III. PASSAGES FOR TRANSLATION INTO FRENCH

HISTOIRES D'HIVER

Last year I was invited to a wolf-hunt in Russia. It was towards Christmas, and there must hâve been fourteen degrees of frost. FoUovved by a few peasants we approached the forest and saw several wolves on the edge ; but we had scarcely fired a few shots when the wind rose and the snow began to fall. We ran to our sledges, and arrived home much sooner than we had intended. The evening was rather long, but we played cards and drank tea until it was time to go to bed. The next evening I took a turn round the village, in order to study the customs of the country-people. I saw some young people dancing in a tavern ; they had been dancing since mid-day, and they looked tired, but I hâve no doubt they were happy. A Httle later the fiddier sang an old Russian song ; I had heard it sung two years before. But supper was awaiting me, so I hastened home. As I was late, I apologised to my host. The latter was a man of good family : he was born in St. Petersburg, had travelled much, and studied in the German universities.

148 Cœurs russes

" Well," said he, " what do you think of our peasants ? " " I cannot understand them," I replied ; " they are reckless, merry, and sad ail at the same time." " I fear you will never understand them," he said. " Look hère, my friend, the origin of our race is a mystery : we hâve been hère for centuries, and that is ail we know about it. As for the countr)', wherever you go in Russia, you will find it such as you see it from this window, low-lying, flat, and white. There are six months of winter, and there is no spring. The effect of such a country on the character of the people is greater than you think. In my opinion, the Russians are, like the soup they eat, a confused mixture. Leave them alone, they are peacefui, contented, even happy ; disturb them, and they become madmen, martyrs, heroes. Perhaps you would like an instance. Well, I will tell you a story which may interest you, unless you prefer to play whist." I assured my host I would much rather listen to him. Thereupon he began one of the most interesting stories I hâve ever heard.

L'ONCLE FEDIA

Uncle Fédia was an old pediar, who used to visit the villages of our neighbourhood three or four times a year. The peasants did not like him because of his trade and of his strange appearance. More than once they had found him lying under his cart, and after his visits there was always something missing somewhere. Therefore they said he was a drunkard and a thief. For my part I liked him, although my father regarded him with suspicion. The last time he came to our housc, the weather was bad, and, as he was starting off, I told him to takc

Passages for Translation into Frcnch 149

shelter in a bam close to the mill. The next day we were told that the house of a neighbour of ours had been set on fire, and no one doubted but that Uncle Fédia was the culprit. He was arrested, and an inquiry was held, but nothing could be proved against him. On the contrary, everything led the police to believe that a certain woman, named Akoulina, was the guilty person, and consequently Uncle Fédia was released. This woman was tried some months afterwards, and, as my father was a witness, I succeeded in being présent at the trial.

The great bare hall was full of landed proprietors and peasants. The prisoner, who was seated in the dock, scarcely listened to what the prosecutor said ; she directed her looks now at the clock, now at the entrance-door, as though she expected some one. She declared that she had spent the night of the fire in a barn belonging to a cousin of hers, named Anton, and that if he were présent he would prove the alibi. Unfortunately Anton had disappeared. She was innocent, she said ; she knew nothing about the fire ; she knew nothing of what had happened. It was heart-breaking to hear her implore Christ to save her, for we ail felt that she was speaking the truth. There was deep silence in the hall when the clock struck twelve and the judge rose to pronounce judgment. Once more Akoulina looked anxiously towards the door. We should not hâve been surprised if her cousin had walked in. No one appeared, but I noticed with amazement Uncle Fédia standing right at the back of the hall. He had been there for some time.

Uncle Fédia came forward, and, having made the sign of the cross, turned towards the judges. The président

150 Cœurs russes

asked him what he wanted. He said that the woman was not guilty, and that it was he who had set fire to the house. The judges could not believe it ; it seemed to them that they had to do with a madman. They asked him to tell his story. " I slept," he said, " in the bam. After twelve I left the bam, went to the house, and set fire to the stables. Did you not find a pot of tar among the ruins ? That pot formed part of my wares, and I bought it the day but one before the fire." The judges found that this latter détail was exact, and condemned Uncle Fédia to the Siberian mines. Some six years later I was spending my summer holidays at home, when one morning the priest came running into our garden. "Hâve you heard what has happened ? " he cried : " the miller bas just died, and has confessed that it was he who set fire to the house, after he had bought the pot of tar from the pedlar." We took steps to find Uncle Fédia : we wrote to Siberia in ail directions, but in vain. It is many years since we saw him, and I fear we shall never see him again.

LE FIFRE rÉTROUCHKA

Before my host had finished his story a manservant came in with a samovar. " Hallo ! " I cried, " why that is the fiddler I saw in the village." " You are right," said my host ; " Pétrouchka has been in my service for many years, and, although he is idle, I must confess he is one of the best servants I hâve ever had. He distinguished himself greatly at the siège of Bayazid. Perhaps you would like to hear the story. It was in 1877, during our war with the Turks, that the incident happened. We had barricaded ourselves in a little half-ruined citadel, where we had sufficient to live on for four or five days. Every evening we sent out a party of volunteers to fetch water

Passat^es for Translation into Frcnch 151

from a brook near the village ; in this way \ve obtained a few buckets of tainted water, but lost a great number of men. We soon had to reduce the soldiers to half a pound of biscuits a day. But look at this little book ; it contains the orders of the day, which our brave commanding ofïicer issued to the men during the siège. When I hâve read them out to you, you will better understand what privations we vvent through."

It was a sad story, even sadder than I had expected. I shall always remember Order No. 1 5 ; I will quote it. " From to-day water rations will be reduced to one spoonful per man, and a quarter of a pound of biscuit will be given to each combatant." " But," continued my host, " I hâve almost forgotten Pétrouchka and the part he played in the siège. I dare say you are wondering what has become of him. Well, three ideas came into his head, and I might say they were the only ideas this man ever had. The first failed. It was an attempt to catch two wild pigeons which used to spend the night in the garrison chapel. In running" after them, Pétrouchka almost broke his neck. The second idea was still more unfortunate. He had heard that there was a good store of corn in a house near the village, so a sortie was made. But this time he did not get off so cheaply. The Turks opened fire, and the party had to retreat into the citadel, bringing with them Pétrouchka with two bullets in his body.

The third idea was a splendid one, as you will see, and, what is more, it succeeded. During ail this time we were expecting an army to come to our help, but none arrived. One evening an officer came from the Turkish camp with

152 Cœurs russes.

a letter in which the pacha urged us to surrender. The struggle, he said, was useless, because ail our troops had been defeated. Imagine the efifect of this letter on our exhausted, half-starved men. \Ve were on the point of giving way when Pétrouchka appeared with his idea. Taking his pipe from his pocket he played the first line of our national anthem, " God save the Czar ! " The effect was electrical : heads were raised, eyes flashed, and in less than two minutes the officer was swinging from the end of a rope. The next morning an army corps came to our aid. General Tergoukassof, who commanded it, gave Pétrouchka the cross of St. George. The latter thanked his Excellency, but he added that he would be very glad if the General would hâve a glass of water given him : it was four-and-twenty hours, he said, since he had had anything to drink.

VARVARA AFANASIEVNA

" I see," said my host a few days later, " that you do not yet thoroughly understand the Russian character. What astonishes you most is that you find two totally différent types of individuals in the country : on the one hand beings who might hâve lived in the Middle Ages, on the other men who are fiUed with modem ideas. Perhaps you hâve noticed in my garden a wild cherry-tree on which a plum-tree bas been grafted. On one side it looks like a cherry-tree, on the other like a plum-tree. That tree resembles Russia. When you hâve studied the question, you will see that our Fédias and Pétrouchkas are the product of our national character, while nihilism is the fruit of modem ideas. In order that you may understand what I mean, I will give you an instance of the latter.

" Varvara Afanasiévna was a peasant girl whom my

Passages for Translation into Frcnch 153

mother had brought up with my sister and whose sole ambition was to study medicine. In 1872 médical courses were opcned for women in St. Petersburg, and Varvara betook hcrself at once to the capital. From time to time she wrote to us in order that my mother should know what progress she was making. Her letters will doubtless interest you ; hère they are, read them."

In the first letter she said that the entrance examination had been ridiculously easy. The examiners had only asked the candidates the simplest questions, as if they were making fun of them. More than eighty students had been admitted, and among them were représentatives of nearly every class in the country. They would now be able to profit by the advantages of the médical school, although the professors treated them like children at first. She was to be examined a second time in a few days, and she hoped to make a good impression on the professer of histology who was to examine her. She complained that the rules of the establishment were veiy strict ; for instance, the students had to wear a uniform and a hair-net, and they were not to go out of the town without permission. What she hated most was that ridiculous uniform. Fortunately, the lady inspecter was a good-natured woman, and used to shut her eyes when the girls smoked cigarettes in the intervais of the lectures. Varvara doubted whether there was a kinder woman in ail Russia.

In another letter Varvara described the privations which she and her companions suffered during their course of study. There were some, she said, who had only twenty or thirty roubles a month, and there were others who had nothing at ail. Such was the préjudice against this new type of student

154 Cœurs russes

that many families refused to lodge them. At first \'ar\ara had shared a room with one of her friends, and the two girls used to hâve a dinner every third day. After some time their position had been improved by means of pubHc subscriptions and charity concerts. In the next letter Varvara began to complain of the monotony of her life. She spent the day in assisting at the lectures, and the evening in talking about them. At times she feared lest this severe apphcation might make her mad, for she had no time to take the air or even to read the papers. However, the last year of study arrived, and Varvara passed her final examination. Out of eighty students who had entered the Academy four years before, only seventy-one came out. The others had died. The seventy-one, although they had diplomas, began to wonder what would become of them.

They applied in ail directions for employment, and one of them succeeded in getting a practice in the German colonies. Another abandoned herself to despair, and poisoned herself. But the majority of them found employment in the army médical corps during the war against Turkey. \'ar\'ara went to Sistovo, where she witnessed ail the horrors of war. "This horrible nightmare," she wrote, "has lasted for weeks and weeks. It is the greatest disappointment I hâve ever had. AU my hopes hâve come to nothing, and my comrades fear more than ever lest I may become mad. I hâve been talking to a young doctor on the subject of suicide, and he agrées with me that when a man is driven to the last stage of despair he feels the necessity of destroying something. I maintain that this ' something ' is himself. This doctor has died since, and I weep for him as if he had been my brother. He was the only man who had ever agreed with me, the only friend I had ever made. However great his faults may hâve been, I doubt very much whether a nobler heart has ever existed. But he is happier than I am, and in my opinion I had better follow him."

Passages for Translation into French 155

The last letter was from the Lady Superior of the Sisters of Mercy at Plevna. Hère is the substance of it. " I write to inform you that Varvara, the girl in whom you are interested, has just committed suicide. For some time we had noticed that she had been in a state of deep melancholy, and although I had tried several times to rouse her spirits, my efïbrts had had no effect. The poor girl has hanged herself."

After I had read the letters, my host tried to explain to me the cause of Varvara's death. " Young women," he said, " form for themselves an idéal, and vvhatever this idéal may be they never attain it. Then cornes the necessity of killing either themselves or others. Luckily there are more suicides than there are murders. What is the remedy ? I know none. A doctor cannot cure a man in five minutes merely with a prescription. It is the same thing when the heart of a nation is sick ; time is the only doctor which can cure it. In my opinion the best thing that Russia could do would be to go to sleep for a few centuries and then wake up with new life, new strength, and new énergies." I think my host is right.

The following year I again visited my friend, but to my surprise I found that the village was deserted and the peasants had fled. It appears that three families had gone to seek their fortunes in the south of Russia. Reports arrived in the village that land had been given them and that they were earning money rapidly. Thereupon the other families decided that they should seek a place which would please them and where they would be better off. " I hâve since heard," said my host, " that the emigrants arrived at the sea of Azov in a state of the

156 Cœurs russes

greatest misery, and that steps are being taken to help them."

It was some time since I had heard of old Pétrouchka. My host informed me that he had just died, and that he was going to be buried that aftemoon. He had left his violin to a httle peasant, vvho had been his pupil and assistant. We accompanied the sledge which bore his body until it was half-way up the hill, and then retumed to the house, thinking of this true type of Russia's children and wondering what the future of the country would be.

LE TEMPS DU SERVAGE

Hâve you ever hunted wild duck ? It is the best amusement I know. Last year I was hunting them in central Russia, when my friends and I arrived before a huge house surrounded by a battlemented enclosure. The latter puzzled me more than you can imagine, for it gave the house the appearance of a feudal castle or an old convent. I asked a friend of mine if such were the case. "Oh no!" he replied, " it is the house of the famous Vassili Ivanovitch. This landowner lived in the times of serfdom and was, they say, the cruellest man in ail Russia. Hère is an example of his cruelty. The peasants of a neighbouring village had revolted. Having surrounded the village, he set fire to it in such a way that no one might escape. Men, women, children, animais, ail perished in the fiâmes. In this way he succeeded in crushing the revolt. Nothing can give you an idea of the hatred which he inspired in ail who knew him. However, I will describe to you one of the last scènes in his life.

*' Vassili had been ill for some time, when one moming the serfs leamt that their master had just died. They ail

Passages for Translation into Frcnch 157

rushed to the castle, where they found Ihe tyrant lying on a table surrounded by wax candies. At first they were silent, but they soon became bolder. They sang and danced round their late master, pulled out his hair, and, pouring brandy into his mouth, invited him to drink to the health of his slaves. Suddenly his eyes opened ; raising himself with an effort, he picked out three of those who had insulted him and ordered them to be hanged. Every one believed that Vassili had corne back from the other world to hang a few more serfs. Some years later he died in good earnest, but no one believed it. The older villagers still fear lest he may corne back again, while the younger ones maintain that he did not die until the day of émancipation. în reality the latter are not wrong, for since that day there hâve been no more Vassilis."