The Queen of Spades, and other stories
near the commandant of St. Petersburg's summer residence. After it
Dantès Heckeeren, no longer able to remain in Russia, resigned his
commission and went to France, where he took up politics, and, as Baron
d'Heckeeren, was known as a senator in the Second Empire.
Pushkin was already wounded in the body when he fired at Dantès, and
hit the arm with which Dantès had guarded his breast.
"At six o'clock in the afternoon," writes Jukovsky, to the poet's
father, "Alexander was brought home in a hopeless condition by
Lieutenant--Colonel Dansasse, the old schoolfellow who had acted as his
second. The butler carried him from the carriage into the house.
"It grieves you, my friend," said Pushkin, "to see me thus?" Then he
asked for clean linen. While he was undressing, Madame Pushkin, not
knowing what had happened, wished to come in. But her husband called
out loudly, "_N'entrez pas, il y a du monde chez moi._" He was afraid
of alarming her. She was not admitted till he was already lying on the
couch.
"How happy I am," were his first words to her; "I am still alive, with
you by my side. Be comforted, you are not to blame. I know it was not
your fault." Meanwhile he did not let her know that his wound was
serious. Doctors were sent for--Scholtz and Sadler came. Pushkin asked
everyone to leave the room.
"I am in a bad way," he said, holding out his hand to Scholtz. After
examining him Sadler went off to fetch the necessary instruments. Left
alone with Scholtz, Pushkin inquired what he thought of his condition.
"Tell me candidly."
"You are in danger."
"Say, rather, that I am dying."
"It is my duty not to conceal from you even that," replied Scholtz.
"But we shall have the opinion of the other doctors who have been sent
for."
"_Je vous remercie; vous avez agi en honnête homme envers moi,_" said
Pushkin; adding after a pause, "_Il faut que j'arrange ma maison_."
"Do you wish to see any of your family?" asked Scholtz.
"Farewell, my friends," said Pushkin, looking towards his books.
Whether at that moment he was taking leave of animate or inanimate
friends I know not. After another pause, he said:
"Do you think I shall not last another hour?"
"No. But I thought you might like to see some of your friends."
He asked for several. When Spaski (another doctor) came near and tried
to give him hope, Pushkin waved his hand in dissent, and from that
moment apparently ceased to think about himself. All his anxiety was
for his wife. By this time Prince and Princess Viasemsky, Turgueneff,
Count Vielgorsky, and myself had come. Princess Viasemsky was with the
wife, who, in terrible distress, glided like a spectre in and out of
the room where her husband lay. He was on a couch with his back to the
window and door, and unable to see her; though every time she entered
or merely stood in the doorway he was conscious of it.
"Is my wife here?" he asked; "take her away." He was afraid to let her
come near him lest she should be pained by his sufferings, though he
bore them with wonderful fortitude.
"What is my wife doing?" he asked once of Spaski. "She, poor thing, is
suffering innocently. Society will devour her!"
"I have been in thirty battles," said Dr. Arendt; "and I have seen
many men die, but very few like him."
It was strange how in those last hours of his existence he seemed to
have changed. The storm which only a few hours before had raged so
fiercely in him had disappeared, leaving no trace behind. In the midst
of his suffering he recollected that he had the day before received an
invitation to attend the funeral of one of Gretcheff's sons.
"If you see Gretcheff," he said to Spaski, "give him my kind regards,
and tell him how sincerely I sympathise with him in his affliction."
Asked to confess and to receive the sacrament, Pushkin assented gladly.
It was settled that the priest should be invited to come in the morning.
At midnight, Dr. Arendt came from the palace, where he had been to
inform the Emperor. His Majesty was at the theatre, and Arendt left
instructions that on his return the Emperor should be told what had
occurred. About midnight a mounted messenger arrived for Arendt. The
Emperor desired him to go at once to Pushkin, and read to him an
autograph letter which the messenger brought. He was then to hasten to
the palace and report upon Pushkin's condition.
"I shall not go to bed; I shall wait up for you," wrote the Emperor
Nicholas. "And bring back my letter."
The note was as follows:
"If it will be the will of God that we shall not meet again, I send
you my pardon, and advise you to receive the last Christian rites. As
to your wife and children, they need cause you no anxiety. I take them
under my own protection."
The dying man immediately complied with the Emperor's wish. A priest
was sent for from the nearest church. Pushkin confessed and received
the sacrament with great reverence. When Arendt read the Emperor's
letter to him, Pushkin took hold of it and kissed it again and again.
"Give me the letter; I wish to die with it. The letter; where is the
letter?" he called out to Arendt, who was unable to leave it with him,
but tried to pacify him by promising to ask the Emperor's permission to
bring it back again.
At five in the morning the patient's anguish grew overpowering. The
sufferer began to groan, and Arendt was again sent for. But all efforts
to soothe the pain were futile. Had his wife heard his cries I am
sure she must have gone mad; she could never have borne the agony.
At the first great cry of pain the Princess Viasemsky, who was in
the room, rushed towards her, fearing the effect. But Madame Pushkin
lay motionless on a sofa close to the door which separated her from
her husband's death-bed. According to both Spaski and Arendt the
dying man stifled his cries at the moment of supreme anguish, and
only groaned in fear lest his wife might hear him and suffer. To the
last Pushkin's mind remained clear and his memory fresh. Before the
next great paroxysm he asked for a paper in his own writing and had
it burnt. Then he dictated to Dansasse a list of some debts, but this
exertion prostrated him. When, between the paroxysms, some bread sop
was brought, he said to Spaski:
"My wife! call my wife. Let her give it me."
She entered, dropped on her knees by his side, and after lifting a
couple of spoonfuls to his mouth, leant her cheek against his. He
caressed and patted her head.
"Come, come," he said, "I am all right. Thank God, all is going on
well. Go now."
His calm expression of face and steady voice deceived the poor wife.
She came out of his room bright with hope. He asked for his children.
They were brought in half asleep: He blessed each one, making the sign
of the cross, and placing his hand on their head; then he motioned to
have them taken away. Afterwards he asked for his friends who were
present. I then approached and took his hand, which was already cold,
and inquired if I should give any message to the Emperor.
"Say that I am sorry I am leaving him. I should have been devoted to
him."
On the 29th of January, at three in the afternoon, after two days of
excruciating pain, Pushkin died. His death was regarded throughout
Russia as a public calamity. In St. Petersburg disturbances were
feared. It was thought that the people might lynch Heckeeren and his
son. A secret funeral was arranged. The body was carried into the
church late at night in the presence of some friends and relations;
and in the neighbouring courtyards piquets were stationed. After the
service the corpse was despatched to the province of Pskoff, and
was buried in the monastery of the Assumption at Sviatogorsk, near
Pushkin's property at Michailovskoe. The Emperor gave about 150,000
roubles to pay his debts and to bring out a complete edition of his
works, besides granting a liberal pension to the widow.
On the 6th of June, 1880, was solemnly unveiled at Moscow a statue of
Pushkin, erected by voluntary subscriptions from all parts of Russia.
Pushkin was slim and of middle height; in childhood his hair was fair
and curly, but afterwards it turned dark brown. His eyes were light
blue, his smile satirical, but good-natured and pleasant; his clever,
expressive face bore evidence of his African descent, as did his quick
and passionate nature. He was irritable, but kind and full of feeling;
his conversation sparkled with wit and good humour, and his memory was
prodigious. Pushkin, it has already been said, was of ancient lineage,
but no Russian is sufficiently well-born to marry into the Imperial
family, and when quite recently the Grand Duke Michael, grandson of
the Emperor Nicholas, married without permission the granddaughter
of Pushkin, he caused the liveliest dissatisfaction in the highest
quarters. The bride may console herself by the reflection that her
grandfather was, in the words of Gogol, "a rare phenomenon; a writer
who gave to his country poems so admirable that they attracted the
attention of the whole civilised world; a poet who won respect and
love for the language, for the living Russian types, the customs, and
national character of Russia. Such a writer is indeed a rarity."
THE QUEEN OF SPADES.
CHAPTER I.
There was a card party at the rooms of Narumoff, a lieutenant in the
Horse Guards. A long winter night had passed unnoticed, and it was five
o'clock in the morning when supper was served. The winners sat down to
table with an excellent appetite; the losers let their plates remain
empty before them. Little by little, however, with the assistance of
the champagne, the conversation became animated, and was shared by all.
"How did you get on this evening, Surin?" said the host to one of his
friends.
"Oh, I lost, as usual. I really have no luck. I play _mirandole_. You
know that I keep cool. Nothing moves me; I never change my play, and
yet I always lose."
"Do you mean to say that all the evening you did not once back the red?
Your firmness of character surprises me."
"What do you think of Hermann?" said one of the party, pointing to a
young Engineer officer.
"That fellow never made a bet or touched a card in his life, and yet he
watches us playing until five in the morning."
"It interests me," said Hermann; "but I am not disposed to risk the
necessary in view of the superfluous."
"Hermann is a German, and economical; that is the whole of the secret,"
cried Tomski. "But what is really astonishing is the Countess Anna
Fedotovna!"
"How so?" asked several voices.
"Have you not remarked," said Tomski, "that she never plays?"
"Yes," said Narumoff, "a woman of eighty, who never touches a card;
that is indeed something extraordinary!"
"You do not know why?"
"No; is there a reason for it?"
"Just listen. My grandmother, you know, some sixty years ago, went to
Paris, and became the rage there. People ran after her in the streets,
and called her the 'Muscovite Venus.' Richelieu made love to her, and
my grandmother makes out that, by her rigorous demeanour, she almost
drove him to suicide. In those days women used to play at faro. One
evening at the court she lost, on _parole,_ to the Duke of Orleans,
a very considerable sum. When she got home, my grandmother removed
her beauty spots, took off her hoops, and in this tragic costume went
to my grandfather, told him of her misfortune, and asked him for the
money she had to pay. My grandfather, now no more, was, so to say, his
wife's steward. He feared her like fire; but the sum she named made him
leap into the air. He flew into a rage, made a brief calculation, and
proved to my grandmother that in six months she had got through half a
million rubles. He told her plainly that he had no villages to sell in