A RIDE TO A RUSSIAN WEDDING.
BY C. M. LITWIN.
A FRIEND of mine sent me, not long ago, the recently published translation of Count Tolstoï’s “The Snow Storm.” I had not read it in the original, but the translation was a good one, and this little picture of a ride in a snow-storm, drawn by a master’s hand, vividly recalled to my mind many of my traveling experiences during ten years of active service in Russia.
One of them—I don’t know why—presented itself to my mind with more persistence than the others, and I have not been able to resist the temptation of putting it on paper. I hasten to say, for fear of giving a bad opinion of myself beforehand, it will not be an account of a ride in a snow-storm, nor a description of such a storm, although I have seen many and have often felt their embraces. Who, after having read the Count’s little gem, would dare attempt a description of a snow-storm? Would it not be the same as to attempt to paint a subject treated by Rembrandt, or to mold another “Statue of Liberty?”
My tale is simply about an exciting ride taken in the winter, but early in the season, with but little snow on the ground—for Russia—while I was in a very excited state of mind over an event that was of more importance to me then than the still pending Oriental question or any other question of either hemisphere, namely, the wedding and the wedding-ball of a girl with whom we had all been, or imagined ourselves to be, a little in love. But I see that mature age is not always a sufficient safeguard against excitement, and I confess that with this glance back at those happy days I begin to feel something of that youthful nervousness, always aspiring to something, always wishing for something, and to put a check on it I begin my tale.
My headquarters were in Ladoga, the county seat of the district of the same name, in the Province of St. Petersburg. The town is situated on the Lake of Ladoga, at the mouth of the river Wolchow, which is large, but very dangerous for navigation on account of its rapids. This stream forms a link in the water-system connecting the Caspian Sea with St. Petersburg and the Baltic.
The situation of Ladoga, its streets and buildings, have little of picturesqueness, except the old church built on a slight elevation just where the river enters the lake. On the high tower of this church, almost at its summit, and on the side facing the lake, there is a niche, protected from rain and wind by a pane of glass. Within this niche is placed a picture of the Holy Mother, lighted by several lamps burning day and night. These are kept there by the donations of the fishermen and sailors, who hold the holy picture in great veneration. They look for it from afar, not only with the eagerness of a Cunarder’s captain watching through his glass for Sandy Hook or the Fastnet lights, but also as worshipers, raising their eyes and hearts to the Holy Mother with her Infant, imploring help and protection in their lives of hardship and danger; for navigation on the lake is very dangerous from undercurrents, and I have often heard marine officers say that they would rather cross the ocean than make a trip on this lake.
The town of Ladoga contains only a few thousand inhabitants, but, since it is a county seat, all the government officers, military and civil, are obliged to live there with their families. If you add the staffs of the various regiments which are stationed there in turn, and several wealthy landowners of the nobility, you can imagine that life in Ladoga is gay.
In no other country than Russia are there so many private dancing parties, suppers—or rather midnight dinners—and all sorts of amusements, any one of which is, for the most part, a pretext for eating, drinking and gambling. Even among ladies, every game of cards is played for money, in a country where the paternal government says: “You cannot read; I will read for you. You cannot write; I will write for you. You cannot think; I will think for you.” Questions of public interest there are none. If there is a vacancy in an office, every one knows the Czar will make the appointment. If there is a famine, every one says the Czar will send bread; thousands will die meanwhile, but this is no matter. If there is a war, every one proclaims, “Our little father, the Czar, will beat them; our mother, Russia, is invincible; let him [the enemy] come, we will bury him under our caps.” One is only permitted to think how to win more at cards, how to eat more and not make himself ill, how to drink more and not be made drunk, although this last condition is not considered at all degrading. On the contrary, it awakens in every one charitable feelings, quite naturally, for every one expects to be drunk himself, if not to-day, then, surely, to-morrow. It is really edifying to see how a mantle of charity is thrown over one who is drunk, and how tenderly he is carried home to bed—more tenderly, indeed, than one who may have had the misfortune to slip and break his leg. But the young men do not think merely of cards, eating and drinking, although they do not lose much time before entering upon these delights, and almost all show, very early, a genius for them, probably by way of inheritance. The adherents and the advocates of the theory of inherited inebriety would find in Russia their task greatly simplified. In case of a hiatus in the genealogical record, or in case of the utter impossibility of tracing one, they would not be obliged to make a salto mortale to Noah. Stretching out their fingers triumphantly, they could at once point out son, father and grandfather drunk in company.
There is, however, a time when a young man, even in Russia, thinks more of dancing and flirtation than of anything else, and when he under no circumstances would omit a dancing party or a ball, to say nothing of a wedding-ball. A wedding and a wedding-ball were on the program for the next day. I was young, recently graduated, held quite an enviable office under government, and had been chosen by the bride to hold the crown—not of diamonds, but of tinsel—over her head at the wedding ceremony during her triple promenade round the pulpit, hand in hand with her fiancé, which, according to the Greek rite, is a symbol of the Gordian knot.
But something still better my stars had destined for me. It was that the dear girl, just lost to all others except her husband, had selected me from a score of aspirants to lead the mazurka with her at the end of the ball. No sympathetic soul will wonder that, under these circumstances, I thought myself of no less importance for the events of the coming day than Bismarck for the Vaterland, and that while hurrying on all the necessary preparations for my personal appearance, I was plotting to prolong the mazurka at least one hour beyond the usual time.
Perhaps some one will question how it was that the honor of dancing the principal dance with the bride was bestowed on me, and not reserved for the bridegroom. Well, there were two reasons of the best kind. The first—a secret I will not tell; but the other, known to all Ladoga, was as follows: The groom’s left leg was shorter than the right. This misfortune naturally prevented him from dancing that fiery dance. Besides this, he belonged to that body of dignitaries entrusted by the Father of all Russia with the power of deciding the fate of poor delinquents, no matter in what category. Russia has her points of etiquette. Was it possible for such a dignitary to hop for hours through a mazurka? Certainly not. Even if both his legs had been of the same length, he could not have done it, for his shoulders were already loaded with a terrible weight of responsibility. To please his own humane heart, and to please all the living steps above him, up to the highest, who—no matter what Roman numeral is appended to his name—is considered to be endowed with the most humane heart of all, our dignitary had often to decide a question, frequently put to Russian rulers: which penalty would be the most humane, several thousand strokes of the knout, under which the sufferer might possibly die; or twenty years in the mines, where he would probably die?
Now, since this subject is at present so eloquently presented before the world in a work—for which, oh, so many thousands of hearts are praying that it may bring the same blessed results as “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”—I will only say that my bridegroom, being in a constant dilemma himself on that point, carried his neck bent forward in addition to his mismatched legs.
The evening before the wedding and the ball my preparations were all accomplished to my satisfaction. My new uniform, new epaulets, new boots, fitting so tightly that I could scarcely walk in them, but made to my special order by the most reliable shoemaker in Ladoga, new white gloves—in one word, everything new—lay spread about in my room on tables and chairs. Imagine, then, my dismay, when, at five o’clock in the evening, I received a dispatch ordering me to go at once on a very important service to a place at a distance of ninety-six versts (about sixty miles) from Ladoga.
In spite of my own excited anticipation of to-morrow’s enjoyment, I must say that I was more tormented by the thought of the disappointment of the poor girl. What would she think? What would she feel? Would she not even consider my absence as a bad omen for all her future life? To be absent! No, even for the Czar’s sake I was incapable of such treachery. But what could I do? To report myself sick was impossible, for in that case I could not appear at the ball. Delay was out of the question. I was obliged to go. Fortunately I could calculate upon performing my duties there before noon of the next day, and it only remained to be sure if I could make the journey with the speed of the wind. But I would not allow any obstacles to give me uneasiness. I knew I could make the 192 versts easily in nineteen hours, and having twenty-seven hours before me, I calculated upon having plenty of time, both for the business and the journey.
So, without losing any time, I packed what was necessary for the trip, sent at once for the post-horses, and ran to communicate the bad news to my partner. As I anticipated, she was much startled, but by giving her the most solemn promises that I would return coûte que coûte in time for the ball, at eight o’clock the next evening, I succeeded in calming her.
As I have mentioned before, it was in the beginning of winter, so I traveled in a sleigh. I left Ladoga at half-past six in the evening, and arrived at my destination about three o’clock in the morning, without any accident. Ordering at the post station a samovar, I made tea for myself, drank several cups, gave orders that I should be aroused at six in the morning, and without undressing, wrapped myself in my fur cloak, and, pushing under my head my leather traveling pillow, fell asleep on the station sofa.
I was aroused punctually as I had ordered at six, and after the blessing of Russia—the samovar—had fulfilled its morning duty, I hastened to mine. As I said, I had fully decided to rid my hands of the unwelcome business in a very few hours, but I counted without my host. Some individuals who were called as witnesses, but had not in view a wedding hop, arrived late, and the village authorities, who could not guess the reason of my feverish zeal in the Czar’s service, moved and acted with the habitual slowness and apathy of the Russian peasant. In short, it was already one o’clock in the afternoon when the last document was duly signed, witnessed, and packed in my portfolio. I rushed into my furs and through the door, before which the trojka had been standing for more than an hour, the horses and the jamszczyk shivering with the cold, and the bells tinkling.
I threw myself into the low, spacious sleigh, well filled with straw, and shouted to the jamszczyk:
“Poszol!” (Go.)
A promise of one ruble if he would make the next station, a distance of sixteen versts, in one hour, did not fail to produce the desired effect. The horses, stimulated by the wild shouts of the jamszczyk, and by the whip, on the end of which stuck the promised ruble, ran, as the French say, ventre à terre, and the next village was reached at but seven minutes past two.
The day was clear, but a strong northwester, blowing fiercely, made the air bitterly cold. Snow having fallen some few days previously, the road was excellent, and my only fear was that I might fail to find horses at some station. In this case there would be no help. Every one, even the Governor-general himself, if he arrives unexpectedly, must wait till the return of the first span, and till the regulation two hours for feeding the exhausted beasts passes away. But, trusting to my good luck, and still more to the secret prayers of my partner in the mazurka, I drove such gloomy anticipations as far as possible from my mind.
The starosta met me at the door of the station, which was at the same time his house, invited me to enter and to warm myself with a cup of tea. I declined, and having no heart to ask the question dreaded by each traveler: “Are the horses at hand?” said that I was in a great hurry and wished to go at once. He said, “All right!” and I entered the room resolving to be polite and patient, knowing by experience that in many cases politeness and patience produce more effect than shouting and commands. Besides this, I was sure my former driver would not fail to tell his comrades that I was a “good fare.” Scarcely ten minutes had passed when the starosta came in, announcing: “The horses are ready.”
With a light heart I hurried out, but my satisfaction was a little checked by seeing that instead of three horses there were only two. I asked the starosta for the reason, and received the answer that all the jamsczyks were out, and that he would send his own boy, whom he could not risk with a trojka. At the same moment a little bit of a chap came out of the izba. He was not more than twelve years old, but looked bright and smart: he was dressed in the full costume of a genuine jamszczyk, and held in his hand his short whip, which he snapped with the air of a connoisseur. Approaching the horses deliberately, he walked round them, and imitating in every movement an old jamszczyk, he began to examine and to try by shaking the different parts of the harness, showing an especial fondness for the big bell hanging over the head of the horse in the shafts. He was evidently convincing himself that everything was in order for the event—so important for him—of driving a real officer with a star on his cap, instead of a simple peasant-delegate. Meanwhile the starosta helped me into the sleigh, seated me on my leather cushion, and piled heaps of straw round my legs and feet, pressing it so that it was impossible for me to move. As the cold was increasing, I abandoned myself to his tender care, which I could but consider as a mark of atonement for the missing third horse.
Everything being ready, I said “Go!” and the little boy, faithful to the end to the great rôle he was performing, took off his big cap, crossed himself hastily thrice—as every Russian does before any important, doubtful or dangerous occasion—seized the reins, threw himself coquettishly on the front edge of the sleigh, leaving his short legs hanging out, and in the manner of a well-bred jamszczyk, turned toward me his merry face, without disturbing his acrobatic posture, and asked, “Are you ready, sir?”
I gave a nod with my head just sticking out from the big collar of my fur coat, and the starosta said, “With God, Vaniusha [Johnny], and take care.” Vaniusha replied, “All right!” and addressing the horses, sang out with his silvery voice, “Eh, you, my little doves!” The doves started, the bells jingled, and off we went.
Now, I must confess that in my heart I was wickedly glad to have for a driver a child; “cet âge est sans pitié,” as the great fabulist has said, and I knew he would not spare the little doves, even without the one ruble pour boire.
The village being situated on a steep hill, the road from the station went rapidly down at a grade which could delight only a tobogganist. Besides this the road was not wide, and was bordered with izbas and fences on both sides. The passers-by greeted Vaniusha, and the village belles, attracted by the sounds of our chime, peeped out of the windows. That the little rogue, being well aware of the general admiration, felt himself in the seventh heaven, and was as proud as a peacock, he proved by an impatience which brought us both within a hair’s breadth of a bad end.
Not waiting to reach the plains, he began to tickle the tender parts of the side horse with his short whip. The tickled horse, knowing very well there are no flies in winter, instead of using his tail for self-protection, used his leg and kicked fiercely. Unfortunately, during this performance, the whiffle-tree became entangled in his legs. There is no difference between the animals of a civilized and an uncivilized country, and every one can easily guess what happened. The kicks were redoubled; and the shaft-horse, alarmed by his neighbor’s actions, kicked too, and both started on a wild race. The frightened Lilliputian dropped the lines and grasped the sleigh with both hands. I had no time to seize the reins before the sleigh tipped over. I was imprisoned in my seat by the straw tightly packed round my feet, so my body was forced to follow all the zigzags of the half-overturned sleigh, dragged furiously downward by the runaway “doves,” which seemed, indeed, to possess wings.
How long this lasted I cannot tell, for, thanks to the concussions that I received, and the dizzy speed in such an unaccustomed position, I lost all consciousness.
When I came to my senses I found myself stretched on the road. Hastening to get on my feet as quickly as I could, I began to examine myself, and was very glad to find everything all right.
I heard shouts of men running toward me, and perceived at some distance behind me the poor boy, now without his whip and without his big cap, standing in the middle of the road, bitterly crying and nursing one hand tenderly with the other. Far ahead spasmodic sounds of a bell resounded, and turning in that direction I saw my horses running round a mill which stood isolated beyond the village, just as if they had been performing a chariot-race at a circus.
I rushed to the boy and asked what was the matter. His pitiful sobs did not permit him to utter a single word, and I was afraid he had broken his arm.
Meanwhile the starosta and a crowd of moujiks reached us. Little Johnny was brought into the nearest izba and undressed. A careful examination by a znachar (village quack), fortunately present in the crowd, having been made, I was glad to learn from the mouth of the oracle that the bones were sound, though the wrist was sprained.
Several moujiks, who had run to catch the horses, brought them to the door, and my gun, portfolio, and other things scattered on the road were soon recovered.
This restored me to my full consciousness, and I exclaimed, “The mazurka!”
Without losing a moment, I thrust my hand into my pocket, gave to the still sobbing Vaniusha a “blue” (five paper rubles), and, addressing the starosta, said that I must go on at once.
The starosta, whose conscience now pricked him doubly for having economized on the third horse (for use of which he had already pocketed the post-fare), and for trusting a life precious to the Czar’s service to such childish hands, declared at once that he would drive himself. The station-house being now a half-mile away, not to lose time, he snatched, without much ceremony, from the nearest bystanders, things necessary to protect him from the cold, and we started.
Although this occurrence made me lose more than a half-hour, each minute of which was precious to me, I rendered thanks from my heart to Providence for my preservation from having my head split in two on a fence or on the corner of an izba.
The wind increased constantly, and snow began to fall and to melt on my nose, so I wrapped myself closely in my furs, and, feeling some fatigue from the excitement, sat perfectly quiet. Not so my driver. At first he was as still as a mouse, probably fearing or expecting some strongly flavored words from me, which he was sure he had deserved; but, seeing me so quiet, his own feelings began to wander in other directions. He grew angry. Had he not enough reason? His poor boy injured, and himself, instead of sitting in a warm izba and sipping tea, obliged to perform the duty of a jamszczyk. Who was guilty of all this? Certainly the doves, and to them he now turned all his attention. The whip, being now in the paternal hands, began to perform the paternal duty of bygone times. The doves could make no mistake this time about flies or mosquitoes, and had no time to kick. They ran at the top of their speed.
As it always was, and probably always will be—the one suffers, the other rejoices. So the doves suffered and I rejoiced as they devoured the space, and I flew with the speed of a state messenger bearing to the White Czar the news of a new victory of his army. In less time than any tip could have brought it about, we reached the next village, and, without any delay, I proceeded farther. The next stage was a long one, twenty-two versts, and the road led through the woods. Once in the woods, the wind could not be felt so severely. Darkness was coming on, and I felt sleepy. Moving hither and thither on my seat, and sliding down a little, I fell into quite a comfortable position and began to doze. My dreams, which constantly represented to my mind a brilliantly lighted hall, with its peculiarly scented atmosphere and incoherent rustle, all the beauties in their ball-dresses, and my still more beautiful partner of the mazurka, were interrupted by a sense of the cessation of motion, and by a voice saying, “Barin [sir], eh, Barin! do you see?”
“What is there?”
“Wolves!”
Indeed, straining my eyes to pierce the darkness, I perceived in the distance some points of light moving to and fro. I could hear indistinct howlings, too.
“The deuce!” thought I “what shall we do now?”
It seemed to me strange to meet, at this season, with a pack of wolves. The frosts had only begun, the snow was not deep, and generally these beasts venture out of their retreats only when driven by hunger. But I knew very well, too, that in such an encounter the most dangerous thing is to stop or to retreat. Even wolves respect courage. So, seizing my double-barreled gun, I said to the jamszczyk, “Go! go fast, but steadily, and do not stop under any circumstances.”
He started, but soon stopped again. Seeing that mildness would have no effect here, I applied to his head the strongest argument that I could, not neglecting, in spite of the darkness, to hit with my fist the lurking-place of his nerve of courage, indicated by Lavater. This plan worked, and, with the flash of an electric transmitter, he passed on the blow to the running nerves of the horses. They flew. The jamszczyk thrashed them without mercy, the bells jingled madly, and I, holding my gun in both hands, tried at the same time, by all possible means, not to tumble out of the sleigh. The points of light grew nearer, the howlings became more distinct, but it seemed to me as if it were dogs.
So it proved. Soon we came on a gypsy camp.
It was after seven in the evening when we reached the next station, and I had only one more before me. Being obliged to wait some time for fresh horses, and seeing that it would be impossible to arrive at the very beginning of the ball, I began to grow restless in spite of the conviction that the dear girl would never doubt my intentions, and would not pout her charming lips by way of punishing me for the moments of suspense.
At last the horses were announced, and I could proceed, but a new disappointment was in store for me. The horses, being still tired from a previous trip, showed themselves provokingly obedient to the regulation speed, and all my own and the jamszczyk’s efforts to urge them on proved useless. It was half-past nine when we reached the Wolchow. I think I have forgotten to say that my route being on the right side of the river, which was not yet frozen, I had to cross it. There was no bridge, and I think there never will be. Communication being made by a ferryboat, built and handled on the ante-diluvian principles, but quite safe in calm weather, I had now to cross the river on it once more. Generally it takes half an hour for the floating apparatus to make each trip, but I was prepared for this.
Imagine my surprise, then, when the ferryman—a weather-beaten ex-fisherman—who knew the lake and the river as well as his own five fingers, announced that the ferryboat was on the other side, and in such weather it could not cross the river.
Having made the last half of my way almost entirely through the woods, I was not aware of the increased fury of the elements. But now, jumping from the sleigh and approaching the river, I could convince myself of its condition.
Indeed it was an ugly sight. The wind blowing a gale, and coming from the lake, stopped the current of the river and raised its water. Not only white-caps, but whole mountains of waves were rolling in fiercely, throwing foam and spray high in the air. I saw there was no use even in promising a kingdom for a ferry. My feelings fell to a point below zero. So near to my goal, and at the same time so far from it! Nevertheless, I turned to the ferryman and asked him if there was no other way to cross the river. He said if I wished he would take me over in his little dory. I had noticed the little nutshell before, and always wondered how it could carry such a big sail without tipping over. But to think of it now! The bold proposal of the tar made me shudder. It was true that I might expect to be drowned that night, but though the Wolchow bubbled, sparkled and foamed, better than the driest product of the famous widow—it was not champagne.
Again I questioned the man whether there were no other means for crossing. He replied that, if I insisted upon it, I could have the large rowboat, adding that there were some men, who had already waited several hours in the ferry-house, to whom he had refused the boat, but that an officer must be accommodated, and that he was sure they would be glad to row me and themselves over.
I hastened to the shabby ferry-house, and found the company scattered about the floor asleep. Arousing them as quickly as I could, I explained to them the situation.
They were four in all—two peddlers and two peasants. Unanimously I was proclaimed captain, and we went to the boat at once.
I took the seat at the stern and seized the rudder. One of the peddlers took one oar, one of the peasants took the other. The second peddler, still half asleep, tumbled into the dancing boat, and we only waited for the remaining countryman.
What was my astonishment when I perceived him dragging something that did not wish to go? What was it? What new passenger? Before he reached the boat, however, I could guess by the squeals and peculiar noises which my ear caught amid the howling of the wind and the roaring of the river, that it was a pig.
Now, this was too much. My very epaulets revolted against such a thing. To go on a perilous expedition in company with a pig, and, if successful, to divide the honors with the pig!
I protested hotly. The owner of the pig implored, and the crew—true to tradition—revolted against the captain and voted for the pig.
What could I do? The chances were equal. Without me they could not have the boat; without them I could not manage it.
Fortunately at that critical moment—for to resist would be to lose the mazurka, and to yield to lose authority, and heaven knows of what those Tartars would not be capable in case of danger, once in the middle of the stream!—a brilliant idea struck me. I have acknowledged already my ignorance of nautical principles, but I had read in my boyhood, like every one else, some piratical novels, and the idea of ballast flashed through my mind.
The pig would be our ballast! And with this in view, I ordered the men to bind the pig’s legs and throw it into the bottom of the craft.
The ferryman having once more warned me to keep the boat constantly headed to the southwest, said to us, “Now, with God!” the two improvised oarsmen bent to the oars, and we started.
On the river it was pitch dark. I could barely see the forms of my companions. The boat danced wildly; nevertheless, I was in high spirits—I was advancing. The boat was large and in good condition, as the ferryman had assured me. All fears of capsizing disappeared from my mind, thanks to my bright idea of the ballast, which now lay gently grunting just in the centre of the boat. Besides, I had under my command two men in reserve to relieve the two oarsmen in case of their being exhausted, and we were provided with spare oars.
How long we pulled and struggled with the river I cannot say, for I began to lose all idea of time. Twice already the oarsmen had relieved each other, and in spite of this they began to show signs of exhaustion. It seemed to me we were not advancing at all. Suddenly the boat began to dance violently. From this I concluded that we must be in the middle of the river. To cheer up the crew, I communicated to them my nautical observations, but just at this moment a huge wave raised us high up, and another, as in a fury of jealousy, struck us vehemently. The boat made a terrible lurch. The frightened men raised cries of terror, and—worst of all—the pig began to squeal horribly, and, struggling with its bound legs, began to throw itself hither and thither. I was frightened. I thought the struggling animal would surely upset the boat; and in my turn I howled out, with a voice of which I am sure a captain possessed of the strongest lungs would not be ashamed, “Overboard with the pig!” But this command, instead of ameliorating the situation aggravated it in the most unexpected way. Its owner threw himself flat on the beast to protect it. The pig, taken by surprise, and misjudging the man’s intention, redoubled its tossings, and the man following each of them with his body, put the boat in real danger.
Already I was prepared to give a new command, “Overboard with the two pigs!” but hesitated for one moment.
At that time I had never killed anyone—though I must confess to having afterwards sacrificed the lives of a few stupid Circassians who dared to fight against the White Czar for their beautiful mountains and their liberty—and I was glad that I hesitated. The man proved stronger than the pig, overpowered it with his weight, and both man and pig lay still.
The boat recovering its buoyancy began again to follow the motions of the waves. At the same moment I perceived the lights of Ladoga, but to my horror those lights, instead of vanishing to the right, vanished rapidly towards the left. I jumped on my feet and shouted, “For your lives, men, pull stronger; we are drifting into the lake!”
A new struggle—a struggle for our lives—began. Each of us knew well that once in the lake in such weather and darkness, we were lost. The men threw their sheep-skins off. I did the same with my fur. We did not need them—we were bathed in perspiration.
How long it lasted again I cannot tell. It seemed an eternity, and in spite of our utmost efforts the lights vanished more and more to the left.
Suddenly I felt something strike my head. My cap was snatched off, and instinctively throwing my hand up to catch it, I struck a rope. I seized it frantically, and shouted, “A rope! catch hold!”
The pig’s master was now the first to follow my command, and at the same time I felt that the boat was striking something hard. This proved to be a huge barge. A merciful Providence had guided us just under the rope of her anchor. The rudder and the oars were abandoned; we all, except the pig, clung to the rope, and began to call for help.
A voice above our heads shouted, “Who the devil is there?” and the peddlers and the peasants, as with one voice, cried out, “It is a czinownik!” (a government officer). This magic word proved no less effective on sea than on land, and at once came the answer, “Hold on—wait!”
In a few minutes a light appeared on the deck, some one threw us a rope from the barge and we were dragged to the other side of the vessel.
I saw a man lying flat on his stomach and stretching down toward me both his hands; another man held his feet. I seized the welcome hands, or rather the welcome hands grasped mine vigorously, and I was hoisted on the deck.
My companions followed me in the same way. What became of the pig I don’t know.
My limbs trembled and almost refused to support me. From exhaustion and excitement I was shivering all over. But I had no time to lose. I must be on the shore as soon as possible, and my deliverers from an almost certain death led me, supported on both sides, to the place where an immense plank, some fifty feet long, connected the barge with the shore.
But if I could not walk very well on the deck, still less was it possible for me to risk myself on this narrow plank. So I was seated on it, and the boatswain of the barge pushed me over as carefully as if I were a bale of most precious merchandise.
Once on terra firma my legs recovered their elasticity as if by a charm, and thrusting into the hand of the boatswain the whole contents of my pocket-book, I ran to my lodgings.
With the help of my servant, who was fully initiated in all the mysteries of an officer’s ball attire, it did not take me long to get ready, but it was past two when I reached the house where all my thoughts were concentrated. It was supper-time, and the servant led me at once to the dining-room, brilliantly lighted and crowded to its utmost capacity.
But I had no time to waste in reflections, and had scarcely tossed off a few glasses of champagne in reply to toasts on my safe arrival when the signal for the mazurka was given.
All who had both legs right did not wait for the end of the supper, but seizing their partners rushed to the ballroom.
I need not say that I and my prize—I have the right to call her so, for I had fought gallantly for her, and won her, not for life, but for the mazurka—were at the head of all. We danced the mazurka, and danced till six in the morning.