a personal record-第10章

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drift。　　She　was　alone　with　the　coachman　and　old　Valery；　the



personal　servant　of　our　late　father。　　Impatient　of　delay　while



they　were　trying　to　dig　themselves　out；　she　jumped　out　of　the



sledge　and　went　to　look　for　the　road　herself。　　All　this　happened



in　'51；　not　ten　miles　from　the　house　in　which　we　are　sitting　now。







The　road　was　soon　found；　but　snow　had　begun　to　fall　thickly



again；　and　they　were　four　more　hours　getting　home。　　Both　the　men



took　off　their　sheepskin　lined　greatcoats　and　used　all　their　own



rugs　to　wrap　her　up　against　the　cold；　notwithstanding　her



protests；　positive　orders；　and　even　struggles；　as　Valery



afterward　related　to　me。　　'How　could　I；'　he　remonstrated　with



her；　'go　to　meet　the　blessed　soul　of　my　late　master　if　I　let　any



harm　come　to　you　while　there's　a　spark　of　life　left　in　my　body？'



When　they　reached　home　at　last　the　poor　old　man　was　stiff　and



speechless　from　exposure；　and　the　coachman　was　in　not　much　better



plight；　though　he　had　the　strength　to　drive　round　to　the　stables



himself。　　To　my　reproaches　for　venturing　out　at　all　in　such



weather；　she　answered；　characteristically；　that　she　could　not



bear　the　thought　of　abandoning　me　to　my　cheerless　solitude。　　It



is　incomprehensible　how　it　was　that　she　was　allowed　to　start。　　I



suppose　it　had　to　be！　　She　made　light　of　the　cough　which　came　on



next　day；　but　shortly　afterward　inflammation　of　the　lungs　set　in；



and　in　three　weeks　she　was　no　more！　　She　was　the　first　to　be



taken　away　of　the　young　generation　under　my　care。　　Behold　the



vanity　of　all　hopes　and　fears！　　I　was　the　most　frail　at　birth　of



all　the　children。　　For　years　I　remained　so　delicate　that　my



parents　had　but　little　hope　of　bringing　me　up；　and　yet　I　have



survived　five　brothers　and　two　sisters；　and　many　of　my



contemporaries；　I　have　outlived　my　wife　and　daughter；　tooand



from　all　those　who　have　had　some　knowledge　at　least　of　these　old



times　you　alone　are　left。　　It　has　been　my　lot　to　lay　in　an　early



grave　many　honest　hearts；　many　brilliant　promises；　many　hopes



full　of　life。〃







He　got　up　briskly；　sighed；　and　left　me　saying；　〃We　will　dine　in



half　an　hour。〃







Without　moving；　I　listened　to　his　quick　steps　resounding　on　the



waxed　floor　of　the　next　room；　traversing　the　anteroom　lined　with



bookshelves；　where　he　paused　to　put　his　chibouk　in　the　pipe…stand



before　passing　into　the　drawing…room　（these　were　all　en　suite）；



where　he　became　inaudible　on　the　thick　carpet。　　But　I　heard　the



door　of　his　study…bedroom　close。　　He　was　then　sixty…two　years　old



and　had　been　for　a　quarter　of　a　century　the　wisest；　the　firmest；



the　most　indulgent　of　guardians；　extending　over　me　a　paternal



care　and　affection；　a　moral　support　which　I　seemed　to　feel　always



near　me　in　the　most　distant　parts　of　the　earth。







As　to　Mr。　Nicholas　B。；　sub…lieutenant　of　1808；　lieutenant　of　1813



in　the　French　army；　and　for　a　short　time　Officier　d'Ordonnance　of



Marshal　Marmont；　afterward　captain　in　the　2d　Regiment　of　Mounted



Rifles　in　the　Polish　armysuch　as　it　existed　up　to　1830　in　the



reduced　kingdom　established　by　the　Congress　of　ViennaI　must　say



that　from　all　that　more　distant　past；　known　to　me　traditionally



and　a　little　de　visu；　and　called　out　by　the　words　of　the　man　just



gone　away；　he　remains　the　most　incomplete　figure。　　It　is　obvious



that　I　must　have　seen　him　in　'64；　for　it　is　certain　that　he　would



not　have　missed　the　opportunity　of　seeing　my　mother　for　what　he



must　have　known　would　be　the　last　time。　　From　my　early　boyhood　to



this　day；　if　I　try　to　call　up　his　image；　a　sort　of　mist　rises



before　my　eyes；　mist　in　which　I　perceive　vaguely　only　a　neatly



brushed　head　of　white　hair　（which　is　exceptional　in　the　case　of



the　B。　family；　where　it　is　the　rule　for　men　to　go　bald　in　a



becoming　manner　before　thirty）　and　a　thin；　curved；　dignified



nose；　a　feature　in　strict　accordance　with　the　physical　tradition



of　the　B。　family。　　But　it　is　not　by　these　fragmentary　remains　of



perishable　mortality　that　he　lives　in　my　memory。　　I　knew；　at　a



very　early　age；　that　my　granduncle　Nicholas　B。　was　a　Knight　of



the　Legion　of　Honour　and　that　he　had　also　the　Polish　Cross　for



valour　Virtuti　Militari。　　The　knowledge　of　these　glorious　facts



inspired　in　me　an　admiring　veneration；　yet　it　is　not　that



sentiment；　strong　as　it　was；　which　resumes　for　me　the　force　and



the　significance　of　his　personality。　　It　is　over　borne　by　another



and　complex　impression　of　awe；　compassion；　and　horror。　　Mr。



Nicholas　B。　remains　for　me　the　unfortunate　and　miserable　（but



heroic）　being　who　once　upon　a　time　had　eaten　a　dog。







It　is　a　good　forty　years　since　I　heard　the　tale；　and　the　effect



has　not　worn　off　yet。　　I　believe　this　is　the　very　first；　say；



realistic；　story　I　heard　in　my　life；　but　all　the　same　I　don't



know　why　I　should　have　been　so　frightfully　impressed。　　Of　course



I　know　what　our　village　dogs　look　likebut　still。　。　。　。　No！　　At



this　very　day；　recalling　the　horror　and　compassion　of　my



childhood；　I　ask　myself　whether　I　am　right　in　disclosing　to　a



cold　and　fastidious　world　that　awful　episode　in　the　family



history。　　I　ask　myselfis　it　right？especially　as　the　B。　family



had　always　been　honourably　known　in　a　wide　countryside　for　the



delicacy　of　their　tastes　in　the　matter　of　eating　and　drinking。　



But　upon　the　whole；　and　considering　that　this　gastronomical



degradation　overtaking　a　gallant　young　officer　lies　really　at　the



door　of　the　Great　Napoleon；　I　think　that　to　cover　it　up　by



silence　would　be　an　exaggeration　of　literary　restraint。　　Let　the



truth　stand　here。　　The　responsibility　rests　with　the　Man　of　St。



Helena　in　view　of　his　deplorable　levity　in　the　conduct　of　the



Russian　campaign。　　It　was　during　the　memorable　retreat　from



Moscow　that　Mr。　Nicholas　B。；　in　company　of　two　brother



officersas　to　whose　morality　and　natural　refinement　I　know



nothingbagged　a　dog　on　the　outskirts　of　a　village　and



subsequently　devoured　him。　　As　far　as　I　can　remember　the　weapon



used　was　a　cavalry　sabre；　and　the　issue　of　the　sporting　episode



was　rather　more　of　a　matter　of　life　and　death　than　if　it　had　been



an　encounter　with　a　tiger。　　A　picket　of　Cossacks　was　sleeping　in



that　village　lost　in　the　depths　of　the　great　Lithuanian　forest。　



The　three　sportsmen　had　observed　them　from　a　hiding…place　making



themselves　very　much　at　home　among　the　huts　just　before　the　early



winter　darkness　set　in　at　four　o'clock。　　They　had　observed　them



with　disgust　and；　perhaps；　with　despair。　　Late　in　the　night　the



rash　counsels　of　hunger　overcame　the　dictates　of　prudence。　



Crawling　through　the　snow　they　crept　up　to　the　fence　of　dry



branches　which　generally　encloses　a　village　in　that　part　of



Lithuania。　　What　they　expected　to　get　and　in　what　manner；　and



whether　this　expectation　was　worth　the　risk；　goodness　only　knows。







However；　these　Cossack　parties；　in　most　cases　wandering　without



an　officer；　were　known　to　guard　themselves　badly　and　often　not　at



all。　　In　addition；　the　village　lying　at　a　great　distance　from　the



line　of　French　retreat；　they　could　not　suspect　the　presence　of



stragglers　from　the　Grand　Army。　The　three　officers　had　strayed



away　in　a　blizzard　from　the　main　column　and　had　been　lost　for



days　in　the　woods；　which　explains　sufficiently　the　terrible



straits　to　which　they　were　reduced。　　Their　plan　was　to　try　and



attract　the　attention　of　the　peasants　in　that　one　of　the　huts



which　was　nearest　to　the　enclosure；　but　as　they　were　preparing　to



venture　into　the　very　jaws　of　the　lion；　so　to　speak；　a　dog　（it　is



mighty　strange　that　there　was　but