Waking up quite late in the morning, I saw that the storm had subsided. The sun was shining. The snow lay in a dazzling veil on the vast steppe. The horses were harnessed. I paid the owner, who took such a reasonable payment from us that even Savelich did not argue with him and did not bargain as usual, and yesterday’s suspicions were completely erased from his mind. I called the counselor, thanked him for his help, and told Savelich to give him half a ruble for vodka. Savelich frowned. “Half a ruble for vodka!” - he said, “what is this for? Because you deigned to give him a ride to the inn? It's your choice, sir: we don't have any extra fifty. If you give everyone vodka, you’ll soon have to starve.” I couldn't argue with Savelich. The money, according to my promise, was at his complete disposal. I was annoyed, however, that I could not thank the person who rescued me, if not from trouble, then at least from a very unpleasant situation. Okay, I said coolly; - If you don’t want to give half a ruble, then take him something from my dress. He is dressed too lightly. Give him my bunny sheepskin coat.
“Have mercy, Father Pyotr Andreich!” - said Savelich. - “Why does he need your bunny sheepskin coat? He’ll drink it, the dog, in the first tavern.”
“This, old lady, is not your sadness,” said my tramp, “whether I drink or not.” His nobility grants me a fur coat from his shoulder: it is his lordly will, and it is your servant’s business not to argue and obey.
“You are not afraid of God, robber!” - Savelich answered him in an angry voice. - “You see that the child does not understand yet, and you are glad to rob him, for the sake of his simplicity. Why do you need a master's sheepskin coat? You won’t even put it on your damned shoulders.”
“Please don’t be smart,” I told my uncle; - Now bring the sheepskin coat here.
“Lord Lord!” - my Savelich moaned. - “The hare sheepskin coat is almost brand new! and it would be good for anyone, otherwise it’s a naked drunkard!”
However, the hare's sheepskin coat appeared. The man immediately began trying it on. In fact, the sheepskin coat, which I also managed to grow out of, was a little narrow for him. However, he somehow managed to put it on, tearing it apart at the seams. Savelich almost howled when he heard the threads crackle. The tramp was extremely pleased with my gift. He walked me to the tent and said with a low bow: “Thank you, your honor! God reward you for your virtue. I will never forget your mercies." - He went in his direction, and I went further, not paying attention to Savelich’s annoyance, and soon forgot about yesterday’s blizzard, about my counselor and about the hare’s sheepskin coat.
Arriving in Orenburg, I went straight to the general. I saw a man who was tall, but already hunched over with old age. Long hair his were completely white. The old faded uniform resembled a warrior from the time of Anna Ioannovna, and his speech was strongly reminiscent of a German accent. I gave him a letter from my father. At his name, he looked at me quickly: “My dear!” - he said. - “How long ago, it seems, Andrei Petrovich was even younger than your age, and now he has such a hammer ear! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!” - He opened the letter and began to read it in a low voice, making his comments. “Dear Sir Andrei Karlovich, I hope that your Excellency”... What kind of ceremony is this? Ugh, how inappropriate he is! Of course: discipline is the first thing, but is that what they write to the old comrade?.. “Your Excellency has not forgotten”... um... and... when... the late Field Marshal Min... campaign... also... Karolinka"... Ehe, brooder! So he still remembers our old pranks? “Now about business... I’ll bring my rake to you”... um... “keep a tight rein”... What are mittens? This must be a Russian proverb... What does it mean to “keep in good mittens?” he repeated, turning to me.
“This means,” I answered him with an air as innocent as possible, “to treat him kindly, not too strictly, to give him more freedom, to keep him in check.”
“Hm, I understand... “and don’t give him free rein”... no, apparently those mittens mean the wrong thing... “At the same time... his passport”... Where is he? And, here... “write off to Semyonovsky”... Okay, okay: everything will be done... “Allow yourself to be embraced without rank and... by an old comrade and friend” - ah! finally I guessed... and so on and so forth... Well, father,” he said, having read the letter and putting my passport aside, “everything will be done: you will be transferred as an officer to the *** regiment, and so as not to waste time, then go tomorrow to the Belogorsk fortress, where you will be in the team of captain Mironov, kind and honest man. There you will be in real service, you will learn discipline. There is nothing for you to do in Orenburg; scattering is harmful young man. And today you are welcome to dine with me.”
It's not getting any easier hour by hour! I thought to myself; What good did it serve me that even in my mother’s womb I was already a guard sergeant! Where has this got me? To the regiment and to a remote fortress on the border of the Kirghiz-Kaisak steppes!.. I dined with Andrei Karlovich, the three of us with his old adjutant. Strict German economy reigned at his table, and I think that the fear of sometimes seeing an extra guest at his single meal was partly the reason for my hasty removal to the garrison. The next day I said goodbye to the general and went to my destination.

CHAPTER III. FORTRESS.

We live in a fort

We eat bread and drink water;

And how fierce enemies

They will come to us for pies,

Let's give the guests a feast:

Let's load the cannon with buckshot.

Soldier's song.

Old people, my father.

Minor.

The Belogorsk fortress was located forty miles from Orenburg. The road went along the steep bank of the Yaik. The river had not yet frozen, and its leaden waves sadly turned black in the monotonous banks covered with white snow. Behind them stretched the Kyrgyz steppes. I plunged into thoughts, mostly sad. Garrison life had little attraction for me. I tried to imagine Captain Mironov, my future boss, and imagined him as a stern, angry old man, who knew nothing except his service, and was ready to put me under arrest on bread and water for every trifle. Meanwhile, it began to get dark. We were driving pretty quickly. - How far is it to the fortress? - I asked my driver. “Not far,” he answered. - “It’s already visible.” - I looked in all directions, expecting to see formidable bastions, towers and ramparts; but I saw nothing except a village surrounded by a log fence. On one side stood three or four haystacks, half-covered with snow; on the other, a crooked mill, with its popular wings lazily lowered. -Where is the fortress? - I asked in surprise. “Yes, here it is,” answered the driver, pointing to the village, and with this word we drove into it. At the gate I saw an old cast-iron cannon; the streets were cramped and crooked; The huts are low and mostly covered with straw. I ordered to go to the commandant and a minute later the wagon stopped in front of a wooden house built on a high place, near the wooden church.
Nobody met me. I went into the hallway and opened the door to the hallway. An old invalid, sitting on a table, was sewing a blue patch onto the elbow of his green uniform. I told him to report me. “Come in, father,” the disabled man answered: “our houses.” I entered a clean room, decorated in an old-fashioned way. There was a cupboard with dishes in the corner; on the wall hung an officer's diploma behind glass and in a frame; Beside him were popular prints depicting the capture of Kistrin and Ochakov, as well as the choice of a bride and the burial of a cat. An old woman in a padded jacket and with a scarf on her head was sitting by the window. She was unwinding the threads, which were held, spread out in his arms, by a crooked old man in an officer's uniform. “What do you want, father?” - she asked, continuing her lesson. I answered that I had come to work and appeared on duty to the captain, and with this word I addressed the crooked old man, mistaking him for the commandant; but the hostess interrupted my speech. “Ivan Kuzmich is not at home,” she said; - “he went to visit Father Gerasim; It doesn’t matter, father, I’m his owner. Please love and respect. Sit down, father." She called the girl and told her to call the policeman. The old man looked at me with curiosity with his lonely eye. “I dare to ask,” he said; - “Which regiment did you deign to serve in?” I satisfied his curiosity. “And I dare to ask,” he continued, “why did you deign to move from the guard to the garrison?” - I answered that such was the will of the authorities. “Of course, for actions indecent to a guard officer,” continued the tireless questioner. “Stop lying about nonsense,” the captain’s wife told him: “you see, the young man is tired from the road; he has no time for you... (hold your hands straighter...) And you, my father,” she continued, turning to me, “don’t be sad that you were relegated to our outback. You are not the first, you are not the last. He will endure it, he will fall in love. Alexey Ivanovich Shvabrin has been transferred to us for murder for five years now. God knows what sin befell him; As you can see, he went out of town with one lieutenant, and they took swords with them, and, well, they stabbed each other; and Alexey Ivanovich stabbed the lieutenant, and in front of two witnesses! What do you want me to do? There is no master of sin."
At that moment the constable, a young and stately Cossack, entered. “Maksimych!” - the captain told him. - “Give the officer an apartment, but it’s cleaner.” “I’m listening, Vasilisa Egorovna,” answered the constable. - “Shouldn’t we place his honor with Ivan Polezhaev?” “You’re lying, Maksimych,” said the captain’s wife: “Polezhaev’s place is already crowded; He’s my godfather and remembers that we are his bosses. Take Mr. officer... what is your name and patronymic, my father? Pyotr Andreich?.. Take Pyotr Andreich to Semyon Kuzov. He, a swindler, let his horse into my garden. Well, Maksimych, is everything all right?”
“Everything, thank God, is quiet,” answered the Cossack; - only Corporal Prokhorov got into a fight in the bathhouse with Ustinya Negulina over a bunch of hot water.
“Ivan Ignatyich! - the captain said to the crooked old man. - “Sort out Prokhorov and Ustinya, who is right and who is wrong. Punish both of them. Well, Maksimych, go with God. Pyotr Andreich, Maksimych will take you to your apartment.”
I took my leave. The constable led me to a hut that stood on a high bank of the river, at the very edge of the fortress. Half of the hut was occupied by Semyon Kuzov’s family, the other was given to me. It consisted of one rather neat room, divided in two by a partition. Savelich began to manage it; I began to look out the narrow window. The sad steppe stretched out before me. Several huts stood diagonally; Several hens were wandering along the street. The old woman was standing on the porch with a trough, calling to the pigs, who answered her with a friendly grunt. And this is where I was condemned to spend my youth! Longing took me; I walked away from the window and went to bed without dinner, despite the admonitions of Savelich, who repeated with contrition: “Lord, Master! he won’t eat anything! What will the lady say if the child falls ill?
The next morning, I had just begun to get dressed when the door opened and a young officer of short stature, with a dark and distinctly ugly face, but extremely lively, came in to see me. “Excuse me,” he told me in French, “for coming to meet you without ceremony. Yesterday I learned about your arrival; desire to finally see human face It took such a hold of me that I couldn’t stand it. You will understand this when you live here some more time.” “I guessed that it was an officer who had been discharged from the Guards for the fight. We met immediately. Shvabrin was not very stupid. His conversation was witty and entertaining. With great cheerfulness he described to me the family of the commandant, his society and the region where fate had brought me. I was laughing from the bottom of my heart when the same invalid who was mending his uniform in the commandant’s front room came in and called me to dine with them on behalf of Vasilisa Yegorovna. Shvabrin volunteered to go with me.
Approaching the commandant's house, we saw about twenty old disabled people with long braids and wearing tricorn hats. They were lined up in front. The commandant stood in front, a vigorous and tall old man, wearing a cap and a Chinese robe. Seeing us, he came up to us and told me a few kind words and began to command again. We stopped to look at the teaching; but he asked us to go to Vasilisa Yegorovna, promising to follow us. “And here,” he added, “there’s nothing for you to see.”
Vasilisa Egorovna received us easily and cordially, and treated me as if she had known her for a century. The invalid and Palashka were setting the table. “Why did my Ivan Kuzmich study like that today!” - said the commandant. - “Broadsword, call the master to dinner. Where is Masha?” - Then a girl of about eighteen came in, chubby, ruddy, with light brown hair, combed smoothly behind her ears, which were on fire. At first glance I didn't really like her. I looked at her with prejudice: Shvabrin described Masha to me, captain's daughter, a complete fool. Marya Ivanovna sat down in the corner and began to sew. Meanwhile, cabbage soup was served. Vasilisa Yegorovna, not seeing her husband, sent Palashka for him a second time. “Tell the master: the guests are waiting, the cabbage soup will catch a cold; thank God, the teaching will not go away; will have time to shout." - The captain soon appeared, accompanied by a crooked old man. “What is this, my father?” - his wife told him. - “The food was served a long time ago, but you can’t get enough.” “And listen, Vasilisa Egorovna,” answered Ivan Kuzmich, “I was busy with service: teaching little soldiers.”
“And, that’s enough!” - the captain objected. - “Only glory that you teach the soldiers: neither they are given the service, nor do you know anything about it. I would sit at home and pray to God; it would be better that way. Dear guests, you are welcome to the table.”
We sat down to dinner. Vasilisa Egorovna did not stop talking for a minute and showered me with questions: who are my parents, are they alive, where do they live and what is their condition? Hearing that the priest has three hundred souls of peasants, “Isn’t it easy!” - she said; - “After all, there are rich people in the world! And we, my father, have only one shower, the girl Palashka; Yes, thank God, we live small. One problem: Masha; a girl of marriageable age, what is her dowry? a fine comb, a broom, and an altyn of money (God forgive me!), with which to go to the bathhouse. Okay, if you can find it a kind person; Otherwise you’ll sit as an eternal bride among the girls.” - I looked at Marya Ivanovna; she turned all red, and even tears dripped onto her plate. I felt sorry for her; and I hastened to change the conversation. “I heard,” I said rather inopportunely, “that the Bashkirs are going to attack your fortress.” - “From whom, father, did you deign to hear this?” - asked Ivan Kuzmich. “That’s what they told me in Orenburg,” I answered. “Nothing!” - said the commandant. “We haven’t heard anything for a long time. The Bashkirs are a scared people, and the Kyrgyz have also been taught a lesson. Surely they won’t come at us; and if they get upset, I’ll give such a joke that I’ll calm it down for ten years.” “And you’re not afraid,” I continued, turning to the captain’s wife, “to remain in a fortress exposed to such dangers?” “It’s a habit, my father,” she answered. - “It’s been twenty years since we were transferred here from the regiment, and God forbid, how afraid I was of these damned infidels! How I used to see lynx hats, and when I heard their squealing, would you believe it, my father, my heart would skip a beat! And now I’m so used to it that I won’t even move until they come to tell us that villains are prowling around the fortress.”
“Vasilisa Egorovna is a very brave lady,” Shvabrin remarked importantly. - Ivan Kuzmich can testify to this.
“Yes, hear you,” said Ivan Kuzmich: “the woman is not a timid woman.”
- And Marya Ivanovna? - I asked: “Are you as brave as you?”
“Is Masha brave?” - answered her mother. - “No, Masha is a coward. He still can’t hear the shot from a gun: it just vibrates. And just as two years ago Ivan Kuzmich decided to shoot from our cannon on my name day, so she, my dear, almost went to the next world out of fear. Since then we haven’t fired the damned cannon.”
We got up from the table. The captain and captain went to bed; and I went to Shvabrin, with whom I spent the whole evening.

CHAPTER IV. DUEL.

- If you please, get into position.

Look, I'll pierce your figure!

Several weeks have passed, and my life is Belogorsk fortress became for me not only bearable, but even pleasant. In the commandant's house I was received like family. The husband and wife were the most respectable people. Ivan Kuzmich, who became an officer from the children of soldiers, was an uneducated and simple man, but the most honest and kind. His wife managed him, which was consistent with his carelessness. Vasilisa Yegorovna looked at the affairs of the service as if they were her master’s, and ruled the fortress as accurately as she ruled her house. Marya Ivanovna soon stopped being shy with me. We met. I found in her a prudent and sensitive girl. In an imperceptible way, I became attached to the good family, even to Ivan Ignatyich, the crooked garrison lieutenant, about whom Shvabrin invented that he was in an impermissible relationship with Vasilisa Yegorovna, which did not have the slightest plausibility: but Shvabrin did not worry about that.
I was promoted to officer. The service did not burden me. In the God-saved fortress there were no inspections, no exercises, no guards. The commandant, of his own accord, sometimes taught his soldiers; but I still could not get them all to know which side was right and which was left, although many of them, so as not to be mistaken, placed the sign of the cross on themselves before each turn. Shvabrin had several French books. I began to read, and the desire for literature awakened in me. In the mornings I read, practiced translations, and sometimes wrote poetry. He almost always dined at the commandant’s, where he usually spent the rest of the day, and where in the evening Father Gerasim sometimes appeared with his wife Akulina Pamfilovna, the first messenger in the entire district. Of course, I saw A.I. Shvabrin every day; but hour by hour his conversation became less pleasant for me. I really didn’t like his usual jokes about the commandant’s family, especially his caustic remarks about Marya Ivanovna. There was no other society in the fortress, but I didn’t want anything else.
Despite the predictions, the Bashkirs were not indignant. Calm reigned around our fortress. But the peace was interrupted by a sudden civil strife.
I have already said that I studied literature. My experiments, for that time, were considerable, and Alexander Petrovich Sumarokov, several years later, praised them very much. Once I managed to write a song that I was pleased with. It is known that writers sometimes, under the guise of demanding advice, look for a favorable listener. So, having rewritten my song, I took it to Shvabrin, who alone in the entire fortress could appreciate the works of the poet. After a short introduction, I took my notebook out of my pocket and read him the following poems:
Destroying the thought of love,
I try to forget the beautiful
And oh, avoiding Masha,
I'm thinking of getting the liberty!
But the eyes that captivated me
Every minute before me;
They confused my spirit,
They destroyed my peace.
You, having learned my misfortunes,
Have pity on me, Masha;
In vain me in this fierce part,
And that I'm captivated by you.
- How do you find this? - I asked Shvabrin, expecting praise, like a tribute, which was certainly due to me. But to my great chagrin, Shvabrin, usually condescending, decisively declared that my song was not good.
- Why is that? - I asked him, hiding my annoyance.
“Because,” he answered, “that such poems are worthy of my teacher, Vasily Kirilych Tredyakovsky, and very much remind me of his love couplets.”
Then he took the notebook from me and began to mercilessly analyze every verse and every word, mocking me in the most caustic way. I couldn’t bear it, I snatched my notebook from his hands and said that I would never show him my writings. Shvabrin laughed at this threat too. “Let's see,” he said, “if you keep your word: poets need a listener, like Ivan Kuzmich needs a decanter of vodka before dinner. And who is this Masha, to whom you express your tender passion and love misfortune? Isn't it Marya Ivanovna?
“It’s none of your business,” I answered, frowning, “whoever this Masha is.” I don’t ask for your opinion or your guesses.
"Wow! A proud poet and a modest lover! - Shvabrin continued, irritating me more and more hour by hour; - “but listen to some friendly advice: if you want to be on time, then I advise you not to act with songs.”
- What does this mean, sir? Please explain.
“With pleasure. This means that if you want Masha Mironova to come to you at dusk, then instead of tender poems, give her a pair of earrings.”
My blood began to boil. - Why do you have such an opinion about her? - I asked, barely containing my indignation.
“And because,” he answered with a hellish grin, “I know her character and customs from experience.”
- You're lying, you bastard! - I cried in rage, - you are lying in the most shameless way.
Shvabrin's face changed. “This won’t work for you,” he said, squeezing my hand. - “You will give me satisfaction.”
- Please; when you want to! - I answered, delighted. At that moment I was ready to tear him to pieces.
I immediately went to Ivan Ignatyich and found him with a needle in his hands: on instructions from the commandant, he was stringing mushrooms to dry for the winter. “Ah, Pyotr Andreich!” - he said when he saw me; - "Welcome! How did God bring you? for what purpose, may I ask?” I'm in in short words I explained to him that I had quarreled with Alexei Ivanovich, and I asked him, Ivan Ignatich, to be my second. Ivan Ignatich listened to me with attention, staring at me with his only eye. “You deign to say,” he told me, “that you want to stab Alexei Ivanovich and want me to be a witness? Is not it? I dare you to ask.”
- Exactly.
“Have mercy, Pyotr Andreich! What are you up to! Did you and Alexey Ivanovich have a fight? Great trouble! Hard words break no bones. He scolded you, and you scold him; he hits you in the snout, and you hit him in the ear, in another, in the third - and go your separate ways; and we will make peace between you. And then: is it a good thing to stab your neighbor, I dare ask? And it would be good if you stabbed him: God be with him, with Alexei Ivanovich; I'm not a fan of it myself. Well, what if he drills you? What will it be like? Who will be the fool, dare I ask?”
The reasoning of the prudent lieutenant did not sway me. I stuck to my intention. “As you please,” said Ivan Ignatich: “do as you understand. Why should I be a witness here? Why on earth? People are fighting, what an unprecedented thing, dare I ask? Thank God, I went under the Swede and under the Turk: I’ve seen enough of everything.”
I somehow began to explain to him the position of a second, but Ivan Ignatich could not understand me. “Your will,” he said. - “If I were to intervene in this matter, would it be better to go to Ivan Kuzmich and inform him, out of duty, that a crime contrary to the government’s interests is being planned in the fort: would it not please the commandant to take appropriate measures...”
I got scared and began to ask Ivan Ignatich not to tell the commandant anything; I persuaded him by force; he gave me his word, and I decided to break it.
I spent the evening, as usual, with the commandant. I tried to appear cheerful and indifferent, so as not to give any suspicion and avoid annoying questions; but I confess that I did not have that composure that those in my position almost always boast of. That evening I was in a mood for tenderness and tenderness. I liked Marya Ivanovna more than usual. The thought that maybe I see her in last time, gave her something touching in my eyes. Shvabrin appeared immediately. I took him aside and notified him of my conversation with Ivan Ignatich. “Why do we need seconds,” he told me dryly: “we can manage without them.” We agreed to fight behind the stacks that were located near the fortress, and to appear there the next day at seven o’clock in the morning. We were talking, apparently, so friendly that Ivan Ignatich blurted out with joy. “It would have been like this a long time ago,” he told me with a pleased look; - “A bad peace is better than a good quarrel, and even if it’s dishonest, it’s healthy.”
“What, what, Ivan Ignatich?” - said the commandant, who was telling fortunes with cards in the corner: “I didn’t listen.”
Ivan Ignatich, noticing signs of displeasure in me and remembering his promise, became embarrassed and did not know what to answer. Shvabrin came to his aid.
“Ivan Ignatich,” he said, “approves of our world.”
- And with whom, my father, were you quarreling? "
“We had a pretty big argument with Pyotr Andreich.”
- Why is this happening?
“For a mere trifle: for a song, Vasilisa Egorovna.”
- We found something to quarrel about! for the song!... how did this happen?
“Well, here’s how: Pyotr Andreich recently composed a song and today he sang it in front of me, and I started singing my favorite:
Captain's daughter
Don't go out at midnight.
There was a discord. Pyotr Andreich became angry; but then I decided that everyone is free to sing whatever they want. That was the end of the matter.”
Shvabrin's shamelessness almost enraged me; but no one except me understood his crude innuendos; at least no one paid attention to them. From the songs the conversation turned to poets, and the commandant noticed that they were all dissolute people and bitter drunkards, and he friendly advised me to leave poetry, as something contrary to the service and leading to nothing good.
Shvabrin's presence was unbearable to me. I soon said goodbye to the commandant and his family; I came home, examined my sword, tried its end, and went to bed, ordering Savelich to wake me up at seven o’clock.
The next day, at the appointed time, I was already standing behind the stacks, waiting for my opponent. Soon he appeared. “They might catch us,” he told me; - “we must hurry.” We took off our uniforms, remained in only camisoles and drew our swords. At that moment, Ivan Ignatich and about five disabled people suddenly appeared from behind a stack. He demanded us to see the commandant. We obeyed with annoyance; the soldiers surrounded us, and we went to the fortress following Ivan Ignatich, who led us in triumph, walking with amazing importance.

Chapter III
Fortress

We live in a fort

We eat bread and drink water;

And how fierce enemies

They will come to us for pies,

Let's give the guests a feast:

Let's load the cannon with buckshot.

Soldier's song

Old people, my father.

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

Nobody met me. I went into the hallway and opened the door to the hallway. An old invalid, sitting on a table, was sewing a blue patch onto the elbow of his green uniform. I told him to report me. “Come in, father,” answered the disabled man, “our houses.” I entered a clean room, decorated in an old-fashioned way. There was a cupboard with dishes in the corner; on the wall hung an officer's diploma behind glass and in a frame; Beside him were popular prints depicting the capture of Kistrin and Ochakov, as well as the choice of a bride and the burial of a cat. An old woman in a padded jacket and with a scarf on her head was sitting by the window. She was unwinding the threads, which were held, spread out in his arms, by a crooked old man in an officer's uniform. “What do you want, father?” – she asked, continuing her lesson. I answered that I had come to work and appeared on duty to the captain, and with this word I addressed the crooked old man, mistaking him for the commandant; but the hostess interrupted my speech. “Ivan Kuzmich is not at home,” she said, “he went to visit Father Gerasim; It doesn’t matter, father, I’m his owner. Please love and respect. Sit down, father." She called the girl and told her to call the policeman. The old man looked at me with curiosity with his lonely eye. “I dare to ask,” he said, “in which regiment did you deign to serve?” I satisfied his curiosity. “And I dare to ask,” he continued, “why did you deign to move from the guard to the garrison?” I answered that such was the will of the authorities. “Of course, for actions indecent to a guard officer,” continued the tireless questioner. “Stop lying about nonsense,” the captain’s wife told him, “you see, the young man is tired from the road; he has no time for you... (keep your arms straight...). And you, my father,” she continued, turning to me, “don’t be sad that you were relegated to our outback. You are not the first, you are not the last. He will endure it, he will fall in love. Alexey Ivanovich Shvabrin has been transferred to us for murder for five years now. God knows what sin befell him; As you can see, he went out of town with one lieutenant, and they took swords with them, and, well, they stabbed each other; and Alexey Ivanovich stabbed the lieutenant, and in front of two witnesses! What do you want me to do? There is no master of sin."

At that moment the constable, a young and stately Cossack, entered. “Maksimych! - the captain told him. “Give the mister officer an apartment, and a cleaner one.” “I’m listening, Vasilisa Yegorovna,” answered the constable. “Shouldn’t his honor be placed with Ivan Polezhaev?” “You’re lying, Maksimych,” said the captain’s wife, “Polezhaev’s place is already crowded; He’s my godfather and remembers that we are his bosses. Take the officer... what is your name and patronymic, my father? Pyotr Andreich?.. Take Pyotr Andreich to Semyon Kuzov. He, a swindler, let his horse into my garden. Well, Maksimych, is everything all right?”

“Everything, thank God, is quiet,” answered the Cossack, “only Corporal Prokhorov got into a fight in the bathhouse with Ustinya Negulina over a bunch of hot water.”

- Ivan Ignatyich! - the captain said to the crooked old man. – Sort out Prokhorov and Ustinya, who is right and who is wrong. Punish both of them. Well, Maksimych, go with God. Pyotr Andreich, Maksimych will take you to your apartment.

I took my leave. The constable led me to a hut that stood on a high bank of the river, at the very edge of the fortress. Half of the hut was occupied by Semyon Kuzov’s family, the other was given to me. It consisted of one rather neat room, divided in two by a partition. Savelich began to manage it; I began to look out the narrow window. The sad steppe stretched out before me. Several huts stood diagonally; There were several chickens wandering around the street. The old woman, standing on the porch with a trough, called to the pigs, who answered her with friendly grunts. And this is where I was condemned to spend my youth! Longing took me; I walked away from the window and went to bed without dinner, despite the admonitions of Savelich, who repeated with contrition: “Lord, Master! he won’t eat anything! What will the lady say if the child falls ill?

The next morning, I had just begun to dress when the door opened, and a young officer of short stature, with a dark and distinctly ugly face, but extremely lively, came in to see me. “Excuse me,” he told me in French, “for coming to meet you without ceremony. Yesterday I learned about your arrival; The desire to finally see a human face took such hold of me that I could not stand it. You will understand this when you live here some more time.” I guessed that it was an officer who had been discharged from the Guards for the duel. We met immediately. Shvabrin was not very stupid. His conversation was witty and entertaining. With great cheerfulness he described to me the family of the commandant, his society and the region where fate had brought me. I was laughing from the bottom of my heart when the same invalid who was mending his uniform in the commandant’s front room came in and called me to dine with them on behalf of Vasilisa Yegorovna. Shvabrin volunteered to go with me.

Approaching the commandant's house, we saw on the site about twenty old disabled people with long braids and triangular hats. They were lined up in front. The commandant stood in front, a vigorous and tall old man, wearing a cap and a Chinese robe. Seeing us, he came up to us, said a few kind words to me and began to command again. We stopped to look at the teaching; but he asked us to go to Vasilisa Yegorovna, promising to follow us. “And here,” he added, “there is nothing for you to see.”

Vasilisa Egorovna received us easily and cordially and treated me as if she had known her for a century. The invalid and Palashka were setting the table. “Why did my Ivan Kuzmich study like that today! - said the commandant. - Broadsword, call the master to dinner. Where is Masha?” - Then a girl of about eighteen came in, chubby, ruddy, with light brown hair, combed smoothly behind her ears, which were on fire. At first glance I didn't really like her. I looked at her with prejudice: Shvabrin described Masha, the captain’s daughter, to me as a complete fool. Marya Ivanovna sat down in the corner and began to sew. Meanwhile, cabbage soup was served. Vasilisa Yegorovna, not seeing her husband, sent Palashka for him a second time. “Tell the master: the guests are waiting, the cabbage soup will catch a cold; thank God, the teaching will not go away; will have time to shout." “The captain soon appeared, accompanied by a crooked old man. “What is this, my father? - his wife told him. “The food was served a long time ago, but you can’t get enough.” - “And you hear, Vasilisa Egorovna,” answered Ivan Kuzmich, “I was busy with service: teaching little soldiers.” - “And, that’s enough! - the captain objected. “Only glory that you teach soldiers: neither they are given service, nor do you know the sense of it.” I would sit at home and pray to God; it would be better that way. Dear guests, you are welcome to the table.”

We sat down to dinner. Vasilisa Egorovna did not stop talking for a minute and showered me with questions: who are my parents, are they alive, where do they live and what is their condition? Hearing that the priest has three hundred souls of peasants, “Isn’t it easy! - she said, - there are rich people in the world! And here, my father, we only have one girl, Palashka, but thank God, we live small. One problem: Masha; a girl of marriageable age, what is her dowry? a fine comb, a broom, and an altyn of money (God forgive me!), with which to go to the bathhouse. It’s good if there is a kind person; Otherwise you’ll sit as an eternal bride among the girls.” – I looked at Marya Ivanovna; she turned all red, and even tears dripped onto her plate. I felt sorry for her and hurried to change the conversation. “I heard,” I said rather inopportunely, “that the Bashkirs are going to attack your fortress.” - “From whom, father, did you deign to hear this?” – asked Ivan Kuzmich. “That’s what they told me in Orenburg,” I answered. “Nothing! - said the commandant. “We haven’t heard anything for a long time.” The Bashkirs are a scared people, and the Kyrgyz have also been taught a lesson. They probably won’t come at us; and if they get upset, I’ll give such a joke that I’ll calm it down for ten years.” “And you are not afraid,” I continued, turning to the captain, “to remain in a fortress exposed to such dangers?” “It’s a habit, my father,” she answered. “It’s been twenty years since we were transferred here from the regiment, and God forbid, how I was afraid of these damned infidels!” How I used to see lynx hats, and when I heard their squealing, would you believe it, my father, my heart would skip a beat! And now I’m so used to it that I won’t even move until they come to tell us that villains are prowling around the fortress.”

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

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

- And Marya Ivanovna? - I asked, - are you as brave as you?

– Is Masha brave? - answered her mother. - No, Masha is a coward. He still can’t hear the shot from a gun: it just vibrates. And just as two years ago Ivan Kuzmich decided to shoot from our cannon on my name day, so she, my dear, almost went to the next world out of fear. Since then we haven’t fired the damn gun.

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

Chapter IV
Duel

- If you please, get into position.

Look, I'll pierce your figure!

Several weeks passed, and my life in the Belogorsk fortress became not only bearable for me, but even pleasant. In the commandant's house I was received like family. The husband and wife were the most respectable people. Ivan Kuzmich, who became an officer from the children of soldiers, was an uneducated and simple man, but the most honest and kind. His wife managed him, which was consistent with his carelessness. Vasilisa Yegorovna looked at the affairs of the service as if they were her master’s, and ruled the fortress as accurately as she ruled her house. Marya Ivanovna soon stopped being shy with me. We met. I found in her a prudent and sensitive girl. In an imperceptible way, I became attached to a good family, even to Ivan Ignatich, the crooked garrison lieutenant, about whom Shvabrin invented that he was in an impermissible relationship with Vasilisa Yegorovna, which did not have even a shadow of plausibility; but Shvabrin didn’t worry about that.

I was promoted to officer. The service did not burden me. In the God-saved fortress there were no inspections, no exercises, no guards. The commandant, of his own accord, sometimes taught his soldiers; but I still could not get them all to know which side was right and which was left, although many of them, so as not to be mistaken, placed the sign of the cross on themselves before each turn. Shvabrin had several French books. I began to read, and the desire for literature awakened in me. In the mornings I read, practiced translations, and sometimes wrote poetry. He almost always dined at the commandant's, where he usually spent the rest of the day and where in the evening Father Gerasim sometimes appeared with his wife Akulina Pamfilovna, the first messenger in the entire district. Of course, I saw A.I. Shvabrin every day; but hour by hour his conversation became less pleasant for me. I really didn’t like his usual jokes about the commandant’s family, especially his caustic remarks about Marya Ivanovna. There was no other society in the fortress, but I didn’t want anything else.

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

I have already said that I studied literature. My experiments, for that time, were considerable, and Alexander Petrovich Sumarokov, several years later, praised them very much. Once I managed to write a song that I was pleased with. It is known that writers sometimes, under the guise of demanding advice, look for a favorable listener. So, having rewritten my song, I took it to Shvabrin, who alone in the entire fortress could appreciate the works of the poet. After a short introduction, I took my notebook out of my pocket and read him the following poems:

Destroying the thought of love,
I try to forget the beautiful
And oh, avoiding Masha,
I'm thinking of getting the liberty!
But the eyes that captivated me
Every minute before me;
They confused my spirit,
They destroyed my peace.

You, having learned my misfortunes,
Have pity on me, Masha;
In vain me in this fierce part
And that I'm captivated by you.

– How do you find this? - I asked Shvabrin, expecting praise, like a tribute, which was certainly due to me. But, to my great chagrin, Shvabrin, usually condescending, decisively declared that my song was not good.

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

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

Then he took the notebook from me and began to mercilessly analyze every verse and every word, mocking me in the most caustic way. I couldn’t bear it, I snatched my notebook from his hands and said that I would never show him my writings. Shvabrin laughed at this threat too. “Let's see,” he said, “if you keep your word: poets need a listener, like Ivan Kuzmich needs a decanter of vodka before dinner. And who is this Masha, to whom you express your tender passion and love misfortune? Isn’t it Marya Ivanovna?”

“It’s none of your business,” I answered, frowning, “whoever this Masha is.” I don’t ask for your opinion or your guesses.

- Wow! A proud poet and a modest lover! - Shvabrin continued, irritating me more and more hour by hour, - but listen to friendly advice: if you want to be on time, then I advise you not to act with songs.

- What does this mean, sir? Please explain.

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

My blood began to boil. “Why do you have such an opinion about her?” – I asked, barely containing my indignation.

“And because,” he answered with a hellish grin, “I know her character and customs from experience.”

- You're lying, you bastard! - I cried in rage, - you are lying in the most shameless way.

Shvabrin's face changed. “This won’t work out for you,” he said, squeezing my hand. “You will give me satisfaction.”

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

I immediately went to Ivan Ignatich and found him with a needle in his hands: on instructions from the commandant, he was stringing mushrooms to dry for the winter. “Ah, Pyotr Andreich! - he said, seeing me, - welcome! How did God bring you? for what purpose, may I ask?” I explained to him in short words that I had quarreled with Alexei Ivanovich, and I asked him, Ivan Ignatich, to be my second. Ivan Ignatich listened to me with attention, staring at me with his only eye. “You deign to say,” he told me, “that you want to stab Alexei Ivanovich and want me to be a witness? Is not it? I dare you to ask.”

- Exactly.

- For mercy, Pyotr Andreich! What are you up to! Did you and Alexey Ivanovich have a fight? Great trouble! Hard words break no bones. He scolded you, and you scold him; he hits you in the snout, and you hit him in the ear, in another, in the third - and go your separate ways; and we will make peace between you. And then: is it a good thing to stab your neighbor, I dare ask? And it would be good if you stabbed him: God be with him, with Alexei Ivanovich; I'm not a fan of it myself. Well, what if he drills you? What will it be like? Who will be the fool, dare I ask?

The reasoning of the prudent lieutenant did not sway me. I stuck to my intention. “As you please,” said Ivan Ignatich, “do as you understand. Why should I be a witness here? Why on earth? People are fighting, what an unprecedented thing, dare I ask? Thank God, I went under the Swede and under the Turk: I’ve seen enough of everything.”

I somehow began to explain to him the position of a second, but Ivan Ignatich could not understand me. “Your will,” he said. “If I were to intervene in this matter, would it be better to go to Ivan Kuzmich and inform him, out of duty, that an atrocity is being planned in the fort that is contrary to the government’s interests: wouldn’t it please the commandant to take the appropriate measures...”

I got scared and began to ask Ivan Ignatich not to tell the commandant anything; I persuaded him by force; he gave me his word, and I decided to break it.

I spent the evening, as usual, with the commandant. I tried to appear cheerful and indifferent, so as not to give any suspicion and avoid annoying questions; but I confess that I did not have that composure that those in my position almost always boast of. That evening I was in a mood for tenderness and tenderness. I liked Marya Ivanovna more than usual. The thought that perhaps I was seeing her for the last time gave her something touching in my eyes. Shvabrin appeared immediately. I took him aside and notified him of my conversation with Ivan Ignatich. “Why do we need seconds,” he told me dryly, “we can manage without them.” We agreed to fight behind the stacks that were located near the fortress, and to appear there the next day at seven o’clock in the morning. We were talking, apparently, so friendly that Ivan Ignatich blurted out with joy. “It would have been like this a long time ago,” he told me with a satisfied look, “a bad peace is better than a good quarrel, and even if it’s dishonest, it’s healthy.”

- What, what, Ivan Ignatich? - said the commandant, who was telling fortunes with cards in the corner, - I didn’t listen.

Ivan Ignatich, noticing signs of displeasure in me and remembering his promise, became embarrassed and did not know what to answer. Shvabrin came to his aid.

“Ivan Ignatich,” he said, “approves of our world peace.”

- And with whom, my father, were you quarreling?

– We had a pretty big argument with Pyotr Andreich.

- Why is this happening?

- For a mere trifle: for a song, Vasilisa Egorovna.

- We found something to quarrel about! for the song!.. but how did this happen?

- Yes, here’s how: Pyotr Andreich recently composed a song and today he sang it in front of me, and I began to sing my favorite:

Captain's daughter
Don't go out at midnight.

There was a discord. Pyotr Andreich became angry; but then I decided that everyone is free to sing whatever they want. That was the end of the matter.

Shvabrin's shamelessness almost enraged me; but no one except me understood his crude innuendos; at least no one paid attention to them. From the songs the conversation turned to poets, and the commandant noticed that they were all dissolute people and bitter drunkards, and he friendly advised me to leave poetry, as something contrary to the service and leading to nothing good.

Shvabrin's presence was unbearable to me. I soon said goodbye to the commandant and his family; I came home, examined my sword, tried its end and went to bed, ordering Savelich to wake me up at seven o’clock.

The next day, at the appointed time, I was already standing behind the stacks, waiting for my opponent. Soon he appeared. “We might be caught,” he told me, “we must hurry.” We took off our uniforms, remained in only camisoles and drew our swords. At that moment, Ivan Ignatich and about five disabled people suddenly appeared from behind a stack. He demanded us to see the commandant. We obeyed with annoyance; the soldiers surrounded us, and we went to the fortress following Ivan Ignatich, who led us in triumph, walking with amazing importance.

We entered the commandant's house. Ivan Ignatich opened the doors, proclaiming solemnly: “Brought!” Vasilisa Egorovna met us. “Oh, my fathers! What does it look like? How? What? start a murder in our fortress! Ivan Kuzmich, they are now under arrest! Pyotr Andreich! Alexey Ivanovich! bring your swords here, bring them, bring them. Broadsword, take these swords to the closet. Pyotr Andreich! I didn't expect this from you. How are you not ashamed? Good Alexey Ivanovich: he was discharged from the guard for murder and murder, he doesn’t even believe in God; and what about you? Is that where you’re going?”

Ivan Kuzmich completely agreed with his wife and said: “And listen, Vasilisa Yegorovna is telling the truth. Fights are formally prohibited in the military article.” Meanwhile, Palashka took our swords from us and took them to the closet. I couldn't help but laugh. Shvabrin retained his importance. “With all due respect to you,” he told her calmly, “I cannot help but notice that you are in vain deigning to worry by subjecting us to your judgment. Leave it to Ivan Kuzmich: it’s his business.” - “Ah! my father! - the commandant objected, - aren’t husband and wife one spirit and one flesh? Ivan Kuzmich! Why are you yawning? Now plant them different angles for bread and water, so that their stupidity goes away; Yes, let Father Gerasim impose penance on them, so that they pray to God for forgiveness and repent before people.”

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

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

- Why do you think so, Marya Ivanovna?

- Yes, so... he is such a mocker! I don't like Alexey Ivanovich. He disgusts me very much; But it’s strange: I wouldn’t want him to like me just as much. This would worry me fear.

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

Marya Ivanovna stuttered and blushed.

“I think,” she said, “I think I like you.”

- Why do you think so?

- Because he wooed me.

- Wooed! Did he marry you? When?

- Last year. Two months before your arrival.

- And you didn’t go?

- As you please see. Alexey Ivanovich, of course, is an intelligent man, has a good family name, and has a fortune; but when I think that it will be necessary to kiss him under the aisle in front of everyone... No way! not for any well-being!

Marya Ivanovna’s words opened my eyes and explained a lot to me. I understood the persistent slander with which Shvabrin pursued her. He probably noticed our mutual inclination and tried to distract us from each other. The words that gave rise to our quarrel seemed even more vile to me when, instead of rude and obscene ridicule, I saw in them deliberate slander. The desire to punish the impudent evil-tonguer became even stronger in me, and I began to eagerly await an opportunity.

I didn't wait long. The next day, when I was sitting at the elegy and gnawing my pen in anticipation of a rhyme, Shvabrin knocked under my window. I left the pen, took the sword and went out to him. “Why put it off? - Shvabrin told me, “they are not watching us.” Let's go to the river. No one will bother us there." We set off in silence. Having gone down a steep path, we stopped right next to the river and drew our swords. Shvabrin was more skilled than me, but I am stronger and braver, and Monsieur Beaupre, who was once a soldier, gave me several lessons in fencing, which I took advantage of. Shvabrin did not expect to find such a dangerous opponent in me. For a long time we could not do each other any harm; Finally, noticing that Shvabrin was weakening, I began to attack him with alacrity and drove him almost into the river. Suddenly I heard my name spoken loudly. I looked back and saw Savelich running towards me along the mountain path... At that very time I was strongly stabbed in the chest below my right shoulder; I fell and fainted.

- To the inn. The Lord helped, we ran straight into a fence. Come out, sir, quickly and warm yourself up.
I left the wagon. The storm still continued, although with less force. It was so dark that you could put out your eyes. The owner met us at the gate, holding a lantern under his skirt, and led me into the upper room, cramped, but quite clean; a torch illuminated her. A rifle and a tall Cossack hat hung on the wall.
The owner, a Yaik Cossack by birth, seemed to be a man of about sixty, still fresh and vigorous. Savelich brought the cellar behind me and asked for a fire to prepare tea, which I never seemed to need so much. The owner went to do some work.
- Where is the counselor? – I asked Savelich.
“Here, your honor,” the voice from above answered me. I looked at the Polati and saw a black beard and two sparkling eyes. “What, brother, are you cold?” - “How not to vegetate in one skinny armyak! There was a sheepskin coat, but let’s be honest? I laid the evening at the kisser’s: the frost did not seem too great.” At that moment the owner came in with a boiling samovar; I offered our counselor a cup of tea; the man got off the floor. His appearance seemed remarkable to me: he was about forty, average height, thin and broad-shouldered. His black beard showed streaks of gray; the lively big eyes kept darting around. His face had a rather pleasant, but roguish expression. The hair was cut into a circle; he was wearing a tattered overcoat and Tatar trousers. I brought him a cup of tea; he tasted it and winced. “Your Honor, do me such a favor - order me to bring a glass of wine; tea is not our Cossack drink.” I willingly fulfilled his wish. The owner took a damask and a glass out of the stall, walked up to him and, looking into his face: “Ehe,” he said, “you’re in our land again!” Where did God bring it?” My counselor blinked significantly and answered with a saying: “He flew into the garden, pecked hemp; Grandmother threw a pebble - yes, it missed. Well, what about yours?”
- Yes, ours! - the owner answered, continuing the allegorical conversation. “They started ringing for vespers, but the priest didn’t say: the priest is visiting, the devils are in the graveyard.” “Be quiet, uncle,” my tramp objected, “there will be rain, there will be fungi; and if there are fungi, there will be a body. And now (here he blinked again) put the ax behind your back: the forester is walking. Your honor! For your health!" - With these words, he took the glass, crossed himself and drank in one breath. Then he bowed to me and returned to the floor.
I couldn’t understand anything from this thieves’ conversation at the time; but later I guessed that it was about the affairs of the Yaitsky army, which at that time had just been pacified after the riot of 1772. Savelich listened with an air of great displeasure. He looked with suspicion first at the owner, then at the counselor. The inn, or, in the local language, the inn, was located on the side, in the steppe, far from any settlement, and very much looked like a robber's pier. But there was nothing to do. It was impossible to even think about continuing the journey. Savelich's anxiety amused me very much. Meanwhile, I settled down for the night and lay down on a bench. Savelich decided to go to the stove; the owner lay down on the floor. Soon the whole hut was snoring, and I fell asleep like the dead.
Waking up quite late in the morning, I saw that the storm had subsided. The sun was shining. The snow lay in a dazzling veil on the vast steppe. The horses were harnessed. I paid the owner, who took such a reasonable payment from us that even Savelich did not argue with him and did not bargain as usual, and yesterday’s suspicions were completely erased from his mind. I called the counselor, thanked him for his help and told Savelich to give him half a ruble for vodka. Savelich frowned. “Half a ruble for vodka! - he said, - what is this for? Because you deigned to give him a ride to the inn? It's your choice, sir: we don't have any extra fifty. If you give everyone vodka, you’ll soon have to starve.” I couldn't argue with Savelich. The money, according to my promise, was at his complete disposal. I was annoyed, however, that I could not thank the person who rescued me, if not from trouble, then at least from a very unpleasant situation. “Okay,” I said coolly, “if you don’t want to give half a rouble, then take him something from my dress. He is dressed too lightly. Give him my hare sheepskin coat."
- Have mercy, Father Pyotr Andreich! - said Savelich. - Why does he need your hare sheepskin coat? He will drink it, the dog, in the first tavern.
“This, old lady, is not your sorrow,” said my tramp, “whether I drink or not.” His nobility grants me a fur coat from his shoulder: it is his lordly will, and it is your servant’s business not to argue and obey.
- You are not afraid of God, robber! - Savelich answered him in an angry voice. “You see that the child doesn’t understand yet, and you’re glad to rob him, for the sake of his simplicity.” Why do you need a master's sheepskin coat? You won’t even put it on your damned shoulders.
“Please don’t be smart,” I told my uncle; “now bring the sheepskin coat here.”
- Lord, master! - my Savelich groaned. – The hare sheepskin coat is almost brand new! and it would be good for anyone, otherwise it’s a naked drunkard!
However, the hare sheepskin coat appeared. The man immediately began trying it on. In fact, the sheepskin coat that I had grown out of was a little narrow for him. However, he somehow managed to put it on, tearing it apart at the seams. Savelich almost howled when he heard the threads crackle. The tramp was extremely pleased with my gift. He walked me to the tent and said with a low bow: “Thank you, your honor! God reward you for your virtue. I will never forget your mercies." - He went in his direction, and I went further, not paying attention to Savelich’s annoyance, and soon forgot about yesterday’s blizzard, about my counselor and about the hare’s sheepskin coat.
Arriving in Orenburg, I went straight to the general. I saw a man who was tall, but already hunched over with old age. His long hair was completely white. The old faded uniform resembled a warrior from the time of Anna Ioannovna, and his speech was strongly reminiscent of a German accent. I gave him a letter from my father. At his name, he looked at me quickly: “My dear!” - he said. - How long ago, it seems, Andrei Petrovich was even younger than your age, and now he has such a hammer ear! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!” “He printed out the letter and began reading it in a low voice, making his comments. ““Dear Sir Andrei Karlovich*, I hope that your Excellency”... What kind of ceremony is this? Ugh, how inappropriate he is! Of course: discipline is the first thing, but is that what they write to the old comrade?.. “Your Excellency has not forgotten”... um... “and... when... the late Field Marshal Min... campaign... also... Karolinka"... Ehe, brooder! So he still remembers our old pranks? “Now about business... I’ll bring my rake to you”... hm... “keep a tight rein”... What are mittens? This must be a Russian proverb... What does it mean to “handle it with gloves”?” – he repeated, turning to me.
“This means,” I answered him with an air as innocent as possible, “to treat him kindly, not too strictly, to give him more freedom, to keep a tight rein.”
“Hm, I understand... “and don’t give him free rein” no, apparently Yeshov’s mittens mean the wrong thing... “At the same time... his passport”... Where is he? And, here... “write off to Semyonovsky”... Okay, okay: everything will be done... “Allow yourself to be embraced without rank and... by an old comrade and friend” - a! I finally figured it out... and so on and so forth... Well, father,” he said, having read the letter and putting my passport aside, “everything will be done: you will be transferred as an officer to the *** regiment*, and so as not to waste time, tomorrow go to the Belogorsk fortress, where you will be in the team of Captain Mironov, a kind and honest man. There you will be in real service, you will learn discipline. There is nothing for you to do in Orenburg; distraction is harmful to a young person. And today you are welcome to dine with me.”
“It’s not getting any easier hour by hour! - I thought to myself, - what did it serve me that even in my mother’s womb I was already a guard sergeant! Where has this got me? To the *** regiment and to a remote fortress on the border of the Kyrgyz-Kaisak steppes!..” I dined with Andrei Karlovich, the three of us with his old adjutant. Strict German economy reigned at his table, and I think that the fear of sometimes seeing an extra guest at his single meal was partly the reason for my hasty removal to the garrison. The next day I said goodbye to the general and went to my destination.
Chapter IIIFortress
We live in a fort
We eat bread and drink water;
And how fierce enemies
They will come to us for pies,
Let's give the guests a feast:
Let's load the cannon with buckshot.
Soldier's song.

Old people, my father.
Minor.*

The Belogorsk fortress was located forty miles from Orenburg. The road went along the steep bank of the Yaik. The river had not yet frozen, and its leaden waves sadly turned black in the monotonous banks covered with white snow. Behind them stretched the Kyrgyz steppes. I plunged into thoughts, mostly sad. Garrison life had little attraction for me. I tried to imagine Captain Mironov, my future boss, and imagined him as a stern, angry old man, who knew nothing except his service, and was ready to put me under arrest on bread and water for every trifle. Meanwhile, it began to get dark. We were driving pretty quickly. “How far is it to the fortress?” – I asked my driver. “Not far,” he answered. “It’s already visible.” – I looked in all directions, expecting to see formidable bastions, towers and ramparts; but I saw nothing except a village surrounded by a log fence. On one side stood three or four haystacks, half-covered with snow; on the other, a crooked mill, with its popular wings lazily lowered. “Where is the fortress?” – I asked in surprise. “Yes, here it is,” answered the coachman, pointing to the village, and with that word we drove into it. At the gate I saw an old cast-iron cannon; the streets were cramped and crooked; The huts are low and mostly covered with straw. I ordered to go to the commandant, and a minute later the wagon stopped in front of a wooden house built on a high place, near the wooden church.
Nobody met me. I went into the hallway and opened the door to the hallway. An old invalid, sitting on a table, was sewing a blue patch onto the elbow of his green uniform. I told him to report me. “Come in, father,” answered the disabled man, “our houses.” I entered a clean room, decorated in an old-fashioned way. There was a cupboard with dishes in the corner; on the wall hung an officer's diploma behind glass and in a frame; Beside him were popular prints depicting the capture of Kistrin and Ochakov*, as well as the choice of a bride and the burial of a cat. An old woman in a padded jacket and with a scarf on her head was sitting by the window. She was unwinding the threads, which were held, spread out in his arms, by a crooked old man in an officer's uniform. “What do you want, father?” – she asked, continuing her lesson. I answered that I had come to work and appeared on duty to the captain, and with this word I addressed the crooked old man, mistaking him for the commandant; but the hostess interrupted my speech. “Ivan Kuzmich is not at home,” she said; “he went to visit Father Gerasim; It doesn’t matter, father, I’m his owner. Please love and respect. Sit down, father." She called the girl and told her to call the policeman. The old man looked at me with curiosity with his lonely eye. “I dare to ask,” he said, “in which regiment did you deign to serve?” I satisfied his curiosity. “And I dare to ask,” he continued, “why did you deign to move from the guard to the garrison?” I answered that such was the will of the authorities. “Of course, for actions indecent to a guard officer,” continued the tireless questioner. “Stop lying about nonsense,” the captain’s wife told him; “you see, the young man is tired from the road; he has no time for you... (keep your arms straight...). And you, my father,” she continued, turning to me, “don’t be sad that you were relegated to our outback. You are not the first, you are not the last. He will endure it, he will fall in love. Alexey Ivanovich Shvabrin has been transferred to us for murder for five years now. God knows what sin befell him; As you can see, he went out of town with one lieutenant, and they took swords with them, and, well, they stabbed each other; and Alexey Ivanovich stabbed the lieutenant, and in front of two witnesses! What do you want me to do? There is no master of sin."
At that moment the constable, a young and stately Cossack, entered. “Maksimych! - the captain told him. “Give the officer an apartment, and a cleaner one.” “I’m listening, Vasilisa Yegorovna,” answered the constable. “Shouldn’t his honor be placed with Ivan Polezhaev?” “You’re lying, Maksimych,” said the captain’s wife; “Polezhaev’s place is already crowded; He’s my godfather and remembers that we are his bosses. Take Mr. officer... what is your name and patronymic, my father? Pyotr Andreich?.. Take Pyotr Andreich to Semyon Kuzov. He, a swindler, let his horse into my garden. Well, Maksimych, is everything all right?”
“Everything, thank God, is quiet,” answered the Cossack; “only Corporal Prokhorov got into a fight in the bathhouse with Ustinya Negulina over a bunch of hot water.”
- Ivan Ignatyich! - the captain said to the crooked old man. – Sort out Prokhorov and Ustinya, who is right and who is wrong. Punish both of them. Well, Maksimych, go with God. Pyotr Andreich, Maksimych will take you to your apartment.
I took my leave. The constable led me to a hut that stood on a high bank of the river, at the very edge of the fortress. Half of the hut was occupied by Semyon Kuzov’s family, the other was given to me. It consisted of one room, quite neat, divided in two by a partition. Savelich began to manage it; I began to look out the narrow window. The sad steppe stretched out before me. Several huts stood diagonally; There were several chickens wandering around the street. The old woman, standing on the porch with a trough, called to the pigs, who answered her with friendly grunts. And this is where I was condemned to spend my youth! Longing took me; I walked away from the window and went to bed without dinner, despite the admonitions of Savelich, who repeated with contrition: “Lord, Master! he won’t eat anything! What will the lady say if the child falls ill?
The next morning, I had just begun to dress when the door opened, and a young officer of short stature, with a dark and distinctly ugly face, but extremely lively, came in to see me. “Excuse me,” he told me in French, “for coming to meet you without ceremony. Yesterday I learned about your arrival; The desire to finally see a human face took such hold of me that I could not stand it. You will understand this when you live here some more time.” “I guessed that it was an officer who had been discharged from the Guards for the fight. We met immediately. Shvabrin was not very stupid. His conversation was witty and entertaining. With great cheerfulness he described to me the family of the commandant, his society and the region where fate had brought me. I was laughing from the bottom of my heart when the same invalid who was mending his uniform in the commandant’s front room came in and called me to dine with them on behalf of Vasilisa Yegorovna. Shvabrii volunteered to go with me.
Approaching the commandant's house, we saw on the site about twenty old disabled people with long braids and triangular hats. They were lined up in front. The commandant stood in front, a vigorous and tall old man, wearing a cap and a Chinese robe. Seeing us, he came up to us, said a few kind words to me and began to command again. We stopped to look at the teaching; but he asked us to go to Vasilisa Yegorovna, promising to follow us. “And here,” he added, “there is nothing for you to see.”
Vasilisa Egorovna received us easily and cordially and treated me as if she had known her for a century. The invalid and Palashka were setting the table. “Why did my Ivan Kuzmich study like that today! - said the commandant. - Broadsword, call the master to dinner. Where is Masha?” - Then a girl of about eighteen came in, chubby, ruddy, with light brown hair, combed smoothly behind her ears, which were on fire. At first glance I didn't really like her. I looked at her with prejudice: Shvabrin described Masha, the captain’s daughter, to me as a complete fool. Marya Ivanovna sat down in the corner and began to sew. Meanwhile, cabbage soup was served. Vasilisa Yegorovna, not seeing her husband, sent Palashka for him a second time. “Tell the master: the guests are waiting, the cabbage soup will catch a cold; thank God, the teaching will not go away; will have time to shout." “The captain soon appeared, accompanied by a crooked old man. “What is this, my father? - his wife told him. “The food was served a long time ago, but you can’t get enough.” - “And you hear, Vasilisa Egorovna,” answered Ivan Kuzmich, “I was busy with service: teaching little soldiers.” - “And, that’s enough! - the captain objected. “Only glory that you teach soldiers: neither they are given service, nor do you know the sense of it.” I would sit at home and pray to God; it would be better that way. Dear guests, you are welcome to the table.”
We sat down to dinner. Vasilisa Egorovna did not stop talking for a minute and showered me with questions: who are my parents, are they alive, where do they live and what is their condition? Hearing that the priest has three hundred souls of peasants, “Isn’t it easy! - she said, - there are rich people in the world! And here, my father, we only have one girl, Palashka, but thank God, we live small. One problem: Masha; a girl of marriageable age, what is her dowry? a fine comb, a broom, and an altyn of money (God forgive me!), with which to go to the bathhouse. It’s good if there is a kind person; Otherwise you’ll sit as an eternal bride among the girls.” – I looked at Marya Ivanovna; she turned all red, and even tears dripped onto her plate. I felt sorry for her and hurried to change the conversation. “I heard,” I said rather inopportunely, “that the Bashkirs are going to attack your fortress.” - “From whom, father, did you deign to hear this?” – asked Ivan Kuzmich. “That’s what they told me in Orenburg,” I answered. “Nothing! - said the commandant. “We haven’t heard anything for a long time.” The Bashkirs are a scared people, and the Kyrgyz have also been taught a lesson. They probably won’t come at us; and if they get upset, I’ll give such a joke that I’ll calm it down for ten years.” “And you are not afraid,” I continued, turning to the captain, “to remain in a fortress exposed to such dangers?” “It’s a habit, my father,” she answered. “It’s been twenty years since we were transferred here from the regiment, and God forbid, how I was afraid of these damned infidels!” How I used to see lynx hats, and when I heard their squealing, would you believe it, my father, my heart would skip a beat! And now I’m so used to it that I won’t even move until they come to tell us that villains are prowling around the fortress.”
“Vasilisa Yegorovna is a very brave lady,” Shvabrin remarked importantly. – Ivan Kuzmich can testify to this.
“Yes, hear you,” said Ivan Kuzmich, “the woman is not a timid woman.”
- And Marya Ivanovna? - I asked, - are you as brave as you?
– Is Masha brave? - answered her mother. - No, Masha is a coward. He still can’t hear the shot from a gun: it just vibrates. And just as two years ago Ivan Kuzmich decided to shoot from our cannon on my name day, so she, my dear, almost went to the next world out of fear. Since then we haven’t fired the damn gun.
We got up from the table. The captain and captain went to bed; and I went to Shvabrin, with whom I spent the whole evening.
Chapter IVDuel
- If you please, get into position.
Look, I'll pierce your figure!*
Knyazhnin.

Several weeks passed, and my life in the Belogorsk fortress became not only bearable for me, but even pleasant. In the commandant's house I was received like family. The husband and wife were the most respectable people. Ivan Kuzmich, who became an officer from the children of soldiers, was an uneducated and simple man, but the most honest and kind. His wife managed him, which was consistent with his carelessness. Vasilisa Yegorovna looked at the affairs of the service as if they were her master’s, and ruled the fortress as accurately as she ruled her house. Marya Ivanovna soon stopped being shy with me. We met. I found in her a prudent and sensitive girl. In an imperceptible way, I became attached to a good family, even to Ivan Ignatich, the crooked garrison lieutenant, about whom Shvabrin invented that he was in an impermissible relationship with Vasilisa Yegorovna, which did not have even a shadow of plausibility; but Shvabrin didn’t worry about that.
I was promoted to officer. The service did not burden me. In the God-saved fortress there were no inspections, no exercises, no guards. The commandant, of his own accord, sometimes taught his soldiers; but I still could not get them all to know which side was right and which was left, although many of them, so as not to be mistaken, placed the sign of the cross on themselves before each turn. Shvabrin had several French books. I began to read, and the desire for literature awakened in me. In the mornings I read, practiced translations, and sometimes wrote poetry. He almost always dined at the commandant's, where he usually spent the rest of the day and where in the evening Father Gerasim sometimes appeared with his wife Akulina Pamfilovna, the first messenger in the entire district. Of course, I saw A.I. Shvabrin every day; but hour by hour his conversation became less pleasant for me. I really didn’t like his usual jokes about the commandant’s family, especially his caustic remarks about Marya Ivanovna. There was no other society in the fortress, but I didn’t want anything else.
Despite the predictions, the Bashkirs were not indignant. Calm reigned around our fortress. But the peace was interrupted by a sudden civil strife.
I have already said that I studied literature. My experiments, for that time, were considerable, and Alexander Petrovich Sumarokov, several years later, praised them very much. Once I managed to write a song that I was pleased with. It is known that writers sometimes, under the guise of demanding advice, look for a favorable listener. So, having rewritten my song, I took it to Shvabrin, who alone in the entire fortress could appreciate the works of the poet. After a short introduction, I took my notebook out of my pocket and read him the following poems:

Destroying the thought of love,*
I try to forget the beautiful
And oh, avoiding Masha,
I'm thinking of getting the liberty!

But the eyes that captivated me
Every minute before me;
They confused my spirit,
They destroyed my peace.

You, having learned my misfortunes,
Have pity on me, Masha,
In vain me in this fierce part,
And that I'm captivated by you.

– How do you find this? - I asked Shvabrin, expecting praise, like a tribute, which was certainly due to me. But to my great chagrin, Shvabrin, usually condescending, decisively declared that my song was not good.
- Why is that? – I asked him, hiding my annoyance.
“Because,” he answered, “that such poems are worthy of my teacher, Vasily Kirilych Tredyakovsky, and his love couplets remind me very much.”
Then he took the notebook from me and began to mercilessly analyze every verse and every word, mocking me in the most caustic way. I couldn’t bear it, I snatched my notebook from his hands and said that I would never show him my writings. Shvabrin laughed at this threat too. “Let's see,” he said, “if you keep your word: poets need a listener, like Ivan Kuzmich needs a decanter of vodka before dinner. And who is this Masha, to whom you express your tender passion and love misfortune? Isn’t it Marya Ivanovna?”
“It’s none of your business,” I answered, frowning, “whoever this Masha is.” I don’t ask for your opinion or your guesses.

There is nothing for you to do in Orenburg; distraction is harmful to a young person. And today you are welcome to dine with me.”

It's not getting any easier hour by hour! I thought to myself; What good did it serve me that even in my mother’s womb I was already a guard sergeant! Where has this got me? To the regiment and to a remote fortress on the border of the Kirghiz-Kaisak steppes!.. I dined with Andrei Karlovich, the three of us with his old adjutant. Strict German economy reigned at his table, and I think that the fear of sometimes seeing an extra guest at his single meal was partly the reason for my hasty removal to the garrison. The next day I said goodbye to the general and went to my destination.

CHAPTER III. FORTRESS.

We live in a fort

We eat bread and drink water;

And how fierce enemies

They will come to us for pies,

Let's give the guests a feast:

Let's load the cannon with buckshot.

Soldier's song.

Old people, my father.

Minor.

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

Nobody met me. I went into the hallway and opened the door to the hallway. An old invalid, sitting on a table, was sewing a blue patch onto the elbow of his green uniform. I told him to report me. “Come in, father,” the disabled man answered: “our houses.” I entered a clean room, decorated in an old-fashioned way. There was a cupboard with dishes in the corner; on the wall hung an officer's diploma behind glass and in a frame; Beside him were popular prints depicting the capture of Kistrin and Ochakov, as well as the choice of a bride and the burial of a cat. An old woman in a padded jacket and with a scarf on her head was sitting by the window. She was unwinding the threads, which were held, spread out in his arms, by a crooked old man in an officer's uniform. “What do you want, father?” - she asked, continuing her lesson. I answered that I had come to work and appeared on duty to the captain, and with this word I addressed the crooked old man, mistaking him for the commandant; but the hostess interrupted my speech. “Ivan Kuzmich is not at home,” she said; - “he went to visit Father Gerasim; It doesn’t matter, father, I’m his owner. Please love and respect. Sit down, father." She called the girl and told her to call the policeman. The old man looked at me with curiosity with his lonely eye. “I dare to ask,” he said; - “Which regiment did you deign to serve in?” I satisfied his curiosity. “And I dare to ask,” he continued, “why did you deign to move from the guard to the garrison?” - I answered that such was the will of the authorities.

We live in a fort
We eat bread and drink water;
And how fierce enemies
They will come to us for pies,
Let's give the guests a feast:
Let's load the cannon with buckshot.
Soldier's song
Old people, my father.
Minor

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

Nobody met me. I went into the hallway and opened the door to the hallway. An old invalid, sitting on a table, was sewing a blue patch onto the elbow of his green uniform. I told him to report me. “Come in, father,” answered the disabled man, “our houses.” I entered a clean room, decorated in an old-fashioned way. There was a cupboard with dishes in the corner; on the wall hung an officer's diploma behind glass and in a frame; Beside him were popular prints depicting the capture of Kistrin and Ochakov, as well as the choice of a bride and the burial of a cat. An old woman in a padded jacket and with a scarf on her head was sitting by the window. She was unwinding the threads, which were held, spread out in his arms, by a crooked old man in an officer's uniform. “What do you want, father?” – she asked, continuing her lesson. I answered that I had come to work and appeared on duty to the captain, and with this word I addressed the crooked old man, mistaking him for the commandant; but the hostess interrupted my speech. “Ivan Kuzmich is not at home,” she said, “he went to visit Father Gerasim; It doesn’t matter, father, I’m his owner. Please love and respect. Sit down, father." She called the girl and told her to call the policeman. The old man looked at me with curiosity with his lonely eye. “I dare to ask,” he said, “in which regiment did you deign to serve?” I satisfied his curiosity. “And I dare to ask,” he continued, “why did you deign to move from the guard to the garrison?” I answered that such was the will of the authorities. “Of course, for actions indecent to a guard officer,” continued the tireless questioner. “Stop lying about nonsense,” the captain’s wife told him, “you see, the young man is tired from the road; he has no time for you... (keep your arms straight...). And you, my father,” she continued, turning to me, “don’t be sad that you were relegated to our outback. You are not the first, you are not the last. He will endure it, he will fall in love. Alexey Ivanovich Shvabrin has been transferred to us for murder for five years now. God knows what sin befell him; As you can see, he went out of town with one lieutenant, and they took swords with them, and, well, they stabbed each other; and Alexey Ivanovich stabbed the lieutenant, and in front of two witnesses! What do you want me to do? There is no master of sin."

At that moment the constable, a young and stately Cossack, entered. “Maksimych! - the captain told him. “Give the mister officer an apartment, and a cleaner one.” “I’m listening, Vasilisa Yegorovna,” answered the constable. “Shouldn’t his honor be placed with Ivan Polezhaev?” “You’re lying, Maksimych,” said the captain’s wife, “Polezhaev’s place is already crowded; He’s my godfather and remembers that we are his bosses. Take the officer... what is your name and patronymic, my father? Pyotr Andreich?.. Take Pyotr Andreich to Semyon Kuzov. He, a swindler, let his horse into my garden. Well, Maksimych, is everything all right?”

“Everything, thank God, is quiet,” answered the Cossack, “only Corporal Prokhorov got into a fight in the bathhouse with Ustinya Negulina over a bunch of hot water.”

- Ivan Ignatyich! - the captain said to the crooked old man. – Sort out Prokhorov and Ustinya, who is right and who is wrong. Punish both of them. Well, Maksimych, go with God. Pyotr Andreich, Maksimych will take you to your apartment.

A. S. Pushkin. Captain's daughter. Audiobook

I took my leave. The constable led me to a hut that stood on a high bank of the river, at the very edge of the fortress. Half of the hut was occupied by Semyon Kuzov’s family, the other was given to me. It consisted of one rather neat room, divided in two by a partition. Savelich began to manage it; I began to look out the narrow window. The sad steppe stretched out before me. Several huts stood diagonally; There were several chickens wandering around the street. The old woman, standing on the porch with a trough, called to the pigs, who answered her with friendly grunts. And this is where I was condemned to spend my youth! Longing took me; I walked away from the window and went to bed without dinner, despite the admonitions of Savelich, who repeated with contrition: “Lord, Master! he won’t eat anything! What will the lady say if the child falls ill?

The next morning, I had just begun to dress when the door opened, and a young officer of short stature, with a dark and distinctly ugly face, but extremely lively, came in to see me. “Excuse me,” he told me in French, “for coming to meet you without ceremony. Yesterday I learned about your arrival; The desire to finally see a human face took such hold of me that I could not stand it. You will understand this when you live here some more time.” I guessed that it was an officer who had been discharged from the Guards for the duel. We met immediately. Shvabrin was not very stupid. His conversation was witty and entertaining. With great cheerfulness he described to me the family of the commandant, his society and the region where fate had brought me. I was laughing from the bottom of my heart when the same invalid who was mending his uniform in the commandant’s front room came in and called me to dine with them on behalf of Vasilisa Yegorovna. Shvabrin volunteered to go with me.

Approaching the commandant's house, we saw on the site about twenty old disabled people with long braids and triangular hats. They were lined up in front. The commandant stood in front, a vigorous and tall old man, wearing a cap and a Chinese robe. Seeing us, he came up to us, said a few kind words to me and began to command again. We stopped to look at the teaching; but he asked us to go to Vasilisa Yegorovna, promising to follow us. “And here,” he added, “there is nothing for you to see.”

Vasilisa Egorovna received us easily and cordially and treated me as if she had known her for a century. The invalid and Palashka were setting the table. “Why did my Ivan Kuzmich study like that today! - said the commandant. - Broadsword, call the master to dinner. Where is Masha?” - Then a girl of about eighteen came in, chubby, ruddy, with light brown hair, combed smoothly behind her ears, which were on fire. At first glance I didn't really like her. I looked at her with prejudice: Shvabrin described Masha, the captain’s daughter, to me as a complete fool. Marya Ivanovna sat down in the corner and began to sew. Meanwhile, cabbage soup was served. Vasilisa Yegorovna, not seeing her husband, sent Palashka for him a second time. “Tell the master: the guests are waiting, the cabbage soup will catch a cold; thank God, the teaching will not go away; will have time to shout." “The captain soon appeared, accompanied by a crooked old man. “What is this, my father? - his wife told him. “The food was served a long time ago, but you can’t get enough.” - “And you hear, Vasilisa Egorovna,” answered Ivan Kuzmich, “I was busy with service: teaching little soldiers.” - “And, that’s enough! - the captain objected. “Only glory that you teach soldiers: neither they are given service, nor do you know the sense of it.” I would sit at home and pray to God; it would be better that way. Dear guests, you are welcome to the table.”

We sat down to dinner. Vasilisa Egorovna did not stop talking for a minute and showered me with questions: who are my parents, are they alive, where do they live and what is their condition? Hearing that the priest has three hundred souls of peasants, “Isn’t it easy! - she said, - there are rich people in the world! And here, my father, we only have one girl, Palashka, but thank God, we live small. One problem: Masha; a girl of marriageable age, what is her dowry? a fine comb, a broom, and an altyn of money (God forgive me!), with which to go to the bathhouse. It’s good if there is a kind person; Otherwise you’ll sit as an eternal bride among the girls.” – I looked at Marya Ivanovna; she turned all red, and even tears dripped onto her plate. I felt sorry for her and hurried to change the conversation. “I heard,” I said rather inopportunely, “that the Bashkirs are going to attack your fortress.” - “From whom, father, did you deign to hear this?” – asked Ivan Kuzmich. “That’s what they told me in Orenburg,” I answered. “Nothing! - said the commandant. “We haven’t heard anything for a long time.” The Bashkirs are a scared people, and the Kyrgyz have also been taught a lesson. They probably won’t come at us; and if they get upset, I’ll give such a joke that I’ll calm it down for ten years.” “And you are not afraid,” I continued, turning to the captain, “to remain in a fortress exposed to such dangers?” “It’s a habit, my father,” she answered. “It’s been twenty years since we were transferred here from the regiment, and God forbid, how I was afraid of these damned infidels!” How I used to see lynx hats, and when I heard their squealing, would you believe it, my father, my heart would skip a beat! And now I’m so used to it that I won’t even move until they come to tell us that villains are prowling around the fortress.”

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

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

- And Marya Ivanovna? - I asked, - are you as brave as you?

– Is Masha brave? - answered her mother. - No, Masha is a coward. He still can’t hear the shot from a gun: it just vibrates. And just as two years ago Ivan Kuzmich decided to shoot from our cannon on my name day, so she, my dear, almost went to the next world out of fear. Since then we haven’t fired the damn gun.

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