Chapter 11 Roslavlev

Reading "Roslavlev", I was surprised to find that its plot was based on a real event with which I was very familiar.There was a time when I, a woman, was a bosom friend of a woman.She was chosen by Mr. Chagoskin as the heroine of a novella.The writer renews the public's attention to events that have been forgotten, awakens feelings of common hatred hypnotized by time, and disturbs the silence of the grave.I shall be the defender of that phantom—and my readers may forgive my weak hand and respect my pure motives.I can't help talking more about myself, because my circumstances have long been intertwined with the fate of my poor girlfriend.

①Chagoskin (1789-1852), a Russian writer.He wrote a novel called "Roslavlev, or the Russian in 1812". In the winter of 1811 I was taken into society.I don't want to describe my initial impressions at that time.It's not hard to imagine how a seventeen-year-old girl would feel when she left the attic and the teacher to attend dances one after another!I threw myself into the whirlwind of joy, filled with the enthusiasm of my age, and hadn't had time to think much... what a pity!That era is worth watching. Among the young girls who went into society with me, Princess ___ (Mr Chagoskin called her Polina, and I have adopted that name) stands out.I made friends with her, and the reasons are as follows:

My brother, a lad of twenty-two, was one of the libertines of the time.He has a name in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, lives in Moscow, only knows how to dance, and has no business.He fell in love with Polina and begged me to bridge the two families.My brother is the lifeblood of the whole family.He can do whatever he wants me to do. In order to please my brother, I approached Polina, and soon I was genuinely smitten with her.There is so much extraordinary about her, and so much more alluring.I fell in love with her before I knew her well enough.Before I knew it, I was seeing with her eyes and thinking with her mind.

Her father was a man of great merit, that is to say, with carriages and horses, with stars on his chest, and a collection of keys in his pocket, and, besides, a frivolous man, an ordinary man.Her mother, on the contrary, was a well-behaved woman, mature and sound-minded. Polina shows up everywhere.A crowd of admirers surrounded her and courted her.But she was bored, and boredom made her look haughty and cold.This expression matched her Greek face and dark willow eyebrows very well.When I uttered a sarcastic remark and cast a smile on this beautifully contoured distressed face, I triumphed.

Polina read a lot and had no choice.She had the key to her father's study.Most of the study is the works of eighteenth-century writers.She is familiar with French literature, from the works of Montesquieu to the novels of Crebilion.She knew Rousseau's works by heart.There were no Russian books in the study except the collection of Sumarokov, which Polina never opened.She told me that she had trouble reading Russian books, so she probably never read any Russian books, not even the poetry collections given to her by Moscow poets. Allow me to make a few digressions here.Oh my God!Say we can't read and speak in our native language (as it seems) and curse us poor wretches for thirty years. (Side note: The author of "Yuri Miroslavsky" is especially obscene. We've all read his great books, and his novels were translated into French by a woman among us.) We love to read Russian of literary works.But the problem is that our literature does not seem to be older than Lomonosov, and it is still very poor.Of course, our country's literature has produced several excellent poets for us, but we cannot require all readers to be particularly interested in poetry.In prose we have a historical work by Karam-Sin.The first two or three novels came out two or three years ago.At the same time, in France, England, and Germany, one book after another was published, each better than the last.We can't even see the translated script.And if I see a translation, then, believe it or not, I'd rather read the original.Check out our journals!Only writers are interested in them.We have to extract all information and concepts from foreign books, so we think in foreign languages ​​(at least those who think and watch the development of human thought).The famous writers in our country have all admitted this to me.Our writers are always complaining about our contempt for books in Russian, just as Russian merchants complain about our hats in Sikhlier's and disapprove of Kastrome's seamstresses.Come back to this topic below.

Memories of worldly life are often prosaic and of little value, even in the great epochs of history.However, the appearance of a woman traveling to Moscow made a deep impression on me.This woman is Mrs. Starr. ①She arrived here in the summer, when most of the residents of Moscow had dispersed to the various villages.The hospitable Russians were busy, not knowing what to do with this honorable foreign lady.Naturally, a banquet was held.Men and women gathered, all wanting to meet this lady.Most people are not very satisfied with her after seeing her.They saw a fat old lady in her fifties, dressed inappropriately for her age.They didn't like her accent, her speech seemed too long and her sleeves too short.Polina's father, who had known Madame de Stael in Paris, invited her to dinner.At the banquet he gathered the intellectuals from all over Moscow.Here I met the woman writer who wrote Corinna.She sat at the head of the table, with her elbows resting on the table, her slender fingers rolling the paper trumpet to play, rolling it up and unrolling it again.It seemed that she was restless and wanted to speak several times, but she hesitated.Our wise men were well fed, and seemed more interested in the Duke's fish soup than in Madame Stahl's conversation.Ladies are stiff.The male and female guests only occasionally broke the silence, feeling guilty and timid in the presence of European celebrities, convinced that their thoughts were worthless!At the banquet, Polina was always on pins and needles.The attention of the guests was divided between Sturgeon and Mrs. Starr, and they all waited for the amazing quips of the lady, and finally she uttered a clever, even very sharp word.They complimented her, laughed, and murmured in amazement.The duke was overjoyed.I glanced at Polina.Her face was flushed, and tears glistened in her eyes.The guests rose from the table, completely at ease with Mrs. Stahl.She made another wisecrack with a double meaning.Afterwards, they quickly spread these words throughout the city.

① Mrs. Star (1766-1817).French romantic writer. ②The original text is French. "What's the matter with you, darling?" I asked Polina. Could a joke, a little out of the ordinary, get you so excited? " "Alas, my dear!" replied Polina, "I despair! How boring it is for our high society to reveal itself to this extraordinary woman! She is used to being surrounded by those who understand her. Her splendor The insights, the powerful vibrations of the heart, and the inspired words, they will never forget. She is used to engaging, highly cultivated conversations. And here... My God! For three full hours of sitting, she I can't see a flash of thought, I can't hear a good word. But I see faces that are not enlightened, but I see stubborn and arrogant postures. That's all! How can she not be depressed? She seems to be suffering from depression. She sees what they want, what these civilized monkeys are capable of understanding, and she throws in a quip with a double meaning. Now they're happy and I'm ashamed of them , it hurts, I want to cry... But let her..." Polina went on enthusiastically: "Let her say what she deserves about the pariah of our country! But at least she sees To the simple people of our country and understand them. You heard what she said to the old, obnoxious clown who, in order to please the foreign woman, laughed at the bearded Russians on a whim: a hundred years ago defended My own bearded people will now defend their heads. How lovely she is! I love her and hate her persecutors."

I wasn't the only one who noticed Polina's agitation.At the same time, another pair of penetrating eyes stared at her, the black eyes of Mrs. Stahl.I don't know what she was thinking, but she came up to my girlfriend after the banquet and talked with her.A few days later Mrs. Stahl wrote her the following letter: my dear child!I am totally sick.It would be a kindness of yours if you could come and visit me here.Please be sure to ask your mother's permission and send her my kind regards. Beloved your De·S① ①The original text is French. This letterhead is here with me.Polina never told me about her association with Mrs. Stahl, however curious I may have been about it.She adored this brilliant woman who had a good heart and was equally talented.

How far can the desire to slander go!Not long ago I stated the above situation at a meeting of decent people. "It is possible," it was pointed out to me, "that Madame de Stael is probably none other than Napoleon's spy, Princess Polina, who provides her with the necessary information." "Would you please?" I said, "Madame de Stael has been expelled by Napoleon for ten years. The noble and kind Madame de Stael has finally escaped to the protection of the Russian emperor. She is the daughter of Chateaubriand and Byron." My friend, is it Napoleon's spy?"

"That's quite possible," retorted the Pointy-Nosed Countess E. "Napoleon is one of those wily liars, and Madame de Stael is an elf." ① Chateaubriand (1768-1848), a French Romantic writer. The talk of the coming war was, I remember, very frivolous.It was fashionable to imitate the tune of the French court in the era of Louis XV.Patriotism was pedantic, when the intellectuals of the day displayed the fanatical slavishness of Napoleon and mocked our failures.It's a pity that the patriots appear to be a little simple-minded, and they are laughed at happily without any effect.Their patriotism was limited to a staunch opposition to the use of French and foreign words in social situations, to a frenzied attack on the Kuznets Bridge and the like.The young men spoke of all things Russian with contempt or indifference, and, in jest, predicted Russia's fate at the Rhine Conference.In a word, high society is dirty enough.

The news of the invasion and the emperor's edict suddenly surprised us.Moscow was in a commotion.A leaflet appealing to the common people appeared from the governor of Moscow, Count Rostopchin.The people became cruel and ruthless.The noisy frivolous of society were silent, and the ladies were impassioned.Opponents of the French word and the Kuznets Bridge prevailed, and the living room was filled with patriots.Some people pick out French tobacco from their pipes and smoke Russian tobacco instead.Dozens of French pamphlets were burned.There are those who refuse to drink French Feta in favor of Russian cabbage soup.Everyone swore to never speak French again.Everyone praised Pozhersky and Minin loudly and declared that a people's war was going to be waged, and they were planning a long journey to the countryside of the Saratov province. ① See the note in the previous "Letter Novels". Polina could no more conceal her contempt than she had concealed her anger.The sudden change and the cowardly manner made her impatient.On the boulevard, at the Presning Pond she speaks French on purpose.At the dinner table, in the presence of the servants, she deliberately refuted patriotic boasting, deliberately counted the numbers of Napoleon's army, and praised his military genius.The faces of those present turned pale, for fear that someone would inform her, and hastened to accuse her of supporting the enemies of the motherland.Polina smiled contemptuously. "Bless God," she said, "may all Russians love their country as much as I love it." What she said surprised me.I've always thought of Polina as a modest, taciturn girl, so I don't understand where she got all her courage. "Don't do that," I said to her once, "why meddle in the affairs of state! Let the men quarrel and discuss politics. Women don't go to war, and Bonaparte has nothing to do with them." Her eyes sparkled and she said: "You are not ashamed! Don't women have a country? Don't they have fathers, brothers, husbands? Is the blood of Russia strange to them? Perhaps you think that we women are born Come down just to dance Scotch dances at the ball, and be forced to embroider puppies on the base cloth at home? No! I know what a woman can do to public opinion, or, at least, to someone's heart What an effect. I don't recognize the humiliation that was inflicted on us. Look at Madame de Stael! Napoleon fought her as a hostile force... and my father dared to laugh at her when the French army approached Timid! Don't worry, madam! Napoleon raised his army against Russia, not your madam... Yes! If my father falls into the hands of the French, he will be sent for a walk in Valle-Leuille; In this case Madame would die in a state prison. And what about Charlotte Corday? What about our Mayor of Marby? What about Princess Dashikova? How? In what point am I inferior to them? In terms of inner courage and desperation, I am certainly no less than them." ①Charlotte Cordet—the girl who assassinated Marat, one of the leaders of the Jacobin Party during the French Revolution. ②Marwa——In the second half of the fifteenth century, he led the noble group of Novgorod city to oppose the annexation of Moscow. After the union of Novgorod with the Grand Duchy of Moscow in 1478, she was imprisoned in a monastery. ③Dashikova——At the age of nineteen, she participated in the palace coup in 1762 and supported Yekaterina II. ④The original text is French.This sentence seems to be Chateaubriand's (editor's note for the Russian version). I listened in amazement to Polina's words.I do not suspect her passion and vanity.never mind!Where would the extraordinary quality of her heart and the noble heroism of her mind lead her?A dear writer of mine said it well: "Happiness is found only on paths that others have trodden." The emperor's presence aggravated everyone's uneasiness.Patriotic enthusiasm eventually swept high society too.The living room becomes a parliamentary building for debate.Everywhere there is talk of dying for the country.The immortal words of the young Count Mamonov, who donated his entire fortune, are quoted everywhere.Several mothers later discovered that the Earl was not such an enviable suitor, but we all admired him immensely.Polina kept talking about him.Once she asked my brother, "What are you sacrificing?" "I have not yet taken charge of my estate," my prodigal son answered her. "I am thirty thousand in debt. I can offer this debt as a sacrifice on the altar of my fatherland." Polina was angry. "To some people," she said, "honor and country are nonsense. Fellow countrymen lay down their lives on the battlefield while they quarrel in the living room. I don't know if you can find a very lowly A woman who allows such a shameless clown to put on a show of love in front of her." My brother lost his temper. "You are too mean, Princess!" he retorted, "you want everyone to think of you as Madame de Stael, and to recite to you long passages from the book "Karina". You know, he who jokes with women doesn't joke with his country and its enemies." As he said this, he turned away. ① Mrs. Starr's novel. I estimate that the two of them will never be reconciled.But I was wrong.Polina liked my brother's outspokenness, and she forgave him for making a joke out of an outrageous virtuousness.A week later, when she learned that he had joined the Mamonov regiment, she asked me to reconcile them.My brother was overjoyed and proposed to her immediately.She agreed, but asked that the wedding be arranged after the war, and the next day my brother joined the army. Napoleon attacked Moscow, our army retreated.Moscow was in a commotion.Residents were evacuated one after another.The Duke and Duchess persuaded my mother to evacuate with them to their estate in the province of ___. We arrived at Grange in XX Province, a big village twenty miles away from the provincial capital.There are many neighbors around, most of them are from Moscow.Every day we all get together.Our life is like living in a city.Letters arrive almost daily from the army.The old lady looked for the place name "camping" on the map and got angry when she couldn't find it.Polina was only interested in politics, read nothing but newspapers and Rostoptchin's proclamations, and never turned a page.Surrounded by people of very limited understanding, and constantly hearing nonsense and unreliable news, she was deeply depressed.A listless state of mind took hold of her.She is already desperate for the salvation of her motherland. She thinks that Russia is going to collapse. Every battle report deepens her hopelessness. Count Rostopchin's martial law makes her unable to bear it anymore. She felt that the height of unreasonableness had been reached, and that his measures were unbearably barbaric and cruel.She did not understand the ideas of that age--ideas, great in their horror, ideas, which, when put into practice, would save Russia and liberate Europe.She passed hours, elbows on a map of Russia, tracking the rapid movement of troops, counting miles.Some outlandish thoughts slipped into her head.Once she told me her plan: to leave the village, sneak into the French barracks, try to meet Napoleon and kill him on the spot with her own hands.It was not difficult for me to prove to her the madness of the idea.But the thought of Charlotte Corday did not leave her for a long time. You already know that her father was a light-minded man.He only thought of one thing: to live in the country as much as possible in Moscow style.He still treats guests to dinner, holds a "family fancier troupe"①, here performs French "proverbs"②, and he does everything possible to diversify our enjoyment methods.Several captured officers arrived in the city.The duke was very pleased with his new acquaintances, and begged the prefect to allow the captive officers to live in his house...   There are four of them.Three of them were insignificant people who raved about Napoleon and blazed tiresomely, and fortunately got respectable wounds in exchange for their bragging rights.However, the fourth is a very good character. ①The original text is French. ②The original text is French: "Proverbs" are small plays based on proverbs, performed without makeup. He was twenty-six then, of a good family, with a good face and a fine voice.We will look at him differently immediately.He accepted his caresses with noble humility.He spoke little, but his words carried weight.Polina liked him because he was the first person who could explain military operations and troop movements to her.He reassured her and proved to her that the retreat of the Russians was not a senseless flight, which unnerved the French as hardened the Russians. "And you," Polina asked him, "don't you firmly believe that your emperor is invincible?" Sinecourt (I borrowed the name I gave him from Chagoskin) replied after a moment of silence That being said, it's a bit difficult to be open and honest in his position.Polina insisted that he answer.Sinecourt admitted that the movement of the French army deep into the heart of Russia might be dangerous for them, and that the march of 1812, it seemed, was over, but without any decisive significance. "It's over?" Polina objected, "Napoleon is still going forward, and we are always retreating!" "That would be worse for us," replied Sinecourt, changing the subject immediately. Polina hated the timid prophecies and foolish self-boasts of our neighbors, but greedily listened to cool insights grounded in business knowledge.I have often received letters from my brothers in which no insight is possible.There were jokes, clever ones or bad ones, lots of questions about Polina, lots of vulgar promises to love her, and so on.Polina read the letters and shrugged with regret. "You must admit that your Alexei is a very empty man," she said, "and in the present circumstances he could find a way, even from the field, to write these worthless letters. It is conceivable that in the long family life in the future, what will he have to talk to me about?" She was wrong.The hollowness of my brother's letters was not due to his own low soul, but rather to prejudice, a prejudice which, to us women, is especially humiliating.He believed that to communicate with women one must use language suited to the weakness of their understanding, and that important subjects do not concern them.Such a view is impolite everywhere in the world, and it is even more foolish in our country.There is no doubt that Russian women are better educated, read more, and think more than those men who God only knows what they do all day. News of the battle of Borodino came.All talk about it.Each had his own best news, each had his list of victims and wounded, and my brother did not write home.We are very excited.At last a know-it-all came to inform us that my brother had been captured, and at the same time he whispered to Polina that he was dead.Polina was very sad.She wasn't in love with my brother, and was often disappointed in him, but at this moment she saw in him a martyr, a hero, and she cried secretly from me.Several times I met her with tears in her eyes.This did not surprise me.I know what a useful part she has had in determining the fate of our troubled country! I have no doubt that there were other causes of her sorrow. One morning I was walking in the garden with Sinecourt by my side.We're talking about Polina.I saw that he was deeply impressed by her extraordinary qualities, and that her beauty made a strong impression on him.I smiled and suggested to him that his situation was the most romantic of all. ——Captured by the enemy, the wounded knight fell in love with the noble lady of the castle, he touched her heart, finally won her love, and married her. "No!" said Sinecourt to me, "the princess sees me as an enemy of Russia and will never agree to leave her country." At that moment Polina appeared at the other end of the boulevard and we greeted her. Walking with her, she approached us slowly.I was surprised by her pale face. "Moscow has fallen!" she told me, without answering Sinecourt's bow.My heart constricted, and tears flowed like a small river.Sinecourt was silent, his eyes lowered. "The noble and civilized French!" she went on, her voice trembling with rage: "they celebrated their victory in an admirable way. They set fire to Moscow. Moscow has been burning for two days. " "What do you say?" cried Sinecourt. "Impossible!" "Please wait until evening." She replied dryly, "Maybe, you will see the red light in the sky." "My God! He's lost!" said Sinecourt. "What? Don't you see that the fire of Moscow means the destruction of the entire French army, and that Napoleon will have nowhere to stay and cannot sustain himself. He will be forced to retreat as quickly as possible." , through the bankrupt, fortified country, winter is approaching again, and he will lead a disgruntled and dismayed army! You can imagine, the French made a hell for themselves! No! No! The Russians, the Russians set it on fire Moscow. Terrible, savage magnanimity! Now it is all clear: your fatherland is out of danger. But what will happen to us? What will happen to our Emperor?" He left us and went.Polina and I had trouble waking up.She said: "Is Sinecourt really right? The Moscow fire is really a good thing we did by ourselves? If so... Ah! I am so proud to be a Russian woman! The whole universe will be proud of this great sacrifice Amazement! Now, I do not think the collapse of our country is so terrible. Our glory is saved, and Europe will never dare to fight against this nation, which lost its arms and set fire to its capital." Her eyes sparkled and her voice was high-pitched.I embraced her, and our tears of noble passion mingled together, and we prayed fervently for our country. "Don't you know?" she said to me, with a very touching look on her face. "Your brother...he is lucky he was not captured. Be happy! He died fighting to save Russia!" I yelled, threw myself into her arms, and lost consciousness.