorovna, subdued under the bullets, glanced at the steppe, on which it was noticeable big move; then she turned to her husband and said to him: “Ivan Kuzmich, God is free in the stomach and death: bless Masha. Masha, come to your father."

Masha, pale and trembling, went up to Ivan Kuzmich, knelt down and bowed to him on the ground. The old commandant crossed her three times; then he raised it and, kissing her, said to her in a changed voice: “Well, Masha, be happy. Pray to God he won't leave you. If there is a kind person, God grant you love and advice. Live as Vasilisa Yegorovna and I lived. Well, goodbye. Masha. Vasilisa Yegorovna, take her away as soon as possible. (Masha threw herself on his neck and sobbed.) "We'll kiss, too," said the commandant, weeping. - “Farewell, my Ivan Kuzmich. Let me go, if in what I annoyed you! “Farewell, farewell, mother!” said the commandant, embracing his old woman. - "Well, that's enough! Go, go home; Yes, if you have time, put a sundress on Masha. The commandant and her daughter left. I looked after Marya Ivanovna; she looked back and nodded her head at me. Here Ivan Kuzmich turned to us, and all his attention was directed to the enemy. The rebels gathered near their leader, and suddenly began to dismount from their horses. “Now stand strong,” said the commandant; - ""there will be an attack ..." At that moment there was a terrible screech and screams; The rebels ran towards the fortress. Our gun was loaded with buckshot. The commandant let them in at the closest distance, and suddenly blurted out again. The buckshot hit the very middle of the crowd. The rebels retreated in both directions and backed away. Their leader was left alone in front ... He waved his saber and, it seemed, persuaded them with fervor ... The scream and squeal, which had ceased for a minute, immediately resumed again. “Well, guys,” said the commandant; - “Now open the gate, beat the drum. Guys! forward, on a sortie, after me!“

The commandant, Ivan Ignatitch, and I found ourselves instantly behind the ramparts; but the drowsy garrison did not move. “What are you, kids, standing?” shouted Ivan Kuzmich. - “To die, to die like this: a service business!” At that moment, the rebels ran up to us and broke into the fortress. The drum is silent; the garrison abandoned their guns; I was knocked off my feet, but I got up and, together with the rebels, entered the fortress. The commandant, wounded in the head, stood in a bunch of villains who demanded keys from him. I rushed to his aid: several hefty Cossacks grabbed me and tied me with sashes, saying: “That’s it for you, disobedient sovereign!” We were dragged through the streets; the inhabitants came out of their houses with bread and salt. There was a bell ringing. Suddenly they shouted in the crowd that the sovereign was waiting for the prisoners in the square and was taking the oath. The people poured into the square; we were driven there.

Pugachev sat in armchairs on the porch of the commandant's house. He was wearing a red Cossack caftan trimmed with galloons. A tall sable cap with gold tassels was pulled down over his sparkling eyes. His face looked familiar to me. Cossack foremen surrounded him. Father Gerasim, pale and trembling, stood at the porch, with a cross in his hands, and seemed to silently beg him for the upcoming sacrifices. A gallows was hastily erected on the square. When we approached, the Bashkirs dispersed the people and introduced us to Pugachev. bell ringing subsided; there was a deep silence. "Which commandant?" asked the impostor. Our sergeant stepped out of the crowd and pointed to Ivan Kuzmich. Pugachev looked menacingly at the old man and said to him: “How dare you oppose me, your sovereign?” The commandant, exhausted from his wound, collected last strength and answered in a firm voice: “You are not my sovereign, you are a thief and an impostor, you hear!” Pugachev frowned gloomily and waved his white handkerchief. Several Cossacks picked up the old captain and dragged him to the gallows. A maimed Bashkir, whom we interrogated the day before, found himself on its crossbar. He held a rope in his hand, and a minute later I saw poor Ivan Kuemich upturned in the air. Then they brought Ivan Ignatich to Pugachev. "Swear" - Pugachev told him - "sovereign Peter Feodorovich!" “You are not our sovereign,” answered Ivan Ignatich, repeating the words of his captain. - You, uncle, are a thief and an impostor! - Pugachev again waved his handkerchief, and the good lieutenant hung beside his old boss.

The queue was behind me. I looked boldly at Pugachev, preparing to repeat the answer of my generous comrades. Then, to my indescribable amazement, I saw among the rebellious foremen Shvabrin, cropped in a circle and in a Cossack caftan. He went up to Pugachev and said a few words in his ear. "Hang him up!" - said Pugachev, without looking at me. They put a noose around my neck. I began to read a prayer to myself, bringing sincere repentance to God for all my sins and praying for the salvation of all those close to my heart. I was dragged under the gallows. “Do not fear, do not fear,” the destroyers repeated to me, perhaps really wanting to encourage me. Suddenly I heard a cry: “Wait, damned! wait!..” The executioners stopped. I look: Savelich lies at the feet of Pugachev. "Dear father!" said the poor uncle. - “What do you want in the death of a master's child? Let him go; for him they will give you a ransom; but for the sake of example and fear, they ordered me to hang at least the old man!” Pugachev gave a sign, and they immediately untied me and left me. “Our father has mercy on you,” they told me. At this moment I cannot say that I rejoice at my deliverance, but I will not say that I even regret it. My feelings were too vague. I was again taken to the impostor and put on my knees before him. Pugachev held out his sinewy hand to me. "Kiss the hand, kiss the hand!" they were talking about me. But I would have preferred the cruelest execution to such vile humiliation. "Father Pyotr Andreevich!" whispered Savelich, standing behind me and pushing me. - "Don't be stubborn! what are you worth? spit and kiss the villain ... (ugh!) kiss his hand. I didn't move. Pugachev lowered his hand, saying with a grin: “His nobility to know is stupefied with joy. Raise it!" - They picked me up and left me free. I began to look at the continuation of the terrible comedy.

The people began to take the oath. They approached one by one, kissing the crucifix and then bowing to the impostor. The garrison soldiers were standing right there. The company tailor, armed with his blunt scissors, cut their braids. Shaking themselves off, they approached Pugachev's hand, who proclaimed forgiveness to them and accepted them into his gang. All this went on for about three hours. Finally Pugachev got up from his chair and stepped down from the porch, accompanied by his foremen. He was let down white horse, decorated with rich harness. Two Cossacks took him by the arms and put him on the saddle. He announced to Father Gerasim that he would dine with him. At that moment, a woman screamed. Several robbers dragged Vasilisa Yegorovna onto the porch, disheveled and stripped naked. One of them had already dressed up in her shower jacket. Others carried featherbeds, chests, tea utensils, linen and all the junk. "My fathers!" cried the poor old woman. “Release your soul to repentance. Fathers, take me to Ivan Kuzmich. Suddenly she looked at the gallows and recognized her husband. "Villains!" she screamed in a frenzy. “What did you do to him? You are my light, Ivan Kuzmich, daring soldier's little head! neither Prussian bayonets nor Turkish bullets touched you; not in a fair fight did you lay down your stomach, but perished from a runaway convict! - Kill the old witch! Pugachev said. Then the young Cossack hit her on the head with his saber, and she fell dead on the steps of the porch. Pugachev left; the people rushed after him.

CHAPTER VIII. UNINVITED GUEST.

An uninvited guest is worse than a Tatar.
Proverb.

The area was empty. I kept standing in one place, and could not put my thoughts in order, embarrassed by such terrible impressions.

The uncertainty about the fate of Marya Ivanovna tormented me most of all. Where is she? what's up with her? did you manage to hide? is her shelter safe?.. Full of anxious thoughts, I entered the commandant's house... everything was empty; chairs, tables, chests were broken; the dishes are broken; everything is scattered. I ran up the little stairs that led to the room, and for the first time in my life I went into Marya Ivanovna's room. I saw her bed dug up by robbers; the closet was broken and robbed; the icon-lamp was still glowing in front of the empty kivot. The mirror that hung in the pier also survived ... Where was the mistress of this humble, girlish cell? A terrible thought flashed through my mind: I imagined it in the hands of robbers... My heart sank. . . I wept bitterly, bitterly, and loudly uttered the name of my beloved... At that moment a slight noise was heard, and from behind the cupboard appeared Palasha, pale and trembling.

"Ah, Pyotr Andreevich!" she said, clasping her hands. - “What a day! what passions!.."

And Marya Ivanovna? I asked impatiently, "what about Marya Ivanovna?"

“The young lady is alive,” Palasha answered. - "She is hidden at Akulina Pamfilovna."

Have a hit! I cried out in horror. - My God! yes there is Pugachev! ..

I rushed out of the room, instantly found myself on the street and ran headlong into the priest's house, seeing and feeling nothing. There were screams, laughter and songs ... Pugachev was feasting with his comrades. The broadsword ran there for me. I sent her to quietly summon Akulina Pamfilovna. A minute later the priest came out to me in the hallway with an empty damask in her hands.

For God's sake! where is Maria Ivanovna? I asked with inexplicable excitement.

“He is lying, my dear, on my bed, behind the partition,” answered the popadya. - “Well, Pyotr Andreevich, trouble almost struck, but thank God, everything went well: the villain had just sat down to dinner, how she, my poor thing, would wake up and groan! .. I just died. He heard: “And who is that groaning with you, old woman?” I steal in the belt: my niece, sovereign; fell ill, lies, that's another week. - “And your niece is young?” - Young, sir. - "And show me, old woman, your niece." - My heart skipped a beat, but there was nothing to do. - Please, sir; only the girl will not be able to get up and come to your mercy. “Nothing, old woman, I’ll go and have a look myself.” And after all, the accursed went beyond the partition; How do you think! after all, he pulled back the curtain, looked with his hawkish eyes! - and nothing ... God took it! And do you believe me and my dad so prepared for martyrdom. Fortunately, she, my dear, did not recognize him. Lord, Vladyka, we have waited for the holiday! Nothing to say! poor Ivan Kuzmich! Who would have thought!.. And Vasilisa Yegorovna? What about Ivan Ignatitch? What for?.. How did you get spared? And what is Shvabrin like, Alexey Ivanovich? After all, he cut his hair in a circle and now we feast with them right there! Spoiled, nothing to say! And as I said about the sick niece, so he, believe me, looked at me like that, as if through a knife; however, he did not give it away, thanks to him for that too. - At that moment, drunken cries of the guests and the voice of Father Gerasim were heard. The guests demanded wine, the host called his concubine. The popadya got busted. "Go home, Pyotr Andreevich," she said; - “now it’s not up to you; the villains are having a binge. Trouble, you will fall under a drunken hand. Farewell, Pyotr Andreevich. What will be will be; maybe God will not leave!

Popadya left. Somewhat reassured, I went to my apartment. Passing by the square, I saw several Bashkirs crowding around the gallows and pulling off the boots from the hanged; with difficulty I restrained the impulse of indignation, feeling the futility of intercession. Robbers ran around the fortress, robbing the officers' houses. Everywhere there were cries of drunken rebels. I came home. Savelich met me at the threshold. "God bless!" he cried when he saw me. - “I thought that the villains picked you up again. Well, Father Pyotr Andreevich! do you believe? everything was looted from us, scammers: clothes, underwear, things, dishes - they didn’t leave anything. Yes, what! Thank God you were released alive! And did you recognize, sir, the chieftain?

No, I didn't know; and who is he?

“How, father? Have you forgotten that drunkard who lured your sheepskin coat out of you at the inn? The bunny sheepskin coat is brand new, and he, the beast, ripped it open, putting it on himself!

I was amazed. In fact, Pugachev's resemblance to my counselor was striking. I made sure that Pugachev and he were one and the same person, and then I understood the reason for the mercy shown to me. I could not help marveling at the strange concatenation of circumstances; a children's sheepskin coat, given to a tramp, saved me from the noose, and the drunkard, wandering around the inns, besieged fortresses and shook the state!

"Would you like to eat?" asked Savelich, unchanged in his habits. - “There is nothing at home; I'll go and rummage around and make something for you."

Left alone, I immersed myself in thought. What was I to do? It was indecent for an officer to remain in a fortress subject to a villain, or to follow his gang. Duty required me to appear where my service could still be useful to the fatherland in present, difficult circumstances ... But love strongly advised me to stay with Marya Ivanovna and be her protector and patron. Although I foresaw a quick and undoubted change in circumstances, yet I could not help but tremble, imagining the danger of her position.

My reflections were interrupted by the arrival of one of the Cossacks, who came running with the announcement, "that the great sovereign demands you to him." - Where is he? I asked, preparing to obey.

“In the commandant's,” answered the Cossack. - “After dinner, our father went to the bathhouse, and now he is resting. Well, your honor, everything shows that the person is noble: at dinner he deigned to eat two fried piglets, and the steam was so hot that Taras Kurochkin could not stand it, he gave the broom to Fomka Bikbaev, but he pumped out cold water forcibly. There is nothing to say: all the receptions are so important ... And in the bath, you can hear, he showed his royal signs on his chest: on one is a two-headed eagle, the size of a penny, and on the other his person.

I did not consider it necessary to dispute the opinions of the Cossack and went with him to the commandant's house, imagining in advance a meeting with Pugachev, and trying to predict how it would end. The reader can easily imagine that I was not completely cold-blooded.

It was beginning to get dark when I arrived at the commandant's house. The gallows with its victims turned terribly black. The body of the poor commandant's wife was still lying under the porch, where two Cossacks stood guard. The Cossack who had brought me went to report about me, and immediately returning led me into the room where the day before I had so tenderly said goodbye to Marya Ivanovna.

An unusual picture presented itself to me: at a table covered with a tablecloth and set with shtofs and glasses, Pugachev and about ten Cossack foremen were sitting, in hats and colored shirts, heated by wine, with red mugs and sparkling eyes. Between them there was neither Shvabrin nor our sergeant, newly-married traitors. "Ah, your honor!" - said Pugachev, seeing me. - "Welcome; honor and place, you are welcome. The interlocutors hesitated. I silently sat down on the edge of the table. My neighbor, a young Cossack, slender and handsome, poured me a glass of plain wine, which I did not touch. With curiosity, I began to examine the assembly. Pugachev sat in the first place, leaning on the table and propping up his black beard with his broad fist. His features, regular and rather pleasant, showed nothing ferocious. He often addressed a man of about fifty, calling him the count, then Timofeich, and sometimes calling him uncle. Everyone treated each other like comrades, and showed no particular preference for their leader. The conversation was about the morning attack, about the success of the indignation, and about future actions. Everyone boasted, offered their opinions and freely challenged Pugachev. And at some strange military council it was decided to go to Orenburg: a bold movement, and which almost ended in a disastrous success! The march was announced for tomorrow. “Well, brothers,” said Pugachev, “let's drag on my favorite song for the coming dream. Chumakov! start!” - My neighbor sang a mournful barge song in a thin voice, and everyone picked it up in unison:

Don't make noise, mother green dubrovushka,

Don't bother me, good fellow, to think.

That in the morning I, a good fellow, should go to interrogation

Before the formidable judge, the king himself.

Still the sovereign-tsar will ask me:

You say, say, child peasant son,

How did you steal with whom, with whom did you keep robbery,

How many other comrades were with you?

I'll tell you, hope Orthodox tsar,

I'll tell you the whole truth, the whole truth,

That I had four comrades:

Still my first friend is a dark night,

And my second friend is a damask knife,

And as a third comrade, then my good horse,

And my fourth friend, then a tight bow,

As my messengers, the arrows are red-hot.

What will the hope of the Orthodox Tsar say:

Execute you, child peasant son,

That you knew how to steal, knew how to answer!

I'm for you, kid, sorry

In the middle of the field in high mansions,

What about two pillars with a crossbar.

It is impossible to tell what effect this folk song about the gallows, sung by people doomed to the gallows, had on me. Their formidable faces, slender voices, the despondent expression that they gave to words that were already expressive - everything shook me with some kind of piitic horror.

The guests drank another glass each, got up from the table and said goodbye to Pugachev. I wanted to follow them, but Pugachev told me: “Sit down; I want to talk to you." We stayed eye to eye.

Our mutual silence continued for several minutes. Pugachev looked at me intently, occasionally screwing up his left eye with an amazing expression of slyness and mockery. At last he laughed, and with such unfeigned gaiety that I too, looking at him, began to laugh, without knowing why.

"What, your honor?" he said to me. - “You were afraid, admit it, when my fellows threw a rope around your neck? I have tea, the sky seemed like a sheepskin ... And I would have swayed on the crossbar if it were not for your servant. I immediately recognized the old bastard. Well, did you think, your honor, that the person who led you to the umet was the great sovereign himself? (Here he assumed an important and mysterious air.) You are deeply guilty before me, ”he continued; - “but I pardoned you for your virtue, because you did me a favor when I was forced to hide from my enemies. Will you see it again! Will I still take pity on you when I get my state! Do you promise to serve me diligently?”

The swindler's question and his insolence struck me as so amusing that I could not help but chuckle.

“What are you laughing at? he asked me, frowning. “Or do you not believe that I am a great sovereign? Answer directly."

I was embarrassed: to recognize the tramp as a sovereign - I was not in a position: it seemed to me unforgivable cowardice. To call him a deceiver to his face was to subject oneself to destruction; and what I was ready for under the gallows in the eyes of all the people and in the first ardor of indignation, now seemed to me useless boasting. I hesitated. Pugachev gloomily waited for my answer. Finally (and I still remember this moment with self-satisfaction) the sense of duty triumphed in me over human weakness. I answered Pugachev: Listen; I'll tell you the whole truth. Consider, can I recognize you as a sovereign? You are a smart man: you yourself would see that I am deceitful.

"Who am I, according to you?"

God knows you; but whoever you are, you are playing a dangerous joke.

Pugachev glanced at me quickly. “So you don’t believe,” he said, “that I should be Tsar Pyotr Fedorovich? Well, good. Is there no luck to the remote? Didn't Grishka Otrepiev reign in the old days? Think what you want about me, but don't leave me behind. What do you care about anything else? Whoever is a pop is a dad. Serve me faithfully, and I will grant you both field marshals and princes. How do you think?"

No, I answered firmly. - I am a natural nobleman; I swore allegiance to the empress: I can’t serve you. If you really wish me well, then let me go to Orenburg.

Pugachev thought. “And if I let you go,” he said, “do you promise at least not to serve against me?”

How can I promise you this? I answered. - You know, it's not my will: they tell me to go against you - I'll go, there's nothing to do. You are now the boss yourself; you yourself demand obedience from your own. What will it be like if I refuse service when my service is needed? My head is in your power: let me go - thank you; you execute - God will judge you; and I told you the truth.

“My sincerity struck Pugachev. “So be it,” he said, hitting me on the shoulder. - “Execute so execute, pardon so pardon. Step on all four sides and do what you want. Tomorrow come to say goodbye to me, and now go to sleep, and I’m already drowsy.”

I left Pugachev and went out into the street. The night was quiet and cold. The moon and the stars shone brightly, illuminating the square and the gallows. Everything in the fortress was calm and dark. Only in the tavern was a fire lit and the cries of belated revelers were heard. I looked at the priest's house. The shutters and gates were locked. Everything seemed to be quiet.

I went to my apartment and found Savelich grieving over my absence. The news of my freedom delighted him beyond words. "Glory to you, lord!" he said crossing himself. - “Let's leave the fortress with the light and go wherever our eyes look. I have prepared something for you; eat, father, and rest yourself until the morning, as in Christ's bosom.

I followed his advice and, after supper with great appetite, fell asleep on the bare floor, mentally and physically tired.

___________________________________________________________

About the work

The idea of ​​the novel "The Captain's Daughter" was born during Pushkin's trip to the Orenburg province. The novel was created in parallel with the "History of the Pugachev rebellion". It was as if Pushkin was resting from the "concise and dry presentation of the History." In "The Captain's Daughter" they found a place "the warmth and charm of historical notes." The History of the Pugachev Rebellion and The Captain's Daughter were completed in 1833.

"The Captain's Daughter" was written between all sorts of cases, among works on Pugachevism, but it has more history than "History of the Pugachev Rebellion", which seems like a long explanatory note to the novel, ”wrote Klyuchevsky.

The novel was first published a year before Pushkin's death in Sovremennik, but not under the authorship of Pushkin, but as family notes of a certain nobleman Pyotr Grinev. From the novel, for censorship reasons, the chapter on the rebellion of the peasants on the Grinev estate was withdrawn.

Almost 80 years after the release of The Captain's Daughter, an unknown young man came to St. Petersburg from the outback, dreaming of becoming a writer. He chose Zinaida Gippius, a well-known Symbolist poetess at that time, as his mentor and critic.

It was to her that he brought his first literary tests. The poetess, with undisguised irritation, advised the ambitious writer to read The Captain's Daughter. The young man left, considering the advice offensive to himself.

And a quarter of a century later, having gone through difficult life trials, Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin wrote in his diary: “My homeland is not Yelets, where I was born, not Petersburg, where I got better at living, both for me now archeology ... my homeland, unsurpassed in simple beauty, combined with kindness and wisdom - my homeland is Pushkin's story "The Captain's Daughter".

1836 Pushkin is finishing work on The Captain's Daughter, a complex and profound work, marked by historical truth, strong feeling and virtuoso skill.
And it all started like this. Already from the beginning of the 1830s, the theme of the peasant uprising became important for Pushkin. And in the summer of 1833, he seeks permission for a long trip to the places of the Pugachev uprising. This journey lasted four months. In the Orenburg province, people were still alive who remembered Emelyan Pugachev. And in the fall of 1833, the poet returned to the capital with the "History of Pugachev". This work was the first scientific study of the "Russian rebellion", a bold study, unusual for that time. Pushkin wrote in it that "all the black people were for Pugachev," and "the nobility was openly on the side of the government," since their goals and interests were too "opposite." The poet was not afraid here to speak the truth that he comprehended. But Pushkin decided to create another work dedicated to the events of the Pugachev uprising.
The historical process was presented to the poet as an endless chain, where the links were people, and its beginning and end were lost in time. According to Pushkin, history is a stream flowing through a person's house, through his personal, privacy. The poet believed that a person remains in history thanks to self-esteem, kindness, breadth and wealth of the soul, and not orders and royal favor. History for Pushkin is not a scientific abstraction, but a living connection of living people, in faces, "in a cap and a dressing gown." This living connection meant the continuity of generations, when each subsequent respects and preserves the experience of the fathers, increases the spiritual values ​​of the ancestors. That's why social progress the poet connected not with technical discoveries, but with the achievements of culture, with the development of the spiritual world of man. Many of these thoughts were somehow embodied in The Captain's Daughter.
The genre of this work is still controversial. What is this? Story? Novel? Historical chronicle? Family notes? This is not memoir literature - it is created only on the basis of actual material. And here much belongs to artistic fiction. For the same reason, "The Captain's Daughter" cannot be attributed to family notes, although the work was written in the form of a family chronicle. Therefore, it is a short story or a historical novel. Modern literary criticism leaning towards the first. Nevertheless, this story contains historical material, is written in the form of family notes and is a memoir of the already aging Grinev. Here we see how Pushkin's understanding of historicism was reflected in the very genre of the work: the poet depicted important social events through the fate of people.

This work is literary notes literary hero. Such a technique made it possible for the author, when reproducing pictures of the Pugachev war, not to give a direct assessment of either side. The family memoirs that Grinev writes require him to say only what only he himself witnessed. Therefore, Pushkin, for example, could not give a psychological portrait of the Empress (Grinev never saw her), and reproduce this image in the spirit of splendor inherent in that time.
For Pushkin, the truth is the principle of presenting the material, so he makes his hero the best of the nobles. Grinev is characterized by kindness and nobility. Even Pushkin's predecessor, Fonvizin, in the comedy "Undergrowth" through the mouth of one of the heroes, Starodum, recalling his father's testament, said: "Have a heart, have a soul, and you will be a man at any time."
Grinev is just such a person. But this is not Pushkin, his views are not consonant with Pushkin's. He does not understand everything from what he had to see. Much in Pugachev remains closed to him, and here the poet, as it were, "corrects" Grinev's judgments with the help of observations and facts that he, as a conscientious memoirist, supposedly writes down. Let us recall, for example, the episode with the Kalmyk fairy tale, when Pugachev looks with surprise at the young nobleman. This surprise speaks volumes. Grinev did not understand Pugachev's allegory, but the author helps readers: he "forces" Grinev to see this bewildered look of the "rebel", thus leaving room for reflection on the fairy tale for us.
The story is also interesting in terms of composition: each chapter is structured in such a way that it adds a new touch to the characterization of the characters.
In 1837, a contemporary of the poet, historian A.I. Turgenev, wrote: “Pushkin’s story“ The Captain’s Daughter ”became so famous here that Barant, not jokingly, suggested that the author, in my presence, translate it into French<язык>with his help, but how will he express the originality of this style, this era, these old Russian characters and this girlish Russian charm - which are outlined throughout the story? The main charm is in the story, and it is difficult to retell the story in another language. The French will understand our uncle<…>, such and they had; but will the faithful wife of the faithful commandant understand?" (Letter from A. I. Turgenev to K. Ya. Bulgakov. January 9, 1837 - In the book: Letters of Alexander Turgenev to Bulgakov. M., 1939, p. 204.)

8. Historical novel "The Captain's Daughter"

Plug Walter Scott in the belt

Pushkin called "novel" a certain historical action developed on the fates of individual people. He went to write the novel "The Captain's Daughter" for many years. Somewhere in the mid-twenties, he thought about how to write a novel, and even predicted to one of his friends that he would outdo Walter Scott himself.

But, nevertheless, this was postponed from year to year, and Pushkin began writing the work, which would later be called The Captain's Daughter, in 1832. So this work went in parallel with the "History of Peter" with the "History of Pugachev" and other works.

The first edition of The Captain's Daughter was completed in the summer of 1936. And, having completed his manuscript, Pushkin immediately began to redo it. Why? In order to understand this, perhaps it would be worth starting from the beginning - from the epigraph. The epigraph to "The Captain's Daughter" is known to all: "Take care of honor from a young age." This, so to speak, is the main meaning, the main consideration, which is contained in this novel.

Another thing is also known - that, in fact, the proverb itself, Russian, it is contained in the collection of Russian proverbs in the Pushkin library, is known to everyone, but, as always, the situation is not so simple. It turns out that Pushkin could have known this proverb as Latin. Here, everyone knows Onegin's lines: “In those days, when in the gardens of the Lyceum / I serenely blossomed, I read Apuleius willingly, / But I didn’t read Cicero ...” Apuleius is a Roman writer of the 2nd century AD. His work “The Golden Ass” is known, but in addition, he also wrote something called “Apology” - a speech in defense of himself from accusations of magic. In this work, he quotes this proverb in approximately the following edition: “Honor is like a dress: the more it is worn, the less you care about it.” And therefore, honor must be preserved from a young age. By the way, in 1835 this Apology was published in Russian, and Pushkin could remember it or read it again while working on The Captain's Daughter.

But one way or another, the novel was devoted to the most acute, the most important problems of morality of that era, and not only that. The moral potential of The Captain's Daughter has reached our days and even deepened, it has become much more subtle and better understood. It is only important to understand that, together with the Latin proverb, The Captain's Daughter includes what Dostoevsky in Pushkin called "universal responsiveness." That is, we are talking about the fact that the thing was written in line with not only Russian culture, but also world culture.

The author's path to the novel

The path of the author to the novel begins very early. It turns out that much of the novel is based on own experience author, personal experience. For example, he finds the name Grinev in 1830 in a bulletin about cholera in Moscow. It was so periodical, which he read back in Boldino with anxiety for his loved ones - how are they doing in the cholera city. So Petr Grinev is listed as one of the donors of money to help the victims. That is, some positive associations with this name begin very early for him.

Or another example. When leaving Boldino, Pushkin was stopped by cholera quarantines. And in describing this detention, this forced stop, he paints the situation that we find in the missing chapter of The Captain's Daughter, which will be discussed later when main character Petrusha comes to native village. He is also not allowed in by the Pugachev outposts, just as Pushkin himself was not allowed in cholera quarantines. That is, personal experience is always present in the text of the novel.

The same thing happens with heroes. For example, when Petrusha Grinev arrives at the Belogorsk fortress, he meets there with an officer exiled there, Shvabrin. And it is curious to note that the portrait of this very Shvabrin: a man of short stature, somewhat swarthy, ugly, completely coincides with the description of Pushkin himself by memoirists, very many. Why did Pushkin suddenly give his appearance to the main negative character?

Probably, there was a moment, as it were, of parting with youth, with sinful inclinations young Pushkin. And, apparently, this is such a "scapegoat", that is, he puts his sins into the biography and character of the hero and, thereby, parting with the violent beginning of his life.

One way or another, this is a novel from Russian life. And Pushkin's life experience is presented all the time. Well, for example, father Gerasim is the rector of the church in the Belogorsk fortress. And, in fact, why is this person named so? Because this is Pushkin's memory of his lyceum teacher, Gerasim Petrovich Pavsky, who taught him the law of God and instructed him in the moral life. Then he will be mentioned in Pushkin's diary as one of our smartest and kindest priests. That is, we see how the life experience of Pushkin himself is reflected in the pages of The Captain's Daughter.

Pushkin's personal experience comes to the surface in the most unexpected places. Here we remember well how Masha, having arrived in St. Petersburg, does not, in fact, reach the capital, but stops in Tsarskoe Selo, in Sofia, and lives there in the house of the postal station superintendent. And it is from there that she goes out into the park in the morning, meets with Catherine ... But all this is historically impossible, because the postal station in Sofia, near Tsarskoye Selo, was created many years later than the possible meeting of Catherine II with Masha. Pushkin describes the lyceum Tsarskoe Selo, Tsarskoe Selo of the 19th century. Sophia is there, and all this is happening there, which is historically completely impossible. But when Pushkin needs to express character through historical circumstances, he distorts them rather easily.

Another episode is related to the same episode. Why is Masha dating Ekaterina? Was this meeting accidental? After all, on the eve of the hostess of the apartment where Masha is staying, she takes her along Tsarskoye Selo, shows sights, talks about the daily routine of the empress, who gets up at such and such an hour, drinks coffee, walks in the park at such and such an hour, has lunch at such and such an hour, and so on. An attentive reader should have understood that Masha did not just go to the park to walk in the early morning. Walking is bad for the health of a young girl, the old woman tells her. She goes to meet the empress and knows perfectly well who she met. They both pretend that an obscure provincial woman is meeting with an unknown court lady. In fact, both of them understand what is going on. Well, Ekaterina understands because Masha tells herself: who she is and what she is. But Masha knows with whom she is talking. And thus her audacity rises in meaning. She does not contradict any lady at all, but the Empress herself.

The Captain's Daughter is, perhaps, not only the great beginning of Russian literature, Russian prose, but also a thing that has outlived the era. For example, Tvardovsky, the first poet of other times, of another era, said that perhaps there is nothing higher in Russian literature than The Captain's Daughter, and that here is the source of all that literature, which our fatherland is famous for.

One of the approaches to The Captain's Daughter, perhaps, is a sketch of Pushkin's plan, known as "The Son of the Executed Archer." This is also a kind of prototype of a future novel, unfortunately not written. The action there takes place during the time of Peter the Great. And here's what's interesting. carrier of the main moral sense this thing is not the daughter of the executed captain, but the daughter of the executed archer - executed by Peter. That is, the main feature of one of the main characters is observed even in this sketch. But there is a complicated history of family relations, the substitution of one person for another. The reconstruction of this novel is possible, but for us the main thing is that the main, so to speak, spiritual motives of the thing that we know from The Captain's Daughter have already been stated there.

Anachronisms of estate life

Something in the novel is explained by the fact that it is placed in Pushkin's magazine Sovremennik. The magazine was intended for non-serving patrimonial nobles and their families. And, it would seem, the estate life will not come to the surface in this magazine, which gives readers some kind of global perspective on life. There will be foreign publications, and some science articles. And suddenly "The Captain's Daughter"! The reader is very familiar with the life of the estate, and therefore it seems like why?

Meanwhile, it turns out that the life of the estate is very deeply and truly reflected precisely in The Captain's Daughter. This is an estate of the pre-Pushkin era and in a sense is an image of an earthly paradise. In that earthly paradise the protagonist's happy childhood. He plays with the yard kids, goes hunting with his father. They don't drink there, they don't spend nights playing cards, they only play nuts. This is the paradise that remains in the mind of the hero for the rest of his life, the paradise that he wants to reproduce later, becoming himself a free non-serving landowner.

Those. the landowner here appears not as a gentleman, but rather as the head of the old peasant community, for whom serfs, men and women, are the same family that he must take care of, and this is the meaning of his life, his existence. This is a world where receiving and sending a letter is an event. This is a world where the chronology is counted not from the general calendar, but from local incidents, for example, “the same year when Aunt Nastasya Gerasimovna went wrong.”

It's narrow, wonderful beautiful world. The time and space of the manor house are cyclical, closed, everything is predictable here, if not for the subsequent sharp turns of the novel's plot. True, the attentive reader understands that in the description noble estate Grinev Pushkin uses his personal experience, which is not always applicable and correct in Catherine's time. A lot of details are rather given out in Grinev by Pushkin, i.e. a man of a different historical epoch.

This is especially evident when the Frenchman Monsieur Beaupré appears in the Grinev estate, for whom, in general, in the 60s of the 18th century there was still no place in the remote provincial Volga estate of the Simbirsk province. Those. theoretically, this is conceivable, but the influx of French tutors will come later, when the Great French Revolution occurs, when Napoleon is defeated and the mass of unfortunate French people go to Russia for a piece of bread, just to live. This is the Beaupré whom Pushkin knows, but whom, of course, Grinev did not know.

Here the difference of epochs is very clearly visible. It was in Griboedov-Pushkin's times that there was an influx of these so-called teachers "more in number, at a cheaper price." And yet such details are very common in The Captain's Daughter. For example, Grinev knows a lot of things that his real peer from a provincial estate could not know, including French, the details of Russian history, which were not yet known before the release of Karamzin's main work. This is all - Pushkin's personal experience in the estate life, which Petrusha Grinev does not yet have.

Conflict of justice and mercy

But let us return to the question: why did Pushkin suddenly begin to remake his novel, having just put the last point, just completed it. Apparently, because he was not satisfied with the moral potential that turned out to be there. After all, in the end, the potential of the "Captain's Daughter" can be described as a confrontation between two main principles - justice and mercy.

Here, the bearer of the idea of ​​justice, legality, state necessity is the old man Grinev. For him, the concept of state necessity, of noble honor is the meaning of life. And when he is convinced that his son Petrusha changed his oath, took the side of Pugachev, he does not take any steps to save him. Because he understands the correctness of the punishment that follows.

It seems that this was not the case in the first version. After all, Petrusha, the son of an old man, fought with the Pugachevites in front of his father's eyes - he shot at them. Well, the famous episode of the exit from the barn. And thus, the old man was convinced that he did not change any oath. And, therefore, it must be saved. Therefore, he is slandered. And, perhaps, in the first version, he was the main character saving his son.

And, apparently, this situation did not suit Pushkin. Because, as always, women became the bearers of mercy for him. The bride of the hero Masha and Catherine II. That's who the bearers of mercy were. And at the same time, Masha Mironova came to the fore - a direct continuation of Onegin's Tatyana, the bearer of not justice, not state rules, but precisely mercy, philanthropy. This is what made Pushkin, probably, immediately begin to remake the novel.

It was clear to him that in the conditions of state-legal relations, neither the plot nor even the plot of the novel could resist. In the omitted chapter, which was not included in the main text of the novel and remained from the first version, we find an extremely interesting difference between the first and second and version, between the first and second editions.

For example, the old man Grinev lets Masha go to Petersburg not at all because he hopes that she will bother for the groom. He took it out of his heart. He is not. He simply lets her go with parting words: “God grant you a good groom, and not a branded criminal.” And for some reason he lets Savelich go with her. Here is Savelich's departure from the estate, this gift from old man Grinev to Masha - he gives his aspirant serf ex-fiancee ex-son - completely changes the situation. It turns out that Masha is in a conspiracy with Petrusha's mother, with the old man's wife, they both know that she is going to ask for the groom, but he does not know. He remains in his implacability towards his son, in his distance from the corrupt Catherine's court, which he does not consider a moral authority. That is, this is the character who was the main character in the first edition. But this is not the main thing in The Captain's Daughter.

And so the two editions speak of two stages of Pushkin's consciousness. He went to a completely different prose, to prose, where the main actors were "heroes of the heart". This is his term, this is a line from his poem "Hero", written back in the 20s. And the fact that people who are extremely authoritarian and statesmen, such as Catherine II or the peasant Tsar Pugachev, show precisely the heroism of the heart, mercy, this is what becomes the basis. Here, perhaps, somewhere we find the features of Pushkin, what he would have been like in the 40s, 50s, if he had lived to this time. Here you can see the edge of a completely different Pushkin, opposing statehood in many of its manifestations. That is, he does not cease to be a lyric poet, and this must be taken into account.

"Naked prose" and the female gaze

When, already in his very mature years, Tolstoy re-read Pushkin's prose, he noticed that it was, of course, excellent prose, but it seemed to him somehow a little bit "naked", devoid of a mass of vital details. And apparently it's true. Because Pushkin, and this is clearly seen in The Captain's Daughter, saves the reader from landscapes, from describing clothes, appearance, and some kind of weather conditions. It gives only the meaning of what is happening and what reflects the character of the characters. This freedom of the reader, who is free to come up with the picture that is offered, is, perhaps, the main strength of Pushkin's prose.

The second feature of The Captain's Daughter is familiar to us from Eugene Onegin. The bearer of the author's view of life and circumstances is a woman. In the first case Tatyana, in the second case Masha, Maria Ivanovna. And it is she who, at the end of the novel, ceases to be a plaything of circumstances. She herself begins to fight for her happiness and for the happiness of her betrothed. Even to the point that she rejects the sentence of Catherine II, who says: “No, the empress cannot forgive Grinev, because he is a traitor.” “No,” Masha replies, and thus acts with such strength of independence, which, not only in the 18th century, but even much later - in Tatyana's, in Onegin's times, was not characteristic of Russian women. She insists on her own against the royal will. Which, in general, also expresses a certain understanding by Pushkin of the role of an adviser to the sovereign, which he invented for himself and which did not come true. Even no matter what in question, this is a continuation of Karamzin's idea of ​​an adviser to the king - "the king's confidant, not a slave." Here is what Masha gives out.

Despite the fact that Pushkin himself understands that this is not historical truth, it is pure fiction. And, in parallel with The Captain's Daughter, he writes an article about Radishchev, where he gives the most important consideration about the 18th century. The fate of Radishchev, he writes, is a sign of "what harsh people still surrounded the throne of Catherine." Nothing except state concepts they did not carry with them.

And here is Masha, who is ahead not only of her age, but also next century, becomes Pushkin's ideal, becomes, as it were, the prototype of those heroes and heroines who, perhaps, would inhabit Pushkin's poetry and prose - in the 40s, and God willing, in the 50s.

A cloud, a blizzard and a challenge of fate

The description of the snowstorm in the second chapter of The Captain's Daughter is a textbook, at school it was necessary to memorize this episode by heart, it is so textbook and very famous. The coachman, carrying Grinev across the steppe, says: “Barin, would you order me to return?” We have already noticed that a cloud on the horizon heralds a storm, but not only a storm. In line with the biblical tradition, the cloud that fell to the ground has a completely different meaning - the meaning of the sign that God bestows on the chosen people, letting them know where to go.

This is a very persistent tradition in Russian literature. For example, the same Akhmatova said that "Onegin is an aerial mass," and this also goes back to this biblical image of a cloud showing the way.

In The Captain's Daughter, a cloud on the horizon is like a challenge to fate. Here is Savelich, who says: "Master, let's go back, drink tea, go to bed and wait out the storm." And on the other hand, Grinev, who says: “I don’t see anything terrible, let’s go!” And they fall into this terrible blizzard, in which they almost die.

And the symbolic meaning of this blizzard, turning all the action, is obvious. Well, let's say they would come back. What would happen then? Then Grinev would not have met Pugachev and would normally have been executed after the capture of the Belogorsk fortress. That's the first thing the blizzard does. Acquaintance with Pugachev, avoiding execution - this is again a challenge to fate, which rewards a person who has gone towards danger. There is a lot of Pushkin in this. This idea of ​​calling fate runs through all his work, but this is a separate big topic, which can only be touched on a little here. And now a cloud predetermines everything that will happen later: love, unhappy love, the capture of a fortress, execution, further difficulties and horrors of the hero's biography - it all begins with a cloud.

The motive for calling fate is heard further - in a duel with Shvabrin, in behavior before the execution, which, fortunately, did not take place, in noble silence in the Investigative Commission, where he does not name his beloved ... All this is defined as a response to the challenge of fate. The same thing happens with Masha, the bride, who avoids mortal danger, but is ready to sacrifice her life for the groom, for his parents in the denouement of the novel.

The biblical cloud leads to the fact that in the end evil is defeated, retreats, and good triumphs. And, as a matter of fact, traditionally this kindness is crowned by the narrative. However, human happiness, according to Pushkin, still remains within the limits of universal earthly exile, and here individual destinies clearly begin to border on the fate of the people, with its history.

"In the rank of a historical story"

At the end of the story, Pushkin puts into the mouth of his hero an aphorism that applies, perhaps, to all domestic life, as they say, from Gostomysl to our days. "God forbid to see a Russian rebellion, senseless and merciless." This maxim, perhaps, finally confirms Pushkin's novel in the rank of a historical story. Historical, not in the sense of material, but in the sense of the idea of ​​history, and especially Russian history, in its original and very typical form.

The historical on the pages of The Captain's Daughter sounds, I would say, in full voice. This is especially well heard where the author voluntarily or involuntarily deviates from the real, so to speak, documented history. For example, in one version of the story, Pugachev quite anecdotally offers Grinev to serve in his army, and for this he undertakes to reward him with the title of Prince Potemkin.

Clearly, the humor lies in the fact that Pugachev does not understand the difference between a generic title and a public position. Pushkin refuses this option, apparently because someone points out to him a historical error: by the time of Pugachev’s execution, Catherine, perhaps, does not even know about the existence of Potemkin, these are two different eras- the era of the uprising and the era of Potemkin favoritism. Therefore he refuses.

But in principle, Pushkin is still right, because favoritism flourishes in both states, both Catherine's and Pugachev's, which is especially evident in Peter's and post-Petrine's Russia. Pushkin may be historically wrong, but he is absolutely right in line with the philosophy of history. The logic of history triumphs over chronology, and this in no way detracts from the merits of a literary text.

The same applies to the details of the biography of Peter Grinev. Petrusha, in a conversation with an impostor, with Pugachev, reveals knowledge of the details of the fall of False Dmitry I at the beginning XVII century, i.e. details of the Time of Troubles. In general, catching a poet on factual inaccuracies is, as a rule, a meaningless exercise. It usually testifies to our misunderstanding of fiction or, to put it another way, misunderstanding of figurative fabric.

Sometimes one hears that one can study the history of Russia from The Captain's Daughter. Well, you can, of course, but you just need to understand the nature of the features of this study. We must be aware that the novel paints this story as a whole, in a highly artistic sense. The author often neglects the authenticity of a detail in the name of the authenticity of the artistic whole. Therefore, according to The Captain's Daughter, one can study the whole of Russian history as a whole, but just not the history of the Pugachev rebellion, because here the author neglects the historical truth of the episode in the name of the historical truth of the whole, all Russian history, taken as a great centuries-old unity.

It is on the pages of the novel, as well as in the scenes of Boris Godunov, by the way, that Pushkin often renounces facts in favor of the generalized historical truth of the entire past as a whole. He thinks that with this amendment it is necessary to accept the artistic fabric of The Captain's Daughter as the work of a great historian.

Neither in The Captain's Daughter, nor in his other works, Pushkin created an integral history of Russia. Yes, in fact, he probably did not aspire to this. But his great talent in the field of history is beyond doubt. Pushkin's thought highlights such dark corners of history, which, perhaps, are inaccessible to a professional historian, limited known facts. And therefore, our best, mainstream historians have always recognized this ability in Pushkin, which, perhaps, they themselves did not fully possess. This was understood by such scientists as Sergei Mikhailovich Solovyov, Vasily Iosifovich Klyuchevsky, Sergei Fedorovich Platonov and many, many others.

A certain result of their considerations was summed up by their colleague, Evgeny Viktorovich Tarle, our famous academician. He used to say to his students that Dantes' shot deprived Russia not only of a brilliant writer, Pushkin had already managed to become one during his lifetime, but also of the greatest historian, who barely felt the taste of science.

In Apuleius: "Shame and honor are like a dress: the more shabby, the more careless you treat them." Cit. according to ed. Apuleius. Apology. Metamorphoses. Florida. M., 1956, S. 9.

Pushkin A.S. Alexander Radishchev.

Literature

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