Savéli's expiation. A Russian story

Front matter

Mrary of congress,

Shelf

Xl

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. BLUEBEARD 21

II. SEED-TIME AND HARVEST 27

Chapter I. Blue Beard

IHE manorial mansion of Daniel Loukitch Bagrianof

-L — built of wood, upon a high foundation or basement of brick — stood in the centre of a large court-yard. On the right of this court extended a long, low range of stables and carriage houses, while on the left were the servants’ quarters and the bake-houses.

The oval sward before the door divided the wide road like an island in the centre of a river. This road was built expressly for the Bagrianofs, and came in a direct line from the nearest post-station, eighteen versts aw T ay ; it was set thick on both sides with superb great birch trees, from the station to the very door, which door, it must be acknowledged, was not very superb. There were no walls on this side. A simple moat sufficed to defend the manorial

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dwelling against the wolves. As to men, that was quite a different matter.

Who could have the audacity to even dream of passing this slight protection, more to be feared than the thorny hedges which surround enchanted castles ? Daniel Bagrianof had dogs, but his dogs fed on raw meat, and, let loose every night, were less to be feared than the cold, stern eyes of the Seigneur.

No human being had ever seen Bagrianof angry. It was said that even as a child he had been guiltless of infantile irritability and rebellions. His pale face, his heavy eyebrows, and full rich beard were early frosted, and this gave him a look of great serenity. His steel gray eyes and thin lips alone suggested the pitiless tenacity and cold ferocity of this man. Although no one had ever seen him angry, it was also equally true that he had never within the memory of man been known to forgive an injury, voluntary or otherwise. A story was whispered about which gave a very accurate idea of his character. One fine day in his early youth, Bagrianof, having been ridiculed by a pretty woman behind her fan, took his revenge not upon her husband, but upon him who, right or wrong, was supposed to be on especially good terms with the lady. After having insulted him in a select assemblage, he ran him through the body in a duel a few hours later; and a week afterward said to the husband, carelessly : “ You owe me a great debt of gratitude, my dear fellow, for I have performed a task which in reality belonged to you : I have killed your wife’s lover.”

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The indignant husband sprang upon him they were separated, but the next day the lady was a widow.

This- summary fashion of settling matters was quite enough to give even the most courageous a cold shiver; and after having seen Bagrianof behave in a similar way more than once, it was quietly decided by the noblesse of that district to let him alone; consequently, for several years, he was left very much to himself. “ I go nowhere,” he said, one day ; “ I am too comfortable at home ! 9

As years went on, Bagrianof married. He took for a wife the daughter of a widower, his neighbor, whose estates were next his own. It was a marriage which had been long foreseen, and yet the announcement caused a great sigh of relief for thirty versts around, for no one need now fear that this terrible personage would appear as a suitor.

The young wife, Alexandra Rodiovna, brought up in freedom in her father’s house, soon learned to moderate her childish glee. She ceased to laugh, then to speak, and finally learned to weep. All this in one short fortnight! And when her aged father, whose mind was much weakened, came to see her in her new home, he had much difficulty in recognizing his little household pet, his /Sacha , in this grave woman, with lowered eyelids and measured footfall — who spoke in whispers, and never volunteered a remark, but replied, when addressed, in evident fear and trembling.

Bagrianof in the meantime called his wife, “My love, my life,” etc. ; but while he lavished upon her these tender epithets, the sardonic glances of those cold gray eyes followed every movement of the poor woman with strange insistence.

Scanty as was the intelligence left, the girl’s father had quite enough to understand what his daughter’s lot would be in this world ; and, at the end of a very few weeks, grief and regret had killed him.

Twenty years had passed away since then, and the destiny of Madame Bagrianof had in no way changed. She had brought into the world and nursed ten children, who had all died at a very early age. The eleventh child was a little girl — frail and delicate to such a degree that it was not supposed that she could survive, particularly as her mother had suddenly lost her milk, in consequence of a fright caused by her lord and master. This saved the child, who, handed over to a stout peasant woman, grew wonderfully, and developed like a timid little bird under the protecting care of her mother, who fairly idolized her.

For many years Bagrianof had been in the habit of recruiting his seraglio from the hosts of pretty girls in his various villages. He summoned them to his house, made his selection, kept them a day, or possibly two days, ordered them to eat their meals in the kitchen, and then sent them off with some trifling gift — generally a kerchief of many colors, such as the women thereabouts wore on their heads, and of which he kept a large stock in a wardrobe in his dressing-room.

In the village they had given up cursing him. What is the good of loading with imprecations the stone at the sav£li’s expiation.

mouth of the sepulchre which separates you forever from every living being? Bagrianof was as deaf and as dumb as this stone. From time to time, in obedience to immemorial custom, the peasants went to entreat him to remit the payment of a tax until the next harvest, or to buy one of them off at the recruiting season.

Lost labor! His cruel smile, his sarcastic laugh, his manner of a grand seigneur, which never left him — all these threw back more heavily than ever the stone which some vague hope had slightly lifted. Thus the peasants belonging to Bagrianof seemed to have forgotten all the laws' of hospitality.

Unfortunate indeed was any traveller of noble birth who, losing his way, saw himself compelled to ask his road at one of these villages! Unfortunate was he who, in the heat of summer, implored a glass of water to staunch his thirst! He saw himself repulsed by the women, driven away with stones by the children, and pursued by snarling dogs. Every man of noble birth was, in their eyes, an enemy.

The naked cabins, the arid soils and empty wells which they dared not feed from the spring lest there should not be a sufficiency of fresh water in their master’s house; the dilapidated granaries, the lean cattle, all spoke with eloquence of the master’s tyranny; while in the neighboring villages the rustling wheat, green meadow-lands, and rich herds, all suggested wealth and prosperity.

The peasant women from these last villages, in brilliant skirts and striped chemises, met at the wells the ragged girls belonging to Bagrianovka.

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“Why do you not live like us?” they said, when they met these women — all worn and harassed by poverty, who were obliged to walk a good half-hour in the broiling sun to fill their pitchers.

“Because the Seigneur takes everything,” they murmured, looking behind them in terror as they spoke.

But later on they ceased to answer; their haggard eyes flashed with hatred as they looked at the happy people who had everything in such abundance. “The peasants at Bagrianovka live like wolves and devour each other!” was said, from time to time ; and soon it came to pass that no more pity was expended upon them.

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Chapter II. Seed-time And Harvest

T HE harvest of 1842 was exceptionally bad for the inhabitants of Bagrianovka. The soil had been burned to powder by the burning sun. There had been little or no rain for four months, which was the finishingtouch of misery to these poor people.

In the interior — that is to say, back in the country — government had taken matters in hand and given wise assistance, while the granaries of the Seigneurs, which generally contained an amount of wheat sufficient for ten years, were drawn upon. But this was in no degree the case at Bagrianovka. They had nothing. The previous year, too, had not been favorable, and in the spring they had neglected to take to their masters the seed grain which was due. September had come; the scanty oats fluttered in the breeze, so sparse and empty were they that they were good for little more than fodder for the cattle. The harvest of wheat had been absolutely nothing; consequently, the Bagrianovka peasants saw themselves, one Sunday morning, face to face with the obligation of paying their rent to the Seigneur . that very day. The winter threatened to be a very severe one, and not one among the whole of them was certain of being able to feed his family until the spring.

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A little before the church was opened, the men gathered about the door. The starchina — the eldest man in the village— raised his voice and sadly spoke to this effect :

“Brothers — we have nothing, and the commune has nothing — not even the necessities of life. We must implore the Seigneur to forgive us our debt until next year. Perhaps God will take pity on us and will grant us a better harvest time.”

A mournful silence followed this proposition ; the drooping heads, and shoulders carelessly shrugged, announced the hopelessness with which it was regarded by the peasants.

“ Is there among you a man who will take it upon himself to answer for the others?” added the starchina. “Is there one here who has any property which he is willing to put at the disposal of his brothers? If so, the kindness would never be forgotten.”

The peasants looked at each other. Some few among them were not altogether penniless; but distrust comes quickly to those who are suffering.

“What you say, starchina, is not reasonable,” said one who was less impoverished than the others; “you know very well that if one of us should show either wheat or money it would at once be taken from him, and then, how would that profit you ?”

A dead silence followed, and just then the priest was seen coming toward the church ; the men drew aside for him to pass.

saveli’s expiation.

“ Father, will you advise us,” said the starchina, “ for we cannot pay!”

The priest was a man of about twenty-six, tall in figure and with a kind, honest face, a blond beard and long hair which made him look like the heads of Christ which are painted on the tabernacle doors.

His face had an expression of great sweetness and yet of manly firmness, calculated to inspire both confidence and respect. With eyes brimful of pity, he looked around on these poor peasants.

He was as yet new among them, had learned much of their miseries, but did not dream of the dull and sullen rage which slept in their souls.

“Ask, my children, and it shall be given to you. Go to your Seigneur, and perhaps God will open his heart to hear your prayers.”

“But he never grants them,” muttered a peasant, sulkily.

“ He may, this time, Ilioncha. Never despair of Providence, my son. If you wish it, I will offer up a prayer after the mass.”

“We cannot pay you, father,” said another man in the crowd.

“Never mind that; have no anxiety on that score,” answered the priest, with a smile. “Come, children — prayer rests the weary heart. Perhaps God will soften that of your Seigneur to mercy and compassion.”

He entered the church with the Sacristan, while the crowd followed slowly.

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The Seigneur kept them waiting. He never allowed the services to begin without him. Then the bell began to strike slowly and regularly ; the master was coming. He crossed the threshold of the sacred edifice with his head haughtily erect, counting his men as he would his heads of cattle. He reached the elevated seat, the seigneurial tribune, separated from the rest of the church by a wooden railing; he took his seat, and the Diacre sang the first verse before the closed door of the Holy of Holies.

Mass was over, and as Bagrianof was about to leave his place, he saw the priest in sacerdotal garments begin the prayer for mercy. Displeased with this unauthorized innovation, he frowned deeply. Who, then, in his church — his own especial church — had had the audacity to ask an especial prayer, without previously requesting his permission? He was silent, however, but he examined each group in turn.

His live-stock prayed with extraordinary fervor; their heads and shoulders, bowing in their responses, waved to and fro like a field of grain in a strong north wind. The words, “ Good Lord, have mercy upon us,” were uttered with intense feeling.

Bagrianof remarked all this, but still said not a word.

The prayer was over, and the priest having blessed the crowd, now advanced to the centre of the church, with the crucifix elevated between his two hands; ready to present it to the adoration of each one. The Seigneur did not stir. And no other person dared to move before he did; his wife looked at him with astonished eyes, and then, with a shudder, turned them hastily away.

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He enjoyed his despotic authority over this crowd, over this priest, who stood firm and undisturbed, but very pale — apparently unmoved by this insult. Then the Seigneur advanced, made the sign of the cross, kissed the crucifix, made a second sign of the cross, and finally, examining the priest with hard, cruel eyes, he said :

“And who, reverend father, commanded these prayers to-day ?”

“ It was I only, my lord ; I thought that the wrath of heaven seemed let loose on these poor people, and that prayer was their only consolation.”

“A very good idea!” replied Bagrian of, still smiling; “but I am not fond of novelties; remember this in future, I beg of you. Come and dine with us ! ”

And with this contemptuous invitation, which was in fact a command, the master retired without awaiting any reply. The priest turned very pale at the insult, and his hands held the tall crucifix more firmly. He presented it to the lips of the next person who approached. Piously, as was the custom, she kissed also the hand which held the cross, and a tear fell on the fingers of the priest. He looked down upon her, and a smile full of benevolence flitted over his face.

An hour later the deputation from the village presented itself before the mansion. Bagrianof, who had seen them approach, made them wait at least a good fifteen minutes, with their heads uncovered, standing in the north wind, which was tearing the dry leaves from the trembling trees; then, throwing on his fur pelisse and pushing a warm cap well down over his ears, he went out upon the balcony.

sav£li’s expiation.

The ten or twelve poor devils who awaited his good pleasure were huddled together, and inclined themselves before him until they touched the ground with their foreheads. When they were erect again the starchina entered the lists.

“ Seigneur,” he said, “ the harvest has been very bad, as you know. God has not spared us — we promised to pay you the grain that we owed to you in the spring-time, but we cannot. Have compassion upon us. Wait for the payment of this debt for one whole year; we will then pay you double what we owe you. And we will be grateful for your compassion until the end of our days.”

Bagrianof listened with his cold smile; he looked from one to another, and then replied, in his most suave tones :

“I do not know why you offer me double what you owe me, my children. Have I ever been looked upon by you as an avaricious man? Have I ever exacted more than my due from you? Then, my children,” said the master, “pay me the money you owe: I ask no more,” he continued, with a smile of triumph ; “ pay me that, and I shall be altogether satisfied, and all will go well ! ”

“ We cannot pay it immediately,” stammered the starchina; “you know yourself that the harvest has been an absolute failure.”

“A failure for me quite as well as for you,” answered Bagrianof ; “ I need money.”

“ Money ! ” sighed the peasants. “And where can we get money ? ”

“Where?” repeated Bagrianof, still perfectly calm.

“ Where can you get it? How do I know? Do you ask me where? Have you not your fur pelisses and your farm implements, your cows and horses ? these are all worth money, I believe.”

“ But the priest 1 ”

“ Who is it, who says ‘ but ? ’ ” answered the master. “ I know no buts 1 Then you do not intend paying me to-day? Have you brought nothing?”

“ No, master.”

“Very well, I give you one week more, until next Sunday. If, by that time, you have not paid, there is but one means of compelling you to make money with which to pay me. The district of Olonetz has sent to me for some people to guard their geese, milk their cows, and to do farm- work generally. You have girls among you who are stout and hearty; I will have them valued, and I will sell them. You may in this way, you see, pay your debts and yet not untie your purse-strings. Farewell, my children, take care of yourselves.”

He turned his back upon them and closed the door of his house.

The district of Olonetz ! Exile to an icy desert ! families and homes broken lip ! The peasants departed in broken-hearted silence.

“God curses us! It is the end of the world!” said Uioncha, as he entered his hut.

He had five daughters, three of whom were of an age to be married.

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Chapter III, A Midnight Scene

IGHT came on, cold and desolate ; a ferocious wind

-LM shook the trees, and the dry limbs fell to the ground. Great black clouds hurried athwart the young moon. The village was silent and as if struck by death. It was hardly eight o’clock, and yet the women and children in all the huts had gone to bed exhausted with tears.

The men did not sleep, however. They were gathered together under the starch ina’s roof, where, in the darkness, they were taking counsel of each as to what should be done. The question was not one of easy solution. The sale of their cattle and of their tools could be but a palliative. Spring would return, and then what were they to do? How could they cultivate the soil, which another year might be more fruitful, without the aid of a plough and a horse? Must they allow their daughters to depart? Many of them inclined to this alternative. It is a sad thing to say ; but poverty destroys all feeling among the Russian peasantry — even family affection — and allows only instincts to remain ; and that which is the strongest in the mother’s heart is for the child she has brought into the world. And the tall young girl, reserved and silent in the isba, is little more than a child.

SAVfiLl’s EXPIATION.

But Ilioncha, nevertheless, could not resign himself to this idea; he loved his daughters — he had no sons — his three beautiful, strong daughters, who were each as good as a man to work. Besides he knew very well that a black mark stood against his name; and that owing to several feeble acts of insubordination, he was certain of being the first to suffer, if this last threat was carried into execution.

“No,” he said, after a discussion interrupted by many a long silence; “no, I will never consent to seeing my daughters sold like sheep. And you may be sure, too, that he would deceive us as to the price they brought. No, I will not ! ”

“ But what will you do, then ? Shall we all die ? ”

“ No,” answered Ilioncha, dropping his voice ; “ if he should die, it would be enough ! ”

A terrible silence followed. There was not one of these men who had not thought an hundred times that death alone could deliver thern from this insolent yoke ; but no one of them dared to say so. The daring thought did not seem to have been grasped. After waiting a moment, Ilioncha resumed :

“ It would not be difficult ; there are only women in the house — the men all sleep in the servants’ quarters. It would be an affair of a moment; and we should be free — ■”

“And then ? ” said a voice, which did not express either horror or opposition.

“And then, nothing at all! The lady would own the estates, and she is not unkind.”

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“And the blood?”

“ If he is strangled, there would be no blood,” answered Ilioncha, with a calmness which showed that all these objections had been foreseen, and carefully considered. “ It would be an accident, of course. A stroke of apoplexy, perhaps ! ”

“He sleeps alone, does he not?” said a voice in the darkness ; no one knew who spoke.

“Alone, in his dressing-room. The lady and the demoiselle sleep in another part of the house, and their maids close at hand. We need make no noise.”

“ And the dogs ? ”

“We will kill a few chickens, and throw them to them while they are warm ; they like that, and will be quiet enough, I fancy.”

Another dismal silence.

“There are too many of us,” resumed Ilioncha; “five are enough, or even four, if you agree.”

“ Pie is very strong,” said the same voice, from the corner; “he will defend himself.”

“So be it then. There shall be five of us. With a good gag he can make but little noise, and we will not give him much time to struggle. Well, is this agreed?”

Another silence.

“ Is this agreed ? ” repeated Ilioncha, angrily. There was no reply. “ You are only women ! ” he cried, and he spat on the ground, as a sign of contempt.

“ It is agreed ! ” repeated the four or five men, not without terror.

sav£li’s expiation.

“ Then let us take an oath ! Who is here ? ” said Ilioncha, with a tone of triumph in his voice.

The peasants gave their names one by one.

“ Do you swear to secresy ? and that you will die rather than speak ? ”

“ We swear ! ” they answered, as with one voice.

“ Upon your everlasting salvation ? ”

‘‘Upon our everlasting salvation!”

“ Who will go with me?”

“ Make your own choice,” said a voice. “ We do this thing for the good of our families, and for the welfare of the whole village; it is not a revenge that we execute. Choose those whom you wish to have go with you; thev shall go.”

Ilioncha named four stout, strong men. They were among those whom he knew his Seigneur disliked, and who where themselves very discontented.

“ Let us wait two hours longer,” he said. “ When the moon is lower in the sky will be the hour when the Seigneur sleeps the soundest ; we will surprise him then.” “You others,” he continued, turning to those who remained, “ you go to bed as usual, and do not appear to be in expectation of anything ; everything, to-morrow, must go on as usual.”

Towards midnight Ilioncha, followed by his band, resolutely entered the court-yard by leaping the moat. The dogs growled, but the still warm chickens made them welcome the intruders as if they were friends. The door of the house, fastened by an ordinary lock, yielded to Uionsav£l.i’s expiation.

cha’s manipulations, and the conspirators, who well knew their way, reached the door of the Seigneur’s dressing-room, which was no better defended than the rest of the house.

A lamp burned in the corner before the Holy Images, and its light under the door stopped for a moment the men who were about to imperil their lives. They listened; they heard no unusual noise. The long-drawn breathing of Bagrianof told that he was asleep ; this, and the creaking of the boards under their weight, the cry of a distant bird, were all the sounds. They entered the room.

Bagrianof started up in bed. He was about to shout for assistance, when a large gag, adroitly applied, muffled every sound, and he fell back, half choking, with a cord around his neck.

The murderers stood still, and looked at each other and then at their lord.

Their enemy was in their power, and they had nothing now to prevent them from taking his life. But this, which had seemed such a very simple thing to do in the face of danger and a struggle, became absolutely impossible in the presence of this utterly defenceless man.

Bagrianof, motionless, watched them with angry, halfmaddened eyes. His face was partially concealed. The fingers of his right hand, which were alone free, made the sign of the cross upon his breast, while he appeared to be praying.

" What does he want?” said one of the peasants.

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“ He wishes, probably, before he dies, to ask God to forgive him and receive his soul/’ answered another.

“Listen, Seigneur,” said Ilioncha. “You are about to die because you are so hard and cruel toward us, and because you are deaf to the voice of compassion.”

Unconsciously this uncultivated man fell into a lofty phraseology, a phraseology which was almost Biblical — for the Bible is read in the Slavonic dialect during the services of the Russian church.

“ We wish thy death,” he continued, “ because in that way alone can we be liberated from thy thraldom ; but we do not wish also to sacrifice thy soul. Repent, and pray to God that He will receive thy sinful soul into His celestial kingdom.”

Bagrianof moved his fingers again upon his breast.

“ He cannot even make the sign of the cross,” said one of the conspirators. “ Let us untie his right hand and let him say his prayers.”

Ilioncha loosened, therefore, Bagrianof’s right hand, who used it to point to the Holy Images and to the Holy Gospel, which lay open on a desk. This pitiless being, this insolent Seigneur, this hard and cruel man prayed devoutly morning and night, and never retired until he had read some verses from the Scriptures.

“ You wish to read ? ” said one of the peasants. “ Yo; you had best pray — that will do you more good.”

Bagrianof, still humble and submissive, made a negative .gesture, and extended his hand to the volume. Upon the same desk lay a crucifix.

sav£li ? s expiation.

“ Is it the crucifix you want?”

Bagrianof made a sign in the affirmative.

“ Bring him the crucifix and let him kiss it,” said Ilioncha. “ But remember, Seigneur, if you make a noise, we shall pull that cord so quickly that you will have no time to make your peace with your Maker ! Give me that handkerchief,” he added, to his companions.

They passed the handkerchief around Bagrianoffis neck, and Ilioncha made in it a slip-knot, and held the end in his hand ; then another peasant brought the cross, and a third removed the gag.

Bagrianof drew a long breath, closing his eyes that he might not show the great joy he felt. It was an enormous step that he had regained the power of speech. He was almost certain now that he should succeed in saving his life.

“My good friends,” he said, gently, “I am indeed guilty toward you and toward God ; but, if you give me time for repentance, I swear to you that the remainder of my life shall be consecrated to repairing the evil which I have done to you.”

The phrase was long, but skilfully turned, for he had had time to mature it.

“Yes, yes!” said Ilioncha, disdainfully; “we know you. You speak very smoothly to-day, and to-morrow you will send us off to Siberia.”

“No! I swear to you that I will not;” and Bagrianof again quickly signed the cross. “I understand now all the harm I have done, because I see that it is my acts sav£li’s expiation.

which have led you to commit the horrible crime of murder — a crime so detestable in the sight of God. May the sin rest upon my own head. Had I been a kind, indulgent master, you would not have conceived a project which the church would never pardon, and which delivers your souls to the anger of the Omnipotent.”