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Nevernoe to bylo snoviden'e,
Mechtan'e smutnoe, i plamennyi nedug
Obmanom volnoval moe voobrazhen'e?
A. Pushkin
[That was not a true dream,
Confused dreaming, and a burning ailment
Agitated my imagination with deceit?]
... les songes, dans leurs dvelopement,
ont leur vie, leurs larmes, leurs
douleurs, et leurs sensations de plaisir...
Byron
I moved for a short time to Zheleznovodsk, wishing to travel in its surroundings as much as possible, climb the cliffs, descend to the valleys, get acquainted with every trail in the green forests which beckon with their cool and freshness. With these excursions I wanted to quench the thirst that had drawn me far away, into the mountains, the thickets, wild nature, where a human being is as free as a bird in the sky, and like it, limited in his needs, bound neither by worries about tomorrow, nor society's rumors and despotism. There human reason, unrefined by education, does not dare to rebel against the powerful will of nature, she alone guides the whole being of the mountaineer and her alone does he obey. Courageous, constant, he knows no limits; like an eagle he flies up to heights beyond the clouds, like a stormy spring he throws himself into the abyss and like a whirlwind he penetrates impenetrable canyons! In the morning hours it was sweeet to imagine oneself in those lands, where snowy bulks were outlined against the darkblue of the sky, pure, bright, and unfathomable from afar, like the future in the dreams of a sixteen-year-old youngster, but like that future, were cold and sullen up close. To them my soul tore itself loose, flew away, but alas! Its ecstasy did not give wings to my body and it remained in the monotonous pathways of Piatigorsk. The mountainous surroundings of Zheleznovodsk promised me many a pleasant hour, but in order to vary my hikes every day I had to decide on horseback riding, not on an ambler broken in for ladies, but on a simple Cossack horse. But where does not a stubborn desire and a firm decisiveness take a woman! And thus, my foot in the stirrup, and onward as fast as possible past the crowd of promenaders; the forest cool invigorated my soul and turned away the momentary impression left in it by the curious looks of people unknown to me.
Some of my good friends accompanied me on my rides, and for a few days now I had delighted in the Caucasian vistas. Proudly the Caucasian masses rise above the earth, crowned by a granite garland and at their feet the forest ripples, healing springs of hot and cold water purl, amidst the bushes one can see huts, covered with rush, the bath houses glow white above them, people who have arrived from far away to heal their ailing souls and bodies are milling about... How many generations, how many centuries, have the proud giants glimmered before us? Are you standing here from the beginning of the world as permanent guards, or were you called forth from the bowels of the earth by some quake in the globe? And are you to remain for long? Will you be catching the first and last rays of the sun and deck yourselves out in the misty blankets from the flying clouds for a long time yet? How often I rein in my horse and for hours on end admire you in reverential silence! But my soul has struck up the closest friendship with you, solitary cliff. You stand alone, far from your brothers, the hand of time is already wearing down your foundation, the surroundings are already sprinkled with fragments of you, and your peak is crowned by thorny bushes. Flowers bloom brightly only in the valleys; the one who stands taller than the rest will not get to know the flowers, won't be adorned by them; hops and wild grapes, symbols of friendship are spreading out by your feet, but is it for them, the weaklings, to reach the mighty top and share the storms beating about your powerful breast? But you don't complain about your orphanhood, dark and great you stand, challenging time, and should it surround you, your last rock will fall noiselessly and not one sigh will escape your devastated breast.
Encouraged by the successful outings, which had given me such pleasure, I decided to go further, go around the mountains and reach the very peaks. We agreed to meet earlier tomorrow and do about a ten-verst ride.
The day was hot, the sky enchanted our eyes with its azure-blue color, a dozing zephyr did not play with the leaves on the branches, silence ruled in all of nature, and even in the hotel rooms all relaxed after dinner, preparing for new deeds. Looking out the window at the Cossack picket rising above the bushhes, I thought of the conversation which engaged us for a long time yesterday during our horseback ride, a conversation about how easily it could happen that the Circassians, noting how small our cavalcade was, would attack us, rob us, and take us captive. Each one of us added his or her own predictions, tragic and humorous, bullets were raining, blood flowed in streams, and those who remained alive rode over the corpses of their murdered friends... just hearing the stories was scary, but nevertheless we vowed to continue our excursions and not to sacrifice the joys of the present just to fear of what might happen.
The clock struck two; how early it was! As much time as had passed still remained until our exursion; I sat down on the divan and took up a novel of the new French school, just sent to me, where in every Parisian back alley one encounters great emotions, frenzied passions, and where the ladies drink poison as if it were lemonade to cool the seething blood. Leafing through the book, I heard the clatter of horses' hoofs, and a minute later one of my companions stopped before my window, in a full Circassian outfit. A navy blue caftan was worn on top of a yellow arkhaluk made of a silky fabric, a belted sash encircled the shapely waist, a pistol and a dagger in a silver casing were fastened at the belt, a rifle was hanging on the back, and a white shaggy cap on his black hair completed the outfit of my companion, and fit his expressive Georgian face so well that it was difficult to recognize in him a Russian officer. "How come you're not ready yet?" he said to me, prancing on his raven horse, "we have a long way to go, it's time."
I jumped up, put on my riding habit, my horse was brought to me, and I was carried along following my guide. Soon another companion caught up with us. The sun was burning, and we hurried to take shelter in the forest shade. Now we were going uphill, now downhill into deep valleys and several times we crossed swamps; rapid streams cut across our path, tree branches scratched our faces and often barred the narrow path so that we had to lie down in our saddles, afraid to get entangled in the nets of wild grape, which spreading out between the roots of the trees, created an impenetrable wall. When after several hours of a difficult but pleasant path we came out into a hollow between two mountains, the heat was no longer so exhausting. We reined in our horses on a hillock from which we could see the surroundings on both sides of the mountains. The Western part was lit up by a bright golden color shed by a sun without rays, flowing as a crimson sphere at the slope of the horizon. On the hills, overgrown with dense grass, herds and flocks were grazing, in the distance one could see Circassian mountain huts (saklyas), scattered by the foot of a steep crag. But on the Eastern side of the picture, the mountains already cast wide shadows and from behind the forest the moon was rising, diving into the foggy clouds and coloring silver the mountain springs which, digging a path between the rocks, glimmered from behind the bushes and flowed into the valley. All was silent, the only thing one could hear was the horses' snorting and the purling of water, and at times a wild pigeon, frightened by our presence flew out of its nest and with a pitiful cawing circled the air above our heads. We were silent, each of us immersed in our own thoughts.
In the heart of even the most corrupted person there is a secret empathy with nature, and if he, killed by sorrow or exhausted by anxieties by chance returns to her, she like a good mother always takes him into her embraces, calms him, soothes him, and everything bitter and unpleasant that peope, life, and society have brought, all irrepressible passions, forever grumbling, forever rustling, all, all is lulled to sleep by the sweet humming of our mother. Her silence and calm are perceived by the human soul, human feelings flow together with her... And only at this moment a thought, long suppressed, abandoned so to say within the frame of society conditions and opinions, regains its original strength and freedom. It is no longer guided by human will, but it possesses all his being, and free to move, it draws him into infinity...
Below the mountain we heard the clatter of hoofs and glimpsed a rider on a white horse who was then hidden in the canyon.
"Circassians," I said, laughing, to my armed companion, "prepare for defense."
"We won't of course give in without a fight," he said, stroking the hilt of his dagger.
The same white horse and rider again moved along in the distance.
"That is actually a Circassian," said Alexander *** and turned his horse in the direction of the rider.
"Leave him alone, it's only a Cossack guard," Vladimir *** objected, but Alexander was already far away, he rode up to the edge of the mountain and looked around with a keen eye.
"Well, how strong is the enemy?" I asked, riding up to him.
At that moment a shot rang out and the horse swayed under me; my comrades threw themselves at me, but after the first shot, ten others followed and several Circassians with shouts and curses surrounded us... My horse hit the ground and pulled me down with its fall, my head was spinning, my heart chilled and I remember nothing of what happened next, I don't even know how long I was unconscious, but when I opened my eyes the sky loomed black above me, stars were shining, and I was carried in the air so fast that I lost my breath. I could see nothing around me, only felt that I was tied to a saddle in the most uncomfortable position and heard a vague clattering of many horses' hoofs. No one said a word, the bandits hurried to carry us off to their dens. From the rapid movement everything grew black before my eyes again and I lost consciousness, and when I came to a second time, I saw myself in the grass with my hands tied. For a few minutes I could not figure out my position and looked around without a thought. It was growing light, the stars grew dimmer, the East turned red, and before me snowy giants were outlined. Now I could distinguish the inclines and declines of the mountains, they were so close to me... The horrible truth occurred to my mind... And thus the dream came true, fate has thrown me into a long desired land, into the canyons, the refuges of the savage sons of nature, I will see the Caucasus in all its horrors and charms... But how? From what position?
Family, husband, friends, farewell! Farewell.. I won't see you again in this world, I won't play with the curls of my babies. And you, you will grow up without me, my little chickens, a strange hand will soothe you, and your tears will not fall on your mother's ashes. I will die, an orphan in an alien land, and my native cross will not be raised on my grave... Hot tears splattered from my eyes; I wasn't worrying about myself, I saw death close to me, I called her... But they... how their hearts will be rent by the horrible news, wailing will fill our peaceful abode... It seemed to me that I saw them, I heard their sighs... Oh, darlings, calm down, forget me, soon, soon I will be with you!
A muffled sob burst out of my breast. A response came from nearby; I turned my head and caught sight of my unfortunate companions lying in the grass, bound with ropes. Not a sign of life was visible on their faces and a deep wound cut across the forehead of Vladimir, blood had clotted on his black hair, and his bluish lips were firmly compressed... I turned away in horror.
The frightful mug of a Circassian bent over me and muttered something to me in his savage language. I understood the word "su" and shook my head; my breast was parched with thirst, he gave me a ladle with water and, refreshed, I stood up. The unsaddled horses were grazing on a meadow, the bandits sat in a circle, and smoking their pipes, they no doubt were discussing our ransom, their gains from the kidnapping. I turned my head toward my companions and called them quietly: Vladimir didn't respond, he made no movement at all; Alexander opened his eyes, looked around him slowly and rested his eyes on me. This lifeless look was so full of torment, live suffering, that it penetrated my breast like a sharp dagger and pierced my heart...
"I brought you here," I said in a whisper, "you were deprived of your freedom and maybe your lives because of my whim. Can you forgive me?"
It seemed that he had difficulty understanding my words, but a couple of minutes later he answered in a stuttering voice:
"One thing is left for us... to find a means for escaping... and the first one to escape... must save the rest of us."
"And what about Vladimir, is he alive?"
"He seems to be breathing."
"And yesterday he was still so merry, calm... Where are they taking us?" I asked and fell silent.
"To some distant aul [village]"
"And are they tying us up together with one single chain?"
"Oh no! They'll separate us, and probably won't allow any communication whatsoever."
"My God! And I'll never find out what happened to you?"
"If I don't die you'll hear about me."
"It's easy for you to run off, you know their language and customs...
Alexander, when you have returned to Russia, remember my family, find them, or at least tell them in writing that I beg them to forgive me, that in the very grave I'll feel their forgiveness, and the alien earth will seem nicer to me... give my children my blessing. And my little baby, my black-eyed Verochka won't even remember her poor mother!.."
The good Alexander, overcoming his own sufferings, tried to console me, give me some hope.
"No," I countered, "No; my heart aches and ails as if it were celebrating a funeral feast for the lost freedom and all my dear ones. Look they are saddling the horses again, farewell Alexander, I wish you rapid freedom and much happiness. If Vladimir comes to, wish him the same from me and tell him that I bequeath to him my love for our native Russia... Farewell, remember me in your prayers."
The kidnappers surrounded us, one of them threw me on the back of a horse and tied me to his sash. My companions were similarly thrown across saddles, and we set off over hill and dale. At midday we stopped in a valley by a rapid stream, but in half an hour we set off again, and the sun was already setting behind the mountains when we began to ascend a steep cliff along a narrow rocky path on. Above us crags were hanging, one more threatening than the other; they were thrust forward as if peeking into the abyss, looming black at our feet. The edges of the abyss were overgrown by bushes of thorn and juniper and from its depths one could hear the roar of a spring and the waves were clucking as if accompanying us with a hellsh laughter. But who can fathom the human imagination? Exhasted by physical and spiritual suffering, half-alive, hanging over the abyss, I remembered the devils' laughter in the opera "Robert." Momentarily the magician-dream carried me to the Petersburg theatre; the lights were shimmering, white and black sultans, diamonds, gases were twirling before my eyes, the magical sounds of the orchestra rang out in the air, but the hellish laughter enveloped everything, deafened me... I was leaning over the abyss, some sort of numbness took hold of me and it seemed as if all feelings of body and heart died. Only a spark of life was left in my head, while my imagination,on the other hand, gathering its last strength twirled around and played like a wheel of fireworks, intersecting the air and casting up sparks. Robert's laughter joined Othello's screams, and in Desdemona's groans I heard my babies crying and the passionate expressions of the Venetian actress flowed together with the loud tune of the native "lucia-baby..." There is the death bed of Juliette, poison flashed in the hands of the despairing Romeo. "Death, death, give me death"--I kept repeating loudly and threw myself into the abyss...but the strong sash kept me in place and my Circassian just looked around and pulled me even stronger to his belt. The vision disappeared, evening cold blew in from the snowy mountains, we were going higher and higher; finally Circassian mountain huts gleamed black like eagles' nests, high up on the cliffs. We came to an aul. A crowd surrounded us, young and old, women and children, all were thronging around us, throwing curious glances at the captives. Dogs were barking, sheep were bleating after returning from pasture, kids were fighting and throwing each other in the dirt. They untied us from the saddles and set us down by the wall of a long hut. Several men sat down across from us with ever burning pipes, others gathered in a circle and carried on a heated discussion. The women formed a half-circle around us, some had children hanging at their breasts, they screamed, but the mothers, as if unaware of their crying, were watching us indifferently and made their remarks. They say that extreme grief doubles a human being's strength, and it cannot be otherwise, because I, after all I had gone through, still had the strength to look around me, see, and understand things. Alexander was sitting leaning against the wall, with downcast head and closed eyes; he was breathing in the cool air. Vladimir had returned to life, but seemed to be entirely oblivious. He was lying on the ground and only the muffled groan that occasionally burst forth from his breast, told me that the unfortunate man was alive and suffering. A Circassian came out of the crowd, dressed better than the rest, his weapons were richer, and judging from the signs of respect his fellow countrymen showed him, we had to take him for the prince or the elder of this aul. He came up to us, looked us over from head to toe, and spoke for a long time with one of our captors, and pointing at me he was probably questioning him about the rare catch.
Suddenly, going up to Alexander, the prince asked him in pretty pure Russian "is that your wife?" "No," he answered disillusioned. "Then is she his wife?" the prince repeated, pointing at Vladimir. "No," Alexander said again. "You're lying, yuo're lying, giaour!" the prince screamed raising his hand threateningly...
Alexander shuddered, threw a furious glance at the enemy, who stood threateningly before him, and feeling his powerlessness, he gritted his teeth. The prince gave an order and the barbarians, after untying the hands of my wounded friends, put them in iron chains; me they left untied. "Gaida!" shouted several men, signing for us to move on. They dragged Vladimir along, and his chain clinked, hitting the rocky ground... I noticed that they were taking us in different directions and for the first time I imagined what awaited me; with a wail of despair I threw myself on Alexander. "Save me, take me with you!" I shouted, and forgetting that he himself was in chains, he stretched out his hand to me, and with my hands and lips I latched onto it as to an anchor of salvation. But a strong lash threw me to the ground and the last familiar word "poor you!" reached my ears mixed with the clanking of the chains. I was dragged and pushed into a dark hole and after they locked the door I was left alone with my dark thoughts. In an hour or two after I was locked up I heard the clatter of many horses' hoofs, the clanking of armor, the speaking and the shouts of the crowd. Then everything flowed together into a vague din and grew silent in the distance. It seemed as if the aul was emptied of people and silence ruled. From that time on, I didn't see a living being near me. Once a day some sort of an outrageous animal, wrapped up in rags, came to me and set down food and water and disappeared, leaving me with a feeling of disgust. Was it the mountain wizard or the personification of destruction ? Her black eyes sparkled fearfully from under grey brows and when they blinked it seemed as if they wanted to jump over the proud, unattainable bridge of the nose. Mirroring Caucasian nature, this nose which had grown to the largest possible size, had broken loose and was hanging above an abyss which glowed black at its bottom and opening up, showed the sad remnants of former teeth.
A human being is a strange creature, a mixture of the divine spark and earthly dirt, infinite plans and unconquerable weakness! Up till now all the metaphysical intellectualizing has not determined for us which is stronger in him: the soul or the body? A spiritual ailment destroys the body and a physical illness destroys the soul and often the will and strength of reason will fall before some trifling need of our body. During the first days of my captivity I wanted to take my own life, but all means for that were taken away from me. I decided to starve myself to death, and when food was brought to me, I poured out the water and threw the food in the dirt on the moist clay floor. The second and third day I did the same thing, but inside me a fire was burning and burnt me up, spreading through all my veins and returning again to my breast; my tongue dried up, it hurt to breathe the air and, when on the fourth day the ugly old woman as usual filled my ladle with water and brought me the meager food, I crawled up to her, lacking the strength to stand up, and without catching my breath I drank up all the water. An hour later I cursed my weakness, but I no longer had the strength to repeat my unsuccessful attempt.
Days and nights followed each other monotonously; my prison was cramped, low and without windows, and only at the top of the wall was a hole, it too was crossed by an iron grating; in my abode a daytime twilight ruled. In the corner some straw was spread out and on it my head would rest for minutes of restless sleep. In the opening which served me as a window I could only discern a snowy mountain and a piece of sky, and on it in the evening a little star was shining. Its light was playing so comfortingly in the sky and maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed to me that it at times looked into the eyes of the poor prisoner with compassion, beckoned her with hope and a few times it even seemed that I saw in it the eyes of my dead friends, saw their silent greeting and promises of impending liberation. In my solitude I befriended the star and awaited its arrival impatiently, and accompanying it across the heavens I said "goodbye" to it. And when a black cloud covered the only piece of sky visible to me I was sad and longed for my distant friend and I spent the evening and night without her, gloomily greeting the daybreak, playing in the eternal ice of my mountain. What are your rosy outpourings to me, your rainbow-colored shadows, it is not for them to see the eyes of those my soul pines for, but you, bright little star, you shine equally over me and over them; and how is one to know whether you don't attract the gazes of my orphaned friends, the secret power of compassion? Perhaps from different parts of Russia, thinking of me, they rest their thoughtful eyes on you and a tear wets their eyelashes and your playful ray is reflected in this tear... Oh drink, drink up the tears of my loved ones! Suck them in with the air of my fatherland and let them fall on me with the evening dew, may their grief poison my heart so that it bursts in my suffering breast!
One day, instead of the usual visit of the old woman, a young woman came to me. She threw off the blanket she was covered in from head to toe, and stopped before me with a secretive look. I was sitting in the corner on the straw and could not tear my eyes away from the beautiful vision. In her wondrous eyes life and love were burning. They promised life and love to whomever first attracted their attention. An oval face, like a ripe peach was blushing playfully and covered with gentle down; coral lips were trembling without a sound, as if pronouncing the words of the heart, inexpressible in any language... We looked at each other for several minutes, and finally, carefully approaching me, she said: "Alexander..." I couldn't make out anything else from her words or gestures; apparently she had learned by heart only the name, but how pleasant the familiar name sounded to me; I thanked the beautiful woman for the minute of consolation and we parted withouut having satisfied our mutual curiosity.
Next day she appeared again in my stuffy dungeon and with a secretive look she gave me a piece of canvas. I looked... and shivered with joy. The canvas was written full in coal and I read the following: "I am alive and have not forgotten you. I haven't seen Vladimir, but I know that he has recovered. The moment of freedom is near. In three days by nightfall, you will hear by your window, the name of our savior, Misue. You can bravely go out, your door will be open and behind the village boundaries we'll find comrades with horses. Be prepared, the precious moment will not come twice."
The way an antiquarian bookdealer looks at a manuscript from before the flood, or a passionate youngster looks at his first letter from his beauty, or the greedy person looks at an unexpectedly found treasure... no, all that is insufficient, all that is too weak an expression of the way I looked at the coarse canvas long after I had read the unexpected lines! Three days, and I'll be free! I will step on Russian soil, will press my mother to my breast, my sisters, too, I will hear the babbling of my children!.. And the first tears of joy poured forth from my eyes; up till then only hot, bloody tears had flowed from them, they had pocked my face, burned my breast... But these invigorated my being, I was reborn... In the throngs of joy I threw myself at the feet of my guardian angel; the Circassian woman pulled me up, caressed me, stroke my head, shared my joy, and left, repeating in her sonorous voice "Alexander, Alexander."
How did I manage to spend two days and two nights--they seemed longer than the stories of a titular councillor's wife abut her husbands selfless service, more boring than a mazurka danced with someone one does not like, who is pretending to be an amiable cavalier, more agonizing than the declaration of unrequited love. Finally the last day arrived, the midday rays lit up the mountain tops, the herds returned to the watering-holes... Fly faster, fly faster, time! let me once more hear the voice of my dear ones, let me enjoy their caressses, and then push me into the grave, scatter my ashes... for they will fall on Russian soil.
The evening shade moved higher and higher, the sun's rays gilded only the very top of the mountain... Unbearable! They seemed to stand still in one spot; I cursed the sluggish sun, which was headed for the other world, just as slowly as a landowner's family is headed to town for elections... Now I rushed about in my cage, now I stopped by the window; I heard how fast the blood was flowing in my veins, how my heart was pounding in my tortured breast, as if it wanted to break it down and fly as a joyous herald to my friends...
The sun was finally setting! Night shadows spread out over the aul, conversations were heard in the streets, the crowds returned to their homes for the night. An hour or two left now! In ineffable agitation I sat down in the corner across from the window, exhausted by expectations. A black cloud hid for me my corner of sky and mountain, a rumble went through the air like a cannon shot... that was the signal for my liberation, the heavens themselves participated in the dawn of my freedom. Let the elements rumble, I thought, let lightning flash, they light up the path for the happy fugitives! When one's soul is bright and joyous, no threat frightens a human being, and if the earth were to burn up from horrid lightning, the universal conflagration would seem to him as festive fireworks.
The door shook--I shuddered. A black figure entered my room, but it was not the beautiful Misue, nor the ugly old woman, no... an unknown man leans his head against the roof of my low dwelling... Lightning flashed--I saw the prince, and his eyes glimmered at me, more frightful that any lightning in the sky. Barely breathing, I pressed myself into the corner; the prince spotted me with difficulty in the darkness. "Hello," he said, sitting down next to me. I was silent.
"Hello," he said again, "so, did you get used to our lifestyle?"
"How could a Russian ever get used to bondage?"
"But, as soon as you are free, you wilL live with us, you'll be out playing..."
"Be out playing? With you..." I repeated, and my breathing stopped as I imagined the impending moment of my freedom.
"Yes, with us, you're ours, you know. Do you really think that we live worse than your giaours? You'll see, and you'll find out."
Impatience gave me courage.
"Where are you from? What do you need from me?" I asked him.
"Where from?" he answered indifferently, "from your land; the harvest will be plentiful, I watered the Russian earth with blood. What do I need here..."
He continued to speak, but my heart leapt from another call. By the window the familiar voice of the Circassian woman could be heard. "Misue" I heard... They're calling me. Russia, my dear ones... to you...
A rough hand grasped my arm.
"Why are you shivering?" said the tiresome guest, "Don't be afraid of me."
"Go away!" I said in a pleading voice, forgetting whom and what I was asking. "Go away!"
"Go away? Please, you'll go with me."
"With you!.. I...no, no! I'll stay here!.. For the salvation of your soul, please go away..."
"Misue," the same voice repeated behind the wall.
"Oh my God, my God!," I shouted in despair and threw myself at the doors as a madman. The prince barred my way.
"Misue," was heard once more, but already in the distance, as a strong thunder clap deafened the call.
"Let me go, let me go," I groaned, hugging his knees, completely out of my mind. "If you are not the devil in human shape, let me go..."
I fell down on the floor.. the clatter of galloping horses could be heard behind the wall, it was rapidly receeding and soon it couldn't be heard at all.
"Of course!" I shouted in the throngs of despair. "They've left without me!" Tiger..."
Two strong arms grasped me around my waist, he kicked the door open and bent down in order to carry me out through the narrow opening... As I was struggling to free myself, my hand felt his dagger and I grasped the sharp iron and in the despair of forever lost hope, I struck my neck with it... A crash and crackle was heard, everything was spinning around me. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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It was strange, unfathomable... someone is pulling my hand and a familiar voice keeps saying "Zeneida Petrovna, Zeneida Petrovna..." what does it all mean? Surely we keep our names beyond the borders of our world? But how did the people here find out my name so soon? After all, I just came and I never was here before...
But the persistent voice kept repeating: "Zeneida Petrovna."
"What?" I said forcefully, and it seemed to me that my voice came out by unusual channels, through the hole pierced in my neck... I even grasped my neck with my hand.
"Get up," said the same voice. "Get dressed, people are waiting for you."
"Oh, Masha," I said and opened my eyes with difficulty, seeing before me my maid. "Masha, have you, too, already died?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, yes... surely... I don't understand a thing!"
At that moment, my gaze, still burdened by the horrible vision, fell on one of my companions; he was prancing on a horse.
"Why did you leave without me?" I asked angrily.
"For heavens sake, Ma'am," he answered politely, " We are waiting for your orders, where will you want to go?"
"To Russia!"--I shouted in a burst of ecstacy... And jumping up from the divan, I dropped the French novel; I heard laughter and looked around me... and.. imagine... what a nice surprise.. I was not in Circassian captivity, I had not pierced my neck, I had simply fallen asleep on the divan waiting for my companions, and all of it was a dream.
"Well, that is not at all natural, " you will say, "such a prolonged dream!.."
Dear ladies and gentlemen, envy is a geat vice. But why do you want to dispute my dream? If you don't have similar dreams yourselves, that, quite frankly, is not my fault, furthermore... Now I'll interpret it for you quite clearly: the shot of a cannon, loaded with the usual proportion of gunpowder, will hit, let's say, at 250 sazhens; but load it with the double proportion, and you'll not wonder that the shot hits stronger and covers more ground... isn't it true, that this is very clear? In my soul there is more gunpowder than in yours, in it there is a huge amount of flammable substances, so it makes sense that, loaded with imagination, it would strike stronger, and imagination, built on our conversations of yesterday and on this horrible novel, would fly with incredible speed for days and weeks... It is true, abandon your doubts, or just to spite you, I'll will have similar dreams and will keep describing them to you in great detail!..
1837.