“Pushkin’s creations of irony. Pushkin, Alexander Sergeyevich

VOLUME ONE

CHAPTER I

Several years ago, an old Russian gentleman, Kirila Petrovich Troekurov, lived on one of his estates. His wealth, noble family and connections gave him great weight in the provinces where his estate was located. The neighbors were happy to cater to his slightest whims; provincial officials trembled at his name; Kirila Petrovich accepted signs of servility as a proper tribute; his house was always full of guests, ready to entertain his lordly idleness, sharing his noisy and sometimes violent amusements. No one dared to refuse his invitation or on certain days not to appear with due respect in the village of Pokrovskoye. In his home life, Kirila Petrovich showed all the vices of an uneducated person. Spoiled by everything that surrounded him, he was accustomed to giving full rein to all the impulses of his ardent disposition and all the ideas of his rather limited mind. Despite the extraordinary strength of his physical abilities, he suffered from gluttony twice a week and was tipsy every evening. In one of the wings of his house lived sixteen maids, engaged in handicrafts peculiar to their sex. The windows in the outbuilding were blocked by wooden bars; doors

were locked with locks, the keys to which were kept by Kiril Petrovich. The young hermits went to the garden at the appointed hours and walked under the supervision of two old women. From time to time, Kirila Petrovich married off some of them, and new ones took their place. He treated peasants and servants strictly and capriciously; despite this, they were devoted to him: they were vain of the wealth and glory of their master and, in turn, allowed themselves a lot in relation to their neighbors, hoping for his strong patronage.

Troekurov's usual occupations consisted of traveling around his extensive domains, long feasts and pranks, which were invented every day and the victim of which was usually some new acquaintance; although old friends did not always avoid them, with the exception of one Andrei Gavrilovich Dubrovsky. This Dubrovsky, a retired lieutenant of the guard, was his closest neighbor and owned seventy souls. Troekurov, arrogant in relations with people of the highest rank, respected Dubrovsky despite his humble state. They had once been comrades in the service, and Troekurov knew from experience the impatience and determination of his character. Circumstances separated them for a long time. Dubrovsky, upset, was forced to resign and settle in the rest of his village. Kirila Petrovich, having learned about this, offered him his patronage, but Dubrovsky thanked him and remained poor and independent. A few years later, Troekurov, a retired general-in-chief, came to his estate, they met and were delighted with each other. Since then, they were together every day, and Kirila Petrovich, who had never deigned to visit anyone with his visits, would easily drop by the house of his old friend. Being the same age, born in the same class, raised the same, they were somewhat similar in character and inclinations. In some respects, their fate was the same: both married for love, both were soon widowed, both had a child. Dubrovsky's son was brought up in

Petersburg, the daughter of Kiril Petrovich grew up in the eyes of her parent, and Troekurov often said to Dubrovsky: “Listen, brother, Andrei Gavrilovich: if there is a way in your Volodka, then I will give Masha for it; It’s okay that he’s naked as a falcon.” Andrei Gavrilovich shook his head and answered as usual: “No, Kirila Petrovich: my Volodka is not Maria Kirilovna’s fiancé. It is better for a poor nobleman, such as he is, to marry a poor noblewoman and be the head of the house, than to become the clerk of a spoiled woman.”

Everyone envied the harmony that reigned between the arrogant Troekurov and his poor neighbor, and were surprised at the courage of this latter when, at Kiril Petrovich’s table, he directly expressed his opinion, not caring whether it contradicted the opinions of the owner. Some tried to imitate him and go beyond the limits of proper obedience, but Kirila Petrovich frightened them so much that he forever discouraged them from making such attempts, and Dubrovsky alone remained outside the general law. An unexpected incident upset and changed everything.

Once at the beginning of autumn, Kirila Petrovich was getting ready to go to a field that was leaving. The day before, the order was given to the hounds and hunters to be ready at five o'clock in the morning. The tent and kitchen were sent forward to the place where Kirila Petrovich was supposed to have lunch. The owner and guests went to the kennel yard, where more than five hundred hounds and greyhounds lived in contentment and warmth, glorifying the generosity of Kiril Petrovich in their canine language. There was also an infirmary for sick dogs, under the supervision of the staff doctor Timoshka, and a department where noble bitches gave birth and fed their puppies. Kirila Petrovich was proud of this wonderful establishment and never missed an opportunity to boast about it to his guests, each of whom examined it at least for the twentieth time. He walked around the kennel, surrounded by his guests and accompanied by Timoshka and the main hounds; stopped in front of some kennels, now asking about the health of the sick, now making more or less strict and fair comments, now calling

familiar dogs and talking to them affectionately. Guests considered it their duty to admire Kiril Petrovich’s kennel. Only Dubrovsky was silent and frowned. He was an ardent hunter. His condition enabled him to keep only two hounds and one pack of greyhounds; he could not help but feel a little envy at the sight of this magnificent establishment. “Why are you frowning, brother,” Kirila Petrovich asked him, “or don’t you like my kennel?” “No,” he answered sternly, “the kennel is wonderful, it’s unlikely that your people will live the same as your dogs.” One of the hounds was offended. “We don’t complain about our life,” he said, “thanks to God and the master, and what’s true is true; it would not be bad for another nobleman to exchange the estate for any local kennel. He would have been more nourished and warmer.” Kirila Petrovich laughed loudly at his servant’s impudent remark, and the guests followed him with laughter, although they felt that the huntsman’s joke could apply to them as well. Dubrovsky turned pale and did not say a word. At this time, they brought newborn puppies to Kiril Petrovich in a basket; he took care of them, chose two for himself, and ordered the others to be drowned. Meanwhile, Andrei Gavrilovich disappeared, and no one noticed.

Returning with the guests from the kennel yard, Kirila Petrovich sat down to dinner and only then, not seeing Dubrovsky, did he miss him. People answered that Andrei Gavrilovich had gone home. Troekurov ordered to immediately catch up with him and turn him back without fail. From his childhood he never went hunting without Dubrovsky, an experienced and subtle connoisseur of canine virtues and an infallible resolver of all kinds of hunting disputes. The servant, who galloped after him, returned as they were still sitting at the table, and reported to his master that, they say, Andrei Gavrilovich did not listen and did not want to return. Kirila Petrovich, as usual, inflamed by the liqueurs, became angry and sent the same servant a second time to tell Andrei Gavrilovich that if he did not immediately come to spend the night in Pokrovskoye, then he, Troekurov, would quarrel with him forever. The servant galloped off again, Kirila Petrovich got up from the table, dismissed the guests and went to bed.

The next day his first question was: is Andrei Gavrilovich here? Instead of an answer, he was given a letter folded into a triangle; Kirila Petrovich ordered his clerk to read it aloud and heard the following:

“My gracious sir,

I don’t intend to go to Pokrovskoye until you send me the huntsman Paramoshka to confess; but it will be my will to punish him or have mercy, but I do not intend to tolerate jokes from your servants, and I will not tolerate them from you either, because I am not a jester, but an old nobleman. For this reason I remain obedient to your services

Andrey Dubrovsky."

According to modern concepts of etiquette, this letter would be very indecent, but it angered Kiril Petrovich not with the strange style and location, but only with its essence: “How,” thundered Troekurov, jumping out of bed barefoot, “send my people to him to confess, he free to pardon and punish them! what was he really up to; does he know who he is contacting? Here I am... He’ll cry with me, he’ll find out what it’s like to go against Troekurov!”

Kirila Petrovich got dressed and went hunting with his usual pomp, but the hunt was unsuccessful. All day they saw only one hare and it was poisoned. Lunch in the field under the tent also failed, or at least was not to the taste of Kiril Petrovich, who killed the cook, scolded the guests, and on the way back, with all his desire, deliberately drove through the fields of Dubrovsky.

Several days passed, and the hostility between the two neighbors did not subside. Andrei Gavrilovich did not return to Pokrovskoye - Kirila Petrovich was bored without him, and his annoyance poured out loudly in the most offensive expressions, which, thanks to the zeal of the local nobles, reached Dubrovsky, corrected and supplemented. The new circumstance destroyed the last hope for reconciliation.

Dubrovsky was once touring his small estate; approaching the birch grove, he heard

blows of an ax and a minute later the crash of a fallen tree. He hurried into the grove and ran into the Pokrovsky men, who were calmly stealing the forest from him. Seeing him, they started to run. Dubrovsky and his coachman caught two of them and brought them bound to his yard. Three enemy horses were immediately taken as spoils to the winner. Dubrovsky was extremely angry; before this, Troekurov’s people, famous robbers, had never dared to play pranks within his domain, knowing his friendly relationship with their master. Dubrovsky saw that they were now taking advantage of the gap that had occurred - and decided, contrary to all concepts of the law of war, to teach his captives a lesson with the rods that they had stocked up in his own grove, and to give the horses to work, assigning them to the master's cattle.

The rumor about this incident reached Kiril Petrovich on the same day. He lost his temper and in the first minute of anger wanted to launch an attack on Kistenevka (that was the name of his neighbor’s village) with all his servants, ruin it to the ground and besiege the landowner himself on his estate. Such feats were not unusual for him. But his thoughts soon took a different direction.

Walking with heavy steps back and forth across the hall, he accidentally looked out the window and saw a troika stopped at the gate; a small man in a leather cap and frieze overcoat got out of the cart and went to the outbuilding to the clerk; Troekurov recognized assessor Shabashkin and ordered to call him. A minute later, Shabashkin was already standing in front of Kiril Petrovich, bowing after bow and reverently awaiting his orders.

“Great, what’s your name,” Troekurov told him, “why did you come?”

“I was going to the city, Your Excellency,” answered Shabashkin, “and went to Ivan Demyanov to find out if there would be any order from Your Excellency.”

It’s very opportune that I stopped by, what’s your name; I need you. Drink some vodka and listen.

Such an affectionate reception pleasantly surprised the assessor. He gave up vodka and began to listen to Kiril Petrovich with all possible attention.

“I have a neighbor,” said Troekurov, “a small-time rude man; I want to take his estate - what do you think about that?

Your Excellency, if there are any documents or...

You're lying, brother, what kind of documents do you need? There are decrees for that. This is the power to take away property without any right. Wait, though. This estate once belonged to us, was bought from some Spitsyn and then sold to Dubrovsky’s father. Is it possible to find fault with this?

Wise, Your Excellency; This sale was probably completed legally.

Think, brother, look carefully.

If, for example, your Excellency could somehow obtain from your neighbor a record or deed of sale by virtue of which he owns his estate, then of course...

I understand, but the problem is that all his papers were burned in a fire.

How, Your Excellency, his papers were burned! what's better for you? - in this case, please act according to the laws, and without any doubt you will receive your complete pleasure.

You think? Well, look. I rely on your diligence, and you can be sure of my gratitude.

Shabashkin bowed almost to the ground, went out, from that very day he began to work on the planned case, and, thanks to his agility, exactly two weeks later Dubrovsky received an invitation from the city to immediately deliver proper explanations about his ownership of the village of Kistenevka.

Andrei Gavrilovich, surprised by the unexpected request, wrote back on the same day in a rather rude manner, in which he announced that the village of Kistenevka had come to him after the death of his late parent, that he owned it by right of inheritance, that

Troekurov has nothing to do with him and that any outside claim to this property of his is a sneak and fraud.

This letter made a very pleasant impression in the soul of assessor Shabashkin. He saw, firstly, that Dubrovsky knew little about business, and secondly, that it would not be difficult to put a person so ardent and imprudent in the most disadvantageous position.

Andrei Gavrilovich, having calmly examined the assessor’s requests, saw the need to answer in more detail. He wrote a fairly efficient paper, but later it turned out to be insufficient.

The matter began to drag on. Confident in his rightness, Andrei Gavrilovich cared little about him, had neither the desire nor the opportunity to sprinkle money around him, and although he was always the first to mock the corrupt conscience of the ink tribe, the thought of becoming a victim of a sneak did not occur to him. For his part, Troekurov cared just as little about winning the case he had started - Shabashkin worked for him, acting on his behalf, intimidating and bribing judges and crookedly interpreting all kinds of decrees. Be that as it may, on the 18th... year, February 9th, Dubrovsky received an invitation through the city police to appear before the ** zemstvo judge to hear his decision in the case of a disputed estate between him, Lieutenant Dubrovsky, and Chief General Troekurov, and for subscriptions of your pleasure or displeasure. On the same day, Dubrovsky went to the city; Troekurov overtook him on the road. They looked at each other proudly, and Dubrovsky noticed an evil smile on his opponent’s face.

CHAPTER II

Arriving in the city, Andrei Gavrilovich stayed with a merchant he knew, spent the night with him, and the next day in the morning appeared before the district court. Nobody paid any attention to him. Kirila Petrovich arrived after him. The clerks stood up and put feathers behind their ears. The members greeted him with expressions of deep servility, pulled out chairs for him out of respect for his rank, age and stature; he sat down with the doors open - Andrei Gavrilovich stood leaning against the wall - there was deep silence, and the secretary began to read the court ruling in a ringing voice.

We put it completely, believing that everyone will be pleased to see one of the ways in which in Rus' we can lose property, the ownership of which we have an indisputable right to.

On October 18... 27 days ** the district court considered the case of the improper possession of the guard by Lieutenant Andrei Gavrilov's son Dubrovsky estate, belonging to Chief General Kiril Petrov son Troekurov, consisting ** of the province in the village of Kistenevka, male ** souls, and land with meadows and lands ** tithes. From which case it is clear: the said general-in-chief Troekurov of the past 18... of June 9 days entered this court with a petition that his late father, collegiate assessor and cavalier Peter Efimov was the son of Troekurov in 17... of August 14 days , who at that time served as a provincial secretary in the ** governor's board, bought from the nobles from the clerk Fadey Egorov's son Spitsyn an estate consisting of ** districts in the aforementioned village of Kistenevka (which

the settlement was then, according to the ** revision, called Kistenevsky settlements), the total number of men listed according to the 4th revision of the male sex ** souls with all their peasant property, the estate, with arable and uncultivated land, forests, hay fields, fishing along the river called Kistenevka, and with all the lands belonging to this estate and the master's wooden house, and in a word, everything without a trace, that after his father, from the nobles, the constable Yegor Terentyev's son Spitsyn inherited and was in his possession, without leaving a single soul of the people, and not a single quadrangle from the land, priced at 2500 rubles. for which the deed of sale was completed on the same day in the ** chamber of trial and reprisal, and his father on the same August, on the 26th day of ** the zemstvo court was taken into possession and a refusal was carried out for him. - And finally, on the 17th... year of September, the 6th day, his father died by the will of God, and meanwhile he, petitioner General-Chief Troekurov, from the 17th... year, almost from an early age, was in military service and for the most part was on campaigns abroad, which is why he could not have information about the death of his father, as well as about the estate left after him. Now, after completely retiring from that service and upon returning to his father’s estates, consisting of ** and ** provinces **, ** and ** districts, in different villages, in total up to 3000 souls, he finds that from among those the estates of the above-mentioned ** souls (of which, according to the current ** audit, there are only ** souls listed in that village), with the land and all the land, is owned without any fortifications by the above-mentioned guard lieutenant Andrei Dubrovsky, why, when presenting at this petition that genuine bill of sale given to his father the seller Spitsyn, asks, having taken away the said estate from Dubrovsky’s illegal possession, to give Troekurov’s complete disposal according to its ownership. And for the unjust appropriation from which he enjoyed the income received, after conducting a proper inquiry about it, impose on him, Dubrovsky, the following penalty according to the laws and satisfy him, Troekurov, with it.

After the zemstvo court carried out investigations on this request, it was discovered that the said current owner of the disputed estate of the guard, Lieutenant Dubrovsky, gave an explanation to the noble assessor on the spot that the estate he now owns, consisting of the said village of Kistenevka, ** souls with land and lands, went to he inherited after the death of his father, artillery second lieutenant Gavril Evgrafov's son Dubrovsky, and he inherited from the purchase from the father of this petitioner, formerly the former provincial secretary, and then the collegiate assessor Troekurov, by power of attorney given from him in 17... August 30 day, certified in the ** district court, to the titular councilor Grigory Vasilyev's son Sobolev, according to which there should be a deed of sale from him for this estate to his father, because it specifically says that he, Troekurov, received all the estate that he received under the deed from the clerk Spitsyn ,** soul with land, sold it to his father, Dubrovsky, and the following money under the agreement, 3200 rubles, received everything in full from his father without return and asked for it from the trusted Sobolev

give his father his designated fortress. Meanwhile, his father, in the same power of attorney, on the occasion of payment of the entire amount, shall own the estate purchased from him and dispose of it from now on until the completion of this fortress, as the real owner, and he, the seller Troekurov, will no longer enter into that estate with anyone. But when exactly and in what public place such a bill of sale from Sobolev’s attorney was given to his father is unknown to him, Andrei Dubrovsky, because at that time he was very young, and after the death of his father he could not find such a fortress, but believes that Didn’t it burn with other papers and property during the fire in their house in 17..., which was known to the residents of that village. And that from the date of sale by Troekurov or the issuance of a power of attorney to Sobolev, that is, from the year 17..., and after the death of his father from the year 17... to the present day, they, the Dubrovskys, undoubtedly owned, this is evidenced by the roundabout residents, who, in total 52 people, testified under oath that in fact, as they can remember, the aforementioned gentlemen began to own the said disputed estate. The Dubrovskys went back about 70 years ago without any dispute from anyone, but they do not know about which act or fortress. - The former buyer of this estate mentioned in this case, the former provincial secretary Pyotr Troekurov, they will not remember whether he owned this estate. The house of Messrs. About 30 years ago, the Dubrovskys burned down due to a fire that happened in their village at night, and outsiders assumed that the said disputed estate could bring in income, believing from that time on, in complexity, annually no less than 2000 rubles.

On the contrary, General-in-Chief Kiril Petrov, son of Troyekurov, on the 3rd of January of this year, entered this court with a petition that although the aforementioned guard lieutenant Andrei Dubrovsky presented during the investigation to this case the power of attorney issued by his late father Gavril Dubrovsky to the titular adviser Sobolev for the sold to him the estate, but according to this, not only the original bill of sale, but even the execution of it ever, did not provide any clear evidence according to the force of the general regulations of Chapter 19 and the decree of 1752 on November 29. Consequently, the power of attorney itself is now, after the death of the giver of it, his father, according to the decree of May 1818, completely destroyed. - And beyond that -

it was decided to give disputed estates into possession - serfs by fortress, and non-serfs by search.

For which estate, belonging to his father, a serfdom deed has already been presented from him as proof, according to which it follows, on the basis of the aforesaid legalizations, that the said Dubrovsky has been taken away from the wrongful possession and given to him by right of inheritance. And as the said landowners, having in the possession of an estate that did not belong to them and without any fortification, and used it incorrectly and income that did not belong to them, then, according to the calculation, how much of such will be due according to the force ... to recover from the landowner Dubrovsky and his,

Troekurov, please satisfy them. - Upon consideration of the case and the extract made from it and from the laws in the ** district court, it was determined:

It is clear from this case that General-in-Chief Kirila Petrov son Troekurov on the said disputed estate, now in the possession of the guard of Lieutenant Andrei Gavrilov son Dubrovsky, located in the village of Kistenevka, according to the current... audit of all males ** souls, with land and lands, presented a genuine bill of sale for the sale of it to his late father, the provincial secretary, who was later a collegiate assessor, in 17... from the nobles, the clerk Fadey Spitsyn, and that, in addition to this, this buyer, Troekurov, as from the bill of sale made on that the inscription can be seen that in the same year ** the zemstvo court took possession of which the estate had already been refused for him, and although on the contrary, from the side of the guard, lieutenant Andrei Dubrovsky was presented with a power of attorney given by that deceased buyer Troekurov to the titular councilor Sobolev for the execution of a deed of sale for the name of his father, Dubrovsky, but in such transactions not only to assert serf immovable estates, but even to temporarily own by decree... is prohibited, and the power of attorney itself is completely destroyed by the death of the giver. - But in addition to this, in order for the deed of sale to be actually executed under this power of attorney where and when for the said disputed estate, Dubrovsky has not presented any clear evidence to the case from the beginning of the proceedings, that is, from 18... to this time. And therefore this court decides: to approve the said estate, ** souls, with land and lands, in whatever position it now finds itself, according to the bill of sale presented for it for Chief General Troekurov; about the removal from the order of the guard of Lieutenant Dubrovsky and about the proper entry into possession for him, Mr. Troekurov, and about the refusal for him, as he inherited it, to order ** the zemstvo court. And although, in addition to this, Chief General Troekurov asks for the recovery of Lieutenant Dubrovsky from the guard for the illegal possession of his hereditary estate for those who took advantage of the income from it. - But what kind of estate did the Messrs. have, according to the testimony of old-timers? The Dubrovskys have been in undisputed possession for several years, and from this case it is not clear that on the part of Mr. Troekurov there have been any petitions until now about such improper possession by the Dubrovskys of this estate, according to the code

It is ordered that if someone sows someone else’s land or fences off an estate, and they begin to beat him with a brow for improper possession, and this is found out directly, then that land should be given to the rightful person, and with the sown grain, and the city, and the building,

and therefore, General-Chief Troyekurov will refuse the claim brought against the guard by Lieutenant Dubrovsky, because the estate belonging to him returns to his possession, without taking anything from it. And that when entering for him, everything could turn out to be without a trace, meanwhile leaving it to General-in-Chief Troekurov, if he has any claims about it

clear and legal evidence, may be asked where it should be specifically. What decision will be first announced to both the plaintiff and the defendant, on a legal basis, by appeal, and summon them to this court to hear this decision and sign pleasure or displeasure through the police.

Which decision was signed by all those present in that court.

The secretary fell silent, the assessor stood up and with a low bow turned to Troekurov, inviting him to sign the proposed paper, and the triumphant Troekurov, taking the pen from him, signed decision The trial is your absolute pleasure.

The line was behind Dubrovsky. The secretary brought him the paper. But Dubrovsky became motionless, lowering his head.

The secretary repeated his invitation to him to sign his complete and complete pleasure or obvious displeasure, if, more than aspirations, he feels in his conscience that his cause is right, and intends to appeal to the appropriate place at the time prescribed by the laws. Dubrovsky was silent... Suddenly he raised his head, his eyes sparkled, he stamped his foot, pushed the secretary with such force that he fell, and, grabbing an inkwell, threw it at the assessor. Everyone was horrified. "How! do not honor the church of God! away, you boorish tribe!” Then, turning to Kiril Petrovich: “We’ve heard of it, your Excellency,” he continued, “hunters are bringing dogs into God’s church! dogs are running around the church. I’ll teach you a lesson already...” The watchmen came running at the noise and forcibly took possession of him. They took him out and put him in a sleigh. Troekurov followed him out, accompanied by the entire court. Dubrovsky's sudden madness had a strong effect on his imagination and poisoned his triumph.

The judges, who hoped for his gratitude, did not receive a single friendly word from him. On the same day he went to Pokrovskoye. Meanwhile, Dubrovsky was lying in bed; The district doctor, fortunately not a complete ignoramus, managed to bleed him and apply leeches and Spanish flies. By evening he felt better, the patient came to his senses. The next day they took him to Kistenevka, which almost no longer belonged to him.

CHAPTER III

Some time passed, and poor Dubrovsky’s health was still poor; True, the attacks of madness did not recur, but his strength noticeably weakened. He forgot his previous studies, rarely left his room and thought for whole days. Egorovna, the kind old woman who once looked after his son, now became his nanny. She looked after him like a child, reminded him of the time of food and sleep, fed him, put him to bed. Andrei Gavrilovich quietly obeyed her and, apart from her, had no relations with anyone. He was unable to think about his affairs, economic orders, and Egorovna saw the need to notify young Dubrovsky, who served in one of the guards infantry regiments and was at that time in St. Petersburg, about everything. So, tearing off a sheet from the account book, she dictated a letter to the cook Khariton, the only Kistenev literate person, which she sent to the city post office that same day.

But it’s time to introduce the reader to the real hero of our story.

Vladimir Dubrovsky was brought up in the Cadet Corps and was released as a cornet into the guard; his father spared nothing for his decent maintenance, and

the young man received more from home than he should have expected. Being wasteful and ambitious, he allowed himself luxurious whims; He played cards and went into debt, not caring about the future and envisioning sooner or later a rich bride, the dream of his poor youth.

One evening, when several officers were sitting with him, lounging on sofas and smoking from his ambers, Grisha, his valet, handed him a letter, whose inscription and seal immediately struck the young man. He quickly opened it and read the following:

“You are our sovereign, Vladimir Andreevich, - I, your old nanny, decided to report to you about daddy’s health! He is very bad, sometimes he talks, and sits all day like a stupid child - but in the stomach and in death, God is free. Come to us, my bright falcon, we will send you horses to Pesochnoe. I hear that the zemstvo court is coming to us to hand us over to Kiril Petrovich Troekurov - because, they say, we are theirs, and we have been yours from time immemorial - we have never heard of that before. You could, living in St. Petersburg, report this to the Tsar-Father, and he would not give us offense. I remain your faithful slave, nanny

Orina Egorovna Buzyreva.

I send my maternal blessing to Grisha, is he serving you well? It’s been raining here for about a week now, and the shepherd Rodya died around Mikolin Day.”

Vladimir Dubrovsky re-read these rather stupid lines several times in a row with extraordinary excitement. He lost his mother from an early age and, almost without knowing his father, was brought to St. Petersburg in the eighth year of his age - for all that, he was romantically attached to him and loved family life all the more, the less he had time to enjoy its quiet joys.

The thought of losing his father painfully tormented his heart, and the situation of the poor patient, which he guessed from his nanny’s letter, terrified him. He imagined his father abandoned in a remote village, in the hands of a stupid old woman and servants, threatened by some kind of disaster and dying without help in physical and mental torment. Vladimir reproached himself for criminal negligence. For a long time he did not receive letters from his father and did not think to inquire about him, believing him to be traveling or doing household chores.

He decided to go to him and even resign if his father’s painful condition required his presence. His comrades, noticing his concern, left. Vladimir, left alone, wrote a request for leave - lit a pipe and plunged into deep thoughts.

That same day he began to bother about a vacation and three days later he was already on the high road.

Vladimir Andreevich was approaching the station from which he was supposed to turn onto Kistenevka. His heart was filled with sad forebodings, he was afraid of not finding his father alive, he imagined the sad way of life awaiting him in the village, wilderness, desolation, poverty and troubles with business in which he knew no sense. Arriving at the station, he went to the caretaker and asked for free horses. The caretaker inquired where he needed to go and announced that the horses sent from Kistenevka had been waiting for him for the fourth day. Soon the old coachman Anton, who once drove him around the stable and looked after his little horse, came to Vladimir Andreevich. Anton shed tears when he saw him, bowed to the ground, told him that his old master was still alive, and ran to harness the horses. Vladimir Andreevich refused the offered breakfast and was in a hurry to leave. Anton took him along country roads - and a conversation began between them.

Tell me, please, Anton, what business does my father have with Troyekurov?

But God knows, Father Vladimir Andreevich... Master, listen, he didn’t get along with Kiril Petrovich, but

he filed a lawsuit - although he is often his own judge. It’s not our serf’s business to sort out the master’s wills, but by God, your father went against Kiril Petrovich in vain, you can’t break a butt with a whip.

So, apparently, this Kirila Petrovich does what he wants with you?

And of course, master: listen, he doesn’t give a damn about the assessor, the police officer is on his errands. The gentlemen come to pay homage to him, and to say that it would be a trough, but there will be pigs.

Is it true that he is taking away our property?

Oh, master, we heard so too. The other day, the Pokrovsk sexton said at the christening of our elder: you have enough time to walk; Now Kirila Petrovich will take you into his hands. Mikita the blacksmith said to him: and, that’s it, Savelich, don’t be the godfather’s sadness, don’t trouble the guests - Kirila Petrovich is on his own, and Andrei Gavrilovich is on his own, and we are all God’s and sovereign’s; But you can’t sew buttons on someone else’s mouth.

So, you don’t want to go into Troekurov’s possession?

In possession of Kiril Petrovich! God forbid and deliver: he sometimes has a bad time with his own people, but if he gets strangers, he will tear off not only the skin, but also the meat from them. No, may God grant Andrei Gavrilovich a long life, and if God takes him away, we don’t need anyone but you, our breadwinner. Don’t give us away, and we will stand for you. - At these words, Anton waved his whip, shook the reins, and his horses began to run at a fast trot.

Touched by the devotion of the old coachman, Dubrovsky fell silent and again indulged in reflection. More than an hour passed, suddenly Grishka woke him up with the exclamation: “Here is Pokrovskoe!” Dubrovsky raised his head. He rode along the shore of a wide lake, from which a river flowed and meandered between the hills in the distance; on one of them, above the dense greenery of the grove, towered the green roof and belvedere of a huge stone house, on the other, a five-domed church and an ancient bell tower; Scattered around were village huts with their vegetable gardens and wells. Dubrovsky knew these places; he remembered,

that on this very hill he was playing with little Masha Troekurova, who was two years younger and then already promised to be a beauty. He wanted to ask Anton about her, but some shyness held him back.

Arriving at the manor's house, he saw a white dress flashing between the trees of the garden. At this time, Anton hit the horses and, obeying ambition, common to both village coachmen and cab drivers, he set off at full speed across the bridge and past the village. Having left the village, they climbed the mountain, and Vladimir saw a birch grove and to the left, in an open place, a gray house with a red roof; his heart began to beat; in front of him he saw Kistenevka and his father’s poor house.

Ten minutes later he drove into the master's courtyard. He looked around him with indescribable excitement. For twelve years he did not see his homeland. The birches that had just been planted near the fence during his time had grown and now became tall, branchy trees. The yard, once decorated with three regular flower beds, between which there was a wide road, carefully swept, turned into an unmown meadow on which a tangled horse was grazing. The dogs started to bark, but when they recognized Anton, they fell silent and waved their shaggy tails. The servants poured out of the people's faces and surrounded the young master with noisy expressions of joy. It was all he could do to force his way through their zealous crowd and ran up onto the dilapidated porch; Egorovna met him in the hallway and hugged her pupil with tears. “Great, great, nanny,” he repeated, pressing the kind old woman to his heart, “what’s up, father, where is he? what is he like?

At that moment, a tall old man, pale and thin, in a robe and cap, entered the hall, moving his legs with force.

Hello, Volodka! - he said in a weak voice, and Vladimir passionately hugged his father. The joy produced too strong a shock in the patient, he weakened, his legs gave way under him, and he would have fallen if his son had not supported him.

“Why did you get out of bed,” Yegorovna told him, “you can’t stand on your feet, but you strive to go where people go.”

The old man was carried into the bedroom. He tried to talk to him, but his thoughts were confused in his head, and the words had no connection. He fell silent and fell into a sleepy state. Vladimir was amazed at his condition. He settled down in his bedroom and asked to be left alone with his father. The household obeyed, and then everyone turned to Grisha and took him to the people's room, where they treated him like a villager, with all possible cordiality, tormenting him with questions and greetings.

CHAPTER IV

Where there was a table of food, there is a coffin.

A few days after his arrival, young Dubrovsky wanted to get down to business, but his father was unable to give him the necessary explanations - Andrei Gavrilovich did not have an attorney. While sorting through his papers, he found only the assessor's first letter and a draft response to it; From this he could not get a clear understanding of the litigation and decided to wait for the consequences, hoping for the justice of the case itself.

Meanwhile, Andrei Gavrilovich’s health was getting worse hour by hour. Vladimir foresaw its imminent destruction and did not leave the old man, who had fallen into complete childhood.

Meanwhile, the deadline had passed and the appeal was not filed. Kistenevka belonged to Troekurov. Shabashkin came to him with bows and congratulations and a request to appoint when it would please His Excellency to take possession of the newly acquired estate - himself or to whomever he deigns to give power of attorney for this. Kirila Petrovich was embarrassed. He was not self-seeking by nature, the desire for revenge led him too far, his conscience grumbled. He knew the state of his opponent, the old comrade of his youth, and victory did not bring joy to his heart. He looked menacingly at Shabashkin, looking for

something to get attached to in order to scold him, but not finding a sufficient excuse for this, he said to him angrily: “Get out, it’s not up to you.”

Shabashkin, seeing that he was not in a good mood, bowed and hurried away. And Kirila Petrovich, left alone, began to pace back and forth, whistling: “Roll the thunder of victory,” which always meant an extraordinary excitement of thoughts in him.

Finally, he ordered the racing droshky to be harnessed, dressed warmly (this was already at the end of September) and, driving himself, drove out of the yard.

Soon he saw Andrei Gavrilovich’s house, and opposite feelings filled his soul. Satisfied vengeance and lust for power drowned out to some extent nobler feelings, but the latter finally triumphed. He decided to make peace with his old neighbor, to destroy the traces of the quarrel, returning his property to him. Having relieved his soul with this good intention, Kirila Petrovich set off at a trot to his neighbor’s estate - and drove straight into the yard.

At this time, the patient was sitting in the bedroom by the window. He recognized Kiril Petrovich, and terrible confusion appeared on his face: a crimson blush took the place of his usual pallor, his eyes sparkled, he uttered indistinct sounds. His son, who was sitting right there behind the business books, raised his head and was amazed at his condition. The patient pointed his finger towards the yard with an air of horror and anger. He hastily picked up the hem of his robe, about to get up from his chair, he stood up... and suddenly fell. The son rushed to him, the old man lay unconscious and without breathing - paralysis struck him. “Hurry, hurry to the city for a doctor!” - Vladimir shouted. “Kirila Petrovich is asking for you,” said the servant who entered. Vladimir gave him a terrible look.

Tell Kiril Petrovich to get out quickly before I order him to be kicked out of the yard... let's go! - The servant joyfully ran to fulfill his master’s orders; Egorovna clasped her hands. “You are our father,” she said in a squeaky voice, “you will ruin your little head!” Kirila Petrovich will eat us.” -

“Be quiet, nanny,” Vladimir said with his heart, “now send Anton to the city for a doctor.” Egorovna left.

There was no one in the hallway; all the people ran out into the courtyard to look at Kiril Petrovich. She went out onto the porch - and heard the answer of the servant, reporting on behalf of the young master. Kirila Petrovich listened to him while sitting on the droshky. His face became gloomier than the night, he smiled with contempt, looked menacingly at the servants and walked at a pace near the yard. He looked out the window, where Andrei Gavrilovich had been sitting a minute before, but where he was no longer there. The nanny stood on the porch, having forgotten about the master’s orders. The servants talked noisily about this incident. Suddenly Vladimir appeared among the people and said abruptly: “There is no need for a doctor, the priest has died.”

There was confusion. People rushed to the old master's room. He lay in the chairs to which Vladimir had carried him; his right arm hung to the floor, his head was lowered on his chest - there was no sign of life in this body, which had not yet cooled down, but was already disfigured by death. Egorovna howled, the servants surrounded the corpse left in their care - they washed it, dressed it in a uniform sewn back in 1797, and laid it on the very table at which they had served their master for so many years.

CHAPTER V

The funeral took place on the third day. The body of the poor old man lay on the table, covered with a shroud and surrounded by candles. The dining room was full of courtyard servants. We were getting ready to take it out. Vladimir and three servants lifted the coffin. The priest went forward, the sexton accompanied him, chanting funeral prayers. The owner of Kistenevka crossed the threshold of his house for the last time. The coffin was carried by the grove. The church was behind it. The day was clear and cold. Autumn leaves fell from the trees.

When leaving the grove, we saw the Kistenevsky wooden church and a cemetery shaded by old linden trees. The body of Vladimir’s mother rested there; there, near her grave, a fresh hole had been dug the day before.

The church was full of Kistenevsky peasants who had come to pay their last respects to their master. Young Dubrovsky stood at the choir; he did not cry or pray - but his face was scary. The sad ritual is over. Vladimir was the first to go to say goodbye to the body, followed by all the servants - they brought the lid and nailed down the coffin. The women howled loudly; the men occasionally wiped away tears with their fists. Vladimir and the same three servants carried him to the cemetery, accompanied by the entire village. The coffin was lowered into the grave, everyone present threw a handful of sand into it, filled the hole, bowed to it and dispersed. Vladimir hastily left, got ahead of everyone and disappeared into the Kistenevskaya Grove.

Egorovna, on his behalf, invited the priest and the entire church clergy to a funeral dinner, declaring that the young master did not intend to attend it, and thus Father Anton, the priest Fedotovna and the sexton went on foot to the master's courtyard, discussing with Egorovna about the virtues of the deceased and that , which apparently awaited his heir. (Troekurov’s arrival and the reception he received were already known to the entire neighborhood, and the politicians there foreshadowed important consequences for it.)

“What will be will be,” said the priest, “but it’s a pity if Vladimir Andreevich is not our master.” Well done, nothing to say.

And who else but him should be our master,” Yegorovna interrupted. - It’s in vain that Kirila Petrovich gets excited. He did not attack the timid: my falcon will stand up for itself, and, God willing, its benefactors will not abandon it. Kirila Petrovich is painfully arrogant! and I suppose he put his tail between his legs when Grishka shouted to him: “Get out, old dog! Out of the yard!

“Ahti, Egorovna,” said the sexton, “how Grigory’s tongue turned; I would rather agree, it seems, to bark at the Bishop than to look askance at Kiril Petrovich. When you see him, you feel fear and trembling and sweat dripping, but your back just bends and bends...

“Vanity of vanities,” said the priest, “and they will sing eternal memory to Kiril Petrovich, just like now for Andrei Gavrilovich, perhaps the funeral will be richer and more guests will be called, but who cares to God!

Ah, dad! and we wanted to invite the whole neighborhood, but Vladimir Andreevich didn’t want to. We probably have enough of everything, we have something to treat, but what do you want to do? At least, if there are no people, then at least I will treat you, our dear guests.

This affectionate promise and the hope of finding a tasty pie quickened the steps of the interlocutors, and they safely arrived at the manor’s house, where the table was already set and vodka was served.

Meanwhile, Vladimir went deeper into the thicket of trees, trying to drown out his spiritual feelings with movement and fatigue.

sorrow. He walked without knowing the road; branches constantly touched and scratched him, his foot constantly got stuck in the swamp - he did not notice anything. Finally he reached a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by forest; the stream meandered silently near the trees, half naked in autumn. Vladimir stopped, sat down on the cold turf, and thoughts, one darker than the other, crowded his soul... He felt his loneliness strongly. The future for him was covered with menacing clouds. Enmity with Troekurov foreshadowed new misfortunes for him. His poor property could pass away from him into the wrong hands - in this case, poverty awaited him. For a long time he sat motionless in the same place, looking at the quiet flow of the stream, carrying away a few faded leaves and vividly presenting to him the true likeness of life - a likeness so ordinary. Finally he noticed that it was beginning to get dark; he got up and went to look for the way home, but wandered for a long time through the unfamiliar forest until he found himself on a path that led him straight to the gates of his house.

A priest came across Dubrovsky with all the accolades. The thought of an unlucky omen occurred to him. He involuntarily walked away and disappeared behind a tree. They did not notice him and spoke heatedly to each other as they passed him.

Get away from evil and do good,” said the priest, “there is no point in us staying here.” It's not your problem, no matter how it ends. - Popadya answered something, but Vladimir could not hear her.

As he approached, he saw a lot of people - peasants and courtyard people crowding into the master's courtyard. From a distance, Vladimir heard an extraordinary noise and conversation. There were two triples standing by the barn. On the porch, several strangers in uniform frock coats seemed to be discussing something.

What does it mean? - he asked Anton angrily, who was running towards him. - Who are they, and what do they need?

“Oh, Father Vladimir Andreevich,” answered the old man, breathless. - The court has arrived. They are handing us over to Troekurov, taking us away from your mercy!..

Vladimir lowered his head, his people surrounded their unfortunate master. “You are our father,” they shouted, kissing his hands, “we don’t want another master but you, order, sir, we will deal with the trial. We’ll die rather than hand him over.” Vladimir looked at them, and strange feelings worried him. “Stand still,” he told them, “and I’ll talk to the officers.” “Talk, father,” they shouted to him from the crowd, “for the conscience of the damned.”

Vladimir approached the officials. Shabashkin, with a cap on his head, stood with his arms akimbo and proudly looked around him. The police officer, a tall and fat man of about fifty with a red face and a mustache, seeing Dubrovsky approaching, grunted and said in a hoarse voice: “So, I repeat to you what I have already said: according to the decision of the district court, from now on you belong to Kiril Petrovich Troekurov, whose face Mr. Shabashkin represents here. Obey him in everything he orders, and you women love and honor him, and he is a great hunter of you.” At this sharp joke the police officer burst into laughter, and Shabashkin and the other members followed him. Vladimir was seething with indignation. “Let me find out what this means,” he asked the cheerful police officer with feigned cold-bloodedness. “And this means,” answered the intricate official, “that we have come to bring this Kiril Petrovich Troekurov into possession and ask other others Let’s get out of the way.” - “But you could, it seems, treat me before my peasants, and announce the landowner’s abdication from power...” “Who are you,” said Shabashkin with a bold look. “The former landowner Andrei Gavrilov, son of Dubrovsky, will die by the will of God, we don’t know you, and we don’t want to know you.”

Vladimir Andreevich is our young master,” said a voice from the crowd.

“Who dared to open his mouth there,” said the police officer menacingly, “what gentleman, what Vladimir Andreevich?” your master Kirila Petrovich Troekurov - do you hear, you idiots.

Yes, this is a riot! - the police officer shouted. - Hey, headman, here!

The headman stepped forward.

Find out this very hour who dared to talk to me, I him!

The headman addressed the crowd, asking who spoke? but everyone was silent; Soon a murmur arose in the back rows, began to intensify and in one minute turned into the most terrible screams. The police officer lowered his voice and wanted to persuade them. “Why look at him,” the courtyard servants shouted, “guys! Down with them! - and the whole crowd moved. Shabashkin and the other members hastily rushed into the hallway and locked the door behind them.

“Guys, knit,” the same voice shouted, “and the crowd began to press... “Stop,” Dubrovsky shouted. - Fools! what are you? you are ruining both yourself and me. Go through the yards and leave me alone. Do not be afraid, sir, I will ask him. He won't hurt us. We are all his children. How will he stand up for you if you start rebelling and robbing?”

The speech of young Dubrovsky, his sonorous voice and majestic appearance produced the desired effect. The people calmed down, dispersed - the yard was empty. The members sat in the entryway. Finally, Shabashkin quietly unlocked the doors, went out onto the porch and, with humiliated bows, began to thank Dubrovsky for his gracious intercession. Vladimir listened to him with contempt and did not answer. “We decided,” continued the assessor, “with your permission to stay here overnight; otherwise it’s dark, and your men might attack us on the road. Do this kindness: order some hay to be laid out for us in the living room; than light, we will go home.”

Do what you want,” Dubrovsky answered them dryly, “I’m no longer the boss here.” - With this word, he retired to his father’s room and locked the door behind him.

CHAPTER VI

“So, it’s all over,” he said to himself, “this morning I had a corner and a piece of bread. Tomorrow I will have to leave the house where I was born and where my father died, to the culprit of his death and my poverty.” And his eyes fixed motionless on the portrait of his mother. The painter presented her leaning on the railing in a white morning dress with a scarlet rose in her hair. “And this portrait will go to the enemy of my family,” thought Vladimir, “it will be thrown into the pantry along with the broken chairs or hung in the hallway, the subject of ridicule and comments from his hounds, and in her bedroom, in the room... where her father died, he will settle his clerk or his harem will fit. No! No! Let him not get the sad house from which he drives me out.” Vladimir clenched his teeth, terrible thoughts were born in his mind. The voices of the clerks reached him, they bossed him around, demanded this and that, and unpleasantly entertained him in the midst of his sad thoughts. Finally everything calmed down.

Vladimir opened the chests of drawers and began sorting through the deceased’s papers. They mostly consisted of business accounts and correspondence on various matters. Vladimir tore them up without reading them. Between them he came across a package with the inscription: letters from my wife. With a strong movement of feeling, Vladimir began to work on them: they were written during the Turkish campaign and were

addressed to the army from Kistenevka. She described to him her deserted life, her household chores, tenderly lamented the separation and called him home, into the arms of a good friend; in one of them she expressed to him her concern about the health of little Vladimir; in another she rejoiced at his early abilities and foresaw a happy and brilliant future for him. Vladimir read and forgot everything in the world, plunging his soul into the world of family happiness, and did not notice how time passed, the wall clock struck eleven. Vladimir put the letters in his pocket, took the candle and left the office. In the hall, the clerks slept on the floor. There were glasses on the table, emptied by them, and the strong smell of rum could be heard throughout the room. Vladimir walked past them in disgust into the hallway - the doors were locked. Not finding the key, Vladimir returned to the hall - the key lay on the table, Vladimir opened the door and came across a man pressed into the corner - his ax was shining, and, turning to him with a candle, Vladimir recognized Arkhip the blacksmith. "Why are you here?" - he asked. “Oh, Vladimir Andreevich, it’s you,” Arkhip answered in a whisper, “God have mercy and save me!” It’s good that you walked with a candle!” Vladimir looked at him in amazement. “Why are you hiding here?” - he asked the blacksmith.

“I wanted... I came... to see if everyone was home,” Arkhip answered quietly, stuttering.

Why do you have an ax with you?

Why an ax? But how can you walk without an axe? These clerks, you see, are such mischievous people - just look at it...

You're drunk, drop the ax and go get some sleep.

I'm drunk? Father Vladimir Andreevich, God is my witness, there wasn’t a single drop in my mouth... and whether the wine comes to mind, has the matter been heard - the clerks are planning to take over us, the clerks are driving our masters out of the master’s yard... Oh, they’re snoring, damned ones ; all at once, and it would end up in the water.

Dubrovsky frowned. “Listen, Arkhip,” he said, after a short silence, “this is not the case you started. Not

The clerks are to blame. Light the lantern and follow me.”

Arkhip took the candle from the master’s hands, found a lantern behind the stove, lit it, and both quietly left the porch and walked near the yard. The watchman began to beat on the cast-iron board, the dogs began to bark. "Who's the guard?" - asked Dubrovsky. “We, father,” answered a thin voice, “Vasilisa and Lukerya.” “Go around the courtyards,” Dubrovsky told them, “you are not needed.” “Sabbath,” said Arkhip. “Thank you, breadwinner,” the women answered and immediately went home.

Dubrovsky went further. Two people approached him; they called out to him. Dubrovsky recognized the voice of Anton and Grisha. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” - he asked them. “Are we going to sleep,” Anton answered. “What have we come to, who would have thought...”

Quiet! - interrupted Dubrovsky, - where is Egorovna?

“In the manor’s house in his little room,” answered Grisha.

Go, bring her here and take all our people out of the house, so that not a single soul remains in it except the clerks, and you, Anton, harness the cart.

Grisha left and a minute later appeared with his mother. The old woman did not undress that night; except for the clerks, no one in the house slept a wink.

Is everyone here? - asked Dubrovsky, - is there anyone left in the house?

No one except the clerks,” answered Grisha.

Give us some hay or straw here,” said Dubrovsky.

The people ran to the stable and returned carrying armfuls of hay.

Place it under the porch. Like this. Well, guys, fire!

Arkhip opened the lantern, Dubrovsky lit a torch.

Wait,” he said to Arkhip, “it seems that I locked the doors to the hallway in a hurry, go and unlock them quickly.”

Arkhip ran into the hallway - the doors were unlocked. Arkhip locked them, saying in a low voice: “What’s wrong, unlock it!” - and returned to Dubrovsky.

Dubrovsky brought the torch closer, the hay caught fire, the flame soared and illuminated the entire yard.

“Ahti,” Yegorovna cried pitifully, “Vladimir Andreevich, what are you doing?”

“Be silent,” said Dubrovsky. - Well, children, goodbye, I’m going wherever God leads; be happy with your new master.

“Our father, our breadwinner,” the people answered, “we will die, we will not leave you, we will go with you.”

The horses were brought in; Dubrovsky got into the cart with Grisha and appointed Kistenevskaya Grove as their meeting place. Anton hit the horses, and they rode out of the yard.

The wind got stronger. In one minute the flames engulfed the entire house. Red smoke curled over the roof. Glass cracked and fell, flaming logs began to fall, a plaintive cry and cries were heard: “We are burning, help, help.” “How wrong,” said Arkhip, looking at the fire with an evil smile. “Arkhipushka,” Yegorovna told him, “save them, the damned, God will reward you.”

“Why not,” answered the blacksmith.

At that moment the clerks appeared at the window, trying to break down the double frames. But then the roof collapsed with a crash, and the screams died down.

Soon all the servants poured out into the yard. Women screamed and hurried to save their junk; children jumped, admiring the fire. Sparks flew like a fiery blizzard, the huts caught fire.

“Now everything is fine,” said Arkhip, “how does it burn, huh?” tea, it’s nice to watch from Pokrovsky.

At that moment a new phenomenon attracted his attention; the cat ran along the roof of the burning barn, wondering where to jump - flames surrounded it on all sides. The poor animal called for help with a pitiful meow. The boys died laughing, looking at her despair. “Why are you laughing, you devils,” the blacksmith told them angrily. “You are not afraid of God: God’s creation is dying, and you are foolishly rejoicing,” and, placing the ladder on the fire roof, he climbed after the cat. She understood his intention and looked

She grabbed his sleeve in hasty gratitude. The half-burnt blacksmith climbed down with his loot. “Well, guys, goodbye,” he said to the embarrassed servants, “I have nothing to do here. Have fun, don’t remember me ill.”

The blacksmith left; The fire raged for some time. Finally it calmed down, and piles of coals without flames burned brightly in the darkness of the night, and the burnt residents of Kistenevka wandered around them.

CHAPTER VII

The next day, news of the fire spread throughout the area. Everyone talked about him with various guesses and assumptions. Some assured that Dubrovsky's people, having gotten drunk at the funeral, set the house on fire out of carelessness, others blamed the clerks for playing tricks at the housewarming party, many assured that he himself burned down with the zemstvo court and all the servants. Some guessed the truth and argued that the culprit of this terrible disaster was Dubrovsky himself, driven by anger and despair. Troekurov came the next day to the scene of the fire and carried out the investigation himself. It turned out that the police officer, the assessor of the zemstvo court, the solicitor and the clerk, as well as Vladimir Dubrovsky, the nanny Egorovna, the yard man Grigory, the coachman Anton and the blacksmith Arkhip disappeared to an unknown location. All the servants testified that the clerks burned down when the roof fell; their charred bones were discovered. The women Vasilisa and Lukerya said that they saw Dubrovsky and Arkhip the blacksmith a few minutes before the fire. The blacksmith Arkhip, according to everyone, was alive and probably the main, if not the only, culprit of the fire. Dubrovsky was under strong suspicion. Kirila Petrovich sent the governor a detailed description of the entire incident, and a new case began.

Soon other news gave other food for curiosity and gossip. Robbers appeared in ** and spread terror throughout the surrounding area. The measures taken against them by the government were insufficient. Robberies, one more remarkable than the other, followed one after another. There was no safety either on the roads or in the villages. Several troikas filled with robbers traveled throughout the province during the day, stopped travelers and mail, came to villages, robbed the landowners' houses and set them on fire. The leader of the gang was famous for his intelligence, courage and some kind of generosity. Miracles were told about him; Dubrovsky's name was on everyone's lips, everyone was sure that he, and no one else, led the brave villains. They were surprised at one thing: Troekurov’s estates were spared; the robbers did not rob a single barn from him, did not stop a single cart. With his usual arrogance, Troekurov attributed this exception to the fear that he knew how to instill in the entire province, as well as the excellent police force he had established in his villages. At first, the neighbors laughed among themselves at Troekurov’s arrogance and every day expected uninvited guests to visit Pokrovskoye, where they had something to profit from, but finally they were forced to agree with him and admit that the robbers showed him an incomprehensible respect... Troekurov triumphed at every news of Dubrovsky's new robbery burst into ridicule about the governor, police officers and company commanders, from whom Dubrovsky always escaped unharmed.

Meanwhile, October 1st arrived - the day of the temple festival in the village of Troekurova. But before we begin to describe this celebration and further incidents, we must introduce the reader to faces new to him, or whom we only briefly mentioned at the beginning of our story.

CHAPTER VIII

The reader has probably already guessed that the daughter of Kiril Petrovich, about whom we have said only a few more words, is the heroine of our story. At the time we are describing, she was seventeen years old, and her beauty was in full bloom. Her father loved her madly, but treated her with his characteristic waywardness, sometimes trying to please her slightest whims, sometimes frightening her with harsh and sometimes cruel treatment. Confident of her affection, he could never gain her trust. She got used to hiding her feelings and thoughts from him, because she could never know for sure how they would be received. She had no friends and grew up in solitude. The wives and daughters of neighbors rarely went to Kiril Petrovich, whose ordinary conversations and entertainment required the companionship of men, and not the presence of ladies. Rarely did our beauty appear among the guests feasting at Kiril Petrovich's. A huge library, composed mostly of the works of French writers of the 18th century, was placed at her disposal. Her father, who had never read anything other than The Perfect Cook, could not guide her in choosing books, and Masha, naturally, taking a break from writing any kind of writing, settled on novels. In this way she completed her upbringing, which had once begun under the guidance of Mamzel Mimi, to whom Kirila Petrovich provided great support.

power of attorney and favor and which he was finally forced to send quietly to another estate when the consequences of his friendship turned out to be too obvious. Mamzelle Mimi left behind a rather pleasant memory. She was a kind girl and never used the influence that she apparently had over Kiril Petrovich for evil, in which she differed from other confidantes who were constantly replaced by him. Kirila Petrovich himself seemed to love her more than others, and a black-eyed boy, a naughty boy of about nine years old, reminiscent of the midday features of Mlle Mimi, was brought up with him and was recognized as his son, despite the fact that many barefoot children were like two peas in a pod on Kiril Petrovich, ran in front of his windows and were considered servants. Kirila Petrovich sent a French teacher from Moscow for his little Sasha, who arrived in Pokrovskoye during the incidents we are now describing.

Kiril Petrovich liked this teacher with his pleasant appearance and simple manner. He presented Kiril Petrovich with his certificates and a letter from one of Troekurov’s relatives, with whom he lived as a tutor for four years. Kirila Petrovich reviewed all this and was dissatisfied with the youth of his Frenchman - not because he would consider this amiable shortcoming incompatible with the patience and experience so necessary in the unfortunate title of teacher, but he had his own doubts, which he immediately decided to explain to him. For this purpose, he ordered Masha to be called to him (Kirila Petrovich did not speak French, and she served as his translator).

Come here, Masha; tell this monsieur that so be it - I accept him; only so that he doesn’t dare to trail after my girls, otherwise I’ll be his son of a dog... translate this to him, Masha.

Masha blushed and, turning to the teacher, told him in French that her father hoped for his modesty and decent behavior.

The Frenchman bowed to her and replied that he hoped to earn respect, even if they denied him favor.

Masha translated his answer word for word.

“Okay, okay,” said Kirila Petrovich, “he doesn’t need any favor or respect.” His job is to follow Sasha and teach him grammar and geography, translate it to him.

Marya Kirilovna softened her father's rude expressions in her translation, and Kirila Petrovich sent his Frenchman to the outbuilding where he was assigned a room.

Masha did not pay any attention to the young Frenchman, brought up in aristocratic prejudices; the teacher was for her a kind of servant or artisan, and the servant or artisan did not seem like a man to her. She did not notice the impression she made on M. Desforges, nor his embarrassment, nor his trepidation, nor his changed voice. For several days in a row then she met him quite often, without deigning to pay more attention. Unexpectedly, she received a completely new concept about him.

Several bear cubs were usually raised in Kiril Petrovich's yard and constituted one of the main amusements of the Pokrovsky landowner. In their first youth, the cubs were brought daily into the living room, where Kirila Petrovich spent hours fiddling with them, pitting them against cats and puppies. Having matured, they were put on a chain, awaiting real persecution. Occasionally they would take them out to the windows of the manor's house and roll them an empty wine barrel studded with nails; the bear sniffed her, then quietly touched her, pricked his paws, angrily pushed her harder, and the pain became stronger. He would fly into a complete rage and throw himself on the barrel with a roar until the object of his futile rage was taken away from the poor beast. It happened that a couple of bears were harnessed to a cart, and, willy-nilly, they put guests in it and let them ride to God’s will. But Kiril Petrovich considered the following to be the best joke.

They used to lock a hungry bear in an empty room, tying it with a rope to a ring screwed into the wall. The rope was almost the length of the entire room, so that only the opposite corner

could be safe from the attack of a terrible beast. They usually brought the newcomer to the door of this room, accidentally pushed him towards the bear, the doors were locked, and the unfortunate victim was left alone with the shaggy hermit. The poor guest, with his shirt torn and scratched to the point of blood, soon found a safe corner, but was sometimes forced to stand pressed against the wall for three whole hours and see how an enraged beast two steps away from him roared, jumped, reared, tore and struggled until reach him. Such were the noble amusements of the Russian master! A few days after the teacher’s arrival, Troekurov remembered him and intended to treat him in the bear’s room: for this purpose, calling him one morning, he led him along dark corridors; suddenly the side door opened, two servants pushed the Frenchman into it and locked it with a key. Having come to his senses, the teacher saw a tied bear, the animal began to snort, sniffing its guest from afar, and suddenly, rising on its hind legs, walked towards him... The Frenchman was not embarrassed, did not run and waited for the attack. The bear approached, Desforges took a small pistol out of his pocket, put it in the hungry beast’s ear and fired. The bear fell down. Everyone came running, the doors opened, Kirila Petrovich entered, amazed at the outcome of his joke. Kirila Petrovich certainly wanted an explanation for the whole matter: who told Deforge about the joke prepared for him, or why he had a loaded pistol in his pocket. He sent for Masha, Masha came running and translated her father’s questions to the Frenchman.

“I have not heard of a bear,” answered Desforges, “but I always carry pistols with me, because I do not intend to endure an insult for which, according to my rank, I cannot demand satisfaction.”

Masha looked at him in amazement and translated his words to Kiril Petrovich. Kirila Petrovich did not answer anything, he ordered to pull out the bear and skin it; then, turning to his people, he said: “What a fellow! I didn’t chicken out, by God, I didn’t chicken out.” From that moment he fell in love with Deforge and never thought about trying him.

But this incident made an even greater impression on Marya Kirilovna. Her imagination was amazed: she saw a dead bear and Deforge calmly standing over it and calmly talking to her. She saw that courage and proud pride did not exclusively belong to one class, and from then on she began to show the young teacher respect, which became more attentive hour by hour. Some relations were established between them. Masha had a beautiful voice and great musical abilities, Deforge volunteered to give her lessons. After that, it is no longer difficult for the reader to guess that Masha fell in love with him, without even admitting it to herself.

VOLUME TWO

CHAPTER IX

On the eve of the holiday, guests began to arrive, some stayed in the manor's house and outbuildings, others with the clerk, others with the priest, and others with wealthy peasants. The stables were full of traveling horses, the courtyards and barns were cluttered with various carriages. At nine o'clock in the morning they announced mass, and everyone flocked to the new stone church, built by Kiril Petrovich and annually decorated with his offerings. So many honorable pilgrims gathered that ordinary peasants could not fit into the church and stood on the porch and in the fence. Mass did not begin; they were waiting for Kiril Petrovich. He arrived in a wheeled carriage and solemnly went to his place, accompanied by Maria Kirilovna. The eyes of men and women turned to her; the first were surprised at her beauty, the second carefully examined her outfit. Mass began, the house singers sang in the choir, Kirila Petrovich himself pulled him up, prayed, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and with proud humility bowed to the ground when the deacon loudly mentioned and about the builder of this temple.

Mass is over. Kirila Petrovich was the first to approach the cross. Everyone followed him, then the neighbors

approached him with respect. The ladies surrounded Masha. Kirila Petrovich, leaving the church, invited everyone to his place for dinner, got into the carriage and went home. Everyone went after him. The rooms were filled with guests. New faces entered every minute and could force their way to the owner. The ladies sat in a decorous semicircle, dressed in belated fashion, in worn and expensive clothes, all in pearls and diamonds, the men crowded around the caviar and vodka, talking to each other with noisy disagreement. A table for 80 cutlery was set in the hall. Servants bustled about, arranging bottles and decanters and adjusting tablecloths. Finally, the butler announced: “The meal has been set,” and Kirila Petrovich was the first to go sit down at the table, the ladies moved behind him and took their places importantly, observing a certain seniority, the young ladies were shy among themselves, like a timid herd of goats, and chose their places one next to the other . The men stood opposite them. The teacher sat down at the end of the table next to little Sasha.

The servants began to carry the plates to ranks, in case of bewilderment, guided by Lavater's guesses, and almost always without error. The clinking of plates and spoons merged with the noisy chatter of the guests, Kirila Petrovich cheerfully surveyed his meal and fully enjoyed the happiness of the hospitable man. At this time, a carriage drawn by six horses drove into the yard. "Who is this?" - asked the owner. “Anton Pafnutich,” answered several voices. The doors opened, and Anton Pafnutich Spitsyn, a fat man of about fifty with a round and pockmarked face, adorned with a triple chin, burst into the dining room, bowing, smiling and already about to apologize... “The device is here,” shouted Kirila Petrovich, “you are welcome, Anton Pafnutich, sit down and tell us what this means: you weren’t at my mass and were late for dinner. This is not like you, you are religious and love to eat.” “It’s my fault,” answered Anton Pafnutich, tying a napkin in the buttonhole of his pea caftan, “it’s my fault, Father Kirila Petrovich, I set off on the road early, but didn’t even have time to leave ten miles, suddenly the tire on the front wheel is split in half - what do you order? Luckily it wasn't far

from the village; By the time they dragged themselves to it, found the blacksmith, and somehow sorted everything out, exactly three hours passed, there was nothing to do. I didn’t dare take the short route through the Kistenevsky forest, but took a detour...”

Hey! - interrupted Kirila Petrovich, - you know, you’re not one of the brave ten; what are you afraid of?

I’m afraid of something, Father Kiril Petrovich, but of Dubrovsky; You'll soon fall into his clutches. He's no slouch, he won't let anyone down, and he'll probably take two skins off me.

Why, brother, is there such a difference?

Why, Father Kirila Petrovich? and for the litigation of the deceased Andrei Gavrilovich. Was it not I, for your pleasure, that is, in conscience and justice, who showed that the Dubrovskys own Kistenevka without any right to do so, but solely out of your condescension? And the deceased (may he rest in heaven) promised to communicate with me in his own way, and my son, perhaps, will keep his father’s word. Until now, God has been merciful. They've only looted one of my hangars, and before long they'll get to the estate.

And in the estate they will have freedom,” Kirila Petrovich noted, “I have tea, the red box is full...

Where, Father Kirila Petrovich. It was full, but now it’s completely empty!

Stop lying, Anton Panfutich. We know you; where should you spend your money, you live like a pig at home, you don’t accept anyone, you rip off your men, you know, you save and that’s all.

“You all deign to joke, Father Kirila Petrovich,” Anton Pafnutich muttered with a smile, “but we, by God, went broke,” and Anton Pafnutich began to eat up the master’s lordly joke with a fat piece of kulebyaki. Kirila Petrovich left him and turned to the new police officer, who had come to visit him for the first time and was sitting at the other end of the table next to the teacher.

Will you at least catch Dubrovsky, Mr. Police Officer?

The police officer got cold feet, bowed, smiled, stuttered and finally said:

We will try, Your Excellency.

Hm, we'll try. They've been trying for a long, long time, but it still doesn't do any good. Yes, really, why catch him? Dubrovsky's robberies are a blessing for police officers: travel, investigations, carts, and money in your pocket. How can such a benefactor be known? Isn't it true, Mr. Police Officer?

The absolute truth, Your Excellency,” answered the completely embarrassed police officer.

The guests laughed.

I love the fellow for his sincerity,” said Kirila Petrovich, “but it’s a pity for our late police officer Taras Alekseevich - if they hadn’t burned him, it would have been quieter in the neighborhood.” What have you heard about Dubrovsky? where was he last seen?

“At my place, Kirila Petrovich,” squeaked a thick lady’s voice, “he dined with me last Tuesday...

All eyes turned to Anna Savishna Globova, a rather simple widow, beloved by everyone for her kind and cheerful disposition. Everyone prepared to hear her story with curiosity.

You need to know that three weeks ago I sent a clerk to the post office with money for my Vanyusha. I don’t spoil my son, and I’m not able to spoil my son, even if I wanted to; however, please know for yourself: a guard officer needs to support himself in a decent manner, and Vanyusha and I share my income as best I can. So I sent him 2,000 rubles, even though Dubrovsky came to my mind more than once, but I thought: the city is close, only seven miles, maybe God will carry it through. I saw my clerk returning in the evening, pale, ragged and on foot - I just gasped. "What's happened? what happened to you? He told me: “Mother Anna Savishna, the robbers robbed me; They almost killed me, Dubrovsky himself was here, he wanted to hang me, but he took pity on me and let me go, but he robbed me of everything, took away both the horse and the cart.” I froze; My heavenly king, what will happen to my Vanyusha?

There is nothing to do: I wrote a letter to my son, told him everything and sent him my blessing without a penny of money.

A week passed, then another - suddenly a stroller drove into my yard. Some general asks to see me: you are welcome; A man of about thirty-five, dark-skinned, black-haired, with a mustache and beard, a real portrait of Kulnev, comes up to me, recommended to me as a friend and colleague of my late husband Ivan Andreevich; He was driving by and couldn’t help but stop by his widow, knowing that I lived here. I treated him to what God had sent, we talked about this and that, and finally about Dubrovsky. I told him my grief. My general frowned. “This is strange,” he said, “I heard that Dubrovsky attacks not everyone, but famous rich people, but even here he shares with them, and does not rob completely, and no one accuses him of murder; Is there any trickery here, order your clerk to be called.” Sent for the clerk, he appeared; As soon as he saw the general, he was dumbfounded. “Tell me, brother, how Dubrovsky robbed you and how he wanted to hang you.” My clerk trembled and fell at the general’s feet. “Father, it’s my fault - I misled the sin - I lied.” “If that’s the case,” answered the general, “then please tell the lady how the whole thing happened, and I’ll listen.” The clerk could not come to his senses. “Well,” the general continued, “tell me: where did you meet Dubrovsky?” - “At two pines, father, at two pines.” - “What did he tell you?” - “He asked me, whose are you, where are you going and why?” - “Well, what about after?” - “And then he demanded a letter and money.” - "Well". - “I gave him the letter and the money.” - “And he?.. Well, what about him?” - “Father, it’s my fault.” - “Well, what did he do?..” - “He returned the money to me and the letter and said: go to God - give it to the post office.” - "Well, what about you?" - “Father, it’s my fault.” “I’ll handle it with you, my dear,” the general said menacingly, “and you, madam, order a search of this swindler’s chest and hand it over to me, and I’ll teach him a lesson.” Know that Dubrovsky himself was a guards officer; he will not want to offend his comrade.” I guessed who His Excellency was; I had no need to talk to him about it. Coachman

They tied the clerk to the side of the carriage. The money was found; the general dined with me, then immediately left and took the clerk with him. My steward was found the next day in the forest, tied to an oak tree and skinned like a stick.

Everyone listened in silence to Anna Savishna's story, especially the young lady. Many of them secretly wished him well, seeing him as a romantic hero, especially Marya Kirilovna, an ardent dreamer, imbued with the mysterious horrors of Radcliffe.

And you, Anna Savishna, believe that you had Dubrovsky himself,” asked Kirila Petrovich. - You were very mistaken. I don’t know who was your guest, but not Dubrovsky.

How, father, not Dubrovsky, and who else if not him, will drive out onto the road and begin to stop passers-by and inspect them.

I don’t know, and certainly not Dubrovsky. I remember him as a child; I don’t know if his hair turned black, and then he was a curly, blond boy, but I know for sure that Dubrovsky is five years older than my Masha and that, consequently, he is not thirty-five, but about twenty-three.

“Exactly so, Your Excellency,” the police chief declared, “I have in my pocket the signs of Vladimir Dubrovsky.” They definitely say that he is twenty-third years old.

A! - said Kirila Petrovich, - by the way: read it, and we’ll listen; It’s not bad for us to know his signs, maybe he catches your eye, he won’t turn out that way.

The police officer took a rather soiled sheet of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it with importance and began to read in a sing-song voice:

- “Signs of Vladimir Dubrovsky, compiled from the tales of his former courtyard people.

23 years old growth middle, face clean, beard shaves, eyes has brown hair hair fair-haired, nose straight. Special signs: there were none."

And that’s all,” said Kirila Petrovich.

“Only,” answered the police officer, folding the paper.

Congratulations, Mr. Police Officer. Oh yes paper! Based on these signs, it will not be surprising for you to find Dubrovsky. But who is not of average height, who does not have brown hair, a straight nose, and brown eyes? I bet you will talk to Dubrovsky himself for three hours straight, and you will not guess with whom God brought you together. There is nothing to say, they are smart little heads.

The police officer humbly put his paper in his pocket and silently began to eat the goose and cabbage. Meanwhile, the servants had already walked around the guests several times, pouring each one his glass. Several bottles of Gorsky and Tsimlyansky were already loudly uncorked and accepted favorably under the name of champagne, faces began to blush, conversations became louder, more incoherent and more fun.

No,” continued Kirila Petrovich, “we will never see such a police officer as the deceased Taras Alekseevich was!” This one was no mistake, no mistake. It’s a pity that they burned the fellow, otherwise not a single person in the whole gang would have left him. He would have caught every single one of them, and Dubrovsky himself would not have turned around and paid off. Taras Alekseevich would have taken the money from him, but he wouldn’t let him go: that was the custom of the deceased. There is nothing to do, apparently, I should intervene in this matter and go after the robbers with my family. In the first case, I’ll detach about twenty people, and they’ll clear out the thieves’ grove; The people are not cowardly, everyone goes after a bear alone, they will not back away from robbers.

“Is your bear healthy, Father Kirila Petrovich,” said Anton Pafnutich, remembering with these words about his shaggy acquaintance and about some jokes, of which he was once a victim.

Misha ordered to live long,” answered Kirila Petrovich. - He died a glorious death, at the hands of the enemy. There’s his winner,” Kirila Petrovich pointed to Deforge, “exchange the image of my Frenchman.” He avenged your... if I may say so... Do you remember?

“How can I not remember,” said Anton Pafnutich, scratching himself, “I remember very much.” So Misha died. It's a pity

Misha, I'm so sorry! what a funny man he was! what a clever girl! You won’t find another bear like this. Why did Monsieur kill him?

Kirila Petrovich began to tell with great pleasure the feat of his Frenchman, for he had the happy ability to be proud of everything that surrounded him. The guests listened with attention to the story of Misha's death and looked with amazement at Deforge, who, not suspecting that the conversation was about his courage, sat calmly in his place and made moral comments to his frisky pupil.

The dinner, which lasted about three hours, was over; the owner put the napkin on the table - everyone got up and went into the living room, where coffee, cards and the continuation of the drinking session that had so nicely begun in the dining room awaited them.

CHAPTER X

At about seven o'clock in the evening, some guests wanted to leave, but the owner, amused by the punch, ordered the gates to be locked and announced that he would not let anyone out of the yard until the next morning. Soon the music began to thunder, the doors to the hall opened, and the ball began. The owner and his entourage sat in the corner, drinking glass after glass and admiring the gaiety of the youth. The old women played cards. There were fewer cavaliers, as everywhere else where some uhlan brigade was not stationed, than ladies; all the men who were fit for duty were recruited. The teacher was different from everyone, he danced more than anyone else, all the young ladies chose him and found it very clever to waltz with him. Several times he circled with Marya Kirilovna, and the young ladies mockingly noticed them. Finally, around midnight, the tired owner stopped dancing, ordered dinner, and went to bed.

The absence of Kiril Petrovich gave society more freedom and liveliness. The gentlemen dared to take a place next to the ladies. The girls laughed and whispered with their neighbors; the ladies were talking loudly across the table. The men drank, argued and laughed - in short, the dinner was extremely fun and left many pleasant memories.

Only one person did not participate in the general joy: Anton Pafnutich sat gloomy and silent on the

in his place, ate absentmindedly and seemed extremely restless. Talk about robbers excited his imagination. We will soon see that he had good reason to fear them.

Anton Pafnutich, calling the Lord as a witness that his red box was empty, did not lie and did not sin: the red box was definitely empty, the money that was once stored in it went into the leather bag that he wore on his chest under his shirt. With this precaution he calmed his distrust of everyone and his eternal fear. Being forced to spend the night in someone else's house, he was afraid that they would give him an overnight stay somewhere in a secluded room, where thieves could easily get into. He looked with his eyes for a reliable comrade and finally chose Desforges. His appearance, revealing strength, and even more so the courage he showed when meeting with a bear, which poor Anton Pafnutich could not remember without a shudder, decided his choice. When they got up from the table, Anton Pafnutich began to hover around the young Frenchman, grunting and clearing his throat, and finally turned to him with an explanation.

Hm, hm, is it possible, monsieur, for me to spend the night in your kennel, because if you please see...

Que désire monsieur? 1) - asked Deforge, bowing politely to him.

What a problem, you, monsieur, haven’t learned Russian yet. Zhe ve, mua, she vu kushe 2), do you understand?

Monsieur, très volontiers,” answered Desforges, “veuillez donner des ordres en conséquence 3).

Anton Pafnutich, very pleased with his knowledge of French, immediately went to give orders.

The guests began to say goodbye to each other, and each went to the room assigned to him. And Anton Pafnutich went with the teacher to the outbuilding. It was night

1) What do you want? (French)

2) I want to sleep with you (French).

3) Do me a favor, sir... if you please, make arrangements accordingly (French).

dark. Deforge illuminated the road with a lantern, Anton Pafnutich followed him quite cheerfully, occasionally clutching a hidden bag to his chest in order to make sure that his money was still with him.

Arriving at the outbuilding, the teacher lit a candle, and both began to undress; Meanwhile, Anton Pafnutich paced around the room, examining the locks and windows and shaking his head at this disappointing sight. The doors were locked with a single bolt, the windows did not yet have double frames. He tried to complain to Deforge about this, but his knowledge of French was too limited for such a complex explanation - the Frenchman did not understand him, and Anton Pafnutich was forced to leave his complaints. Their beds stood one opposite the other, they both lay down, and the teacher put out the candle.

Pourquois vu touche, purquois vu touche 1), shouted Anton Pafnutich, conjugating the Russian verb with sin in half carcass in the French way. - I can’t dormir 2) in the dark. - Deforge did not understand his exclamations and wished him good night.

Damn infidel,” Spitsyn grumbled, wrapping himself in a blanket. - He needed to put out the candle. It's worse for him. I can't sleep without fire. “Monsieur, monsieur,” he continued, “same ve avec vu parle 3). - But the Frenchman did not answer and soon began to snore.

“The beastly Frenchman is snoring,” thought Anton Pafnutich, “but I can’t sleep. Just look, thieves will enter the open doors or climb through the window, and you won’t even get him, the beast, with guns.”

Monsieur! and monsieur! Damn you.

Anton Pafnutich fell silent - fatigue and the wine fumes little by little overcame his timidity, he began to doze, and soon a deep sleep completely took possession of him.

A strange awakening was in store for him. In his sleep he felt that someone was quietly tugging at his collar

1) Why are you stew, Why do you stew? (French) <трогаете - V.L.>.

2) sleep (French).

3) I want to talk to you ( French).

shirts. Anton Pafnutich opened his eyes and in the moonlight of the autumn morning he saw Deforge in front of him; The Frenchman held a pocket pistol in one hand, with the other he unfastened the treasured bag, Anton Pafnutich froze.

“Kes ke ce, monsieur, kes ke ce 1),” he said in a trembling voice.

Hush, be silent,” the teacher answered in pure Russian, “be silent or you are lost.” I'm Dubrovsky.

1) What is this, sir, what is this (French).

CHAPTER XI

Now let us ask the reader for permission to explain the last incidents of our story by previous circumstances, which we have not yet had time to tell.

At the station ** in the house of the caretaker, whom we have already mentioned, a traveler was sitting in the corner with a humble and patient look, denouncing a commoner or a foreigner, that is, a person who does not have a voice on the postal route. His chaise stood in the yard, waiting for grease. There was a small suitcase in it, a skinny proof of not very sufficient wealth. The traveler did not ask for tea or coffee, looked out the window and whistled, to the great displeasure of the caretaker sitting behind the partition.

“God sent a whistler,” she said in an undertone, “he whistles, so that he bursts, you damned bastard.”

And what? - said the caretaker, - what a problem, let him whistle.

What's the problem? - objected the angry wife. - Don’t you know the signs?

What sign? that whistling money survives. AND! Pakhomovna, we have a lot of whistling and no money: but there’s still no money.

Let him go, Sidorich. You want to keep it. Give him the horses and he'll go to hell.

He'll wait, Pakhomovna, there are only three troikas in the stable, the fourth is resting. Just a moment, good travelers will arrive; I don’t want to be responsible for the Frenchman with my neck. Chew, that's right! there they jump. Eh-gee-gee, how cool; isn't it a general?

The carriage stopped at the porch. The servant jumped off the box, unlocked the doors, and a minute later a young man in a military overcoat and a white cap entered the caretaker's office; after him, the servant brought the box in and placed it on the window.

Horses,” the officer said in a commanding voice.

“Now,” answered the caretaker. “Please go to the road.”

I don't have a travel card. I'm driving to the side... Don't you recognize me?

The caretaker began to fuss and rushed to hurry the coachmen. The young man began to pace back and forth around the room, went behind the partition and quietly asked the caretaker: who was the traveler?

God knows,” answered the caretaker, “some Frenchman.” He's been waiting for the horses and whistling for five hours now. Tired of the damned one.

The young man spoke to the traveler in French.

Where would you like to go? - he asked him.

“To the nearest town,” answered the Frenchman, “from there I go to a landowner who hired me as a teacher. I thought I would be there today, but the caretaker, it seems, judged differently. It's hard to get horses in this land, Mr. Officer.

Which of the local landowners have you decided on? - asked the officer.

To Mr. Troyekurov,” answered the Frenchman.

To Troekurov? Who is this Troekurov?

Ma foi, mon officier... 1) I have heard little good about him. They say that he is a proud and capricious gentleman, cruel in his treatment of his household, that no one can get along with him, that everyone trembles at his presence.

1) Really, Mr. Officer... (French).

It's clear that he doesn't stand on ceremony with teachers (avec les outchitels) and has already beaten two to death.

Have mercy! and you decided to decide on such a monster.

What to do, Mr. Officer. He offers me a good salary, three thousand rubles a year and everything is ready. Perhaps I will be happier than others. I have an old mother, I will send half of my salary to her for food, from the rest of the money in five years I can accumulate a small capital sufficient for my future independence - and then bonsoir 1), I go to Paris and embark on commercial activities.

Does anyone in Troekurov's house know you? - he asked.

“Nobody,” the teacher answered, “he sent me out of Moscow through one of his friends, whose cook, my compatriot, recommended me.” You need to know that I was preparing not to be a teacher, but to become a confectioner, but they told me that in your land the title of teacher is much more profitable...

The officer thought about it.

Listen,” the officer interrupted, “what if, instead of this future, they offered you ten thousand in pure money so that you could go back to Paris right away.”

The Frenchman looked at the officer in amazement, smiled and shook his head.

The horses are ready,” said the caretaker who entered. The servant confirmed the same.

Now,” the officer answered, “go out for a minute.” - The caretaker and servant came out. “I’m not joking,” he continued in French, “I can give you ten thousand, I only need your absence and your papers.” - With these words, he unlocked the box and took out several stacks of banknotes.

The Frenchman widened his eyes. He didn't know what to think.

“My absence... my papers,” he repeated in amazement. - Here are my papers... But you’re kidding: why do you need my papers?

1) goodbye (French).

You don't care about that. I'm asking if you agree or not?

The Frenchman, still not believing his ears, handed his papers to the young officer, who quickly revised them.

The Frenchman stood rooted to the spot.

The officer returned.

I forgot the most important thing. Give me your word of honor that all this will remain between us, your word of honor.

“My word of honor,” answered the Frenchman. - But my papers, what should I do without them?

In the first city, announce that you were robbed by Dubrovsky. They will believe you and give you the necessary evidence. Goodbye, may God grant you to get to Paris soon and find your mother in good health.

Dubrovsky left the room, got into the carriage and galloped off.

The caretaker looked out the window, and when the carriage drove away, he turned to his wife with the exclamation: “Pakhomovna, do you know what? after all, it was Dubrovsky.”

The caretaker rushed headlong to the window, but it was too late: Dubrovsky was already far away. She began to scold her husband:

You’re not afraid of God, Sidorich, why didn’t you tell me that before, I would have at least looked at Dubrovsky, but now wait for him to turn around again. You are shameless, really, shameless!

The Frenchman stood rooted to the spot. The agreement with the officer, the money, everything seemed like a dream to him. But the piles of banknotes were there, in his pocket, and eloquently told him about the significance of the amazing incident.

He decided to hire horses to the city. The coachman drove him at a walk and at night he dragged himself to the city.

Before reaching the outpost, where instead of a sentry there stood a collapsed booth, the Frenchman ordered

stop, got out of the chaise and went on foot, explaining with signs to the driver that he was giving him the chaise and suitcase for vodka. The coachman was as amazed at his generosity as the Frenchman himself at Dubrovsky’s offer. But, concluding from the fact that the German had gone mad, the coachman thanked him with a zealous bow and, not considering it a good idea to enter the city, went to an entertainment establishment known to him, the owner of which was very familiar to him. He spent the whole night there, and the next day in the morning, on an empty troika, he set off home without a chaise and without a suitcase, with a plump face and red eyes.

Dubrovsky, having taken possession of the Frenchman's papers, boldly came, as we have already seen, to Troekurov and settled in his house. Whatever his secret intentions were (we will find out later), there was nothing reprehensible in his behavior. True, he did little to educate little Sasha, gave him complete freedom to hang out and did not strictly punish him for lessons given only for form - but with great diligence he followed his student’s musical successes and often sat with her for hours at the piano. Everyone loved the young teacher, Kirila Petrovich - for his bold agility in the hunt, Marya Kirilovna - for his unlimited zeal and timid attentiveness, Sasha - for his indulgence in his pranks, his family - for his kindness and generosity, apparently incompatible with his condition. He himself seemed to be attached to the whole family and already considered himself a member of it.

About a month passed from his assumption of the teaching rank to the memorable celebration, and no one suspected that in the modest young Frenchman lurked a formidable robber, whose name terrified all the surrounding owners. During all this time, Dubrovsky did not leave Pokrovsky, but the rumor about his robberies did not subside thanks to the inventive imagination of the villagers, but it could also happen that his gang continued its actions even in the absence of the boss.

Spending the night in the same room with a man whom he could consider his personal enemy and one of the main culprits of his disaster, Dubrovsky could not resist temptation. He knew about the existence of the bag and decided to take possession of it. We saw how he amazed poor Anton Pafnutich with his unexpected transformation from teachers into robbers.

At nine o'clock in the morning, the guests who had spent the night in Pokrovsky gathered one after another in the living room, where the samovar was already boiling, in front of which Marya Kirilovna was sitting in her morning dress, and Kirila Petrovich in a flannel coat and shoes was drinking his wide cup, similar to a gargling cup. The last to appear was Anton Pafnutich; he was so pale and seemed so upset that his appearance struck everyone and that Kirila Petrovich inquired about his health. Spitsyn answered without any meaning and looked with horror at the teacher, who sat right there as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later the servant came in and announced to Spitsyn that his carriage was ready; Anton Pafnutich hurried to take his leave and, despite the owner’s admonitions, hurriedly left the room and immediately left. They didn’t understand what had happened to him, and Kirila Petrovich decided that he had eaten too much. After tea and a farewell breakfast, the other guests began to leave, soon Pokrovskoye was empty, and everything returned to normal.

CHAPTER XII

Several days passed and nothing of note happened. The life of the inhabitants of Pokrovsky was monotonous. Kirila Petrovich went hunting every day; Reading, walks and music lessons occupied Marya Kirilovna - especially music lessons. She began to understand her own heart and admitted, with involuntary annoyance, that it was not indifferent to the merits of the young Frenchman. He, for his part, did not go beyond the limits of respect and strict decency and thereby calmed her pride and fearful doubts. She indulged in this fascinating habit with more and more trust. She was bored without Deforge, in his presence she busied herself with him every minute, wanted to know his opinion about everything and always agreed with him. Perhaps she was not yet in love, but at the first accidental obstacle or sudden persecution of fate, the flame of passion was bound to flare up in her heart.

One day, arriving in the hall where her teacher was waiting, Marya Kirilovna noticed with amazement the embarrassment on his pale face. She opened the piano and sang a few notes, but Dubrovsky, under the pretext of a headache, apologized, interrupted the lesson and, closing the notes, secretly gave her a note. Marya Kirilovna, without having time to come to her senses, accepted her and repented at that very moment, but Dubrovsky was no longer in the hall. Marya Kirilovna

I went to my room, unfolded the note and read the following:

“Be at the gazebo by the stream today at 7 o’clock. I need to talk to you."

Her curiosity was greatly aroused. She had been waiting for recognition for a long time, wanting and fearing it. She would have been pleased to hear confirmation of what she had suspected, but she felt that it would be indecent for her to hear such an explanation from a man who, due to his condition, could not hope to ever receive her hand. She decided to go on a date, but hesitated on one thing: how she would accept the teacher’s confession, with aristocratic indignation, with exhortations or friendship, with cheerful jokes or with silent participation. Meanwhile, she kept glancing at her watch. It was getting dark, candles were served, Kirila Petrovich sat down to play Boston with his visiting neighbors. The dining room clock struck the third quarter of seven, and Marya Kirilovna quietly went out onto the porch, looked around in all directions and ran into the garden.

The night was dark, the sky was covered with clouds - it was impossible to see anything two steps away, but Marya Kirilovna walked in the darkness along familiar paths and a minute later found herself at the gazebo; here she stopped to take a breath and appear before Desforges with an indifferent and unhurried appearance. But Desforges was already standing in front of her.

“Thank you,” he told her in a quiet and sad voice, “that you did not refuse me my request.” I would be in despair if they did not agree to this.

Marya Kirilovna answered with a prepared phrase:

I hope that you will not make me repent of my leniency.

He was silent and seemed to be gathering his courage.

Circumstances require... I must leave you,” he finally said, “you may soon hear... But before parting, I must explain myself to you...

Marya Kirilovna did not answer anything. She saw these words as a preface to the expected recognition.

“I’m not what you assume,” he continued, lowering his head, “I’m not the Frenchman Deforge, I’m Dubrovsky.”

Marya Kirilovna screamed.

Don't be afraid, for God's sake you shouldn't be afraid of my name. Yes, I am that unfortunate person whom your father deprived of a piece of bread, kicked out of his father’s house and sent to rob on the highways. But you don’t need to be afraid of me - neither for yourself nor for him. Everything is over. I forgave him. Look, you saved him. My first bloody feat was to be accomplished over him. I walked around his house, designating where the fire would break out, where to enter his bedroom, how to cut off all his escape routes - at that moment you passed by me like a heavenly vision, and my heart was humbled. I realized that the house where you live is sacred, that not a single creature connected with you by blood ties is subject to my curse. I gave up revenge as if it were madness. For whole days I wandered around the Pokrovsky gardens in the hope of seeing your white dress from afar. In your careless walks I followed you, sneaking from bush to bush, happy in the thought that I was protecting you, that there was no danger for you where I was secretly present. Finally the opportunity presented itself. I settled in your house. These three weeks were days of happiness for me. Their memory will be the joy of my sad life... Today I received news, after which it is impossible for me to stay here any longer. I am parting with you today... this very hour... But first I had to open up to you so that you would not curse me or despise me. Think about Dubrovsky sometimes. Know that he was born for a different purpose, that his soul knew how to love you, that he never...

Then a light whistle was heard - and Dubrovsky fell silent. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his burning lips. The whistle was repeated.

Excuse me, - said Dubrovsky, - my name is, a minute can destroy me. - He walked away, Marya Kirilovna stood motionless, Dubrovsky returned and took her hand again.

If ever,” he told her in a gentle and touching voice, “if ever misfortune

will befall you and you will not expect help or protection from anyone, in this case, do you promise to resort to me, to demand everything from me - for your salvation? Do you promise not to reject my devotion?

Marya Kirilovna cried silently. The whistle sounded a third time.

You are ruining me! - Dubrovsky shouted. - I will not leave you until you give me an answer - do you promise or not?

I promise,” whispered the poor beauty.

Excited by her meeting with Dubrovsky, Marya Kirilovna was returning from the garden. It seemed to her that all the people were running away, the house was in motion, there were a lot of people in the yard, a troika was standing at the porch, from a distance she heard Kiril Petrovich’s voice and hurried to enter the rooms, fearing that her absence would not be noticed. Kirila Petrovich met her in the hall, the guests surrounded the police officer, our acquaintance, and showered him with questions. A police officer in a traveling dress, armed from head to toe, answered them with a mysterious and fussy look.

“Where were you, Masha,” asked Kirila Petrovich, “did you meet Mr. Deforge?” - Masha could hardly answer negatively.

Imagine,” continued Kirila Petrovich, “the police officer came to seize him and assures me that it is Dubrovsky himself.

“All the signs, Your Excellency,” said the police officer respectfully.

Eh, brother,” Kirila Petrovich interrupted, “go away, you know where, with your signs.” I won’t give you my Frenchman until I sort out the matter myself. How can you take the word of Anton Pafnutich, a coward and a liar: he dreamed that the teacher wanted to rob him. Why didn’t he say a word to me that same morning?

The Frenchman intimidated him, Your Excellency,” answered the police officer, “and took an oath of silence from him...

It’s a lie,” Kirila Petrovich decided, “now I’ll bring everything to light.” - Where is the teacher? - he asked the servant who entered.

They won’t find it anywhere, sir,” answered the servant.

“So find him,” shouted Troekurov, beginning to doubt. “Show me your vaunted signs,” he said to the police officer, who immediately handed him the paper. - Hm, hm, twenty-three years... It’s true, but it still doesn’t prove anything. What about the teacher?

They won’t find it, sir,” was the answer again. Kirila Petrovich began to worry; Marya Kirilovna was neither alive nor dead.

“You’re pale, Masha,” her father remarked to her, “they scared you.”

No, daddy,” answered Masha, “I have a headache.”

Go to your room, Masha, and don’t worry. - Masha kissed his hand and went quickly to her room, where she threw herself on the bed and sobbed in a hysterical fit. The maids came running, undressed her, forcibly managed to calm her down with cold water and all kinds of alcohols, they laid her down, and she fell into a sleepy state.

Meanwhile, the Frenchman was not found. Kirila Petrovich walked back and forth around the hall, menacingly whistling “Roll the thunder of victory.” The guests were whispering to each other, the police chief seemed to be a fool, and the Frenchman was not found. He probably managed to escape after being warned. But by whom and how? it remained a secret.

It was eleven, and no one thought about sleep. Finally, Kirila Petrovich said angrily to the police officer:

Well? After all, it’s not time for you to stay here, my house is not a tavern, it’s not with your agility, brother, to catch Dubrovsky, if it’s Dubrovsky. Go home and be quicker ahead. “And it’s time for you to go home,” he continued, turning to the guests. - Tell me to lay it down, but I want to sleep.

So mercilessly Troekurov parted with his guests!

CHAPTER XIII

Some time passed without any remarkable incident. But at the beginning of the next summer, many changes occurred in the family life of Kiril Petrovich.

Thirty miles away from him was the rich estate of Prince Vereisky. The prince was in foreign lands for a long time, his entire estate was managed by a retired major, and no communication existed between Pokrovsky and Arbatov. But at the end of May the prince returned from abroad and came to his village, which he had never seen before. Having become accustomed to absent-mindedness, he could not bear solitude and on the third day after his arrival he went to dine with Troekurov, whom he had once known.

The prince was about fifty years old, but he seemed much older. Excesses of all kinds exhausted his health and left their indelible mark on him. Despite this, his appearance was pleasant and remarkable, and his habit of always being in society gave him a certain courtesy, especially with women. He had a constant need for distraction and was constantly bored. Kirila Petrovich was extremely pleased with his visit, accepting it as a sign of respect from a man who knew the world; As usual, he treated him to a tour of his establishments and took him to the kennel yard. But the prince almost suffocated in the canine atmosphere and hurried to get out, holding his nose with a handkerchief,

sprayed with perfume. He did not like the ancient garden with its trimmed linden trees, quadrangular pond and regular alleys; he loved English gardens and so-called nature, but he praised and admired; the servant came to report that the meal had been set. They went to lunch. The prince limped, tired from his walk and already repenting of his visit.

But Marya Kirilovna met them in the hall, and the old red tape was struck by her beauty. Troekurov seated the guest next to her. The prince was enlivened by her presence, was cheerful and managed to attract her attention several times with his curious stories. After dinner, Kirila Petrovich offered to ride on horseback, but the prince apologized, pointing to his velvet boots and joking about his gout; he preferred to walk in a line, so as not to be separated from his dear neighbor. The line was laid. The three of them and the beauty sat down and drove off. The conversation did not stop. Marya Kirilovna listened with pleasure to the flattering and cheerful greetings of a socialite, when suddenly Vereisky, turning to Kiril Petrovich, asked him what this burnt building meant and did it belong to him?.. Kiril Petrovich frowned; the memories aroused in him by the burnt estate were unpleasant to him. He replied that the land was now his and that it previously belonged to Dubrovsky.

Dubrovsky,” repeated Vereisky, “what, this glorious robber?”

“His father,” answered Troekurov, “and his father was a decent robber.”

Where did our Rinaldo go? is he alive, is he captured?

And he is alive and free, and as long as we have police officers at one with the thieves, until then he will not be caught; By the way, Prince, Dubrovsky visited you in Arbatov?

Yes, last year, it seems, he burned or looted something... Isn’t it true, Marya Kirilovna, that it would be interesting to get to know this romantic hero briefly?

What a curiosity! - said Troekurov, - she knows him: he taught her music for three whole weeks, but thank God he didn’t charge anything for the lessons. - Here Kirila Petrovich began to tell a story about his French teacher. Marya Kirilovna sat on pins and needles, Vereisky listened with deep attention, found it all very strange and changed the conversation. Returning, he ordered his carriage to be brought in and, despite Kiril Petrovich’s strong requests to stay overnight, he left immediately after tea. But first he asked Kiril Petrovich to come visit him with Marya Kirilovna - and the proud Troekurov promised, for, having respected the princely dignity, two stars and 3000 souls of the family estate, he to some extent considered Prince Vereisky to be his equal.

Two days after this visit, Kiril Petrovich went with his daughter to visit Prince Vereisky. Approaching Arbatov, he could not help but admire the clean and cheerful peasant huts and the stone manor house, built in the style of English castles. In front of the house lay a dense green meadow, on which Swiss cows grazed, ringing their bells. A spacious park surrounded the house on all sides. The owner met the guests at the porch and offered his hand to the young beauty. They entered a magnificent hall, where the table was set for three places. The prince led the guests to the window, and a lovely view opened up to them. The Volga flowed in front of the windows, loaded barges sailed along it under stretched sails, and fishing boats, so expressively nicknamed gas chambers, flashed by. Beyond the river stretched hills and fields, several villages enlivened the surroundings. Then they started looking at the gallery of paintings bought by the prince in foreign lands. The prince explained to Marya Kirilovna their different contents, the history of the painters, and pointed out their advantages and disadvantages. He spoke about the paintings not in the conventional language of a pedantic connoisseur, but with feeling and imagination. Marya Kirilovna listened to him with pleasure. Let's go to the table. Troekurov did full justice to the wines of his Amphitryon and the art of his cook, and Marya Kirilovna did not feel any

the slightest confusion or compulsion in a conversation with a person whom she saw only for the second time in her life. After lunch, the owner invited the guests to go to the garden. They drank coffee in a gazebo on the shore of a wide lake dotted with islands. Suddenly brass music was heard, and a six-oared boat moored right next to the gazebo. They drove along the lake, near the islands, visited some of them, on one they found a marble statue, on another a secluded cave, on the third a monument with a mysterious inscription that aroused in Marya Kirilovna a girlish curiosity, not entirely satisfied by the polite omissions of the prince; Time passed unnoticed, it began to get dark. The prince, under the pretext of freshness and dew, hurried to return home; the samovar was waiting for them. The prince asked Marya Kirilovna to manage the old bachelor’s house. She poured tea, listening to the inexhaustible stories of the amiable talker; suddenly a shot rang out and the racket lit up the sky. The prince handed Marya Kirilovna a shawl and called her and Troekurov to the balcony. In front of the house in the darkness, multi-colored lights flashed, spun, rose up like ears of corn, palm trees, fountains, sprinkled with rain, stars, died out and flared up again. Marya Kirilovna was having fun like a child. Prince Vereisky rejoiced at her admiration, and Troekurov was extremely pleased with it, for he accepted the prince’s tous les frais 1) as signs of respect and desire to please him.

Dinner was in no way inferior in dignity to lunch. The guests went to the rooms reserved for them, and the next morning they parted with the kind host, making each other a promise to see each other again soon.

1) all expenses (French).

CHAPTER XIV

Marya Kirilovna was sitting in her room, embroidering in a hoop, in front of the open window. She did not get confused with silks, like Conrad's mistress, who, in amorous absent-mindedness, embroidered a rose with green silk. Under her needle, the canvas unmistakably repeated the patterns of the original, despite the fact that her thoughts did not follow the work, they were far away.

Suddenly a hand quietly reached out through the window, someone put a letter on the hoop and disappeared before Marya Kirilovna had time to come to her senses. At this very time, a servant came in and called her to Kiril Petrovich. She tremblingly hid the letter behind her scarf and hurried to her father’s office.

Kirila Petrovich was not alone. Prince Vereisky was sitting with him. When Marya Kirilovna appeared, the prince stood up and silently bowed to her with confusion unusual for him.

“Come here, Masha,” said Kirila Petrovich, “I’ll tell you news that, I hope, will make you happy.” Here is your groom, the prince is wooing you.

Masha was dumbfounded, mortal pallor covered her face. She was silent. The prince approached her, took her hand and, looking touched, asked if she agreed to make him happy. Masha was silent.

“I agree, of course, I agree,” said Kirila Petrovich, “but you know, prince: it’s difficult for a girl

pronounce this word. Well, children, kiss and be happy.

Masha stood motionless, the old prince kissed her hand, and suddenly tears ran down her pale face. The prince frowned slightly.

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,” said Kirila Petrovich, “dry your tears and come back to us cheerfully.” “They all cry when they get engaged,” he continued, turning to Vereisky, “that’s how it is with them... Now, prince, let’s talk about business, that is, about the dowry.

Marya Kirilovna greedily took advantage of the permission to leave. She ran to her room, locked herself in and gave vent to her tears, imagining herself as the wife of an old prince; he suddenly seemed disgusting and hateful to her... marriage frightened her like a scaffold, like a grave... “No, no,” she repeated in despair, “it’s better to die, it’s better to go to a monastery, it’s better to marry Dubrovsky.” Then she remembered the letter and eagerly rushed to read it, sensing that it was from him. In fact, it was written by him and contained only the following words:

“In the evening at 10 o’clock. in the same place."

CHAPTER XV

The moon was shining, the July night was quiet, the breeze rose from time to time, and a light rustle ran through the entire garden.

Like a light shadow, the young beauty approached the place of the appointed meeting. No one was visible yet, suddenly Dubrovsky appeared in front of her from behind the gazebo.

“I know everything,” he told her in a quiet and sad voice. - Remember your promise.

“You offer me your protection,” answered Masha, “but don’t be angry: it scares me.” How will you help me?

I could deliver you from the hated person.

For God's sake, don't touch him, don't dare touch him, if you love me - I don't want to be the cause of some horror...

I will not touch him, your will is sacred to me. He owes his life to you. Never will a crime be committed in your name. You must be clean even of my crimes. But how can I save you from your cruel father?

There is still hope. I hope to touch him with my tears and despair. He's stubborn, but he loves me so much.

Do not hope in vain: in these tears he will see only ordinary timidity and disgust, common to all young girls when they marry not out of passion, but out of prudent calculation; what if he takes it into his head to make your happiness despite yourself; if they forcibly take you down the aisle to forever hand over your fate to the power of your old husband?..

Then, then there is nothing to do, come for me - I will be your wife.

Dubrovsky trembled, his pale face was covered with a crimson blush and at that very moment became paler than before. He was silent for a long time, lowering his head.

Gather with all the strength of your soul, beg your father, throw yourself at his feet, imagine to him all the horror of the future, your youth withering near a frail and depraved old man, decide on a cruel explanation: say that if he remains inexorable, then... then you will find terrible defense... say that wealth will not bring you a single moment of happiness; luxury consoles only poverty, and then out of habit for one moment; don’t lag behind him, don’t be frightened by his anger or threats, as long as there remains at least a shadow of hope, for God’s sake, don’t lag behind. If there is no other way...

Here Dubrovsky covered his face with his hands, he seemed to be suffocating - Masha was crying...

“Poor, poor my fate,” he said, sighing bitterly. “I would give my life for you; seeing you from afar, touching your hand was ecstasy for me.” And when the opportunity opens up for me to press you to my worried heart and say: angel, we will die! poor thing, I must beware of bliss, I must distance it with all my might... I do not dare fall at your feet, thank heaven for an incomprehensible undeserved reward. Oh, how I should hate him - but I feel that now there is no place for hatred in my heart.

He quietly hugged her slender figure and quietly drew her to his heart. She bowed her head trustingly on the young robber's shoulder. Both were silent.

Time flew by. “It’s time,” Masha finally said. Dubrovsky seemed to have woken up from sleep. He took her hand and placed the ring on her finger.

If you decide to resort to me,” he said, “then bring the ring here, lower it into the hollow of this oak tree, I will know what to do.”

Dubrovsky kissed her hand and disappeared between the trees.

CHAPTER XVI

The matchmaking of Prince Vereisky was no longer a secret for the neighborhood - Kirila Petrovich accepted congratulations, the wedding was being prepared. Masha put off a decisive announcement day by day. Meanwhile, her treatment of her old fiancé was cold and forced. The prince did not care about that. He didn’t bother about love, content with her silent consent.

But time passed. Masha finally decided to act - and wrote a letter to Prince Vereisky; she tried to arouse a feeling of generosity in his heart, frankly admitted that she did not have the slightest affection for him, begged him to refuse her hand and himself protect her from the power of her parent. She quietly handed the letter to Prince Vereisky, who read it in private and was not in the least moved by the frankness of his bride. On the contrary, he saw the need to speed up the wedding and for this purpose considered it necessary to show the letter to his future father-in-law.

Kirila Petrovich was furious; The prince could hardly persuade him not to show Masha that he had been notified of her letter. Kirila Petrovich agreed not to tell her about it, but decided not to waste time and scheduled the wedding for the next day. The prince found this very prudent, went to his bride, told her that the letter saddened him very much, but that he hoped over time to earn her affection, that her thought

to lose is too hard for him and that he is unable to agree to his death sentence. For this, he respectfully kissed her hand and left without telling her a word about Kiril Petrovich’s decision.

But he barely had time to leave the yard when her father came in and directly told her to be ready for the next day. Marya Kirilovna, already excited by Prince Vereisky's explanation, burst into tears and threw herself at her father's feet.

“What does this mean,” Kirila Petrovich said menacingly, “until now you were silent and agreed, but auntie, when everything was decided, you decided to be capricious and renounce.” Don't be a fool; You won't gain anything with me by doing this.

“Don’t ruin me,” poor Masha repeated, “why drive me away from you and give me to an unloved person, are you tired of me, I want to stay with you as before.” Daddy, you will be sad without me, even sadder when you think that I’m unhappy, daddy: don’t force me, I don’t want to get married...

Kirila Petrovich was touched, but hid his embarrassment and, pushing her away, said sternly:

It's all nonsense, do you hear? I know better than you what is needed for your happiness. Tears will not help you, the day after tomorrow will be your wedding.

Day after tomorrow! - Masha screamed, - my God! No, no, it’s impossible for this not to happen. Daddy, listen, if you have already decided to destroy me, then I will find a defender that you don’t even think about, you will see, you will be horrified at what you have brought me to.

What? What? - said Troekurov, - threats! I'm being threatened, you impudent girl! But do you know that I will do to you what you cannot even imagine. You dare to frighten me with a defender. Let's see who this defender will be.

“Vladimir Dubrovsky,” Masha answered in despair.

Kirila Petrovich thought that she had gone crazy and looked at her in amazement.

“Okay,” he told her after some silence, “wait for whoever you want to be your deliverer, but for now, sit in this room, you won’t leave it until the wedding.” - With these words, Kirila Petrovich went out and locked the doors behind him.

The poor girl cried for a long time, imagining everything that awaited her, but the stormy explanation eased her soul, and she could talk more calmly about her fate and what she should have done. The main thing for her was: to get rid of the hated marriage; the fate of the robber's wife seemed like paradise to her in comparison with the lot prepared for her. She looked at the ring that Dubrovsky left her. She ardently wanted to see him alone and once again have a long consultation before the decisive moment. A premonition told her that in the evening she would find Dubrovsky in the garden near the gazebo; she decided to go and wait for him there as soon as it began to get dark. It got dark. Masha got ready, but her door was locked. The maid answered her from behind the door that Kirila Petrovich had not ordered her to be let out. She was under arrest. Deeply offended, she sat under the window and sat until late at night without undressing, motionless looking at the dark sky. At dawn she dozed off, but her thin sleep was disturbed by sad visions, and the rays of the rising sun had already awakened her.

CHAPTER XVII

She woke up, and with her first thought the full horror of her situation presented itself to her. She called, the girl came in and answered her questions that Kirila Petrovich went to Arbatovo in the evening and returned late, that he gave strict orders not to let her out of her room and to make sure that no one spoke to her, which, however, did not there are no special preparations for the wedding, except that the priest was ordered not to leave the village under any pretext. After this news, the girl left Marya Kirilovna and locked the doors again.

Her words embittered the young recluse - her head was boiling, her blood was agitated, she decided to let Dubrovsky know about everything and began to look for a way to send the ring to the hollow of the treasured oak tree; At that time, a pebble hit her window, the glass rang - and Marya Kirilovna looked at the yard and saw little Sasha making secret signs to her. She knew his affection and was glad to see him. She opened the window.

“Hello, Sasha,” she said, “why are you calling me?”

I came, sister, to find out from you if you need anything. Daddy is angry and has forbidden the whole house to listen to you, but tell me to do whatever you want, and I will do everything for you.

Thank you, my dear Sasha, listen: do you know the old oak tree with a hollow near the gazebo?

I know, sister.

So if you love me, run there quickly and put this ring in the hollow, and make sure that no one sees you.

With that word, she threw the ring to him and locked the window.

The boy picked up the ring, started running at full speed - and in three minutes he found himself at the treasured tree. Here he stopped, gasping for breath, looked around in all directions and put the ring in the hollow. Having completed the matter successfully, he wanted to immediately report this to Marya Kirilovna, when suddenly a red-haired, cross-haired, ragged boy flashed from behind the gazebo, rushed to the oak tree and put his hand into the hollow. Sasha rushed towards him faster than a squirrel and grabbed hold of him with both hands.

What are you doing here? - he said menacingly.

What do you care? - the boy answered, trying to free himself from him.

Leave this ring, red hare,” Sasha shouted, “or I’ll teach you a lesson in my own way.”

Instead of answering, he hit him in the face with his fist, but Sasha did not let him go and shouted at the top of his lungs: “Thieves, thieves - here, here...”

The boy tried to get rid of him. He was apparently two years older than Sasha and much stronger, but Sasha was more evasive. They fought for several minutes, and finally the red-haired boy won. He knocked Sasha to the ground and grabbed him by the throat.

But at that moment a strong hand grabbed his red and bristly hair, and the gardener Stepan lifted him half an arshin from the ground...

“Oh, you red-haired beast,” said the gardener, “how dare you beat the little master...

Sasha managed to jump up and recover.

“You caught me in a snare,” he said, “otherwise you would never have knocked me down.” Give me the ring now and get out.

“Why not,” the red-haired man answered and, suddenly turning over in one place, freed his stubble from

Stepanova's hands. Then he started to run, but Sasha caught up with him, pushed him in the back, and the boy fell as fast as he could, the gardener grabbed him again and tied him with a sash.

Give me the ring! - Sasha shouted.

Wait, master,” said Stepan, “we’ll take him to the clerk for punishment.”

The gardener led the prisoner to the master's courtyard, and Sasha accompanied him, looking with concern at his trousers, torn and stained with greenery. Suddenly all three found themselves in front of Kiril Petrovich, who was going to inspect his stable.

What's this? - he asked Stepan.

Stepan described the whole incident in short words. Kirila Petrovich listened to him with attention.

You, rake, - he said, turn to Sasha, - why did you contact him?

He stole a ring from the hollow, daddy, order him to give the ring back.

Which ring, from which hollow?

Yes, Marya Kirilovna for me... yes, that ring...

Sasha was embarrassed, confused. Kirila Petrovich frowned and said, shaking his head:

Marya Kirilovna got mixed up here. Confess everything, or I will tear you off with a rod so that you won’t even recognize your own people.

By God, daddy, I, daddy... Marya Kirilovna didn’t order anything to me, daddy.

Stepan, go and cut me a nice, fresh birch branch...

Wait, daddy, I'll tell you everything. Today I was running around the yard, and my sister Marya Kirilovna opened the window, and I ran up, and my sister didn’t drop the ring on purpose, and I hid it in a hollow, and... and... this red-haired boy wanted to steal the ring.

I didn’t drop it on purpose, but you wanted to hide it... Stepan, go get the rods.

Daddy, wait, I'll tell you everything. Sister Marya Kirilovna told me to run to the oak tree and put the ring in the hollow, I ran and put the ring, and this bad boy...

Kirila Petrovich turned to the nasty boy and asked him menacingly: “Whose are you?”

“I am the servant of the Dubrovskys,” answered the red-haired boy.

Kiril Petrovich’s face darkened.

“You don’t seem to recognize me as master, okay,” he answered. - What were you doing in my garden?

“I stole raspberries,” the boy answered with great indifference.

Yeah, master's servant, like the priest, like the parish, but do raspberries grow on my oak trees?

The boy did not answer.

“Dad, order him to give him the ring,” said Sasha.

Shut up, Alexander,” answered Kirila Petrovich, “don’t forget that I’m going to deal with you.” Go to your room. You, oblique, you seem to me to be a big no-no. Give me the ring and go home.

The boy unclenched his fist and showed that there was nothing in his hand.

If you confess everything to me, I won’t flog you, I’ll give you another nickel for nuts. Otherwise, I will do something to you that you do not expect. Well!

The boy did not answer a word and stood with his head down and looked like a real fool.

“Okay,” said Kirila Petrovich, “lock him up somewhere and make sure he doesn’t run away, or I’ll skin the whole house.”

Stepan took the boy to the dovecote, locked him there and assigned the old henkeeper Agathia to watch him.

Now go to the city for the police officer,” said Kirila Petrovich, following the boy with his eyes, “and as soon as possible.”

“There is no doubt about it. She maintained relations with the damned Dubrovsky. But was she really calling him for help? - thought Kirila Petrovich, pacing around the room and angrily whistling “Thunder of Victory.” “Maybe I’ve finally found him in hot pursuit, and he won’t dodge us.” We

Let's take advantage of this opportunity. Chu! the bell, thank God, it’s the police officer.”

Hey, bring the boy who was caught here.

Meanwhile, the cart drove into the yard, and the police officer, already familiar to us, entered the room covered in dust.

“Glorious news,” Kirila Petrovich told him, “I caught Dubrovsky.”

“Thank God, Your Excellency,” said the police officer, looking delighted, “where is he?”

That is, not Dubrovsky, but one of his gang. They'll bring him in now. He will help us catch the chieftain himself. So they brought him in.

The police officer, who was expecting a formidable robber, was amazed to see a 13-year-old boy of rather weak appearance. He turned to Kiril Petrovich in bewilderment and waited for an explanation. Kirila Petrovich immediately began to tell the morning incident, without, however, mentioning Marya Kirilovna.

The police officer listened to him with attention, constantly glancing at the little scoundrel, who, pretending to be a fool, seemed not to pay any attention to everything that was happening around him.

Allow me, Your Excellency, to speak with you in private,” the police chief finally said.

Kirila Petrovich led him into another room and locked the door behind him.

Half an hour later they went out again into the hall, where the slave was awaiting the decision of his fate.

The master wanted, the police officer told him, to put you in the city prison, flog you and then send you to a settlement, but I stood up for you and begged your forgiveness. Untie him.

The boy was untied.

“Thank the master,” said the police officer. The boy approached Kiril Petrovich and kissed his hand.

“Go home,” Kirila Petrovich told him, “but don’t steal raspberries from the hollows.”

The boy came out, cheerfully jumped off the porch and started running, without looking back, across the field to Kistenevka. Having reached the village, he stopped at

the dilapidated hut, the first from the edge, and knocked on the window; the window rose and the old woman appeared.

Grandma, bread,” said the boy, “I haven’t eaten anything since morning, I’m dying of hunger.”

“Oh, it’s you, Mitya, where have you been, you little devil,” answered the old woman.

I’ll tell you later, grandma, for God’s sake.

Come into the hut.

No time, grandma, I need to run to one more place. Bread, for Christ's sake, bread.

What a fidget,” the old woman grumbled, “here’s a slice for you,” and she put a hunk of black bread into the window. The boy bit it greedily and, chewing, immediately moved on.

It was starting to get dark. Mitya made his way through the barns and vegetable gardens into the Kistenevskaya Grove. Having reached two pines standing as the foremost guards of the grove, he stopped, looked around in all directions, whistled a piercing and abrupt whistle and began to listen; A light and prolonged whistle was heard in response to him, someone came out of the grove and approached him.

CHAPTER XVIII

Kirila Petrovich walked back and forth around the hall, whistling his song louder than usual; the whole house was in motion, the servants were running, the girls were fussing, the coachman was laying a carriage in the barn, people were crowding in the yard. In the young lady's dressing room, in front of the mirror, a lady, surrounded by maids, was cleaning the pale, motionless Marya Kirilovna, her head bowed languidly under the weight of diamonds, she trembled slightly when a careless hand pricked her, but remained silent, looking senselessly in the mirror.

“Right now,” the lady answered. - Marya Kirilovna, stand up and look, is it okay?

Marya Kirilovna stood up and did not answer anything. The doors opened.

The bride is ready,” the lady said to Kiril Petrovich, “order him to get into the carriage.”

“With God,” answered Kirila Petrovich and, taking the image from the table, “come to me, Masha,” he told her in a touched voice, “I bless you...” The poor girl fell at his feet and sobbed.

Daddy... daddy... - she said in tears, and her voice died away. Kirila Petrovich hurried to bless her, they lifted her up and almost carried her into the carriage. The seated mother and one of the maids sat down with her. They

let's go to church. The groom was already waiting for them there. He went out to meet the bride and was struck by her pallor and strange appearance. They entered the cold, empty church together; the doors were locked behind them. The priest came out of the altar and immediately began. Marya Kirilovna saw nothing, heard nothing, thought about one thing, from the very morning she was waiting for Dubrovsky, hope did not leave her for a minute, but when the priest turned to her with the usual questions, she shuddered and froze, but still hesitated, still waited ; the priest, without waiting for her answer, uttered irrevocable words.

The ceremony was over. She felt the cold kiss of her disliked husband, she heard the cheerful congratulations of those present and still could not believe that her life was forever shackled, that Dubrovsky had not flown to free her. The prince addressed her with affectionate words, she did not understand them, they left the church, peasants from Pokrovsky were crowding on the porch. Her gaze quickly ran over them and again showed her former insensibility. The young people got into the carriage together and went to Arbatovo; Kirila Petrovich had already gone there to meet the young people there. Alone with his young wife, the prince was not at all embarrassed by her cold appearance. He did not bother her with sugary explanations and funny delights; his words were simple and did not require answers. In this way they drove about ten miles, the horses rushed quickly over the bumps of the country road, and the carriage hardly swayed on its English springs. Suddenly, cries of pursuit were heard, the carriage stopped, a crowd of armed people surrounded it, and a man in a half-mask, opening the doors on the side where the young princess was sitting, said to her: “You are free, get out.” “What does this mean,” the prince shouted, “who are you?..” “This is Dubrovsky,” said the princess. The prince, without losing his presence of mind, took a traveling pistol from his side pocket and shot at the masked robber. The princess screamed and covered her face with both hands in horror. Dubrovsky was wounded in the shoulder, blood appeared. The prince, without wasting a minute, took out another pistol, but he was not given time to shoot, the doors opened, and several strong

hands pulled him out of the carriage and snatched his pistol. Knives flashed above him.

Don't touch him! - Dubrovsky shouted, and his gloomy accomplices retreated.

“You are free,” Dubrovsky continued, turning to the pale princess.

No, she answered. - It’s too late - I’m married, I’m the wife of Prince Vereisky.

“What are you saying,” Dubrovsky shouted in despair, “no, you are not his wife, you were forced, you could never agree...

“I agreed, I swore an oath,” she objected firmly, “Prince is my husband, order him to be released and leave me with him.” I didn't cheat. I waited for you until the last minute... But now, I tell you, it’s too late. Let us in.

But Dubrovsky no longer heard her, the pain of the wound and the strong unrest of his soul deprived him of his strength. He fell at the wheel, the robbers surrounded him. He managed to say a few words to them, they put him on horseback, two of them supported him, the third took the horse by the bridle, and everyone rode off to the side, leaving the carriage in the middle of the road, the people tied up, the horses harnessed, but without looting anything and without spilling a single drops of blood in revenge for the blood of his chieftain.

CHAPTER XIX

In the middle of a dense forest, on a narrow lawn, there stood a small earthen fortification, consisting of a rampart and a ditch, behind which there were several huts and dugouts.

In the courtyard, many people, who by the variety of clothes and general weapons could immediately be recognized as robbers, were having dinner, sitting without hats, near the brotherly cauldron. On the rampart, next to a small cannon, a guard sat with his legs tucked under him; he inserted a patch into some part of his clothing, wielding a needle with the skill that reveals an experienced tailor, and constantly looked in all directions.

Although a certain ladle passed from hand to hand several times, a strange silence reigned in this crowd; The robbers dined, one after the other got up and prayed to God, some went to their huts, while others scattered through the forest or lay down to sleep, according to Russian custom.

The guard finished his work, shook out his junk, admired the patch, pinned a needle to his sleeve, sat astride the cannon and sang at the top of his lungs a melancholy old song:

Don't make noise, mother green oak tree,
Don’t bother me, good fellow, from thinking.

At this time, the door of one of the huts opened, and an old woman in a white cap, neatly and primly dressed, appeared at the threshold. “That’s enough for you, Styopka,” she said.

angrily, - the master rests, and you know he is bawling; You have neither conscience nor pity.” “It’s my fault, Egorovna,” answered Styopka, “okay, I won’t do it again, let him, our father, rest and get better.” The old woman left, and Styopka began to pace along the shaft.

In the hut from which the old woman came out, behind the partition, the wounded Dubrovsky was lying on a camp bed. His pistols lay on the table in front of him, and his saber hung at his head. The dugout was covered and hung with rich carpets; in the corner there was a women's silver toilet and dressing table. Dubrovsky held an open book in his hand, but his eyes were closed. And the old woman, looking at him from behind the partition, could not know whether he had fallen asleep or was just thinking.

Suddenly Dubrovsky shuddered: there was alarm in the fortification, and Styopka stuck his head through the window towards him. “Father, Vladimir Andreevich,” he shouted, “our people are giving the sign, they are looking for us.” Dubrovsky jumped out of bed, grabbed a weapon and left the hut. The robbers crowded noisily in the courtyard; At his appearance there was deep silence. “Is everyone here?” - asked Dubrovsky. “Everyone except the watchmen,” they answered him. "In places!" - Dubrovsky shouted. And the robbers each took a certain place. At this time, three watchmen ran to the gate. Dubrovsky went to meet them. "What's happened?" - he asked them. “Soldiers are in the forest,” they answered, “surrounding us.” Dubrovsky ordered the gates to be locked - and he himself went to inspect the cannon. Several voices were heard throughout the forest and began to approach; the robbers waited in silence. Suddenly three or four soldiers appeared from the forest and immediately retreated, letting their comrades know with their shots. “Prepare for battle,” said Dubrovsky, and there was a rustling sound between the robbers, and again everything became quiet. Then they heard the noise of an approaching team, weapons flashed between the trees, about one and a half hundred soldiers poured out of the forest and rushed to the rampart with a scream. Dubrovsky set the fuse, the shot was successful: one had his head blown off, two were wounded. There was confusion between the soldiers, but the officer rushed forward, the soldiers followed him and fled

into the ditch; the robbers shot at them with rifles and pistols and began, with axes in their hands, to defend the rampart onto which the frenzied soldiers were climbing, leaving about twenty wounded comrades in the ditch. Hand-to-hand combat ensued, the soldiers were already on the rampart, the robbers began to yield, but Dubrovsky, approaching the officer, put a pistol to his chest and fired, the officer fell backwards, several soldiers picked him up in their arms and hurried to carry him into the forest, the others, having lost their commander, stopped. The emboldened robbers took advantage of this moment of bewilderment, crushed them, forced them into the ditch, the besiegers ran, the robbers rushed after them screaming. Victory was decided. Dubrovsky, relying on the complete frustration of the enemy, stopped his own and locked himself in the fortress, ordering the wounded to be picked up, doubling the guards and not ordering anyone to leave.

Recent incidents have drawn the government's attention to Dubrovsky's daring robberies. Information about his whereabouts was collected. A company of soldiers was sent to take him, dead or alive. They caught several people from his gang and learned from them that Dubrovsky was not among them. A few days after 1) he gathered all his accomplices, announced to them that he intended to leave them forever, and advised them to change their lifestyle. “You have become rich under my command, each of you has the appearance with which you can safely get into some remote province and spend the rest of your life there in honest labor and abundance. But you are all swindlers and probably won’t want to give up your craft.” After this speech, he left them, taking one ** with him. Nobody knew where he went. At first they doubted the truth of this testimony: the commitment of the robbers to the ataman was known. It was believed that they were trying to save him. But the consequences justified them; menacing visits, fires and robberies stopped. The roads became clear. From other news they learned that Dubrovsky had fled abroad.

Reproduced from the edition: A. S. Pushkin. Collected works in 10 volumes. M.: GIHL, 1959-1962. Volume 4. Eugene Onegin, dramatic works.

Finally, he ordered the racing droshky to be harnessed, dressed warmly (this was already at the end of September) and, driving himself, drove out of the yard.

Soon he saw Andrei Gavrilovich’s house, and opposite feelings filled his soul. Satisfied vengeance and lust for power drowned out to some extent nobler feelings, but the latter finally triumphed. He decided to make peace with his old neighbor, to destroy the traces of the quarrel, returning his property to him. Having relieved his soul with this good intention, Kirila Petrovich set off at a trot to his neighbor’s estate and rode straight into the yard.

At this time, the patient was sitting in the bedroom by the window. He recognized Kiril Petrovich, and terrible confusion appeared on his face: a crimson blush took the place of his usual pallor, his eyes sparkled, he uttered indistinct sounds. His son, who was sitting right there behind the business books, raised his head and was amazed at his condition. The patient pointed his finger towards the yard with an air of horror and anger. He hurriedly picked up the hem of his robe, about to get up from his chair, he stood up... and suddenly fell. The son rushed to him, the old man lay unconscious and without breathing, paralysis struck him. “Hurry, hurry to the city for a doctor!” - Vladimir shouted. “Kirila Petrovich is asking for you,” said the servant who entered. Vladimir gave him a terrible look.

- Tell Kiril Petrovich to get out quickly before I order him to be kicked out of the yard... let's go! – The servant joyfully ran to fulfill his master’s orders; Egorovna clasped her hands. “You are ours,” she said in a squeaky voice, “you will ruin your little head! Kirila Petrovich will eat us.” “Be quiet, nanny,” Vladimir said with a heart, “now send Anton to the city for a doctor.” - Egorovna came out.

There was no one in the hallway; all the people ran out into the courtyard to look at Kiril Petrovich. She went out onto the porch and heard the servant answer, reporting on behalf of the young master. Kirila Petrovich listened to him while sitting on the droshky. His face became gloomier than the night, he smiled with contempt, looked menacingly at the servants and walked at a pace near the yard. He looked out the window, where Andrei Gavrilovich had been sitting a minute before, but where he was no longer there. The nanny stood on the porch, having forgotten about the master’s orders. The servants talked noisily about this incident. Suddenly Vladimir appeared among the people and said abruptly: “There is no need for a doctor, the priest has died.”

There was confusion. People rushed to the old master's room. He lay in the chairs to which Vladimir had carried him; his right arm hung to the floor, his head was lowered on his chest, there was no sign of life in this body, which had not yet cooled down, but was already disfigured by death. Egorovna howled, the servants surrounded the corpse left in their care, washed it, dressed it in a uniform sewn back in 1797, and laid it on the very table at which they had served their master for so many years.

Chapter V

The funeral took place on the third day. The body of the poor old man lay on the table, covered with a shroud and surrounded by candles. The dining room was full of courtyard servants. We were getting ready to take it out. Vladimir and three servants lifted the coffin. The priest went forward, the sexton accompanied him, chanting funeral prayers. The owner of Kistenevka crossed the threshold of his house for the last time. The coffin was carried by the grove. The church was behind it. The day was clear and cold. Autumn leaves fell from the trees.

When leaving the grove, we saw the Kistenevsky wooden church and a cemetery shaded by old linden trees. The body of Vladimir’s mother rested there; there, near her grave, a fresh hole had been dug the day before.

The church was full of Kistenevsky peasants who had come to pay their last respects to their master. Young Dubrovsky stood at the choir; he did not cry or pray, but his face was scary. The sad ritual is over. Vladimir was the first to go to say goodbye to the body, followed by all the servants. They brought the lid and nailed the coffin shut. The women howled loudly; the men occasionally wiped away tears with their fists. Vladimir and the same three servants carried him to the cemetery, accompanied by the entire village. The coffin was lowered into the grave, everyone present threw a handful of sand into it, filled the hole, bowed to it and dispersed. Vladimir hastily left, got ahead of everyone and disappeared into the Kistenevskaya Grove.

Egorovna, on his behalf, invited the priest and the entire church clergy to a funeral dinner, declaring that the young master did not intend to attend it, and thus Father Anton, the priest Fedotovna and the sexton went on foot to the master's courtyard, discussing with Egorovna about the virtues of the deceased and that , which apparently awaited his heir. (Troekurov’s arrival and the reception he received were already known to the entire neighborhood, and the politicians there foreshadowed important consequences for it).

“What will be will be,” said the priest, “but it’s a pity if Vladimir Andreevich is not our master.” Well done, nothing to say.

“And who else but him should be our master,” Egorovna interrupted. “It’s in vain that Kirila Petrovich gets excited. He did not attack the timid: my falcon will stand up for itself, and, God willing, its benefactors will not abandon it. Kirila Petrovich is painfully arrogant! and I suppose he put his tail between his legs when my Grishka shouted to him: “Get out, old dog!” - out of the yard!

“Ahti, Egorovna,” said the sexton, “how Grigory’s tongue turned; I would rather agree, it seems, to bark at the Bishop than to look askance at Kiril Petrovich. When you see him, fear and trembling, and sweat dripping, and your back itself just bends and bends...

“Vanity of vanities,” said the priest, “and they will sing eternal memory to Kiril Petrovich, just like now for Andrei Gavrilovich, perhaps the funeral will be richer and more guests will be called, but who cares to God!”

- Oh, dad! and we wanted to invite the entire neighborhood, but Vladimir Andreevich did not want to. We probably have enough of everything, we have something to treat, but what do you want to do? At least if there are no people, then at least I will treat you, our dear guests.

This affectionate promise and the hope of finding a tasty pie quickened the steps of the interlocutors, and they safely arrived at the manor’s house, where the table was already set and vodka was served.

Meanwhile, Vladimir went deeper into the thicket of trees, trying to drown out his spiritual grief with movement and fatigue. He walked without making out the road; branches constantly touched and scratched him, his feet constantly got stuck in the swamp - he did not notice anything. Finally he reached a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by forest; the stream meandered silently near the trees, half naked in autumn. Vladimir stopped, sat down on the cold turf, and thoughts, one darker than the other, crowded his soul... He felt his loneliness strongly. The future for him was covered with menacing clouds. Enmity with Troekurov foreshadowed new misfortunes for him. His poor property could pass away from him into the wrong hands; in that case, poverty awaited him. For a long time he sat motionless in the same place, looking at the quiet flow of the stream, carrying away a few faded leaves and vividly presenting to him the true likeness of life - a likeness so ordinary. Finally he noticed that it was beginning to get dark; he got up and went to look for the way home, but wandered for a long time through the unfamiliar forest until he found himself on a path that led him straight to the gates of his house.

A priest came across Dubrovsky with all the accolades. The thought of an unlucky omen occurred to him. He involuntarily walked away and disappeared behind a tree. They did not notice him and spoke heatedly to each other as they passed him.

As he approached, he saw a multitude of people; peasants and serfs crowded into the manor's courtyard. From a distance, Vladimir heard an extraordinary noise and conversation. There were two triples standing by the barn. On the porch, several strangers in uniform frock coats seemed to be discussing something.

- What does it mean? – he asked Anton angrily, who was running towards him. – Who are they and what do they need?

“Ah, Father Vladimir Andreevich,” answered the old man, gasping for breath. - The court has arrived. They are handing us over to Troekurov, taking us away from your mercy!..

Vladimir lowered his head, his people surrounded their unfortunate master. “You are our father,” they shouted, kissing his hands, “we don’t want another master but you, order, sir, we will deal with the trial. We will die and not extradite.” Vladimir looked at them, and strange feelings worried him. “Stand still,” he told them, “and I’ll talk to the clerk.” “Talk, father,” they shouted to him from the crowd, “for the conscience of the damned.”

Vladimir approached the officials. Shabashkin, with a cap on his head, stood with his arms akimbo and proudly looked around him. The police officer, a tall and fat man of about fifty with a red face and a mustache, seeing Dubrovsky approaching, grunted and said in a hoarse voice: “So, I repeat to you what I have already said: by decision of the district court, from now on you belong to Kiril Petrovich Troekurov, whose face Mr. Shabashkin represents here. Obey him in everything he orders, and you women love and honor him, and he is a great hunter of you." At this sharp joke the police officer burst into laughter, and Shabashkin and the other members followed him. Vladimir was seething with indignation. “Let me find out what this means,” he asked the cheerful police officer with feigned cold-bloodedness. “And this means,” answered the intricate official, “that we have come to bring this Kiril Petrovich Troekurov into possession and ask other others get out as soon as possible." - “But you could, it seems, treat me before my peasants, and announce the landowner’s abdication from power...” “Who are you,” said Shabashkin with a bold look. “The former landowner Andrei Gavrilov, son of Dubrovsky, will die by the will of God, we don’t know you, and we don’t want to know you.”

“Vladimir Andreevich is our young master,” said a voice from the crowd.

“Who dared to open his mouth there,” said the police officer menacingly, “what gentleman, what Vladimir Andreevich?” your master Kirila Petrovich Troekurov, do you hear, you idiots.

CHAPTER I.

Several years ago, an old Russian gentleman, Kirila Petrovich Troekurov, lived on one of his estates. His wealth, noble family and connections gave him great weight in the provinces where his estate was located. The neighbors were happy to cater to his slightest whims; provincial officials trembled at his name; Kirila Petrovich accepted signs of servility as a proper tribute; his house was always full of guests, ready to entertain his lordly idleness, sharing his noisy and sometimes violent amusements. No one dared to refuse his invitation, or on certain days not to appear with due respect in the village of Pokrovskoye. In his home life, Kirila Petrovich showed all the vices of an uneducated person. Spoiled by everything that surrounded him, he was accustomed to giving full rein to all the impulses of his ardent disposition and all the ideas of his rather limited mind. Despite his extraordinary strength of physical abilities, [he] suffered from gluttony twice a week and was tipsy every evening. [In one of the wings of his house lived 16 maids, doing handicrafts characteristic of their sex. The windows in the outbuilding were blocked by wooden bars; the doors were locked with locks, the keys to which were kept by Kiril Petrovich. The young hermits, at the appointed hours, went to the garden and walked under the supervision of two old women. From time to time, Kirila Petrovich married some of them to husbands and new ones took their place.] He treated the peasants and servants strictly and capriciously; [despite this, they were devoted to him: they were vain about the wealth and glory of their master and, in turn, allowed themselves a lot in relation to their neighbors, hoping for his strong patronage.]

Troekurov's usual occupations consisted of traveling around his extensive domains, long feasts, and pranks, which were invented every day and the victim of which was usually some new acquaintance; although old friends did not always avoid them, with the exception of one Andrei Gavrilovich Dubrovsky. This Dubrovsky, a retired lieutenant of the guard, was his closest neighbor and owned seventy souls. Troekurov, arrogant in relations with people of the highest rank, respected Dubrovsky, despite his humble state. They were once comrades in the service and Troekurov knew from experience the impatience and determination of his character. Circumstances separated<и>them for a long time. Dubrovsky, upset, was forced to retire and settle in the rest of his village. Kirila Petrovich, having learned about this, offered him his patronage, but Dubrovsky thanked him and remained poor and independent. A few years later, Troekurov, a retired general-in-chief, came to his estate, they met and were delighted with each other. Since then, they were together every day, and Kirila Petrovich, who had never deigned to visit anyone with his visits, simply stopped by the house of his old friend. [Being the same age, born in the same class, raised in the same way, they were partly similar in character and inclinations.] In some respects [and] their fate was the same: both married for love, both were soon widowed, both had a child left. - Dubrovsky’s son was brought up in St. Petersburg, Kiril Petrovich’s daughter grew up in the eyes of her parent, and Troekurov often said to Dubrovsky: “Listen, brother, Andrei Gavrilovich: if there is a way in your Volodka, then I will give Masha for him; even though he is naked as a falcon.” . Andrei Gavrilovich shook his head and answered as usual: “No, Kirila Petrovich: my Volodka is not Maria Kirilovna’s fiancé. For a poor nobleman, such as he is, it is better to marry a poor noblewoman and be the head of the house, than to become the clerk of a spoiled woman.”

Everyone envied the harmony that reigned between the arrogant Troekurov and his poor neighbor and were amazed at the courage of this latter when, at Kiril Petrovich’s table, he directly expressed his opinion, not caring whether it contradicted the opinions of the owner. Some tried to imitate him and go beyond the limits of proper obedience, but Kirila Petrovich frightened them so much that he forever discouraged them from making such attempts, and Dubrovsky alone remained outside the general law. An unexpected incident upset and changed everything.

Once at the beginning of autumn, Kirila Petrovich was getting ready to leave for the field. The day before, the order was given to the hounds and hunters to be ready at five o'clock in the morning. The tent and kitchen were sent forward to the place where Kirila Petrovich was supposed to have lunch. The owner and guests went to the kennel yard, where more than five hundred hounds and greyhounds lived in contentment and warmth, glorifying the generosity of Kiril Petrovich in their canine language. There was also an infirmary for sick dogs, under the supervision of the staff doctor Timoshka, and a department where noble bitches gave birth and fed their puppies. Kirila Petrovich was proud of this wonderful establishment, and never missed an opportunity to boast about it to his guests, each of whom examined it at least for the twentieth time. He walked around the kennel, surrounded by his guests and accompanied by Timoshka and the main hounds; stopped in front of some canines, now asking about the health of the sick, now making comments more or less strict and fair - now calling familiar dogs to him and talking affectionately to them. Guests considered it their duty to admire Kiril Petrovich’s kennel. Only Dubrovsky was silent and frowned. He was an ardent hunter. His condition allowed him to keep only two hounds and one pack of greyhounds<ых>; he could not help but feel a little envy at the sight of this magnificent establishment. “Why are you frowning, brother,” Kirila Petrovich asked him, “or don’t you like my kennel?” “No,” he answered sternly, “it’s a wonderful kennel, it’s unlikely that your people will live as well as your dogs.” One of the hounds was offended. “We are on our own,” he said, “thanks to God and the master, we don’t complain - and what’s true is true, it would not be bad for another nobleman to exchange the estate for any local kennel.” - He would have had more food and warmth ". Kirila Petrovich laughed loudly at his servant’s impudent remark, and the guests laughed after him, although they felt that the huntsman’s joke could apply to them. Dubrovsky turned pale and did not say a word. At this time, they brought newborn puppies to Kiril Petrovich in a basket - he took care of them, chose two for himself, and ordered the others to be drowned. Meanwhile, Andrei Gavrilovich disappeared, and no one noticed.

Returning with guests from the dog<арного>courtyard, Kirila Petrovich sat down to dinner and then only without seeing Dubrovsky, he missed him. People answered that Andrei Gavrilovich had gone home. Troekurov ordered to immediately catch up with him and turn him back without fail. From the time he was born, he never went hunting without Dubrovsky, an experienced and subtle connoisseur of canine virtues and an unerring judge of everything.<воз>possible hunting disputes. The servant, who galloped after him, returned as they were still sitting at the table, and reported to his master that, they say, Andrei Gavrilovich did not listen and did not want to return. Kirila Petrovich, as usual, inflamed by the liqueurs, became angry and sent the same servant a second time to tell Andrei Gavrilovich that if he did not immediately come to spend the night in Pokrovskoye, then he, Troekurov, would quarrel with him forever. The servant galloped off again, Kirila Petrovich, got up from the table, dismissed the guests and went to bed.

The next day his first question was: is Andrei Gavrilovich here? Instead of an answer, he was given a letter folded into a triangle; Kirila Petrovich ordered his clerk to read it aloud - and heard the following:

My gracious sir,

I don’t intend to go to Pokrovskoye until you send me the huntsman Paramoshka to confess; but it will be my will to punish him or have mercy, but I do not intend to tolerate jokes from your servants, and I will not tolerate them from you either - because I am not a jester, but an old nobleman. - For this reason I remain obedient to your services

Andrey Dubrovsky.

According to modern concepts of etiquette, this letter was<о>would have been very indecent, but it angered Kiril Petrovich not with a strange style and location, but only with its essence: “How,” thundered Troekurov, jumping out of bed barefoot, “send my people to him to confess, he is free to pardon them, to punish them!” "But what is he really up to; but does he know who he's getting involved with? Here I am... He'll cry with me, he'll find out what it's like to go against Troekurov!"

Kirila Petrovich got dressed and went hunting, with his usual pomp, but the hunt was not a success. All day they saw only one hare, and that one was poisoned. Lunch in the field under the tent also failed, or at least<мере>was not to the taste of Kiril Petrovich, who beat the cook, scolded the guests, and on the way back, with all his desire, deliberately drove through the fields of Dubrovsky.

Several days passed, and the hostility between the two neighbors did not subside. Andrei Gavrilovich did not return to Pokrovskoye - Kirila Petrovich was bored without him, and his annoyance poured out loudly in the most insulting expressions, which, thanks to the zeal of the local nobles, reached Dubrovsky, corrected and supplemented. The new circumstance destroyed the last hope for reconciliation.

Dubrovsky was once touring his small estate; approaching the birch grove, he heard the blows of an ax, and a minute later the crack of a fallen tree. He hurried into the grove and ran into the Pokrovsky men, who were calmly stealing the forest from him. Seeing him, they started to run. Dubrovsky and his coachman caught two of them and brought them bound to his yard. Three enemy horses were immediately taken as spoils to the winner. Dubrovsky was extremely angry; before this, Troekurov’s people, famous robbers, had never dared to play pranks within his domain, knowing his friendly relationship with their master. Dubrovsky saw that they were now taking advantage of the gap that had occurred - and decided, contrary to all concepts of the law of war, to teach his captives a lesson with twigs, which they had stocked up in his own grove, and to give the horses to work, assigning them to the master's cattle.

The rumor about this incident<и>on the same day I reached Kiril Petrovich. He lost his temper and in the first minute of anger wanted to launch an attack on Kistenevka (that was the name of his neighbor’s village) with all his servants, ruin it to the ground, and besiege the landowner himself on his estate. Such feats were not unusual for him. But his thoughts soon took a different direction.

Walking with heavy steps back and forth across the hall, he accidentally looked out the window and saw a trio stopped at the gate - a small man in a leather cap and frieze overcoat got out of the cart and went into the outbuilding to see the clerk; Troekurov recognized assessor Shabashkin and ordered to call him. A minute later, Shabashkin was already standing in front of Kiril Petrovich, bowing after bow, and reverently awaiting his orders.

“Great, what’s your name,” Troekurov told him, “why did you come?”

I was on my way to the city<аше>etc<евосходительство>, - answered Shabashkin - and went to Ivan Demyanov to find out if there would be any order from<ашего>etc<евосходительства>.

It’s very opportune for me to stop by, what’s your name; I need you. Drink some vodka and listen.

Such an affectionate reception pleasantly surprised the assessor. - He gave up vodka [and] began to listen to Kiril Petrovich with all possible attention.

“I have a neighbor,” said Troekurov, “a small-time rude man; I want to take his estate - what do you think about that?

IN<аше>etc<евосходительство>, if there are any documents, or...

You're lying brother, what documents do you need? There are decrees for that. This is the power to take away property without any right. Wait, though. This estate once belonged to us, was bought from some Spitsyn, and then sold to Dubrovsky’s father. Is it possible to find fault with this?

It's tricky, in<аше>V<ысокопревосходительство>, this sale was probably completed legally.

Think, brother, look carefully.

If, for example, in<аше>etc<евосходительство>could as<им>there is no way to get it from<ашего>neighbor's entry or purchase<чую>, by virtue of which he owns his estate, then of course...

I understand, but the problem is that all his papers were burned in a fire.

How in<аше>etc<евосходительство>, his papers were burned! what's better for you? - in this case, please act according to the laws, and without any doubt you will receive your complete pleasure.

You think? Well, look. I rely on your diligence, and you can be sure of my gratitude.

Shabashkin bowed almost to the ground, went out, from that very day he began to work on the planned case, and thanks to his agility, exactly two weeks later, Dubrovsky received an invitation from the city to immediately deliver the proper explanations about his ownership of the village of Kistenevka.

Andrei Gavrilovich, astonished by the unexpected request, wrote back on the same day in a rather rude manner, in which he announced that the village of Kistenevka came to him after the death of his late parent, that he owned it by right of inheritance, that Troekurov had nothing to do with him, and that any outside claim to this property of his is a sneak and a fraud.

This letter made a very pleasant impression in the soul of assessor Shabashkin. He saw, 1) that Dubrovsky knew little sense in business, and 2) that it would not be difficult to put a person so ardent and imprudent in the most disadvantageous position.

Andrei Gavrilovich, having calmly examined the assessor’s [requests], saw the need to answer in more detail. He wrote a fairly efficient paper, but later it turned out to be insufficient.

The matter began to drag on. Confident in his rightness, Andrei Gavrilovich cared little about him, had neither the desire nor the opportunity to sprinkle money around him, and although he was always the first to mock the corrupt conscience of the ink tribe, the thought of becoming a victim of a sneak did not occur to him. For his part, Troekurov cared just as little about winning the case he had started - Shabashkin worked for him, acting on his behalf, intimidating and bribing judges and interpreting all sorts of decrees at odds and ends. Anyway, 18..., February<аля>On the 9th day, Dubrovsky received an invitation through the city police to appear before the ** zemstvo judge to hear his decision in the case of a disputed estate between him, since<учиком>Dubrovsky, and<генерал-аншефом>Troyekurov, and to sign your pleasure or displeasure. On the same day, Dubrovsky went to the city; Troekurov overtook him on the road. They looked at each other proudly, and Dubrovsky noticed an evil smile on his opponent’s face.

CHAPTER II.

Arriving in the city, Andrei Gavrilovich stayed with a merchant he knew, spent the night with him, and the next morning appeared before the district court. Nobody paid any attention to him. Kirila Petrovich arrived after him. The clerks stood up and put feathers behind their ears. The members greeted him with expressions of deep servility, pulled out chairs for him out of respect for his rank, age and stature; he sat down with the door open<ых>doors - Andrei Gavrilovich stood leaning against the wall - there was deep silence, and the secretary began to read the court ruling in a ringing voice.

We put it completely, believing that everyone will be pleased to see one of the ways in which in Rus' we can lose property, the ownership of which we have an indisputable right to.

On October 18... 27 days ** the district court considered the case of improper possession of guards.<ардии>por.<учиком>An<дреем>Le Havre<иловым>With<ыном>Dubr<овским>estate belonging to General Ansh<ефу> <Кирилу Петрову сыну>Threes<урову>, consisting<** губернии в сельце Кистеневке>, manly<пола**>souls, and lands with meadows and lands<**>tithes From which case it is clear: the said gene.<ерал>-an.<шеф> <Троекуров>past 18<...>On the 9th day of June he entered this court with a petition that his late father [collegiate assessor] and gentleman Peter Eph.<имов>son<Троекуров>at 17<...>m year August 14 days, who served at that time in<**>governorship of the provincial secretary, bought from the nobles from the clerk Fadey Yegorov's son Spitsyn an estate consisting<**>districts in the aforementioned village of Kist<еневке>(which village was then<**>revision was called<Кистеневскими>settlements), total listed in the 4th revision of the male gender<**>souls with all their peasant property, the estate, with arable and uncultivated land, forests, hayfields, fishing along the river called<Кистеневке>, and with all the lands belonging to this estate and the master's wooden house, and in a word, everything without a trace, that after his father, from the nobles, the constable Yegor Terentyev's son Spitsyn inherited and was in his possession, without leaving a single soul of the people, and from the land not a single quadrangle, at a price of 2,500 rubles, for which the bill of sale was issued on the same day on<**>court chamber and reprisal was committed, and his father then on the 26th day of August<**>The zemstvo court was given possession and a refusal was carried out for it. -- And finally 17<...>On the 6th day of September, his father died by the will of God, and yet he is a petitioner, Chief General Troekurov> from 17<...>Almost from an early age, he was in military service and for the most part was on campaigns abroad, which is why he could not have information about the death of his father, as well as about the estate left after him. Now, after leaving that service completely in retirement and upon returning to his father’s estate, which consisted<**>And<**>provinces<**>, <**>And<**>counties, in different villages, up to 3,000 souls in total, finds that from among such estates the above<**>souls (of which at present<**>audits are listed in that village in total<**>souls) with the land and all the land owned without any fortifications by the above<гвардии>charge<ик>An<дрей>D<убровский>, why, presenting with this petition that genuine bill of sale given to his father by the seller Spitsyn, he asks to take away the mentioned estate from the wrong possession<Дубровского>, give according to belongings in full, Threes<урова>, order. And for the unjust appropriation from which he enjoyed the income received, after conducting a proper inquiry about it, to impose on him,<Ду6ровского>, the following penalty according to the laws and thereof,<Троекурова>, to satisfy.

According to the commission<**>At the request of the Zemstvo Court, research revealed that the said current owner of the disputed estate<гвардии поручик Дубровский>gave an explanation to the noble assessor on the spot that the estate he now owned, consisting of the said village<Кистеневке>, <**>soul with land and lands, he inherited after the death of his father, artillery second lieutenant<Гаврила Евграфова сына Дубровского>, and he received the purchase from the father of this petitioner, formerly the former provincial secretary, and then the collegiate assessor Troekurov, according to the power of attorney given from him in 17<...>year August 30th day, certified in<**>district court, titular councilor Grigory Vasiliev son Sobolev, according to which there should be a bill of sale from him for this estate to his father, because it specifically says that he, Tr<оекуров>, all the estate he inherited under the deed of sale from the clerk Spitsyn,<**>soul with land, sold it to his father<Ду6ровского>, and the following money under the contract, 3200 rubles, received everything in full from his father without return and asked for his trust<енного>Sobolev to give his father his designated fortress. Meanwhile, his father, in the same power of attorney, on the occasion of payment of the entire amount, shall own the property purchased from him and dispose of it until the completion of this fortress, as the real owner, and he, the seller<Троекурову>, from now on, no one will ever step into that estate. But when exactly and in what public place such a bill of sale from Sobolev’s attorney was given to his father - to him,<Андрею Дубровскому>, is unknown, because at that time he was very young, and after the death of his father he could not find such a fortress, but he believes that it burned down with other papers and property during the former 17<...>year there was a fire in their house, which was known to the residents of that village. And what about this estate from the date of sale<Троекуровым>or issuing a power of attorney to Sobolev, that is, from 17<...>years, and after the death of his father from 17<...>years to this day, they<Дубровские>, indisputably owned, as evidenced by the surrounding residents - who, in total 52 people, testified under oath that indeed, as they can remember, the said towns began to own the said disputed estate.<Дубровские>ago this year, about 70 years ago, without any dispute from anyone, but according to which act or fortress, they do not know. - The former buyer of this estate mentioned in this case, the former provincial secretary Peter Troye<куров>They won’t remember whether he owned the estate. The house of the city<Дубровских>about 30 years ago from what happened in their village at night<пожара>burned down, and outsiders admitted that the said disputed estate could bring in income, believing since that time in complexity, annually no less than 2000 rubles.

On the contrary<генерал-аншеф Кирила Петров сын Троекуров>On the 3rd of January of this year he entered this court with a petition that although the mentioned<гвардии поручик Андрей Дубровский>and during the investigation he presented to this case the document issued by his late father<Гаврилом Дубровским>The titular councilor Sobolev received a power of attorney for the estate sold to him, but according to it, not only the original bill of sale, but even the execution of it, did not provide any clear evidence of the force of the general regulations of Chapter 19 and the decree of 1752 on November 29. Consequently, the power of attorney itself is now, after the death of the giver of it, his father, according to the decree of May 1818, completely destroyed. - And on top of that...

it was ordered that disputed estates be given into possession - serfs by fortress, and not serfs by search.

For which estate, belonging to his father, a serfdom deed has already been presented from him as proof, according to which it follows, on the basis of the said legislation, from the wrong ownership of the said<Ду6ровского>having taken it away, give it to him by right of inheritance. And as the said landowners, having in the possession of an estate that did not belong to them and without any fortification, and used it incorrectly and income that did not belong to them, then according to the calculation, how many of these will be due according to the force<..... взыскать с помещика <Ду6ровского>and him,<Троекурова>, satisfy them. - Upon consideration of the case and the extract made from it and from the laws in<**>District Court DETERMINED:

From this case it is clear that<генерал-аншеф Кирила Петров сын Троекуров>on the said disputed estate, now in the possession of<гвардии поручика Андрея Гаврилова сына Дубровского, состоящее в сельце <Кистеневке>, according to current<...>audits of the entire male sex<**>soul, with land and lands, presented a genuine deed of sale to his late father, the provincial secretary, who later was a collegiate assessor, at 17<...>year from the nobles, the clerk Fadey Spitsyn, and what’s more, this buyer,<Троекуров>, as can be seen from the inscription on that bill of sale, was in the same year<**>the zemstvo court was introduced into possession, which the estate had already given up for it, and although, on the contrary, from the outside<гвардии поручика Андрея Дубровского и представлена <доверенность>given by that deceased buyer<Троекуровым>titular councilor Sobolev to execute a deed of sale in the name of his father,<Ду6ровского>, but in such transactions not only to approve serf immovable estates, but even to temporarily own by decree<.....>is prohibited, and the power of attorney itself is completely destroyed by the death of the giver. - But so that, in addition to this, the power of attorney was actually executed where and when on the said disputed estate<купчая>, from the side<Ду6ровского>no clear evidence to the case since the beginning of the proceedings, that is, from 18<...>years, and to this day has not been presented. And therefore this court believes: the said estate,<**>souls, with land and lands, in what situation it now turns out to be, to approve, according to the bill of sale presented for it, for Chief General Troekurov, to remove himself from the disposal thereof<гвардии поручика Дубровского>and about the proper entry into possession for him, Mr.<Троекурова>, and about the refusal for him, as having come to him by inheritance, to prescribe<**>zemstvo court. - And although on top of this<генерал-аншеф Троекуров>and asks for recovery from<гвардии поручика Дубровского>for the unlawful possession of his inherited estate and those who took advantage of the income therefrom. - But what kind of estate, according to the testimony of old-timers, did the city have?<Дубровских>for several years in undisputed possession, and from this case it is not clear that on the part of Mr.<Троекурова>have there been any petitions so far regarding such improper possession<Дубровскими>of this estate, to that according to the code

It is ordered that if someone sows someone else’s land or fences off an estate, and they begin to beat him with a brow for improper possession, and this is found out directly, then that land should be given to the rightful person with the sown grain, and the city, and the building,

and therefore<генерал-аншефу Троекурову>as stated on<гвардии поручика Дубровского иске отказать, ибо принадлежащее ему имение возвращается в его владение, не изъемля из оного ничего. А что при вводе за него оказаться может всё без остатка, предоставя между тем <генерал-аншефу Троекурову>, if he has any clear and legal evidence of his claim, he can ask where it should be specifically. - What decision should be announced in advance to both the plaintiff and the defendant, on a legal basis, by appeal, and summon them to this court to hear this decision and sign pleasure or displeasure through the police.

What decision was signed by all those present in that court --.

The secretary fell silent, the assessor stood up and with a low bow turned to Troekurov, inviting him to sign the proposed paper, and the triumphant Troekurov, taking the pen from him, signed the court decision with his complete pleasure.

The line was behind Dubrovsky. The secretary brought him the paper. But Dubrovsky became motionless, lowering his head.

The secretary repeated his invitation to him to sign his complete and complete pleasure or obvious displeasure, if, more than aspirations, he feels in his conscience that his case is just, and intends to appeal to the appropriate place at the time prescribed by the laws. Dubrovsky was silent... Suddenly he raised his head, his eyes sparkled, he stamped his foot, pushed the secretary with such force that he fell, and, grabbing an inkwell, threw it at the assessor. Everyone was horrified. “What! don’t honor the Church of God! get away, boorish tribe!” Then, turning to Kiril Petrovich: “We heard a thing in<аше>pre<восходительство>“,” he continued, “hunters bring dogs into God’s church!” dogs are running around the church. I'll teach you a lesson..." The watchmen came running to the noise, and forcibly took possession of him. He was taken out and put in a sleigh. Troekurov followed him out, accompanied by the entire court. Dubrovsky's sudden madness had a strong effect on his imagination and poisoned his triumph.

The judges, who hoped for his gratitude, did not receive a single friendly word from him. On the same day he went to Pokrovskoye. Meanwhile, Dubrovsky was lying in bed; The district doctor, fortunately not a complete ignoramus, managed to bleed him and apply leeches and Spanish flies. By evening he felt better, the patient came to his senses. The next day they took him to Kistenevka, which almost no longer belonged to him.

CHAPTER III.

Some time passed, and poor Dubrovsky’s health was still poor; True, the attacks of madness did not recur, but his strength noticeably weakened. He forgot his previous studies, rarely left his room, and thought for whole days. Egorovna, the kind old woman who once looked after his son, now became his nanny. She looked after him like a child, reminded him of the time of food and sleep, fed him, put him to bed. Andrei Gavrilovich quietly obeyed her, and had no relations with anyone except her. He wasn't<в>able to think about her affairs, economic orders, and Egorovna saw the need to notify young Dubrovsky, who served in one of the guards, about everything<ских>infantry<отных>regiments and located at that time in St. Petersburg. So, tearing off a sheet from the account book, she dictated a letter to the cook Khariton, the only Kistenev literate person, which she sent to the city post office that same day.

But it’s time to introduce the reader to the real hero of our story.

Vladimir Dubrovsky was brought up in the Cadet Corps and was released as a cornet into the guard; his father spared nothing for his decent maintenance, and the young man received more from home than he should have expected. Being wasteful and ambitious, he allowed himself luxurious whims; played cards and went into debt, not caring about the future, and envisioning sooner or later a rich bride, the dream of his poor youth.

One evening, when several officers were sitting with him, lounging on sofas and smoking from his ambers, Grisha, his valet, handed him a letter, whose inscription and seal immediately struck the young man. He quickly opened it and read the following:

Our sovereign, Vladimir Andreevich, I, your old nanny, decided to report to you about daddy’s health! He is very bad, sometimes he talks, and sits all day like a stupid child - but in the stomach and in death, God is free. Come to us, my bright falcon, we will send you horses to Pesochnoe. I hear that the zemstvo court is coming to us to hand us over to Kiril Petrovich Troekurov - because we are theirs, and we have been yours from time immemorial - and we have never heard of that. - Living in St. Petersburg, you could report this to the Tsar-Father, and he would not give us offense. “I remain your faithful slave, nanny Orina Egorovna Buzyreva.”

I'm sending my mother<инское>blessed<овение>Grisha, does he serve you well? “It’s been raining here for about a week now, and the shepherd Rodya died around Mikolin.

Vladimir Dubrovsky re-read these rather stupid lines several times in a row with extraordinary excitement. He lost his mother from an early age and, almost not knowing his father, was brought to St. Petersburg in the 8th year of his age - for all that, he was romantically attached to him, and loved family life the more, the less he had time to enjoy its quiet joys .

The thought of losing his father painfully tormented his heart, and the situation of the poor patient, which he guessed from the letters<а>his nanny, horrified him. He imagined his father abandoned in a remote village, in the hands of a stupid old woman and servants, threatened by some kind of disaster and dying without help in physical and mental torment. Vladimir reproached himself for criminal negligence. I haven't received it for a long time<л>He didn’t think to inquire about him from the father of the letters, believing him to be traveling or doing household chores.

He decided to go to him and even resign if his father’s painful condition required his presence. His comrades, noticing his concern, left. Vladimir, left alone, wrote a request for leave - lit a pipe and plunged into deep thoughts.

That same day he began to ask for a vacation<и>[3 days later I was already on the high road.]

Vladimir Andreevich was approaching the station from which he was supposed to turn onto Kistenevka. His heart was filled with sad forebodings, he was afraid of not finding his father alive, he imagined the sad way of life awaiting him in the village, wilderness, desolation, poverty and troubles with business in which he knew no sense. Arriving at the station, he went to the caretaker and asked for free horses. The caretaker inquired where he needed to go and announced that the horses sent from Kistenevka had been waiting for him for the fourth day. Soon the old coachman Anton, who once drove him around the stable and looked after his little horse, came to Vladimir Andreevich. Anton shed tears when he saw him, bowed to the ground, told him that his old master was still alive, and ran to harness the horses. Vladimir Andreevich refused the offered breakfast and was in a hurry to leave. Anton took him along country roads - and a conversation began between them.

Please tell me, Anton, what's wrong with my father?<мо>him and Troekurov?

And God knows, baht<юшка>Vladimir Andreevich... The master, listen, did not get along with Kiril Petrovich, and he filed a lawsuit - although he is often his own judge. It’s not our serf’s business to sort out the master’s wills, but by God, your father went against Kiril Petrovich in vain, you can’t break a butt with a whip.

So apparently this Kirila Petrovich does what he wants with you?

And of course, the master, listen, he doesn’t give a damn about the assessor, the police officer is on his errands. The gentlemen come to pay homage to him, and to say that it would be a trough, but there will be pigs.

Is it true that he is taking away our property?

Oh, master, we heard so too. The other day, the Pokrovsk sexton said at the christening of our elder: you have enough time to walk; Now Kirila Petrovich will take you into his hands. Mikita the blacksmith said to him: that’s it, Savelich, don’t be a godfather’s sadness, don’t trouble the guests—Kirila Petrovich is on his own, and Andrei Gavrilovich is on his own—and we are all God’s and sovereign’s; But you can’t sew buttons on someone else’s mouth.

So, you don’t want to go into Troekurov’s possession?

In possession of Kiril Petrovich! God forbid and deliver - he sometimes has a bad time with his own people, but if he gets strangers, he will tear off not only the skin, but also the meat from them. “No, may God grant Andrei Gavrilovich a long life, and if God takes him away, we don’t need anyone but you, our breadwinner.” Don’t give us away, and we will stand for you. - At these words, Anton waved his whip, shook the reins, and his horses began to run at a fast trot.

Touched by the devotion of the old coachman, Dubrovsky fell silent - and indulged in sleep.<ва>reflections. More than an hour passed - suddenly Grisha woke him up with an exclamation: Here is Pokrovskoe! Dubrovsky raised his head. He rode along the shore of a wide lake, from which a river flowed and in the distance<лась>between the hills; on one of them, above the dense greenery of the grove, towered the green roof and belvedere of a huge stone house, on the other, a five-domed church and an ancient bell tower; Scattered around were village huts with their vegetable gardens and wells. Dubrovsky recognized these places - he remembered that on this very hill he played with little Masha Troekurova, who was two years younger than him and then already promised to be a beauty. He wanted to ask Anton about her, but some shyness held him back.

Arriving at the manor's house, he saw a white dress flashing between the trees of the garden. At this time, Anton hit the horses and, obeying ambition, common to both village coachmen and cab drivers, he set off at full speed across the bridge and past the village. Having left the village, they climbed the mountain, and Vladimir saw a birch grove, and to the left, in an open place, a gray house with a red roof; his heart began to beat; in front of him he saw Kistenevka and his father’s poor house.

Ten minutes later he drove into the master's courtyard. He looked around him with indescribable excitement. He did not see his homeland for 12 years. The birches that had just been planted near the fence during his time had grown and now became tall, branchy trees. The yard, once decorated with three regular flower beds, between which there was a wide road, carefully swept, turned into an unmown meadow on which a tangled horse was grazing. The dogs started to bark, but when they recognized Anton, they fell silent and waved their shaggy tails. The servants poured out of the people's faces and surrounded the young master with noisy expressions of joy. It was all he could do to force his way through their zealous crowd, and he ran up onto the dilapidated porch; Egorovna met him in the hallway and hugged her pupil with tears. “Great, great, nanny,” he repeated, pressing the kind old woman to his heart, “what’s up, father, where is he?” what is he like?

At that moment, a tall old man, pale and thin, in a robe and cap, entered the hall, moving his legs with force.<ак>e.

Hello, Volodka! - he said in a weak voice, and Vladimir passionately hugged his father. The joy produced too strong a shock in the patient, he weakened, his legs gave way under him, and he would have fallen if his son had not supported him.

“Why did you get out of bed,” Yegorovna told him, “you can’t stand on your feet, but you’re trying to get there.”<шь>, where and people.

The old man was carried into the bedroom. He tried to talk to him, but his thoughts were confused in his head, and the words had no connection. He fell silent and fell into a sleepy state. Vladimir was amazed at his condition. He settled down in his bedroom - and asked to be left alone with<цом>. The household obeyed, and then everyone turned to Grisha and took him to the people's room, where they treated him like a villager, with all possible cordiality, tormenting him with questions and greetings.

CHAPTER IV.

Where there was a table of food, there is a coffin.

A few days after his arrival, young Dubrovsky wanted to take care of business, but his father was not able to give him the necessary explanations - Andrei Gavrilovich did not have an attorney. While sorting out his papers, he found only the assessor's first letter and a draft answer to it - from this he could not get a clear understanding of the litigation, and decided to wait for the consequences, hoping for the justice of the case itself.

Meanwhile, Andrei Gavrilovich’s health was getting worse hour by hour. Vladimir foresaw its imminent destruction and did not leave the old man, who had fallen into complete childhood.

Meanwhile, the deadline had passed and the appeal was not filed. Kistenevka belonged to Troekurov. Shabashkin came to him with bows and congratulations and a request to appoint him whenever he wished.<ысокопревосходительству>take possession of the newly acquired estate - himself or to whom he deigns to give a power of attorney for this. Kirila Petrovich was embarrassed. He was not self-seeking by nature, the desire for revenge led him too far, his conscience grumbled. He knew in what condition his opponent, the old comrade of his youth, was in - and victory did not bring joy to his heart. He looked menacingly at Shabashkin, looking for something to get attached to in order to scold him, but not finding a sufficient pretext for this, he said to him angrily: “Get out, it’s not your time.”

Shabashkin, seeing that he was not in a good mood, bowed and hurried away. And Kirila Petrovich, left alone, began to walk back and forth, whistling: The thunder of victory is heard, which always meant an extraordinary excitement of thoughts in him.

Finally, he ordered the racing droshky to be harnessed, dressed warmly (this was already at the end of September) and, driving himself, drove out of the yard.

Soon he saw Andrei Gavrilovich’s house, and<ву>positive feelings filled his soul. Satisfied vengeance and lust for power drowned out to some extent nobler feelings, but the latter finally triumphed. He decided to make peace with his old neighbor, to destroy the traces of the quarrel, returning his property to him. Having relieved his soul with this good intention, Kirila Petrovich set off at a trot towards his neighbor’s estate - and rode straight into the yard.

At this time, the patient was sitting in the bedroom by the window. He recognized Kiril Petrovich, and terrible confusion appeared on his face - a crimson blush took the place of his usual pallor, his eyes sparkled, he uttered indistinct sounds. His son, who was sitting right there at the farm<енными>books, raised his head and was amazed at his condition. The patient pointed his finger towards the yard with an air of horror and anger. He hurriedly picked up the hem of his robe, about to get up from his chair, stood up - - and suddenly fell. - The son rushed to him, the old man lay unconscious and without breathing - paralysis struck him. - Hurry, hurry to the city for a doctor! - Vladimir shouted. “Kirila Petrovich is asking for you,” said the servant who entered. Vladimir gave him a terrible look.

Tell Kiril Petrovich to get out quickly before I order him to be thrown out of the yard - he’s gone. - The servant joyfully ran to fulfill his master’s orders; Egorovna clasped her hands. “You’re our father,” she said in a squeaky voice, “you’ll ruin your little head!” Kirila Petrovich will eat us. “Be quiet, nanny,” Vladimir said heartily, “now send Anton to the city for a doctor.” - Egorovna came out.

There was no one in the hall - all the people ran out into the courtyard to look at Kiril Petrovich. She went out onto the porch and heard the servant's answer, reporting on behalf of the young master. Kirila Petrovich listened to him while sitting on the droshky. His face became gloomier than the night, he smiled with contempt, looked menacingly at the servants and walked at a pace near the yard. He looked out the window, where Andrei Gavrilovich had been sitting a minute before, but where he was no longer there. The nanny stood on the porch, forgetting about the master’s orders. The servants talked noisily about this incident. Suddenly Vladimir appeared among the people and said abruptly: “There is no need for a doctor, the priest has died.”

There was confusion. People rushed to the old master's room. He lay in the chairs to which Vladimir had carried him; his right arm hung to the floor, his head was lowered on his chest - there was no sign of life in this body, which had not yet grown cold, but was already disfigured by death. Egorovna howled - the servants surrounded the corpse left in their care - they washed him, dressed him in a uniform sewn back in 1797, and laid him on the very table at which they had served their master for only years.

CHAPTER V.

The funeral took place on the third day. The body of the poor old man lay on the table, covered with a shroud and surrounded by candles. The dining room was full of courtyard servants. We were getting ready to take it out. Vladimir and three servants lifted the coffin. The priest went forward, the sexton accompanied him, chanting funeral prayers. The owner of Kistenevka crossed the threshold of his house for the last time. The coffin was carried by the grove. The church was behind it. The day was clear and cold. Autumn leaves fell from the trees.

When leaving the grove, we saw the Kistenevsky wooden church and cemetery, overshadowed by old linden trees. The body of Vladimir’s mother rested there; there, near her grave, a fresh hole had been dug the day before.

The church was full of Kistenevsky peasants who had come to pay their last respects to their master. Like<одой>Dubrovsky stood at the choir; he did not cry or pray - but his face was scary. sad<ый>the ritual ended<ся>. Vladimir was the first to go to say goodbye to the body - followed by all the servants - they brought the lid and nailed down the coffin. The women howled loudly; the men occasionally wiped away tears with their fists. Vladimir and the same 3 servants carried him to the cemetery - accompanied by the entire village. The coffin was lowered into the grave - everyone present threw a handful of sand into it - they filled up the hole, bowed to it, and dispersed. Vladimir hastily left, got ahead of everyone, and disappeared into the Kistenevskaya Grove.

Egorovna, on his behalf, invited the priest and the entire church clergy to the funeral dinner - announcing that the young master did not intend to attend it - and thus Father Anton, the priest Fedotovna and the sexton went on foot to the master's courtyard, discussing with Egorovna about the virtues of the deceased and about what apparently awaited his heir. (Troekurov’s arrival and the reception he received were already known to the entire neighborhood, and the politicians there foreshadowed important consequences for it.)

“What will be will be,” said the priest, “but it’s a pity if Vladimir Andreevich is not our master.” Well done, nothing to say.

And who else but him should be our master,” interrupted Egorovna. “It’s in vain that Kirila Petrovich gets excited.” He did not attack the timid - my falcon will stand up for himself - and, God willing, he will not abandon his benefactors<я>t. Kirila Petrovich is painfully arrogant! and I suppose he put his tail between his legs when my Grishka shouted to him: “Get out, old dog!” - out of the yard!

Ahti, Egorovna,” said the sexton, “but how Grigory’s tongue turned, I would rather agree, it seems, to bark at the Bishop than to look askance at Kiril Petrovich.” When you see him, you feel fear and trembling and sweat dripping, but your back just bends and bends...

“Vanity of vanities,” said the priest, “and they will sing eternal memory to Kiril Petrovich, just like now for Andrei Gavrilovich, perhaps the funeral will be richer, and more guests will be called - but who cares to God!

Ah, dad! and we wanted to invite the whole neighborhood, but Vladimir Andreevich didn’t want to. I suppose we have enough of everything - there is something to treat, but what do you order to do? At least, if there are no people, then at least I will make you feel welcome, our dear guests.

This is a tender promise and hope of finding a tasty feast<ог>They quickened the steps of their interlocutors and they safely arrived at the manor's house, where the table was already set and vodka was served.

Between<тем>Vladimir went deeper into the thicket of trees, trying to drown out his spiritual grief with movement and fatigue. He walked without knowing the road; branches constantly touched and scratched him, his foot constantly got stuck in the swamp - he did not notice anything. Finally he reached a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by forest; the stream meandered silently near the trees, half naked in autumn. Vladimir stopped, sat down on the cold turf, and thoughts, one darker than the other, crowded his soul... He felt his loneliness strongly. The future for him was covered with menacing clouds. Enmity with Troekurov foreshadowed new misfortunes for him. His poor property could pass away from him into the hands of others - in that case, poverty awaited him. For a long time he sat motionless in the same place, looking at the quiet flow of the stream, carrying away a few faded leaves - and vividly presenting to him the true likeness of life - a likeness so ordinary. Finally, he noticed that it was beginning to get dark - he got up and went to look for the way home, but for a long time he wandered through the unfamiliar forest until he found himself on a path that led him straight to the gates of his house.

A priest came across Dubrovsky with all the accolades. The thought of being unhappy<м>an omen occurred to him. He involuntarily walked away and disappeared behind a tree. They did not notice him and spoke heatedly to each other as they passed him.

Get away from evil and do good,” said the priest, “there is no point in us staying here.” It's not your problem, no matter how it ends. - Popadya answered something, but Vladimir could not hear her.

As he approached, he saw a lot of people - peasants and courtyard people crowding into the master's courtyard. From a distance, Vladimir heard an extraordinary noise and conversation. There were two triples standing by the barn. On the porch, several strangers in uniform frock coats seemed to be discussing something.

“What does this mean?” he asked Anton angrily, who was running towards him. - Who are they, and what do they need? “Ah, Father Vladimir Andreevich,” answered the old man, gasping for breath. - The court has arrived. They are handing us over to Troekurov, taking us away from your mercy!..

Vladimir lowered his head, his people surrounded their unfortunate master. “You are our father,” they shouted, kissing his hands, “we don’t want another master but you, order, sir, we will deal with the trial.” We'll die rather than hand him over. - Vladimir looked at them, and strange feelings excited<его>. “Stand still,” he told them, “and I’ll talk to the clerks.” “Talk, father,” they shouted to him from the crowd, “for the conscience of the damned.”

Vladimir approached the officials. Shabashkin, with a cap on his head, stood with his arms akimbo and proudly looked around him. - - The police officer, a tall and fat man of about fifty with a red face and a mustache, seeing Dubrovsky approaching, grunted and said in a hoarse voice: - So, I repeat to you,<что>I have already said: by decision of the district court, from now on you belong to Kiril Petrovich Troekurov, whose person is represented here by Mr. Shabashkin. - Obey him in everything he orders, and you women love and honor him, and he is a great hunter of you. - At this sharp joke the police officer burst out laughing, and Shabashkin and the other members followed him<и>. Vladimir was seething with indignation. “Let me find out what this means,” he asked the cheerful police officer with feigned cold-bloodedness. “And this means,” answered the intricate official, “that we have come to bring this Kiril Petrovich Troekurov into possession and ask other others clean up in a kind and healthy way. “But you could, it seems, treat me before my peasants—and announce the landowner’s abdication from power...” “Who are you,” said Shabashkin with a bold look. - Former landowner Andrei Gavrilov, son of Dubrovsky, died by the will of God - we don’t know you, and we don’t want to know you.

Vladimir Andreevich is our young master,” said a voice from the crowd.

“Who dared to open his mouth there,” said the police officer menacingly, “what a master, what a Vladimir Andreevich, your master Kirila Petrovich Troekurov—do you hear, you idiots.”

Yes, this is a riot! - the police officer shouted. - Hey, the headman is here!

The headman stepped forward.

Find out this very hour who dared to talk to me, I him!

The headman addressed the crowd<е>, asking who spoke? but everyone was silent; Soon a murmur arose in the back rows, began to intensify and in one minute turned into the most terrible screams. The police officer lowered his voice and wanted to persuade them. “Why look at him,” shouted the servants, “guys!” Down with them! - and the whole crowd moved. -- Shabashkin et al.<угие>The members hastily rushed into the hallway and locked the door behind them.

Guys, knit,” the same voice shouted, “and the crowd began to press in... “Stop,” Dubrovsky shouted. - Fools! what are you? you are ruining both yourself and me. - Go through the yards and leave me alone. Don't be afraid, sir<арь>merciful, I will ask him. He won't hurt us. We are all his children. How will he stand up for you if you start rebelling and robbing?

Speech they say<одого>Dubrovsky, his sonorous voice and majestic appearance produced the desired effect. The people quieted down and dispersed - the yard was empty. The members sat in the entryway. Finally, Shabashkin quietly unlocked the doors, went out onto the porch and, with humiliated bows, began to thank Dubrovsky for his gracious intercession. Vladimir listened to him with contempt and did not answer. “We have decided,” the meeting continued<атель>, - with your permission to stay here overnight; otherwise it’s dark, and your men might attack us on the road. Do this kindness: order some hay to be laid out for us in the living room; than the light, we will go on our own.

Do what you want,” Dubrovsky answered them dryly, “I’m no longer the boss here.” - With this word, he retired to his father’s room and locked the door behind him.

CHAPTER VI.

“So, it’s all over,” he said to himself; “even in the morning I had a corner and a piece of bread. Tomorrow I will have to leave the house where I was born and where my father died, to the culprit of his death and my poverty.” And his eyes fixed motionless on the portrait of his mother. The painter presented her leaning on the railing, in a white morning dress with a scarlet rose in her hair. “And this portrait will go to the enemy of my family,” thought Vladimir, “it will be thrown into the pantry along with the broken chairs, or hung in the hallway, the subject of ridicule and comments from his hounds - and in her bedroom, in the room... where Father died, his steward will move in, or his harem will settle in. No! no! Let him not get the sad house from which he is driving me out." Vladimir clenched his teeth - terrible thoughts were born in his mind. The voices of the clerks reached him - they bossed him around, demanded this and that, and unpleasantly entertained him in the midst of his sad thoughts. Finally everything calmed down.

Vladimir opened the chests of drawers and began sorting through the deceased’s papers. They mostly consisted of business accounts and correspondence on various matters. Vladimir tore them up without reading them. Between them he came across a package with the following inscription: letters from my wife. With a strong movement of feeling, Vladimir began to work on them: they were written during T<урецкого>campaign and were sent to the army from Kistenevka. She described to him her desert life, farming<нные>classes, tenderly complained about the separation and called him home, into the arms of a good friend, in one of them she expressed to him her concern about the health of little Vladimir; in another she rejoiced at his early abilities and foresaw a happy and brilliant future for him. Vladimir read, and forgot everything in the world, plunged his soul into the world of family happiness, and did not notice how time passed, the wall clock struck 11. Vladimir put the letters in his pocket, took a candle and left the office. In the hall, the clerks slept on the floor. There were glasses on the table, emptied by them, and a strong spirit of rum could be heard throughout the room. Vladimir walked past them in disgust into the hallway - the doors were locked - he did not find the key, Vladimir returned to the hall - the key was lying on the table, Vladimir opened the door and came across a man pressed into the corner - an ax glittered from him, and turning to him with a candle, Vladimir recognized Arkhip the blacksmith. -- Why are you here? -- he asked. “Oh, Vladimir Andreevich, it’s you,” Arkhip answered in a whisper, “God have mercy and save me!” It’s good that you came with a candle! - Vladimir looked at him in amazement. - Why are you hiding here? - he asked the blacksmith. “I wanted... I came... to see if everything was at home,” Arkhip answered quietly, stuttering.

Why do you have an ax with you?

Why an ax? - But how can you walk without an axe? These clerks, you see, are such mischievous people - just look at it...

You're drunk, drop the ax and go get some sleep.

I'm drunk? Father Vladimir Andreevich, God is my witness, there wasn’t a single drop in my mouth... and will the wine come to mind, have you heard of the matter - the clerks are planning to take over us, the clerks are driving our masters out of the master’s yard... Oh, they’re snoring, damned ones - all at once; so ends up in the water.

Dubrovsky frowned. “Listen, Arkhip,” he said, after a short silence, “it’s not what you started.” The unordered are to blame. Light the lantern, follow me.

Arkhip took the candle from the master’s hands, found a lantern behind the stove, lit it, and both quietly left the porch and walked near the yard. The watchman began to beat on the cast-iron board, the dogs began to bark. - Who, the watchman? - asked Dubrovsky. “We, father,” answered a thin voice, “Vasilisa and Lukerya.” “Go around the courtyards,” Dubrovsky told them, “you are not needed.” “Sabbath,” said Arkhip. “Thank you, breadwinner,” the women answered, and immediately went home.

Dubrovsky went further. Two people approached him; they called out to him. Dubrovsky recognized the voice of Anton and Grisha. - Why aren’t you sleeping? - he asked them. “Do we have time to sleep,” answered Anton. - How far have we come, who would have thought...

Quiet! - Dubrovsky interrupted, - where is Yegorovna?

“In the manor’s house in his little room,” answered Grisha.

Go, bring her here, and take all our people out of the house, so that not a single soul remains in it - except for the clerks - and you, Anton, harness the cart. - Grisha left and a minute later appeared with his mother. The old woman did not undress that night; except for the clerks, no one in the house slept a wink.

Is everyone here? - asked Dubrovsky, - is there anyone left in the house?

No one except the clerks,” answered Grisha.

Give us some hay or straw here,” said Dubrovsky.

The people ran to the stable and returned carrying armfuls of hay.

Place it under the porch. -- Like this. Come on guys, let's fire! --

Arkhip opened the lantern, Dubrovsky lit a torch.

Wait,” he said to Arkhip, “it seems that in a hurry I locked the doors to the hallway, go and quickly unlock them.”

Arkhip ran into the hallway - the doors were unlocked. Arkhip locked them, saying in a low voice: why not, unlock it! and returned to Dubrovsky.

Dubrovsky brought the torch closer, the hay caught fire, the flame soared - and illuminated the entire yard.

“Ahti,” Yegorovna cried pitifully, “Vladimir Andreevich, what are you doing!”

“Be silent,” said Dubrovsky. - Well, children, goodbye, I’m going where God leads; be happy with your new master.

“Our father, our breadwinner,” the people answered, “we will die, we will not leave you, we will go with you.”

The horses were brought in; Dubrovsky got into the cart with Grisha and assigned them seats.<ом>date Kistenevskaya grove. Anton hit the horses, and they rode out of the yard.

The wind got stronger. In one minute the flames engulfed the entire house. Red smoke curled over the roof. Glass cracked and fell, flaming logs began to fall, a plaintive cry and cries were heard: “we are burning, help, help.” -- How wrong?“,” said Arkhip, looking at the fire with an evil smile. “Arkhipushka,” Yegorovna told him, “save them, the damned, God will reward you.”

“Why not,” answered the blacksmith.

At that moment the clerks appeared at the window, trying to break down the double frames. But then the roof collapsed with a crash, and the screams died down.

Soon all the servants poured out into the yard. Women screamed and hurried to save their junk; children jumped, admiring the fire. Sparks flew like a fiery storm, the huts caught fire.

“Now everything is fine,” said Arkhip, “how does it burn, huh?” tea, it’s nice to watch from Pokrovsky. - At that moment a new phenomenon attracted his attention; the cat ran along the roof of the burning barn, wondering where to jump - flames surrounded it on all sides. The poor animal called for help with a pitiful meow. The boys died laughing, looking at her despair. “Why are you laughing, you devils,” the blacksmith told them angrily. “You are not afraid of God—God’s creature is dying, and you are foolishly rejoicing,” and placing the ladder on the fire roof, he climbed after the cat. She understood his intention and, with an air of hasty gratitude, clung to his sleeve. The half-burnt blacksmith climbed down with his loot. “Well, guys, goodbye,” he said to the embarrassed servants, “I have nothing to do here.” Have fun, don't remember me harshly.

The blacksmith left, the fire raged for some time. Finally it calmed down, and piles of coals without flames burned brightly in the darkness of the night and the burnt residents of Kistenevka wandered around them.

CHAPTER VII.

The next day, news of the fire spread throughout the area. Everyone talked about him with various guesses and assumptions. Some assured that Dubrovsky's people, having gotten drunk at a funeral, set the house on fire out of carelessness, others blamed the clerks for playing tricks at the housewarming party, many assured that he himself burned down from the fire.<емским>court and with all the courtyards. Some guessed the truth and argued that the culprit of this terrible disaster was Dubrovsky himself, driven by anger and despair. Troekurov came the next day to the scene of the fire and carried out the investigation himself. It turned out that the police officer, the assessor of the zemstvo court, the solicitor and the clerk, as well as Vladimir Dubrovsky, the nanny Egorovna, the yard man Grigory, the coachman Anton and the blacksmith Arkhip disappeared to an unknown location. All the servants testified that the clerks burned down when the roof fell; their charred bones were discovered. The women Vasilisa and Lukerya said that they saw Dubrovsky and Arkhip the blacksmith a few minutes before the fire. The blacksmith Arkhip, according to everyone, was alive and probably the main, if not the only, culprit of the fire. Dubrovsky was under strong suspicion. Kirila Petrovich sent the governor a detailed description of the entire incident, and a new case began.

Soon other news gave other food for curiosity and gossip. IN<**>Robbers appeared and spread terror throughout the surrounding area. The measures taken against them by the government were insufficient. Robberies, one more remarkable than the other, followed one after another. There was no safety either on the roads or in the villages. Several troikas filled with robbers traveled throughout the province during the day - they stopped travelers and mail, came to villages, robbed landowners' houses and set them on fire. The leader of the gang was famous for his intelligence, courage and some kind of generosity. Miracles were told about him; Dubrovsky's name was on everyone's lips, everyone was sure that he, and no one else, led the brave villains. They were surprised at one thing - Troekurov’s estates were spared; the robbers did not rob him of a single barn; not a single cart was stopped. With his usual arrogance, Troekurov attributed this exception to the fear that he knew how to instill in the entire province, as well as the excellent police force he had established in his villages. At first the neighbors laughed among themselves at Troekurov’s arrogance and each<день>they expected the uninvited guests to visit Pokrovskoe, where they had something to profit from, but finally they were forced to agree with him and admit that the robbers showed him an incomprehensible respect... Troekurov triumphed and at every news of a new robbery by Dubrovsky, he burst into ridicule about the governor, police officers and company commanders<ов>, from which Dubrovsky always walked away unharmed.

Meanwhile, October 1st arrived - the day of the temple festival in the village of Troekurova. But before we begin to describe this celebration and further incidents, we must introduce the reader to faces new to him, or whom we only briefly mentioned at the beginning of our story.

CHAPTER VIII.

The reader has probably already guessed that the daughter of Kiril Petrovich, about whom we have said only a few more words, is the heroine of our story. In the era we are describing, she was 17 years old, and her beauty was in full bloom. Her father loved her madly, but treated her with his characteristic waywardness, sometimes trying to please her slightest whims, sometimes frightening her with harsh and sometimes cruel treatment. Confident of her affection, he could never gain her trust. She got used to hiding her feelings and thoughts from him, because she could never know for sure how they would be received. She had no friends and grew up in solitude. The wives and daughters of neighbors rarely went to Kiril Petrovich, whose ordinary conversations<и>entertainment required the camaraderie of men, not the presence of ladies. Rarely did our beauty appear among the guests feasting at Kiril Petrovich's. Huge<библиотека>, compiled mostly from the works of F.<ранцузских>write<лей>18th century, was placed at her disposal. Her father, who never read anything except The Perfect Cook, could not guide her in choosing books, and Masha, naturally, taking a break from writing all kinds of books, settled on novels. In this way she completed her upbringing, which had once begun under the guidance of Mamzel Mimi, to whom Kirila Petrovich showed great confidence and favor, and whom he was finally forced to quietly send to another estate when the consequences of his friendship turned out to be too obvious. Mamzelle Mimi left behind a rather pleasant memory. She was a kind girl, and never used the influence that she apparently had over Kiril Petrovich for evil - in which she differed from other confidantes who were constantly replaced by him. Kirila Petrovich himself seemed to love her more than others, and a black-eyed boy, a naughty boy of about 9 years old, reminiscent of the midday features of Mlle Mimi, was brought up with him and was recognized as his son, despite the fact that there were many barefoot children, like two peas in a pod similar to Kiril Petrovich, they ran in front of his windows and were considered servants. Kirila Petrovich ordered a French teacher from Moscow for his little Sasha, who arrived in Pokrovskoye during the incidents we are now describing.

Kiril Petrovich liked this teacher with his pleasant appearance and simple manner. He presented Kiril Petrovich with his certificates and a letter from one of Troekurov’s relatives, with whom he lived as a tutor for 4 years. Kirila Petrovich reviewed all this and was dissatisfied with the youth of his Frenchman - not because he would consider this amiable shortcoming incompatible with the patience and experience so necessary in the unfortunate title of teacher, but he had his own doubts, which he immediately decided to explain to him. For this purpose, he ordered to call Masha (Kirila Petrovich in French) to him.<анцузски>did not speak and she served as his translator).

Come here, Masha: tell this monsieur that so be it - I accept him; only so that he<у>I didn’t dare follow my girls, otherwise I’m his son of a dog... translate this to him, Masha.

Masha blushed and, turning to the teacher, told him in French.<анцузски>that her father hopes for his modesty and decent behavior.

The Frenchman bowed to her and replied that he hoped to earn respect even if they denied him favor.

Masha translated his answer word for word.

“Okay, okay,” said Kirila Petrovich, “he doesn’t need any favor or respect.” His job is to follow Sasha and teach him grammar and geography, translate it to him.

Marya Kirilovna softened her father's rude expressions in her translation, and Kirila Petrovich sent his Frenchman to the outbuilding where he was assigned a room.

Masha did not pay any attention to the young Frenchman, brought up in aristocratic prejudices; the teacher was for her a kind of servant or artisan, and the servant or artisan did not seem like a man to her. She did not even notice the impression she made on Mr.<Дефоржа>, not his embarrassment, not his trepidation, not his changed voice. For several days in a row then she met him quite often, without deigning to pay more attention. Unexpectedly, she received a completely new concept about him. Several bear cubs were usually raised in Kiril Petrovich's yard and constituted one of the main amusements of the Pokrovsky landowner. In their first youth, the cubs were brought daily into the living room, where Kirila Petrovich spent hours fiddling with them, pitting them against cats and puppies. Having matured, they were put on a chain, awaiting real persecution. Occasionally they would take them out to the windows of the manor's house and roll them an empty wine barrel studded with nails; the bear sniffed her, then quietly touched her, pricked his paws, angrily pushed her harder, and the pain became stronger. He would fly into a complete rage and rush at the barrel with a roar until the object of his futile rage was taken away from the poor beast. It happened that a couple of bears were harnessed to a cart, guests were put into it, willy-nilly, and they were allowed to ride to the will of God. But Kiril Petrovich considered the following to be the best joke.

A bear that had been ironed would sometimes be locked in an empty room, tied with a rope to a ring screwed into the wall. The rope was almost the length of the entire room, so that only the opposite corner could<быть>safe from the attack of a terrible beast. They usually brought the newcomer to the door of this room, accidentally pushed him towards the bear, the doors were locked, and the unfortunate victim was left alone with the shaggy hermit. The poor guest, with his shirt torn and scratched until he bled, soon found a safe corner, but was sometimes forced to stand pressed against the wall for three whole hours, and see how an enraged beast two steps away from him roared, jumped, reared, strained and struggled reach him. Such were the noble amusements of the Russian master! A few days after the teacher’s arrival, Troekurov remembered him and intended to treat him in the bear’s room: for this purpose, calling him one morning, he took him with<со6ою>dark corridors - suddenly a side door opened - two servants pushed the Frenchman into it and locked it with a key. Having come to his senses, the teacher saw a tied bear, the animal began to snort, sniffing its guest from afar, and suddenly, rising on its hind legs, walked towards him... The Frenchman was not embarrassed, did not run, and waited for the attack. Medv<едь>approached, Deforge took a small pistol from his pocket, put it in the ear of the hungry beast and fired. The bear fell down. Everyone came running, the doors opened, Kirila Petrovich entered, amazed at the outcome of his joke. Kirila Petrovich certainly wanted an explanation for the whole matter - who told Deforge about the joke prepared for him, or why he had a loaded pistol in his pocket. He sent for Masha, Masha came running and translated her father’s questions to the Frenchman.

“I have not heard of a bear,” replied Desforges, “but I always carry pistols with me, because I do not intend to endure an insult for which, according to my rank, I cannot demand satisfaction.”

Masha looked at him in amazement and translated his words to Kiril Petrovich. Kirila Petrovich did not answer anything, he ordered to pull out the bear and skin it; then turning to his people he said: “What a fine fellow!” I didn’t chicken out, by God, I didn’t chicken out. From that moment he fell in love with Deforge, and never thought about trying him.

But this incident made an even greater impression on Marya Kirilovna. Her imagination was amazed: she saw a dead bear and Deforge calmly standing over it and calmly talking to her. She saw that courage and proud pride did not exclusively belong to one class - and from then on she began to show the young teacher respect, which became more attentive hour by hour. Some relations were established between them. Masha had a beautiful voice and great musical abilities, Deforge volunteered to give her lessons. After that, it is no longer difficult for the reader to guess that Masha fell in love with him, without even admitting it to herself.

VOLUME TWO.

CHAPTER IX.

On the eve of the holiday, guests began to arrive, some stayed in the manor's house and outbuildings, others with the clerk, others with the priest, and others with wealthy peasants. The stables were full of traveling horses, the courtyards and barns were cluttered with various carriages. At 9 o'clock in the morning they announced mass for mass, and everyone moved towards the new stone church, built by Kiril Petrovich and annually decorated with his offerings. So many honorable pilgrims gathered that ordinary peasants could not fit into the church, and stood on the porch and in the fence. Mass did not begin - they were waiting for Kiril Petrovich. He arrived in a wheeled carriage and solemnly went to his place, accompanied by Maria Kirilovna. The eyes of men and women turned to her; the first were surprised at her beauty, the second carefully examined her outfit. Mass began, the house singers sang in the choir, Kirila Petrovich himself pulled him up, prayed, not looking to the right or to the left, and with proud humility bowed to the ground when the deacon loudly mentioned and about the builder of this temple.

Mass is over. Kirila Petrovich was the first to approach the cross. Everyone followed him, then the neighbors approached him with respect. The ladies surrounded Masha. Kirila Petrovich, leaving the church, invited everyone to his place for dinner, got into the carriage and went home. Everyone went after him. The rooms were filled with guests. New faces entered every minute, and they could force their way to the owner. The ladies sat down in a decorous semicircle, dressed in belated fashion, in worn and expensive clothes, all in pearls and diamonds, the men crowded around the caviar and vodka, talking to each other with noisy disagreement. A table for 80 cutlery was set in the hall. The servants bustled about, arranging<я>bottles and decanters, and arranging tablecloths. Finally, the butler announced: the meal has been set, - and Kirila Petrovich was the first to go sit down at the table, the ladies moved behind him and took their places importantly, observing a certain seniority, the young ladies crowded together like a timid herd of goats and chose their places one next to the other. The men stood opposite them. The teacher sat down at the end of the table next to little Sasha.

The servants began to carry the plates to ranks, in case of confusion, guided by Lavater's guesses, and almost always without error. The clinking of plates and spoons merged with the noisy chatter of the guests, Kirila Petrovich cheerfully surveyed his meal, and fully enjoyed the happiness of the hospitable man. At this time, a carriage drawn by six horses drove into the yard. -- Who is this? - asked the owner. “Anton Pafnutich,” answered several voices. The doors opened, and Anton Pafnutich Spitsyn, a fat man of about 50, with a round and pockmarked face adorned with a triple chin, burst into the dining room bowing, smiling, and already about to apologize... “The device is here,” shouted Kirila Petrovich, “you’re welcome.” Please, Anton Pafnutich, sit down and tell us what this means: you weren’t at my mass and were late for dinner. This is not like you, you are both religious and love food. “It’s my fault,” answered Anton Pafnutich, tying a napkin into the buttonhole of his pea caftan, “it’s my fault, Father Kirila Petrovich, I set off on the road early, but didn’t even have time to drive ten miles, suddenly the tire on the front wheel was split in half—whatever you say.” ? Fortunately, it was not far from the village - by the time we dragged ourselves to it, found a blacksmith, and somehow sorted everything out, it took exactly 3 hours - there was nothing to do. I didn’t dare take the short route through the Kistenevsky forest, but took a detour...

Hey! - interrupted Kirila Petrovich, - you know, you’re not one of the brave ten; what are you afraid of. - I’m afraid of something, Father Kirila Petrovich, but of Dubrovsky; You'll soon fall into his clutches. He's no slouch, he won't let anyone down, and he'll probably rip two of my skins off. - Why, brother, is there such a difference? - Why for what, Father Kirila Petrovich? and for the litigation of the deceased Andrei Gavrilovich. Was it not I who, for your pleasure, that is, in conscience and justice, showed that the Dubrovskys own Kistenevka without any right to do so, but solely out of your condescension? And the deceased (may he rest in heaven) promised to communicate with me in his own way, and my son, perhaps, will keep his father’s word. Until now, God has been merciful. “They’ve just plundered one of my hangars, and before long they’ll get to the estate.” “And in the estate they will have freedom,” remarked Kirila Petrovich, “I have a red box full of tea...” “Where, Father Kirila Petrovich.” It was full, but now it’s completely empty! - Stop lying, Anton Pafnutich. We know you; where should you spend your money, you live like a pig at home, you don’t accept anyone, you rip off your men, you know, you save and that’s all.

“You keep making jokes, Father Kirila Petrovich,” Anton Pafnutich muttered with a smile, “but by God, we went broke,” and Anton Pafnutich began to eat up his master’s lordly joke with a fat piece of kulebyaki. Kirila Petrovich left him and turned to the new police officer, who had come to visit him for the first time, and was sitting at the other end of the table next to the teacher.

Well, at least you’ll catch Dubrovsky, gentleman.<один>police officer?

The police officer got cold feet, bowed, smiled, stuttered and finally said: “We’ll try, yours.”<е>surpassed<одительство>.

Hm, we'll try. They've been trying for a long, long time, but it still doesn't do any good. Yes, really, why catch him? Dubrovsky's robberies are a blessing for police officers - travel, investigations, carts, and money in your pocket. How can such a benefactor be known? Isn't it true, Mr.<осподин>police officer?

The real truth, in<аше>pre<восходительство>“, answered the completely embarrassed police officer.

The guests laughed.

I love the fellow for his sincerity,” said Kirila Petrovich, and it’s a pity for our late police officer Taras Alekseevich - if they hadn’t burned him, it would have been quieter in the police station. What have you heard about Dubrovsky? where was he last seen?

“I, Kirila Petrovich,” squeaked a thick lady’s voice, “he dined with me last Tuesday...

All eyes turned to Anna Savishna Globova, a rather simple widow, beloved by everyone for her kind and cheerful disposition. Everyone prepared to hear her story with curiosity.

You need to know that three weeks ago I sent a clerk to the post office with money for my Vanyusha. I don’t spoil my son, and I’m not able to spoil my son, even if I wanted to; however, please know for yourself: a guard officer needs to support himself in a decent manner, and Vanyusha and I share my income as best I can. So I sent him 2,000 rubles, even though Dubrovsky came to my mind more than once, but I thought: the city is close, only 7 miles, maybe God will carry it through. I saw my clerk returning in the evening, pale, ragged and on foot - I just gasped. -- What's happened? what happened to you? He told me: Mother Anna Savishna - Robbers robbed; They almost killed me - Dubrovsky himself was here, he wanted to hang me, but he took pity on me and let me go - for that he robbed me of everything - he took away both the horse and the cart. I froze; My heavenly king, what will happen to my Vanyusha? There is nothing to do: I wrote a letter to my son, told him everything and sent him my blessing without a penny of money.

A week passed, then another - suddenly a stroller drove into my yard. Some general asks to see me: you are welcome; a man about 35 years old comes up to me, dark-skinned, black-haired, with a mustache, a beard, a real portrait of Kulnev<а>, recommended to me as a friend and colleague of the late husband Ivan Andreevich: he was driving past and could not help but stop by his widow, knowing that I live here. I treated him to what God had sent, we talked about this and that, and finally about Dubrovsky. I told him my grief. My general frowned. “This is strange,” he said, “I heard that Dubrovsky attacks not just everyone, but famous rich people, but even here he shares with them, and does not rob completely, and no one accuses him of murders, isn’t it so?” you cheat, order your clerk to be called. - Send for the clerk, he appeared; As soon as he saw the general, he was dumbfounded. “Tell me, brother, how Dubrovsky robbed you, and how he wanted to hang you.” My clerk trembled and fell at the general’s feet. - Father, it’s my fault - I misled him - I lied. “If that’s the case,” answered the general, “then please tell the lady how the whole thing happened, and I’ll listen.” The clerk could not come to his senses. “Well,” the general continued, “tell me: where did you meet Dubrovsky?” - At two pines, father, at two pines. - “What did he tell you?” - He asked me, whose are you, where are you going and why? - “Well, what about after?” “And then he demanded a letter and money.” -- "Well". “I gave him the letter and the money.” - "And he? - - Well - and him?" - Father, it’s my fault. - “Well, what did he do?” - He returned the money and the letter to me, and said: go to God - give it to the post office. -- "Well, what about you]?" - Father, it’s my fault. “I’ll handle it with you, my dear,” the general said menacingly, “and you, madam, order a search of this swindler’s chest, and hand him over to me, and I’ll teach him a lesson. Know that Dubrovsky himself was a guards officer , he will not want to offend his comrade." I guessed who His Excellency was; I had no need to talk to him about it. The coachmen tied the clerk to the carriage's goats. The money was found; the general dined with me, then immediately left and took the clerk with him. My steward was found the next day in the forest, tied to an oak tree and skinned like a stick.

Everyone listened in silence to Anna Savishna's story, especially the young lady. Many of them secretly wished him well, seeing in him a romantic hero - especially Marya Kirilovna, an ardent dreamer, imbued with the mysterious horrors of Radcliffe.

And you, Anna Savishna, believe that Dubrovsky himself was with you,” asked Kirila Petrovich. - You were very mistaken. I don’t know who was your guest, but not Dubrovsky.

How, father, not Dubrovsky, and who else if not him, will drive out onto the road and begin to stop passers-by and inspect them.

I don’t know, and certainly not Dubrovsky. I remember him as a child, I don’t know if his hair turned black, and then he was a curly, blond boy - but I know for sure that Dubrovsky is five years older than my Masha, and that, consequently, he is not 35 years old, but about 23.

Exactly like that, in<аше>pre<восходительство>“, - the police officer proclaimed, I also have signs of Vladimir Dubrovsky in my pocket. They definitely say that he is 23 years old.

A! - said Kirila Petrovich, - by the way: read it, and we’ll listen, it’s not bad for us to know his signs, maybe he catches your eye, it won’t turn out that way.

The police officer took a rather soiled piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it with importance and began to recite it.

"Signs of Vladimir Dubrovsky, compiled from the tales of his former courtyard people.

"Old 2<3>years old, of average height, clean-faced, shaves his beard, has brown eyes, light brown hair, a straight nose. There are special signs: there were none."

And that’s all,” said Kirila Petrovich.

Only, - answer<чал>isp<равник>, folding paper.

Congratulations Mr. Ispr<авник>. Oh yes paper! Based on these signs, it will not be surprising for you to find Dubrovsky. But who is not of average height, who does not have brown hair, a straight nose, and brown eyes? I bet you will talk to Dubrovsky himself for 3 hours straight, and you won’t guess who God brought you together with. There is nothing to say, they are smart little heads.

The police officer humbly put his paper in his pocket and silently began to eat the goose and cabbage. Meanwhile, the servants had already walked around the guests several times, pouring each one his glass. Several bottles of Gorskoye and Tsimlyanskoye had already been loudly uncorked and accepted favorably under the name of champagne, faces began to blush, conversations became louder, more incoherent and more fun.

No,” continued Kirila Petrovich, “we will never see such a police officer as the deceased Taras Alekseevich was! This one was no mistake, no mistake. It’s a pity that they burned the fellow, otherwise not a single person in the whole gang would have left him. He would have caught every single one of them - and Dubrovsky himself would not have turned around and paid off. Taras Alekseevich would have taken the money from him, but he wouldn’t have let him go - that was the custom of the deceased. There is nothing to do, apparently, I should intervene in this matter and go after the robbers with my family. In the first case, I’ll detach about twenty people, and they’ll clear out the thieves’ grove; The people are not cowardly, everyone goes after a bear alone - they will not back away from the robbers.

Is your bear healthy, baht<юшка>“Kirila Petrovich,” said Anton Pafnutich, remembering with these words about his shaggy acquaintance and about some jokes, of which he was once a victim.

Misha ordered to live long,” answered Kirila Petrovich. - He died a glorious death, at the hands of the enemy. There’s his winner,” Kirila Petrovich pointed to Deforge; - exchange the image of my Frenchman. He avenged your... if I may say so... Do you remember?

How can I not remember,” said Anton Pafnutich, scratching himself, “I remember very much.” So Misha died. I feel sorry for Misha, I swear to God! what a funny man he was! what a clever girl! You won’t find another bear like this. Why did Monsieur kill him?

Kirila Petrovich began to tell with great pleasure the feat of his Frenchman, for he had the happy ability to be proud of everything that surrounded him. The guests listened with attention to the story of Misha's death, and looked with amazement at Deforge, who, not suspecting that the conversation was about his courage, sat calmly in his place and made moral comments to his frisky pupil.

Lunch, which lasted about 3 hours, was over; the owner put the napkin on the table - everyone got up and went into the living room, where coffee, cards and the continuation of the drinking session that had so nicely begun in the dining room awaited them.

CHAPTER X

At about seven o'clock in the evening some of the guests wanted to leave, but the host, amused by the punch, ordered the gates to be locked and announced that<до>the next morning he won’t let anyone out of the yard. Soon the music began to thunder, the doors to the hall opened and the ball began. The owner and his entourage sat in the corner, drinking glass after glass and admiring the gaiety of the youth. The old women played cards. There were fewer cavaliers, as everywhere else where some uhlan brigade was not stationed, than ladies; all the men who were fit for duty were recruited. The teacher was different from everyone, he danced more than anyone else, all the young ladies chose him and found it very clever to waltz with him. Several times he circled with Marya Kirilovna - and the young ladies mockingly noticed them. Finally, around midnight, the tired owner stopped dancing, ordered dinner to be served, and went to bed.

The absence of Kiril Petrovich gave society more freedom and liveliness. The gentlemen dared to take a place next to the ladies. The girls laughed and whispered with their neighbors; the ladies were talking loudly across the table. The men drank, argued and laughed - in a word, the dinner was extremely fun - and left behind many pleasant memories.

Only one person did not participate in the general joy - Anton Pafnutich sat gloomy and silent in his place, ate absentmindedly and seemed extremely restless. Talk about robbers excited his imagination. We will soon see that he had good reason to fear them.

Anton Pafnutich, calling the Lord as a witness that his red box was empty, did not lie and did not sin - the red box was definitely empty, the money that was once stored in it went into the leather bag that he carried on his chest under his shirt. With this precaution he calmed his distrust of everyone and his eternal fear. Being forced to spend the night in someone else's house, he was afraid that they would give him lodging somewhere secluded.<й>a room where thieves could easily get into, he looked with his eyes for a reliable comrade and finally chose Desforges. His appearance, revealing strength, and even more so the courage he showed when meeting with a bear, which poor Anton Pafnutich could not remember without a shudder, decided his choice. When they got up from the table, Anton Pafnutich began to hover around the young Frenchman, quacking and clearing his throat, and finally turned to him with an explanation.

Hm, hm, is it possible, monsieur, for me to spend the night in your kennel, because if you please see - -

Que d'sire monsieur? asked Desforges, bowing politely to him.

What a problem, you, monsieur, haven’t learned Russian yet. Zhe ve, mua, she vu kushe, do you understand?

-- Monsieur, tr?s volontiers, - replied Desforges, - veuillez donner des ordres en cons?quence.

Anton Pafnutich, very pleased with his<ими>information in French, he immediately went to dispose of it.

The guests began to say goodbye to each other and each went to the room assigned to him. And Anton Pafnutich went with the teacher to the outbuilding. The night was dark. Deforge illuminated the road with a lantern, Anton Pafnutich followed him quite cheerfully, occasionally clutching a hidden bag to his chest - in order to make sure that his money was still with him.

Arriving at the outbuilding, the teacher lit a candle and both began to undress; Meanwhile, Anton Pafnutich paced around the room, examining the locks and windows - and shaking his head at this disappointing sight. The doors were locked with a single bolt, the windows did not yet have double frames. He tried to complain about this to Deforge, but his knowledge of French<анцузском>the language was too limited for such a complex explanation - the Frenchman did not understand him, and Anton Pafnutich was forced to abandon his complaints. Their beds stood one opposite the other, they both lay down, and the teacher put out the candle.

-- Pourquois vous touché, Pourquois vous touchés, - shouted Anton Pafnutich, conjugating the Russian verb with sin in half carcass in the French way. - I can’t, dormir, in the dark. - Deforge did not understand his exclamations and wished him good night.

Damn infidel,” Spitsyn grumbled, wrapping himself in a blanket. - He needed to put out the candle. It's worse for him. I can't sleep without fire. “Monsieur, monsieur,” he continued, “ Zhe ve avec vu parle. - But the Frenchman did not answer and soon began to snore.

The beastly Frenchman is snoring, thought Anton Pafnutich, but I can’t sleep. Just look, the thieves are gone<ут>through open doors or climbed<ут>out the window - and you can’t even reach him, the beast, with guns. - Monsieur! ah, Monsieur! - Damn you.

Anton Pafnutich fell silent - fatigue and the wine fumes little by little overcame his timidity - he began to doze, and soon a deep sleep completely took possession of him.

A strange awakening was in store for him. He felt, through his sleep, that someone was quietly tugging at the collar of his shirt. Anton Pafnutich opened his eyes, and in the moonlight of the autumn morning he saw Deforge in front of him: the Frenchman was holding a pocket pistol in one hand, and with the other he was unfastening the treasured bag. Anton Pafnutich froze.

-- Kes ke se, monsieur, kes ke se“,” he said in a trembling voice.

Hush, be silent,” answered the teacher in pure Russian, “be silent or you are lost.” I'm Dubrovsky.

CHAPTER XI.

Now let us ask the reader's permission to explain the last incidents of our story by previous circumstances, which we have not yet had time to tell.

At the station** in the house of the superintendent, whom we have already mentioned, a traveler was sitting in the corner with a humble and patient look - denouncing a commoner or a foreigner, that is, a person who has no voice on the postal route. His chaise stood in the yard, waiting for grease. There was a small suitcase in it, a skinny proof of not very sufficient wealth. The traveler did not ask for tea or coffee, looked out the window and whistled, to the great displeasure of the caretaker sitting behind the partition.

“God sent a whistler,” she said in a low voice, “he whistles, so that he bursts, you damned bastard.”

And what? - said the caretaker, - what a problem, let him whistle.

What's the problem? - objected the angry wife. - Don’t you know the signs?

What sign? that whistling money survives. AND! Pakhomovna, we have some whistling, some not: but there’s still no money.

Let him go, Sidorich. You want to keep it. Give him the horses and he'll go to hell.

He'll wait, Pakhomovna; There are only three triples in the stable, the fourth is resting. Just look, good travelers will arrive in time; I don’t want to be responsible for the Frenchman with my neck. Chew, that's right! there they jump. Hey, hey, how awesome; isn't it a general?

The carriage stopped at the porch. The servant jumped off the box - unlocked the doors, and a minute later a young man in a military overcoat and a white cap entered the caretaker - after him the servant brought the box in and put it on the window.

Horses,” said the official<цер>in a commanding voice.

“Now,” answered the caretaker. - Please go to the road.

I don't have a travel card. I'm driving to the side - - Don't you recognize me?

The caretaker began to fuss and rushed to hurry the coachmen. The young man began to pace back and forth around the room, went behind the partition, and quietly asked the caretaker: who was the traveler?

God knows,” answered the caretaker, “some fr<анцуз>. He's been waiting for the horses and whistling for 5 hours now. Tired of the damned one.

The young man spoke to the traveler in French.

Where would you like to go? - he asked him.

“To the nearest town,” answered the Frenchman, “from there I go to a landowner who hired me as a teacher. I thought I would be there today, but the caretaker, it seems, judged differently. Horses are hard to come by in this land, Mr. Officer.

And which of the local landowners have you decided on,” asked the officer.

To Mr. Troyekurov,” answered Fr.<анцуз>.

To Troekurov? Who is this Troekurov?

Ma foi, mon officier... I have heard little good about him. They say that he is a proud and capricious gentleman, cruel in his treatment of his household - that no one can get along with him, that everyone trembles at his name, that he does not stand on ceremony with teachers (avec les outchitels), and has already beaten two to death .

Have mercy! and you decided to decide on such a monster.

What to do, Mr. Officer. He offers me a good salary, 3000 rubles. per year and everything is ready. Perhaps I will be happier than others. I have an old mother, I will send half of my salary to her for food, from the rest of the money in 5 years I can accumulate a small capital sufficient for my future independence - and then bonsoir, I go to Paris and embark on commercial activities.

Does anyone in Troekurov's house know you? -- he asked.

“Nobody,” answered the teacher, “he sent me out of Moscow through one of his friends, whose cook, my compatriot, recommended me.” You need to know that I was preparing not to become a teacher, but to become a candidate - but they told me that in your land the title of teacher is much more profitable - -

The officer thought about it. “Listen,” interrupted the officer.<ицер>, - what if, instead of this future, they offered you 10,000 in pure money, so that you could immediately go back to Paris.

The Frenchman looked at the officer in amazement, smiled and shook his head.

The horses are ready,” said the caretaker who entered. - The servant confirmed the same thing.

Now,” the officer answered, “go out for a minute.” -- Review<итель>and the servant went out. “I’m not joking,” he continued in French, “I can give you 10,000, I only need your absence and your papers.” - With these words, he unlocked the box and took out several stacks of banknotes.<аций>.

The Frenchman widened his eyes. He didn't know what to think. “My absence is my papers,” he repeated in amazement. - Here are my papers - But you're kidding; Why do you need my papers?

You don't care about that. I'm asking if you agree or not?

The Frenchman, still not believing his ears, handed his papers to the young officer, who quickly reviewed them. - Your passport is good. Letter of recommendation, we'll see. Birth certificate, great. Well, here's your money, go back. Goodbye -- --

The Frenchman stood rooted to the spot.

The officer returned. - I forgot the most important thing. Give me your word of honor that all this will remain between us - your word of honor.

“My word of honor,” answered the Frenchman.<уз>. - But my papers, what should I do without them?

In the first city, announce that you were robbed by Dubrovsky. They will believe you and give you the necessary evidence. Goodbye, may God grant you to get to Paris soon and find your mother in good health.

Dubrovsky left the room, got into the carriage and galloped off.

The caretaker looked out the window, and when the carriage drove away, he turned to his wife with an exclamation: “Pakhomovna, do you know what?” after all, it was Dubrovsky.

The caretaker rushed headlong to the window<у>, but it was too late - Dubrovsky was already far away. She began to scold her husband: “You’re not afraid of God, Sidor.”<ыч>, why didn’t you tell me this before, I would have at least looked at Dubrovsky, but now wait for him to turn around again. You're truly shameless, shameless!

The Frenchman stood rooted to the spot. Agreement with<ицером>, money, everything seemed like a dream to him. But the piles of banknotes were there in his pocket and eloquently told him<о>the significance of the amazing event.

He decided to hire horses to the city. The coachman drove him at a walk, and at night he dragged himself to the city.

Before reaching the outpost, at which, instead of a sentry, there was a collapsed bottle, the Frenchman ordered to stop, got out of the chaise, and went on foot, explaining with signs to the driver that he was giving him the chamodan and chamodan for vodka. The coachman was as amazed at his generosity as the Frenchman himself at Dubrovsky’s offer. But, concluding from the fact that the German had gone mad, the coachman thanked him with a zealous bow, and not considering it a good idea to enter the city, he went to an entertainment establishment known to him, whose owner was very kind to him.<знаком>. He spent the whole night there, and the next day in the morning, on an empty troika, he set off on his way - without a chaise and without a chamodan, with a plump face and red eyes.

Dubrovsky, having mastered the papers<ами>Frenchman, boldly came, as we have already seen, to Troekurov and settled in his house. Whatever his secret intentions were (we will find out later), there was nothing reprehensible in his behavior. True, he did little to educate little Sasha, gave him complete freedom to hang out, and did not strictly punish him for lessons assigned only for form - but with great diligence he followed his student’s musical successes, and often sat with her at the piano for hours at a time. Everyone loved the young teacher - Kirila Petrovich for his bold agility in the hunt, Marya Kirilovna for his unlimited zeal and timid attentiveness, Sasha for his indulgence in his pranks, his family for their kindness and generosity, apparently incompatible with his condition. He himself seemed to be attached to the whole family and already considered himself a member of it.

About a month passed from his assumption of the teaching rank to the memorable celebration, and no one suspected that in the modest young Frenchman lurked a formidable robber - whose name terrified all the surrounding owners. During all this time, Dubrovsky did not leave Pokrovsky, but the rumor about his robberies did not subside thanks to the inventive imagination of the villagers, but it could also happen that his gang continued its actions in the absence of the boss.

Spending the night in the same room with a man whom he could consider his personal enemy and one of the main culprits of his disaster, Dubrovsky could not resist temptation. He knew about the existence of the bag and decided to take possession of it. We saw how he amazed poor Anton Pafnutich with his unexpected transformation from teachers into robbers.

At 9 o'clock in the morning, the guests who spent the night in Pokrovsky gathered one after another in the living room, where the samovar was already boiling, in front of which Marya Kirilovna was sitting in her morning dress, and Kirila Petrovich in a flannel coat and shoes was drinking his wide cup, similar to a rinse . The last to appear was Anton Pafnutich; he was so pale and seemed so upset that he looked<его>amazed everyone, and that Kirila Petrovich inquired about his health. Spitsyn answered without any meaning and looked with horror at the teacher, who sat right there as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later, the servant came in and announced to Spitsyn that his carriage was ready - Anton Pafnutich hurried to take his leave and, despite the owner’s admonitions, hurriedly left the room and immediately left. They didn’t understand what had happened to him, and Kirila Petrovich decided that he had eaten too much. After tea and a farewell breakfast, the other guests began to leave, soon Pokrovskoye was empty, and everything returned to normal.

CHAPTER XII.

Several days passed and nothing of note happened. The life of the inhabitants of Pokrovsky was monotonous. Kirila Petrovich went hunting every day; Reading, walks and music lessons occupied Marya Kirilovna - especially music lessons. She began to understand her own heart and admitted, with involuntary annoyance, that it was not indifferent to the merits of the young Frenchman. For his part, he did not go beyond the bounds of respect and strict decency, and thereby calmed her pride<и>fearful doubts. She indulged in this fascinating habit with more and more trust. She was bored without Deforge, in his presence she busied herself with him every minute, wanted to know his opinion about everything and always agreed with him. Perhaps she was not yet in love, but at the first accidental obstacle or sudden persecution of fate, the flame of passion was bound to flare up in her heart.

One day, arriving in the hall where her teacher was waiting, Marya Kirilovna noticed with amazement the embarrassment on his pale face. She opened the pianoforte and sang a few notes, but Dubrovsky, under the pretext of a headache, apologized, interrupted the lesson and, closing the notes, secretly handed her a note. Marya Kirilovna, without having time to think about it, accepted her and repented at that very moment, but Dubrovsky was no longer in the hall. Marya Kirilovna went to her room, unfolded the note and read the following<ее:>

“Be at the gazebo by the stream today at 7 o’clock - I need to talk to you.”

Her curiosity was greatly aroused. She had been waiting for recognition for a long time, wanting and fearing it. She would have been pleased to hear confirmation of what she had suspected, but she felt that it would be indecent for her to hear such an explanation from a man who, due to his condition, could not hope to ever receive her hand. She decided to go on a date, but hesitated on one thing: how she would accept the teacher’s confession, with aristocratic indignation, with exhortations of friendship, with cheerful jokes, or with silent participation. Meanwhile, she kept glancing at her watch. It was getting dark, candles were served, Kirila Petrovich sat down to play Boston with his visiting neighbors. The dining room clock struck the third quarter of seven - and Marya Kirilovna quietly went out onto the porch, looked around in all directions and ran into the garden.

The night was dark, the sky was covered with clouds—it was impossible to see anything two steps away, but Marya Kirilovna walked in the darkness along familiar paths, and a minute later she found herself at the gazebo; here she stopped to take a breath and appear before Desforges with an indifferent and unhurried appearance. But Desforges was already standing in front of her.

“I thank you,” he told her in a quiet and sad voice, “that you did not refuse me my request. I would be in despair if they did not agree to this.

Marya Kirilovna answered with a prepared phrase: “I hope that you will not make me repent of my condescension.”

He was silent and seemed to be gathering his courage. “Circumstances require... I must leave you,” he said at last, “you may soon hear... But before parting, I must explain myself to you...

Maria Kirilovna did not answer anything. She saw these words as a preface to the expected recognition.

“I’m not what you assume,” he continued, lowering his head, “I’m not the Frenchman Deforge, I’m Dubrovsky.”

Marya Kirilovna screamed.

Don't be afraid, for God's sake you shouldn't be afraid of my name. Yes, I am that unfortunate person whom your father deprived of a piece of bread, kicked out of his father’s house and sent to rob on the highways. But you don’t need to be afraid of me, neither for yourself nor for him. Everything is over. - I forgave him. Look, you saved him. My first bloody feat was to be accomplished over him. I walked around his house, designating where the fire would break out, where to enter his bedroom, how to cross all his escape routes - at that moment you passed by me like a heavenly vision, and my heart was humbled. I realized that the house where you live is sacred, that not a single creature connected with you by blood ties is subject to my curse. I gave up revenge as if it were madness. For whole days I wandered around the Pokrovsky gardens in the hope of seeing your white dress from afar. In your careless walks I followed you, sneaking from bush to bush, happy in the thought that I was protecting you, that there was no danger for you where I was secretly present. Finally the opportunity presented itself. I settled in your house. These three weeks were days of happiness for me. Their memory will be the joy of my sad life... Today I received news, after which it is impossible for me to stay here any longer. I’m parting with you today... this very hour... But first I had to open up to you so that you wouldn’t curse me or despise me. Think about Dubrovsky sometimes. Know that he was born for a different purpose, that his soul knew how to love you, that he never...

Then a light whistle was heard and Dubrovsky fell silent. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his burning lips. The whistle was repeated. “Excuse me,” said Dubrovsky, “my name is, a minute can destroy me.” - He walked away, Marya Kirilovna stood motionless - Dubrovsky returned and took her hand again. “If ever,” he said to her in a gentle and touching voice, “if someday misfortune befalls you and you expect neither help nor protection from anyone, in that case, do you promise to resort to me, demand everything from me - for your salvation? Do you promise not to reject my devotion?

Maria Kirilovna cried silently. The whistle sounded a third time.

You are ruining me! - Dubrovsky shouted. “I won’t leave you until you give me an answer—whether you promise or not?”

I promise,” whispered the poor beauty.

Excited by her meeting with Dubrovsky, Marya Kirilovna was returning from the garden. It seemed to her that all the people were running away - the house was in motion, there were a lot of people in the yard, a troika was standing at the porch - from a distance she heard Kiril Petrovich's voice - and she hurried to enter the rooms, fearing that the absence<ее>was not noticed. Kirila Petrovich met her in the hall, the guests surrounded the police officer, our acquaintance, and showered him with questions. A police officer in a traveling dress, armed from head to toe, answered them with a mysterious and fussy look. “Where were you, Masha,” asked Kirila Petrovich, “did you meet Mr. Deforge?” Masha could hardly answer negative.

Imagine,” continued Kirila Petrovich, “the police officer came to seize him and assures me that it is Dubrovsky himself.

All signs, yours is superior<одительство>, said the police officer respectfully. “Eh, brother,” interrupted Kirila Petrovich, “go away, you know where, with your signs.” I won’t give you my Frenchman until I sort out the matter myself. - How can you take the word of Anton Pafnutich, a coward and a liar: he dreamed that the teacher wanted to rob him. Why didn’t he say a word to me that same morning? - The Frenchman intimidated him, in<аше>P<ревосходительство>, - answered the<авник>, - and took an oath from him to remain silent... - Lies, - decided Kirila Petrovich, - now I will bring everything to light. -Where is the teacher? - he asked the servant who entered. “They won’t find it anywhere,” answered the servant. “Then find him,” shouted Troekurov, beginning to doubt. “Show me your vaunted signs,” he said to the police officer, who immediately handed him the paper. -- Hm, hm, 23 years old<...>It is true, but it still doesn’t prove anything. What about the teacher? “They won’t find it, sir,” was the answer again. Kirila Petrovich began to worry; Marya Kirilovna was neither alive nor dead. “You’re pale, Masha,” her father remarked to her, “they scared you.” “No, daddy,” answered Masha, “I have a headache.” - Go to your room, Masha, and don’t worry. - Masha kissed his hand and went quickly to her room, where she threw herself on the bed and sobbed in a hysterical fit. The maids came running, undressed her, forcibly managed to calm her down with cold water and all kinds of alcohols - they laid her down, and she fell into a sleepy state.

Meanwhile, the Frenchman was not found. Kirila Petrovich walked back and forth around the hall, whistling menacingly The thunder of victory is heard. The guests were whispering to each other, the police officer seemed to be in a fool - the Frenchman was not found. He probably managed to escape after being warned. But by whom and how? it remained a secret.

It was 11, and no one was thinking about sleep. Finally, Kirila Petrovich said angrily to the police officer:

Well? After all, it’s not time for you to stay here, my house is not a tavern, it’s not with your agility, brother, to catch Dubrovsky, if it’s Dubrovsky. Go on your way, and be quicker ahead. “And it’s time for you to go home,” he continued, turning to the guests. - Tell me to lay it down - but I want to sleep.

So mercilessly Troekurov parted with his guests! --

CHAPTER XIII.

Some time passed without any remarkable incident. But at the beginning of the next summer, many changes occurred in the family life of Kiril Petrovich.

Thirty miles away from him was the rich estate of Prince Vereisky. Kn<язь>For a long time he was in foreign lands - his entire estate was managed by a retired major, and no communication existed between Pokrovsky and Arbatov. But at the end of May the prince returned from abroad and came to his village, which he had never seen before. Having become accustomed to absent-mindedness, he could not bear solitude, and on the third day after his arrival he went to dinner with Troekurov, whom he had once known.

The prince was about 50 years old, but he seemed much older. Excesses of all kinds exhausted his health and left their indelible mark on him. Despite this, his appearance was pleasant and remarkable, and his habit of always being in society gave him a certain courtesy, especially with women. He had a constant need for race<я>nii and was constantly bored. Kirila Petrovich was extremely pleased with his visit, accepting it as a sign of respect from a man who knew the world; As usual, he treated him to a tour of his establishments and took him to the kennel yard. But the prince almost suffocated in the dog-like atmosphere and hurried out, clutching his nose with a handkerchief sprinkled with perfume. He did not like the ancient garden with its trimmed linden trees, quadrangular pond and regular alleys; he loved English gardens and so-called nature, but he praised and admired; the servant came to report that the meal had been set. They went to lunch. The prince limped, tired from his walk, and already repenting of his visit.

But Marya Kirilovna met them in the hall, and the old red tape was struck by her beauty. Troekurov seated the guest next to her. Kn<язь>was enlivened by her presence, was cheerful and managed to attract her attention several times with his curious stories. After lunch, Kirila Petrovich suggested riding<м>, but the prince<зь>apologized, pointing to his velvet boots - and joking about his gout - he preferred to walk in a line, so as not to be separated from his dear neighbor. The line was laid. The three of them and the beauty sat down and drove off. The conversation did not stop. Marya Kirilovna listened with pleasure to the flattering and cheerful greetings of a socialite, when suddenly Vereisky, turning to Kiril Petrovich, asked him what this burnt building meant, and whether it belonged to him? - - Kirila Petrovich frowned; the memories aroused in him by the burnt estate were unpleasant to him. He replied that the land was now his and that it previously belonged to Dubrovsky. “Dubrovsky,” repeated Vereisky, “what, this glorious robber?” “His father,” answered Troekurov, “and his father was a decent robber.”

Where did our Rinaldo go? is he alive, is he captured?

And he is alive and free - and as long as we have police officers on the same page as the thieves, until then he will not be caught; By the way, Prince, Dubrovsky visited you<Арбатове>?

Yes, last year it seems he burned or looted something. — — Isn’t it true, Marya Kirilovna, that it would be interesting to get to know this romantic hero briefly?

What a curiosity! - said Troekurov, - she knows him - he taught her music for three whole weeks, but thank God he didn’t charge anything for the lessons. --Here Kirila Petrovich began to tell the story about his<ем>French<узе>-teacher. Marya Kirilovna sat as if on pins and needles, Vereisky listened with deep attention, found it all very strange, and changed the conversation. Returning, he ordered his carriage to be brought in, and despite Kiril Petrovich’s strong requests to stay overnight, he left immediately after tea. But first he asked Kiril Petrovich to come visit him with Marya Kirilovna - and the proud Troekurov promised, for, having respected the princely dignity, two stars and 3000 souls of the family estate, he to some extent considered Prince Vereisky to be his equal.

Two days after this visit, Kirila Petrovich went with his daughter to visit Prince<язю>Vereisky. Approaching<Арбатову>he could not help but admire the clean and cheerful peasant huts and the stone manor house - built in the style of English castles. In front of the house lay a dense green meadow, on which Swiss cows grazed, ringing their bells. A spacious park surrounded the house on all sides. The owner met the guests at the porch and shook hands with the young beauty. They entered a magnificent hall, where the table was set for three places. The prince led the guests to the window, and a lovely view opened up to them. The Volga flowed in front of the windows, loaded barges sailed along it under stretched sails, and fishing boats, so expressively nicknamed gas chambers, flashed by. Beyond the river stretched hills and fields, several villages enlivened the surrounding area. Then they began examining galleries of paintings bought by the prince in foreign lands. The prince explained to Marya Kirilovna their different<ое>content, history of painters, pointed out advantages and disadvantages. He spoke about the paintings not in the conventional language of a pedantic connoisseur, but with feeling and imagination. Marya Kirilovna listened to him with pleasure. Let's go to the table. Troekurov did full justice to the wines of his Amphitryon and the skill of his cook, and Marya Kirilovna did not feel the slightest embarrassment or compulsion in a conversation with a man whom she had seen only for the second time in her life. After lunch, the owner invited the guests to go to the garden. They drank coffee in a gazebo on the shore of a wide lake dotted with islands. Suddenly brass music was heard, and a six-oared boat moored right next to the gazebo. They drove along the lake, near the islands - they visited some of them - on one they found a marble statue, on another a secluded cave, on the third a monument with a mysterious inscription that aroused a girlish curiosity in Marya Kirilovna, not entirely satisfied by the polite omissions of the prince - time passed imperceptibly - it began to get dark. The prince, under the pretext of freshness and dew, was in a hurry to return home - the samovar was waiting for them. The prince asked Marya Kirilovna to manage the old bachelor’s house. She poured tea - listening inexhaustibly<е>the stories of the amiable talker - suddenly a shot was heard - and the racket lit up the sky. The prince handed Marya Kirilovna a shawl and called her and Troekurov to the balcony. In front of the house in the darkness, multi-colored lights flashed, spun, rose up like ears of corn, palm trees, fountains, sprinkled with rain, stars, died out, and flared up again. Marya Kirilovna was having fun like a child. Prince Vereiskaya rejoiced at her admiration - and Troekurov was extremely pleased with it, for he accepted the prince’s tous les frais as signs of respect and desire to please him.

Dinner was in no way inferior in dignity to lunch. The guests went to the rooms reserved for them, and the next morning they parted with the kind host, making each other a promise to see each other again soon.

CHAPTER XIV.

Marya Kirilovna was sitting in her room, embroidering in a hoop, in front of the open window. She did not get confused with silks, like Conrad's mistress, who, in amorous absent-mindedness, embroidered a rose with green silk. Under her needle, the canvas unmistakably repeated the patterns of the original, despite the fact that her thoughts did not follow the work, they were far away.

Suddenly a hand quietly reached out through the window - someone put a letter on the hoop and disappeared before Marya Kirilovna had time to come to her senses. At this very time, a servant came in and called her to Kiril Petrovich. She tremblingly hid the letter behind her scarf and hurried to her father's office.

Kirila Petrovich was not alone. Kn<язь>Vereisky was sitting with him. When Marya Kirilovna appeared, Prince<язь>stood up and silently bowed to her with confusion unusual for him. “Come here, Masha,” said Kirila Petrovich, “I’ll tell you news that, I hope, will make you happy.” Here is your groom, the prince is wooing you.

Masha was dumbfounded, mortal pallor covered her face. She was silent. The prince approached her, took her hand and, looking touched, asked if she agreed to make him happy. Masha was silent.

“I agree, of course, I agree,” said Kirila Petrovich, “but you know, prince: it’s difficult for a girl to pronounce this word.” Well, children, kiss and be happy.

Masha stood motionless, the old prince kissed her hand, and suddenly tears ran down her pale face. Kn<язь>frowned slightly.

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,” said Kirila Petrovich, “dry your tears and come back to us cheerfully.” “They all cry when they get engaged,” he continued, turning to Vereisky, “it’s just so customary for them... Now, Prince<язь>, let's talk about business - that is, about the dowry.

Marya Kirilovna greedily took advantage of the permission to leave. She ran to her room, locked herself and gave vent to her tears, imagining herself as the wife of the old prince.<язя>; he suddenly seemed disgusting and hateful to her - - marriage frightened her like a scaffold, like a grave... “No, no,” she repeated in despair, “it’s better to die, it’s better to go to a monastery, it’s better to marry Dubrovsky.” Then she remembered the letter, and greedily rushed to read it, sensing that it was from him. In fact, it was written by him - and contained only the following words:

"In the evening at 10 o'clock in the same place."

CHAPTER XV.

The moon was shining - the July night was quiet - the breeze rose from time to time, and a light rustle ran through the entire garden.

Like a light shadow, the young beauty approached the place of the appointed meeting. No one was visible yet, suddenly Dubrovsky appeared in front of her from behind the gazebo.

“I know everything,” he told her in a quiet and sad voice. - Remember your promise.

“You offer me your protection,” answered Masha, “but don’t be angry—it scares me.” How will you help me?

I could deliver you from the hated person.

For God's sake, don't touch him, don't dare touch him, if you love me - I don't want to be the cause of some horror...

I will not touch him, your will is sacred to me. He owes his life to you. Never will a crime be committed in your name. You must be clean even of my crimes. But how can I save you from your cruel father?

There is still hope. I hope to touch him with my tears and despair. He's stubborn, but he loves me so much.

Do not hope in vain: in these tears he will see only ordinary timidity and disgust, common to all young girls when they marry not out of passion, but out of prudent calculation; what if he takes it into his head to make your happiness despite yourself; if they forcibly take you down the aisle to forever hand over your fate to the power of your old husband...

Then, then there is nothing to do, come for me - I will be your wife.

Dubrovsky trembled - his pale face was covered with a crimson blush, and at that very moment it became paler than before. He was silent for a long time - with his head down.

Gather with all the strength of your soul, beg your father, throw yourself at his feet: imagine to him all the horror of the future, your youth withering near a frail and depraved old man - decide on a cruel explanation; say that if he remains inexorable, then... then you will find a terrible defense... say that wealth will not bring you a single moment of happiness; luxury consoles only poverty, and then out of habit for one moment; don’t lag behind him, don’t be frightened by his anger or threats - as long as there remains at least a shadow of hope, for God’s sake, don’t lag behind. If there is no other way...

Here Dubrovsky covered his face with his hands, he seemed to be suffocating - Masha was crying...

“Poor, poor my fate,” said<он>, sighing bitterly. “I would give my life for you; seeing you from afar, touching your hand was ecstasy for me.” And when the opportunity opens for me to press<вас>to the worried heart and say: Angel, we will die! poor thing, I have to be careful<ся>from bliss - I must distance it with all my might... I do not dare fall at your feet, thank heaven for an incomprehensible undeserved reward. Oh, how I should hate him - but I feel that now there is no place for hatred in my heart.

He quietly hugged her slender figure and quietly drew her to his heart. She bowed her head trustingly on the young robber's shoulder. Both were silent.

Time flew by. “It’s time,” Masha finally said. Dubrovsky seemed to have woken up from sleep. He took her hand and placed the ring on her finger.

If you decide to resort to me,” he said, “then bring the ring here, lower it into the hollow of this oak tree - I will know what to do.”

Dubrovsky kissed her hand and disappeared between the trees.

CHAPTER XVI.

Prince's matchmaking<язя>Vereisky was no longer a secret to the neighborhood - Kirila Petrovich accepted congratulations, the wedding was being prepared. Masha put off a decisive announcement day by day. Meanwhile, her treatment of her old fiancé was cold and forced. Kn<язь>didn't care about that. He didn’t bother about love, content with her silent consent.

But time passed. Masha finally decided to act - and wrote a letter to Prince<язю>Vereisky; she tried to arouse a feeling of generosity in his heart, frankly admitted that she did not have the slightest affection for him, begged him to refuse her hand and himself protect her from the power of her parent. She quietly handed the letter to<нязю>Vereisky, he read it in private and was not at all moved by the frankness of his bride. On the contrary, he saw the need to speed up the wedding and for this purpose considered it necessary to show the letter to his future father-in-law.

Kirila Petrovich was furious; The prince could hardly persuade him not to show Masha that he had been notified of her letter. Kirila Petrovich agreed not to tell her about it, but decided not to waste time and scheduled the wedding for the next day. The prince found this very prudent, went to his bride, told her that the letter saddened him very much, but that he hoped to earn her affection in time, that the thought of losing her was too heavy for him, and that he was unable to agree to his death sentence. For this, he respectfully kissed her hand and left without telling her a word about Kiril Petrovich’s decision.

But he barely had time to leave<ть>from the yard when her father came in and directly told her to be ready for the next day. Marya Kirilovna, already excited by the explanation of the book<язя>Vereisky, burst into tears and threw herself at her father’s feet. “Daddy,” she cried in a plaintive voice, “daddy, don’t ruin me, I don’t love the prince, I don’t want to be his wife...

“What does this mean,” Kirila Petrovich said menacingly, “until now you were silent and agreed, but now, when everything has been decided, you decided to be capricious and renounce not to fool around; You won't gain anything with me by doing this.

“Don’t ruin me,” repeated poor Masha, “why drive me away from you and give me to an unloved person, are you tired of me, I want to stay with you as before.” Dad<ен>bka, you will be sad without me, even sadder when you think that I am unhappy, daddy: don’t force me, I don’t want to get married...

Kirila Petrovich was touched, but hid his embarrassment and, pushing her away, said sternly:

This is all nonsense, do you hear? I know better than you what is needed for your happiness. Tears will not help you, the day after tomorrow will be your wedding.

The day after tomorrow,” Masha cried out, “my God!” No, no, it’s impossible for this not to happen. Daddy, listen, if you have already decided to destroy me, then I will find a defender that you don’t even think about, you will see, you will be horrified at what you have brought me to.

What? What? - said Troekurov, - threats! threats to me, - impudent girl! - Do you know that I will do to you what you cannot even imagine. You dare to frighten me and protect me<ником>. Let's see who this defender will be.

Vladimir Dubrovsky,” answered Masha in despair.

Kirila Petrovich thought that she had gone crazy and looked at her in amazement. “Okay,” he said to her, after some silence, “wait for whoever you want to be your deliverer, but in the meantime, sit in this room, you won’t leave it until the wedding.” - With these words, Kirila Petrovich went out and locked the doors behind him.

The poor girl cried for a long time, imagining everything that awaited her, but the stormy explanation eased her soul, and she could talk more calmly about her fate and what she should have done. The main thing for her was: to get rid of the hated marriage; the fate of the robber's wife seemed like paradise to her in comparison with the lot prepared for her. She looked at the ring that Dubrovsky left her. She ardently wanted to see him alone and once again have a long consultation before the decisive moment. A premonition told her that in the evening she would find Dubrovsky in the garden, near the gazebo; she decided to go and wait for him there as soon as it began to get dark. It got dark - Masha got ready, but her door was locked. The maid answered her from behind the door that Kirila Petrovich had not ordered her to be let out. She was under arrest. Deeply offended, she sat under the window and sat until late at night without undressing, motionless looking at the dark sky. At dawn she dozed off, but her thin sleep was disturbed by sad visions and the rays of the rising sun had already awakened her.

CHAPTER XVII.

She woke up, and with her first thought the full horror of her situation presented itself to her. She called, the girl came in and answered her questions that Kirila Petrovich went to<Арбатово>and returned late, that he gave strict orders not to let her out of her room and to see that no one spoke to her - that, however, no special preparations for the wedding were visible, except that the priest was ordered not to leave the village under what pretext? After this news, the girl left Marya Kirilovna and locked the doors again.

Her words embittered the young recluse - her head was boiling - her blood was agitated - she decided to let her know about<всем>Dubrovsky and began to look for a way to send the ring into the hollow of the treasured oak tree; at that moment a pebble hit her window, the glass rang - and Marya Kirilovna looked at the yard and saw little Sasha making secret signs to her. She knew his affection and was glad to see him. She opened the window.

“Hello, Sasha,” she said, “why are you calling me?” “I came, sister, to find out from you if you need anything.” Daddy is angry and has forbidden the whole house to listen to you, but tell me to do whatever you want, and I will do everything for you.

Thank you, my dear Sasha, listen: do you know the old oak tree with a hollow near the gazebo?

I know, sister.

So if you love me, run there quickly and put this ring in the hollow, and make sure that no one sees you.

With that word, she threw the ring to him and locked the window.

The boy picked up the ring, started running at full speed - and in three minutes he found himself at the treasured tree. Here he stopped, gasping for breath, looked around in all directions and put the ring in the hollow. Having completed the matter successfully, he wanted to immediately report this to Marya Kirilovna, when suddenly a red-haired and ragged boy with a sideways look flashed from behind the gazebo, rushed to the oak tree and put his hand into the hollow. Sasha, faster than a squirrel, rushed towards him [and clung to him] with both hands.

What are you doing here? - he said menacingly.

What do you care? - answered the boy, trying to free himself from him.

Leave this ring, red hare,” Sasha shouted, “or I’ll teach you a lesson in my own way.”

Instead of answering, he hit him in the face with his fist, but Sasha did not let him go - and shouted at the top of his lungs: - Thieves, thieves - here, here...

The boy tried to get rid of him. He was visible<ом>two years older than Sasha, and much stronger, but Sasha was more evasive. They fought for several minutes, and finally the red-haired boy won. He threw Sasha to the ground and grabbed him by the throat.

But at that time a strong hand grabbed his red and bristly hair and the gardener Stepan lifted him half an arshin from the ground...

“Oh, you red-haired beast,” said the gardener, “how dare you beat the little master...

Sasha managed to jump up and recover. “You caught me in a snare,” he said, “otherwise you would never have knocked me down.” Give me the ring now and get out.

“Why not,” answered the red-haired man, and suddenly turning over in one place, he freed his stubble from Stepanova’s hand. Then he started to run, but Sasha caught up with him, pushed him in the back, and the boy fell as fast as he could - the gardener grabbed him again and tied him with a sash.

Give me the ring!

Wait, master,” said Stepan, “we’ll take him to the clerk for punishment.”

The gardener led the prisoner to the manor's courtyard, and Sasha accompanied him, looking with concern at his trousers, torn and stained with greenery. Suddenly all three found themselves in front of Kiril Petrovich, who was going to inspect his stable.

What's this? - he asked Stepan.

Stepan described the whole incident in short words. Kirila Petrovich listened to him with attention.

“You rake,” he said, turning to Sasha, “why did you get involved with him?”

He stole a ring from the hollow, daddy, order him to give the ring back.

Which ring, from which hollow?

Yes, Marya Kirilovna for me... yes, that ring...

Sasha was embarrassed, confused. Kirila Petrovich frowned and said, shaking his head:

Marya Kirilovna got mixed up here. Confess everything, or I will tear you off with a rod so that you won’t even recognize your own people.

By God, daddy, I, daddy - - Marya Kirilovna didn’t order anything to me, daddy.

Stepan, go and cut me a nice, fresh birch rod -- --

Wait, daddy, I’ll tell you everything. Today I was running around the yard, and sister Marya Kirilovna opened the window - and I ran up - and my sister didn’t drop the ring on purpose, and I hid it in a hollow, and - and - - this red-haired boy wanted to steal the ring.

I didn’t drop it on purpose, but you wanted to hide - - Stepan, go get the rods.

Dad, wait, I’ll tell you everything. Sister Marya Kirilovna told me to run to the oak tree and put the ring in the hollow, so I ran and put the ring - and this bad boy...

Kirila Petrovich turned to the nasty boy and asked him menacingly: “Whose are you?”

“I am the servant of the Dubrovskys,” answered the red-haired boy.

Kiril Petrovich’s face darkened.

It seems you don’t recognize me as master, okay,” he answered. -What were you doing in my garden?

“I stole raspberries,” the boy answered with great indifference.

Yeah, the master's servant: as the priest is, so is the parish, but do raspberries grow on my oak trees?

The boy did not answer.

Dad, order him to give him the ring,” said Sasha.

Shut up, Alexander,” answered Kirila Petrovich, “don’t forget that I’m going to deal with you.” Go to your room. You - oblique - you seem to me to be a big no-brainer. - Give me the ring and go home.

The boy unclenched his fist and showed that there was nothing in his hand.

If you confess everything to me, I won’t flog you, I’ll give you another nickel for nuts. Otherwise, I will do something to you that you do not expect. Well!

The boy did not answer a word and stood with his head down and looked like a real fool.

“Okay,” said Kirila Petrovich, “lock him up somewhere and make sure he doesn’t run away - or I’ll skin the whole house.”

Stepan took the boy to the dovecote, locked him there, and assigned the old henkeeper Agathia to watch him.

Now go to the city for the police officer,” said Kirila Petrovich, following the boy with his eyes, “and as soon as possible.”

There is no doubt about it. She maintained relations with the damned Dubrovsky. But was she really calling him for help? - thought Kirila Petrovich, pacing around the room and whistling angrily: Gr<ом> <победы>. -- M<ожет>. b<ыть>, I'm finally on his hot trail, and he won't dodge us. We will take advantage of this opportunity. Chu! bell, thank God, this is the police officer.

Hey, bring the boy who was caught here.

Meanwhile, the cart drove into the yard, and the police officer, already familiar to us, entered the room covered in dust.

“Glorious news,” Kirila Petrovich told him, “I caught Dubrovsky.”

Thank God your superiority<ительство>“,” said the police officer with a delighted look, “where is he?”

That is, not Dubrovsky, but one of his gang. They'll bring him in now. He will help us catch the chieftain himself. So they brought him in.

The police officer, who was expecting a formidable robber, was amazed to see a 13-year-old boy of rather weak appearance. He turned to Kiril Petrovich in bewilderment and waited for an explanation. Kirila Petrovich immediately began the story<ывать>morning incident, without mentioning, however, Marya Kirilovna.

The police officer listened to him with attention, constantly glancing at the little scoundrel, who, pretending to be a fool, seemed not to pay any attention to everything that was happening around him.

Allow me, in<аше>P<ревосходительство>“, talk to you in private,” the police chief finally said.

Kirila Petrovich led him into another room and locked the door behind him.

Half an hour later they went out again into the hall, where the slave was awaiting the decision of his fate.

The master wanted, - the police officer told him, - to put you in the city prison, flog you and then send you to a settlement - but I stood up for you and begged your forgiveness. - Untie him.

The boy was untied.

“Thank the master,” said the police officer. The boy approached Kiril Petrovich and kissed his hand.

“Go home,” Kirila Petrovich told him, “but don’t steal raspberries from the hollows.”

The boy came out, cheerfully jumped off the porch and started running without looking back across the field to Kistenevka. Having reached the village, he stopped at a dilapidated hut, the first one on the edge, and knocked on the window - the window rose, and the old woman appeared. “Grandma, some bread,” said the boy, “I haven’t eaten anything this morning, I’m dying of hunger.”

“Oh, it’s you, Mitya, where have you been, you little devil,” answered the old woman. “I’ll tell you later, grandma, for God’s sake.” - Yes, go into the hut. “No time, grandma, I need to run to one more place.” Bread, for Christ's sake, bread. “What a fidget,” the old woman grumbled, “here’s a slice for you,” and she thrust a hunk of black bread into the window. The boy bit it greedily and immediately moved on, chewing it.

It was starting to get dark. Mitya made his way through the barns and vegetable gardens into the Kistenevskaya Grove. Having reached two pines standing as the foremost guards of the grove, he stopped, looked around in all directions, whistled a piercing and abrupt whistle and began to listen.<ать>; A light and prolonged whistle was heard in response to him, someone came out of the grove and approached him.

CHAPTER XVIII

Kirila Petrovich walked back and forth around the hall, whistling his song louder than usual; the whole house was in motion - the servants were running, the girls were fussing - the coachman was laying a carriage in the barn - there was a crowd of people in the yard. In the young lady's dressing room, in front of the mirror, a lady, surrounded by maids, was cleaning the pale, motionless Marya Kirilovna, her head bowed languidly under the weight of diamonds, she trembled slightly when a careless hand pricked her, but was silent, looking senselessly in the mirror.

Soon? - Kiril Petrovich’s voice was heard at the door. “This minute,” answered the lady, “Marya Kirilovna, get up and look; is it good? - Marya Kirilovna stood up and did not answer anything. The doors opened. “The bride is ready,” the lady said to Kiril Petrovich, “order him to get into the carriage.” “With God,” answered Kirila Petrovich, and taking the image from the table, “come to me, Masha,” he told her in a touched voice, “I bless you...” The poor girl fell at his feet and sobbed . “Daddy... daddy...” she said in tears, and her voice died away. Kirila Petrovich hurried to bless her - they lifted her up and almost carried her into the carriage. The seated mother and one of the maids sat down with her. They went to church. The groom was already waiting for them there. He went out to meet the bride and was struck by her pallor and strange appearance. They entered the cold, empty church together - the doors were locked behind them. The priest came out of the altar and immediately began. Marya Kirilovna saw nothing, heard nothing, thought about one thing, she had been waiting for Dubrovsky since the very morning, hope did not leave her for a minute, but when the priest turned to her with the usual questions, she shuddered and froze - but still hesitated, still expected; sacred<енник>, without waiting for her answer, he uttered irrevocable words.

The ceremony was over. She felt the cold kiss of her disliked husband, she heard the cheerful congratulations of those present and still could not believe that her life was forever chained, that Dubrovsky had not flown to free her. Kn<язь>addressed her with affectionate words, she did not understand them, they left the church, peasants from Pokrovsky were crowding on the porch. Her gaze quickly ran over them - and again showed the same insensibility. The young people got into the carriage together and went to<Арбатово>, Kirila Petrovich has already gone there to meet the young people there. Alone with his young wife<язь>I was not at all embarrassed by her cold appearance. He did not bother her with sugary explanations and funny delights. His words were simple and did not require answers. In this way they drove about 10 miles, the horses rushed quickly over the bumps of the country road, and the carriage hardly swayed on its English springs. Suddenly, cries of pursuit were heard, the carriage stopped, a crowd of armed people surrounded it, and a man in a half-mask, opening the doors on the side where the young princess was sitting, said to her: “You are free, get out.” “What does this mean,” the prince shouted, “who are you?” “This is Dubrovsky,” said the princess. The prince, without losing his presence of mind, took a traveling pistol from his side pocket and shot at the masked robber. The princess screamed and covered her face with both hands in horror. Dubrovsky was wounded in the shoulder, blood appeared. The prince, without wasting a minute, took out another pistol, but he was not given time to shoot, the doors opened, and several strong<рук>They pulled him out of the carriage and snatched his pistol. Knives flashed above him. - Don't touch him! - Dubrovsky shouted, - and his gloomy accomplices retreated. “You are free,” continued Dubrovsky, turning to the pale princess.<ягине>. “No,” she answered. - It’s too late - I’m married, I’m the wife of Prince Vereisky. “What are you saying,” Dubrovsky shouted in despair, “no, you are not his wife, you were forced, you could never agree...” “I agreed, I swore an oath,” she objected firmly, - Prince, my husband, order his release, and leave me with him. I didn't cheat. I waited for you until the last minute... But now, I tell you, it’s too late. Let us in.

But Dubrovsky no longer heard her, the pain of the wound and the strong unrest of his soul deprived him of his strength. He fell at the wheel, the robbers surrounded him. He managed to say a few words to them, they put him on horseback, two of them supported him, the third took the horse under his lips, and everyone rode off to the side, leaving the carriage in the middle of the road, the people tied up, the horses harnessed, but without looting anything and without spilling a single drops of blood, in revenge for the blood of his chieftain.

CHAPTER XIX.

In the middle of a dense forest, on a narrow lawn, he towered<ось>a small earthen fortification consisting of a rampart and a ditch, behind which there were several huts and dugouts.

In the courtyard, many people, who could immediately be recognized as robbers by the variety of clothes and general weapons, were having dinner, sitting without hats, near the brotherly cauldron. On the rampart, next to a small cannon, a guard sat with his legs tucked under him; he inserted a patch into some part of his clothing, mastering a needle and the art of an experienced tailor - and constantly looked in all directions.

Although a certain ladle passed from hand to hand several times, a strange silence reigned in this crowd - the robbers had dinner, one after the other stood up and prayed to God, some went to their huts, while others scattered through the forest - or lay down to sleep, in Russian custom.

The guard finished his work, shook out his junk, admired the patch, pinned a needle to his sleeve, sat astride the cannon and sang at the top of his lungs a melancholy old song:

Don't make noise, mother green oak<овушка>, Don’t bother me, good fellow, to think.

At this time, the door of one of the huts opened, and an old woman in a white cap, neatly and primly dressed, appeared at the threshold. “That’s enough for you, Styopka,” she said angrily, “the master is sleeping, and you know, you’re bawling—you have neither conscience nor pity.” “I’m sorry, Egorovna,” answered Styopka, “okay, I won’t do it again, let him, our father, rest and get better.” - The old lady left, and Styopka began to pace along the shaft.

In the hut from which the old woman came out, behind a partition, the wounded Dubrovsky was lying on a camp bed. His pistols lay on the table in front of him, and his saber hung at his head. The dugout was covered and hung with rich carpets; in the corner there was a women's silver toilet and dressing table. Dubrovsky held an open book in his hand, but his eyes were closed. And the old woman, looking at him from behind the partition, could not know whether he had fallen asleep or was just thinking.

Suddenly Dubrovsky shuddered - there was alarm in the fortification - and Styopka stuck his head through the window towards him. “Father, Vladimir Andreevich,” he shouted, “our people are giving a sign, they are looking for us.” Dubrovsky jumped out of bed, grabbed a weapon, and left the hut. The robbers crowded noisily in the courtyard, and at his appearance there was deep silence. - Is everyone here? - asked Dubrovsky. “Everyone except the watchmen,” answered<ему>. -- In places! - Dubrovsky shouted. And the robbers each took a certain place. At this time, three patrolmen ran to the gate - Dubrovsky went to meet them. -- What's happened? - he asked them. “Soldiers are in the forest,” they answered, “surrounding us.” Dubrovsky ordered the gates to be locked - and he himself went to inspect the cannon. Several voices were heard throughout the forest and began to approach - the robbers waited in silence. Suddenly three or four soldiers appeared from the forest - and immediately retreated, letting their comrades know with shots. “Prepare for battle,” said Dubrovsky, and there was a rustling sound between the robbers - everything became quiet again. Then they heard the noise of an approaching team, weapons flashed between the trees, about one and a half hundred soldiers poured out of the forest and rushed to the rampart with a scream. Dubrovsky set the fuse, the shot was successful: one had his head blown off, two were wounded. There was confusion between the soldiers, but the officer rushed forward, the soldiers followed him and fled into the ditch; the robbers shot at them with rifles and pistols, and with axes in their hands began to defend the rampart onto which the frenzied soldiers were climbing, leaving about twenty wounded comrades in the ditch. Hand-to-hand combat ensued - the soldiers were already on the rampart - the robbers began to yield, but Dubrovsky, approaching the officer, put a pistol to his chest and fired, the officer fell backwards, several soldiers picked him up in their arms and hurried to carry him into the forest, others, having lost boss, we stopped. The emboldened robbers took advantage of this moment of bewilderment, crushed them, forced them into the ditch, the besiegers ran - the robbers rushed after them screaming. Victory was decided. Dubrovsky, relying on the complete disorder of the enemy, stopped his own and locked himself in the fortress, ordering the wounded to be picked up, doubling the guards and not ordering anyone to leave.

The latest incidents have seriously drawn the government's attention to Dubrovsky's daring robberies. Information about his whereabouts was collected. A company of soldiers was sent to take him, dead or alive. They caught several people from his gang and learned from them that Dubrovsky was not among them. A few days after<.....>he gathered all his accomplices, announced to them that he intended to leave them forever, and advised them to change their lifestyle. “You have become rich under my command, each of you has the appearance with which you can safely get into some remote province and spend the rest of your life there in honest labor and abundance.” But you are all scammers and probably won't want to give up your craft. - After this speech, he left them, taking one ** with him. Nobody knew where he went. At first they doubted the truth of this testimony - the robbers’ commitment to the chieftain was known. It was believed that they were trying to save him. But the consequences justified them - the menacing visits, fires and robberies stopped. The roads became clear. From other news they learned that Dubrovsky had fled abroad.

(A.S. Pushkin. Novel. 1833)

Source

Current page: 2 (book has 7 pages in total)

Some time passed, and poor Dubrovsky’s health was still poor; True, the attacks of madness did not recur, but his strength noticeably weakened. He forgot his previous studies, rarely left his room and thought for whole days. Egorovna, the kind old woman who once looked after his son, now became his nanny. She looked after him like a child, reminded him of the time of food and sleep, fed him, put him to bed. Andrei Gavrilovich quietly obeyed her and had no relations with anyone other than her. He was unable to think about his affairs, economic orders, and Egorovna saw the need to notify young Dubrovsky, who served in one of the guards infantry regiments and was at that time in St. Petersburg, about everything. So, tearing off a sheet from the account book, she dictated a letter to the cook Khariton, the only Kistenev literate person, which she sent to the city post office that same day.

But it’s time to introduce the reader to the real hero of our story.

Vladimir Dubrovsky was brought up in the Cadet Corps and was released as a cornet into the guard; his father spared nothing for his decent maintenance, and the young man received more from home than he should have expected. Being wasteful and ambitious, he allowed himself luxurious whims, played cards and went into debt, not caring about the future and envisioning sooner or later a rich bride, the dream of his poor youth.

One evening, when several officers were sitting with him, lounging on sofas and smoking from his ambers, Grisha, his valet, handed him a letter, whose inscription and seal immediately struck the young man. He quickly opened it and read the following:

...

“You are our sovereign, Vladimir Andreevich, - I, your old nanny, decided to report to you about papa’s health. He is very bad, sometimes he talks, and sits all day like a stupid child, but in the stomach and in death God is free. Come to us, my bright falcon, we will send you horses to Pesochnoe. I hear that the zemstvo court is coming to us to hand us over to Kiril Petrovich Troekurov, because, they say, we are theirs, and we have been yours from time immemorial, and we have never heard of that. “You could, living in St. Petersburg, report this to the Tsar-Father, and he would not give us offense.” – I remain your faithful slave, nanny

Orina Egorovna Buzyreva.

...

I send my maternal blessing to Grisha, is he serving you well? “It’s been raining here for about a week now, and the shepherd Rodya died around Mikolin.”

Vladimir Dubrovsky re-read these rather stupid lines several times in a row with extraordinary excitement. He lost his mother from an early age and, almost not knowing his father, was brought to St. Petersburg in the eighth year of his age; with all that, he was romantically attached to him and loved family life the more, the less he had time to enjoy its quiet joys.

The thought of losing his father painfully tormented his heart, and the situation of the poor patient, which he guessed from his nanny’s letter, terrified him. He imagined his father abandoned in a remote village, in the hands of a stupid old woman and servants, threatened by some kind of disaster and dying without help in physical and mental torment. Vladimir reproached himself for criminal negligence. For a long time he did not receive letters from his father and did not think to inquire about him, believing him to be traveling or doing household chores.

He decided to go to him and even resign if his father’s painful condition required his presence. His comrades, noticing his concern, left. Vladimir, left alone, wrote a request for leave, lit a pipe and plunged into deep thoughts.

That same day he began to bother about a vacation and three days later he was already on the high road.

Vladimir Andreevich was approaching the station from which he was supposed to turn onto Kistenevka. His heart was filled with sad forebodings, he was afraid of not finding his father alive, he imagined the sad way of life awaiting him in the village, wilderness, desolation, poverty and troubles with business in which he knew no sense. Arriving at the station, he went to the caretaker and asked for free horses. The caretaker inquired where he needed to go and announced that the horses sent from Kistenevka had been waiting for him for the fourth day. Soon the old coachman Anton, who once drove him around the stable and looked after his little horse, came to Vladimir Andreevich. Anton shed tears when he saw him, bowed to the ground, told him that his old master was still alive, and ran to harness the horses. Vladimir Andreevich refused the offered breakfast and was in a hurry to leave. Anton took him along country roads, and a conversation began between them.

- Tell me, please, Anton, what business does my father have with Troyekurov?

- But God knows, Father Vladimir Andreevich... The master, listen, did not get along with Kiril Petrovich, and he filed a lawsuit, although he is often his own judge. It’s not our serf’s business to sort out the master’s wills, but by God, your father went against Kiril Petrovich in vain, you can’t break a butt with a whip.

- So, apparently, this Kirila Petrovich does what he wants with you?

- And of course, master: listen, he doesn’t give a damn about the assessor, the police officer is on his errands. The gentlemen come to pay homage to him, and to say that it would be a trough, but there will be pigs.

– Is it true that he is taking our property away from us?

- Oh, master, we heard so too. The other day, the Pokrovsk sexton said at the christening of our elder: you have enough time to walk; Now Kirila Petrovich will take you into his hands. Mikita the blacksmith said to him: that’s it, Savelich, don’t be sad for your godfather, don’t bother the guests. Kirila Petrovich is on his own, and Andrei Gavrilovich is on his own, and we are all God’s and sovereign’s; But you can’t sew buttons on someone else’s mouth.

- So, you don’t want to go into Troekurov’s possession?

- In possession of Kiril Petrovich! God forbid and deliver: he sometimes has a bad time with his own people, but if he gets strangers, he will tear off not only the skin, but also the meat from them. No, may God grant Andrei Gavrilovich a long life, and if God takes him away, we don’t need anyone but you, our breadwinner. Don’t give us away, and we will stand for you. - At these words, Anton waved his whip, shook the reins, and his horses began to run at a fast trot.

Touched by the devotion of the old coachman, Dubrovsky fell silent and again indulged in reflection. More than an hour passed, suddenly Grisha woke him up with the exclamation: “Here is Pokrovskoe!” Dubrovsky raised his head. He rode along the shore of a wide lake, from which a river flowed and meandered between the hills in the distance; on one of them, above the dense greenery of the grove, towered the green roof and belvedere of a huge stone house, on the other, a five-domed church and an ancient bell tower; Scattered around were village huts with their vegetable gardens and wells. Dubrovsky recognized these places; he remembered that on this very hill he was playing with little Masha Troekurova, who was two years younger than him and then already promised to be a beauty. He wanted to ask Anton about her, but some shyness held him back.

Arriving at the manor's house, he saw a white dress flashing between the trees of the garden. At this time, Anton hit the horses and, obeying ambition, common to both village coachmen and cab drivers, he set off at full speed across the bridge and past the village. Having left the village, they climbed the mountain, and Vladimir saw a birch grove and to the left, in an open place, a gray house with a red roof; his heart began to beat; in front of him he saw Kistenevka and his father’s poor house.

Ten minutes later he drove into the master's courtyard. He looked around him with indescribable excitement. For twelve years he did not see his homeland. The birches that had just been planted near the fence during his time had grown and now became tall, branchy trees. The yard, once decorated with three regular flower beds, between which there was a wide road, carefully swept, turned into an unmown meadow on which a tangled horse was grazing. The dogs started to bark, but when they recognized Anton, they fell silent and waved their shaggy tails. The servants poured out of the people's faces and surrounded the young master with noisy expressions of joy. It was all he could do to force his way through their zealous crowd and ran up onto the dilapidated porch; Egorovna met him in the hallway and hugged her pupil with tears. “Great, great, nanny,” he repeated, pressing the kind old woman to his heart, “what’s up, father, where is he? what is he like?

At that moment, a tall old man, pale and thin, in a robe and cap, entered the hall, moving his legs with force.

- Hello, Volodka! - he said in a weak voice, and Vladimir passionately hugged his father. The joy produced too strong a shock in the patient, he weakened, his legs gave way under him, and he would have fallen if his son had not supported him.

“Why did you get out of bed,” Yegorovna told him, “you can’t stand on your feet, but you strive to go where people go.”

The old man was carried into the bedroom. He tried to talk to him, but his thoughts were confused in his head, and the words had no connection. He fell silent and fell into a sleepy state. Vladimir was amazed at his condition. He settled down in his bedroom and asked to be left alone with his father. The household obeyed, and then everyone turned to Grisha and took him to the people's room, where they treated him like a villager, with all possible cordiality, tormenting him with questions and greetings.

Where there was a table of food, there is a coffin.

A few days after his arrival, young Dubrovsky wanted to get down to business, but his father was not able to give him the necessary explanations; Andrei Gavrilovich did not have an attorney. While sorting through his papers, he found only the assessor's first letter and a draft response to it; From this he could not get a clear understanding of the litigation and decided to wait for the consequences, hoping for the justice of the case itself.

Meanwhile, Andrei Gavrilovich’s health was getting worse hour by hour. Vladimir foresaw its imminent destruction and did not leave the old man, who had fallen into complete childhood.

Meanwhile, the deadline had passed and the appeal was not filed. Kistenevka belonged to Troekurov. Shabashkin came to him with bows and congratulations and a request to appoint when it would please His Excellency to take possession of the newly acquired estate - himself or to whomever he deigns to give power of attorney for this. Kirila Petrovich was embarrassed. He was not self-seeking by nature, the desire for revenge led him too far, his conscience grumbled. He knew the state of his opponent, the old comrade of his youth, and victory did not bring joy to his heart. He looked menacingly at Shabashkin, looking for something to get attached to in order to scold him, but not finding a sufficient pretext for this, he said to him angrily: “Get out, it’s not your time.”

Shabashkin, seeing that he was not in a good mood, bowed and hurried away. And Kirila Petrovich, left alone, began to pace back and forth, whistling: “Roll the thunder of victory,” which always meant an extraordinary excitement of thoughts in him.

Finally, he ordered the racing droshky to be harnessed, dressed warmly (this was already at the end of September) and, driving himself, drove out of the yard.

Soon he saw Andrei Gavrilovich’s house, and opposite feelings filled his soul. Satisfied vengeance and lust for power drowned out to some extent nobler feelings, but the latter finally triumphed. He decided to make peace with his old neighbor, to destroy the traces of the quarrel, returning his property to him. Having relieved his soul with this good intention, Kirila Petrovich set off at a trot to his neighbor’s estate and rode straight into the yard.

At this time, the patient was sitting in the bedroom by the window. He recognized Kiril Petrovich, and terrible confusion appeared on his face: a crimson blush took the place of his usual pallor, his eyes sparkled, he uttered indistinct sounds. His son, who was sitting right there behind the business books, raised his head and was amazed at his condition. The patient pointed his finger towards the yard with an air of horror and anger. He hurriedly picked up the hem of his robe, about to get up from his chair, he stood up... and suddenly fell. The son rushed to him, the old man lay unconscious and without breathing, paralysis struck him. “Hurry, hurry to the city for a doctor!” - Vladimir shouted. “Kirila Petrovich is asking for you,” said the servant who entered. Vladimir gave him a terrible look.

- Tell Kiril Petrovich to get out quickly before I order him to be kicked out of the yard... let's go! – The servant joyfully ran to fulfill his master’s orders; Egorovna clasped her hands. “You are our father,” she said in a squeaky voice, “you will ruin your little head!” Kirila Petrovich will eat us.” “Be quiet, nanny,” Vladimir said with his heart, “now send Anton to the city for a doctor.” - Egorovna came out.

There was no one in the hallway; all the people ran out into the courtyard to look at Kiril Petrovich. She went out onto the porch and heard the servant answer, reporting on behalf of the young master. Kirila Petrovich listened to him while sitting on the droshky. His face became gloomier than the night, he smiled with contempt, looked menacingly at the servants and walked at a pace near the yard. He looked out the window, where Andrei Gavrilovich had been sitting a minute before, but where he was no longer there. The nanny stood on the porch, having forgotten about the master’s orders. The servants talked noisily about this incident. Suddenly Vladimir appeared among the people and said abruptly: “There is no need for a doctor, the priest has died.”

There was confusion. People rushed to the old master's room. He lay in the chairs to which Vladimir had carried him; his right arm hung to the floor, his head was lowered on his chest, there was no sign of life in this body, which had not yet cooled down, but was already disfigured by death. Egorovna howled, the servants surrounded the corpse left in their care, washed it, dressed it in a uniform sewn back in 1797, and laid it on the very table at which they had served their master for so many years.

The funeral took place on the third day. The body of the poor old man lay on the table, covered with a shroud and surrounded by candles. The dining room was full of courtyard servants. We were getting ready to take it out. Vladimir and three servants lifted the coffin. The priest went forward, the sexton accompanied him, chanting funeral prayers. The owner of Kistenevka crossed the threshold of his house for the last time. The coffin was carried by the grove. The church was behind it. The day was clear and cold. Autumn leaves fell from the trees.

When leaving the grove, we saw the Kistenevsky wooden church and a cemetery shaded by old linden trees. The body of Vladimir’s mother rested there; there, near her grave, a fresh hole had been dug the day before.

The church was full of Kistenevsky peasants who had come to pay their last respects to their master. Young Dubrovsky stood at the choir; he did not cry or pray, but his face was scary. The sad ritual is over. Vladimir was the first to go to say goodbye to the body, followed by all the servants. They brought the lid and nailed the coffin shut. The women howled loudly; the men occasionally wiped away tears with their fists. Vladimir and the same three servants carried him to the cemetery, accompanied by the entire village. The coffin was lowered into the grave, everyone present threw a handful of sand into it, filled the hole, bowed to it and dispersed. Vladimir hastily left, got ahead of everyone and disappeared into the Kistenevskaya Grove.

Egorovna, on his behalf, invited the priest and the entire church clergy to a funeral dinner, declaring that the young master did not intend to attend it, and thus Father Anton, the priest Fedotovna and the sexton went on foot to the master's courtyard, discussing with Egorovna about the virtues of the deceased and that , which apparently awaited his heir. (Troekurov’s arrival and the reception he received were already known to the entire neighborhood, and the politicians there foreshadowed important consequences for it).

“What will be will be,” said the priest, “but it’s a pity if Vladimir Andreevich is not our master.” Well done, nothing to say.

“And who else but him should be our master,” Egorovna interrupted. “It’s in vain that Kirila Petrovich gets excited. He did not attack the timid: my falcon will stand up for itself, and, God willing, its benefactors will not abandon it. Kirila Petrovich is painfully arrogant! and I suppose he put his tail between his legs when my Grishka shouted to him: “Get out, old dog!” - out of the yard!

“Ahti, Egorovna,” said the sexton, “how Grigory’s tongue turned; I would rather agree, it seems, to bark at the Bishop than to look askance at Kiril Petrovich. When you see him, fear and trembling, and sweat dripping, and your back itself just bends and bends...

“Vanity of vanities,” said the priest, “and they will sing eternal memory to Kiril Petrovich, just like now for Andrei Gavrilovich, perhaps the funeral will be richer and more guests will be called, but who cares to God!”

- Oh, dad! and we wanted to invite the entire neighborhood, but Vladimir Andreevich did not want to. We probably have enough of everything, we have something to treat, but what do you want to do? At least if there are no people, then at least I will treat you, our dear guests.

This affectionate promise and the hope of finding a tasty pie quickened the steps of the interlocutors, and they safely arrived at the manor’s house, where the table was already set and vodka was served.

Meanwhile, Vladimir went deeper into the thicket of trees, trying to drown out his spiritual grief with movement and fatigue. He walked without making out the road; branches constantly touched and scratched him, his feet constantly got stuck in the swamp - he did not notice anything. Finally he reached a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by forest; the stream meandered silently near the trees, half naked in autumn. Vladimir stopped, sat down on the cold turf, and thoughts, one darker than the other, crowded his soul... He felt his loneliness strongly. The future for him was covered with menacing clouds. Enmity with Troekurov foreshadowed new misfortunes for him. His poor property could pass away from him into the wrong hands; in that case, poverty awaited him. For a long time he sat motionless in the same place, looking at the quiet flow of the stream, carrying away a few faded leaves and vividly presenting to him the true likeness of life - a likeness so ordinary. Finally he noticed that it was beginning to get dark; he got up and went to look for the way home, but wandered for a long time through the unfamiliar forest until he found himself on a path that led him straight to the gates of his house.

A priest came across Dubrovsky with all the accolades. The thought of an unlucky omen occurred to him. He involuntarily walked away and disappeared behind a tree. They did not notice him and spoke heatedly to each other as they passed him.

“Get away from evil and do good,” said the priest, “there is no point in us staying here.” It's not your problem, no matter how it ends. – Popadya answered something, but Vladimir could not hear her.

As he approached, he saw a multitude of people; peasants and serfs crowded into the manor's courtyard. From a distance, Vladimir heard an extraordinary noise and conversation. There were two triples standing by the barn. On the porch, several strangers in uniform frock coats seemed to be discussing something.

- What does it mean? – he asked Anton angrily, who was running towards him. – Who are they and what do they need?

“Ah, Father Vladimir Andreevich,” answered the old man, gasping for breath. - The court has arrived. They are handing us over to Troekurov, taking us away from your mercy!..

Vladimir lowered his head, his people surrounded their unfortunate master. “You are our father,” they shouted, kissing his hands, “we don’t want another master but you, order, sir, we will deal with the trial. We’ll die rather than hand him over.” Vladimir looked at them, and strange feelings worried him. “Stand still,” he told them, “and I’ll talk to the commander.” “Talk, father,” they shouted to him from the crowd, “for the conscience of the damned.”

Vladimir approached the officials. Shabashkin, with a cap on his head, stood with his arms akimbo and proudly looked around him. The police officer, a tall and fat man of about fifty with a red face and a mustache, seeing Dubrovsky approaching, grunted and said in a hoarse voice: “So, I repeat to you what I have already said: according to the decision of the district court, from now on you belong to Kiril Petrovich Troekurov, whose face Mr. Shabashkin represents here. Obey him in everything he orders, and you women love and honor him, and he is a great hunter of you.” At this sharp joke the police officer burst into laughter, and Shabashkin and the other members followed him. Vladimir was seething with indignation. “Let me find out what this means,” he asked the cheerful police officer with feigned cold-bloodedness. “And this means,” answered the intricate official, “that we have come to bring this Kiril Petrovich Troekurov into possession and ask other others Let’s get out of the way.” - “But you could, it seems, treat me before my peasants, and announce the landowner’s abdication from power...” “Who are you,” said Shabashkin with a bold look. “The former landowner Andrei Gavrilov, son of Dubrovsky, will die by the will of God, we don’t know you, and we don’t want to know you.”

“Vladimir Andreevich is our young master,” said a voice from the crowd.

“Who dared to open his mouth there,” said the police officer menacingly, “what gentleman, what Vladimir Andreevich?” your master Kirila Petrovich Troekurov, do you hear, you idiots.

- Yes, this is a riot! - the police officer shouted. - Hey, headman, here!

The headman stepped forward.

- Find out this very hour who dared to talk to me, I him!

The headman addressed the crowd, asking who spoke? but everyone was silent; Soon a murmur arose in the back rows, began to intensify and in one minute turned into the most terrible screams. The police officer lowered his voice and wanted to persuade them. “Why look at him,” the courtyard servants shouted, “guys! Down with them! - and the whole crowd moved. Shabashkin and the other members hastily rushed into the hallway and locked the door behind them.

“Guys, knit!” - the same voice shouted, - and the crowd began to press... “Stop,” Dubrovsky shouted. - Fools! what are you? you are ruining both yourself and me. Go through the yards and leave me alone. Do not be afraid, sir, I will ask him. He won't hurt us. We are all his children. How will he stand up for you if you start rebelling and robbing?”

The speech of young Dubrovsky, his sonorous voice and majestic appearance produced the desired effect. The people calmed down, dispersed, the yard was empty. The members sat in the entryway. Finally, Shabashkin quietly unlocked the doors, went out onto the porch and, with humiliated bows, began to thank Dubrovsky for his gracious intercession. Vladimir listened to him with contempt and did not answer. “We decided,” continued the assessor, “with your permission to stay here overnight; otherwise it’s dark, and your men might attack us on the road. Do this kindness: order some hay to be laid out for us in the living room; than light, we will go home.”

“Do what you want,” Dubrovsky answered them dryly, “I’m no longer the boss here.” - With this word, he retired to his father’s room and locked the door behind him.

The church was full of Kistenevsky peasants who had come to pay their last respects to their master. Young Dubrovsky stood at the choir; he did not cry or pray - but his face was scary. The sad ritual is over. Vladimir was the first to go to say goodbye to the body, followed by all the courtyard servants, who brought the lid and nailed down the coffin. The women howled loudly; the men occasionally wiped away tears with their fists. Vladimir and the same 3 servants carried him to the cemetery - accompanied by the entire village. The coffin was lowered into the grave - everyone present threw a handful of sand into it - they filled up the hole, bowed to it, and dispersed. Vladimir hastily left, got ahead of everyone, and disappeared into the Kistenevskaya Grove.

Egorovna, on his behalf, invited the priest and the entire church clergy to a funeral dinner - announcing that the young master did not intend to attend - and thus Father Anton?, priest Fedotovna and the sexton went on foot to the master's courtyard, discussing with Egorovna about the virtues of the deceased and about what apparently awaited his heir. (Troekurov’s arrival and the reception he received were already known to the entire neighborhood, and the politicians there foreshadowed important consequences for it.)

“What will be will be,” said the priest, “but it’s a pity if Vladimir Andreevich is not our master.” Well done, nothing to say.

And who else but him should be our master,” Yegorovna interrupted. - It’s in vain that Kirila Petrovich gets excited. He didn’t attack a timid person - my little falcon will stand up for himself - and, God willing, his benefactors will not abandon him. Kirila Petrovich is painfully arrogant! and I suppose he put his tail between his legs when my Grishka shouted to him: “Get out, old dog!” - out of the yard!

Ahti, Egorovna, - said the sexton, - but as Grigory’s tongue turned, I would rather agree, it seems, to bark at the Bishop than to look askance at Kiril Petrovich. When you see him, you feel fear and trembling and sweat dripping, but your back just bends and bends...

“Vanity of vanities,” said the priest, “and they will sing eternal memory to Kiril Petrovich, just like now for Andrei Gavrilovich, except the funeral will be richer, and more guests will be called - but who cares to God!

Ah, dad! and we wanted to invite the whole neighborhood, but Vladimir Andreevich didn’t want to. I suppose we have enough of everything - there is something to treat, but what do you want to do? At least, if there are no people, then at least I will make you feel welcome, our dear guests.

This affectionate promise and the hope of finding a tasty pie quickened the steps of the interlocutors and they safely arrived at the manor’s house, where the table was already set and vodka was served.

Meanwhile, Vladimir went deeper into the thicket of trees, trying to drown out his spiritual grief with movement and fatigue. He walked without knowing the road; branches constantly touched and scratched him, his foot constantly got stuck in the swamp - he did not notice anything. Finally he reached a small hollow, surrounded on all sides by forest; the stream meandered silently near the trees, half naked in autumn. Vladimir stopped, sat down on the cold turf, and thoughts, one darker than the other, crowded his soul... He felt his loneliness strongly. The future for him was covered with menacing clouds. Enmity with Troekurov foreshadowed new misfortunes for him. His poor property could pass away from him into the wrong hands - in this case, poverty awaited him. For a long time he sat motionless in the same place, looking at the quiet flow of the stream, carrying away a few faded leaves - and vividly presenting to him the true likeness of life - a likeness so ordinary. Finally, he noticed that it was beginning to get dark - he got up and went to look for the way home, but wandered for a long time through an unfamiliar forest until he found himself on a path that led him straight to the gates of his house.

A priest came across Dubrovsky with all the accolades. The thought of an unlucky omen came to his mind. He involuntarily walked away and disappeared behind a tree. They did not notice him and spoke heatedly to each other as they passed him.