Аннотация: My attempt of translation Yury Tynianov's book 'Kyuhlya'. First part is here, second in progress...
Yuri Tynianov. Kyuhlya.
Contents:
Wilya
Bechelkueckeriade.
Petersburg.
Europe.
Caucasus.
Village.
Sons of the Fatherland.
December.
Petrovskaya Square.
Escape.
Fortress.
The end.
WILYA
1
Wilhelm graduated from the boarding school with honours.
He came home from Verreaux pretty shot up; he walked in the park, read Schiller and was mysteriously silent. Ustinya Yakovlevna caught him when, reading the poems, he looked around quickly and, seeing that nobody was there, put a handkerchief to his eyes.
Ustinya Yakovlevna then, without even noticing it, gave him the best piece at lunch.
Wilhelm had grown up, he was almost fourteen, and Ustinya Yakovlevna felt that they had to do something.
The family council was gathered.
Her young cousin Albrecht (he was in the Guard's leggings) came to Pavlovsk, aunt Breitkopf arrived, and a little grey-haired old gentleman, the family's friend, Baron Nicolai was invited. The old gentleman was so decrepit, he sniffed at his flask with salt all the time. What's more, he had a sweet tooth and every now and then he took a candy from his old bonbonniХre. It really amused him and he could barely concentrate. However, he behaved with great dignity and only sometimes confused the names or events.
- Where to send Wilhelm? - Ustinya Yakovlevna looked at the council with a little fear.
- Wilhelm? - the old man repeated very politely. - To send Wilhelm? - and sniffed at his flask.
- Yes, Wilhelm, - Ustinya Yakovlevna said sadly.
Everybody was silent.
- To the military service, to the corps! - the Baron said suddenly, extremely firmly. - Send Wilhelm to the military service.
Albrecht squinted a little bit and said:
- But Wilhelm doesn't seem to have any inclination to the military service.
It seemed to Ustinya Yakovlevna that her cousin kind of talked down to them.
- The military service is everything good for a young man, - the Baron said with authority, - though I myself never was a military man... he should be enlisted at the corps.
He took out his bonbonniХre and sucked a fruit-drop...
At this moment Ustinka-the-little came running into Wilhelm's room (mother and daughter had the same name. Aunt Breitkopf called mother Justine and her daughter - Ustinka-the-little).
- Wilya, - she said, growing pale, - go there and listen, they're talking about you.
Wilya looked at her absently. He'd been talking in whispers with Senka, a neighbourhood guttersnipe, for two days now. In the daytime he kept writing something in a notebook, was silent and secretive.
- About me?
- Yes, - Ustinka whispered, eyes wide. - They want to send you to the war or to the corps.
Wilhelm jumped to his feet.
- You know for sure? - he asked in whisper.
- I've just heard the Baron say that they should send you to the war service to the corps.
- Swear.
- I swear, - Ustinka said, unsure.
- Very well, - Wilhelm said, pale and confident, - you can go.
He got down to his notebook again and paid no more attention to Ustinka.
The council was going on.
- He has rare abilities, - Ustinya Yakovlevna was saying in worry, - he has an inclination for poetry, and what's more I don't think that the military service will be any good to him.
- Ah, to poetry, - the Baron said. - Well, poetry is another thing.
He paused and then added, looking at aunt Breitkopf:
- Poetry is literature.
Aunt Breitkopf said, slowly and distinctly:
- He should enter the lyceum.
- But I believe it's in France - Lycee, - the Baron said absently.
- No, Baron, it's in Russia! - aunt Breitkopf snapped out with indignation. - It's in Russia, in Sarskoye Selo, a half hour's walk from here. It's gonna be a noble institution. Justine must even know about it: the Grand Dukes, - she made a triumphant gesture at the Baron, - will study there, I believe.
- Excellent, - the Baron said confidently. - He goes to Lycee.
`Ah, what a wonderful thought!' - Ustinya Yakovlevna thought to herself. - `It's so near.'
- However, - she remembered, - the Grand Dukes won't study there, they changed their minds.
- That's only for the better, - the Baron said suddenly. - That's better, they don't go and that's all right, Wilhelm does go to Lycee.
- I will plead for him at Barclays', - Ustinya Yakovlevna looked at aunt Breitkopf (Barclay De Tolly's wife was her cousin). - No need to bother Her Majesty so often. The Barclays won't say `no'.
- They won't say `no' on any account, - the Baron said, thinking of something else.
- And when you have talked to Barclay, - aunt added, - we'll ask Baron to take Wilhelm there and appoint him.
The Baron was confused.
- Take him where? - he asked in perplexity. - But Lycee isn't in France. It's in Sarskoye Selo. Where to take him?
- Ah, my god, - aunt said impatiently, - but they are taken to the Minister, Duke Aleksey Kirillovich. Baron, you're an old friend and we rely on you. With the Minister it'll be more convenient to you...
- I'll do everything, literally everything, - Baron said. - I'll take him to Lycee myself!
- Thank you, dear Ioannikiy Fedorovich, - Ustinya Yakovlevna put a handkerchief to her eyes. The Baron had tears in his eyes too, and was extremely excited.
- He should be taken to Lycee. Pack up his things, I'll take him to Lycee.
The word `Lycee' charmed him.
- Dear Baron, - aunt said, - he should be introduced to the Minister first. I'll take Wilhelm to you and you'll go with him.
The Baron began to feel like a boarding school girl to her. Aunt Breitkopf was a maman of the institute of St. Catherine.
The Baron stood up, glanced sadly at aunt Breitkopf and made a bow.
- Believe me, I will look forward to your arrival.
- Dear Baron, you're spending this night at our place, - Ustinya Yakovlevna said, and her voice trembled.
Aunt opened the door a little and called:
- Wilhelm!
Wilhelm went in, looking at everyone strangely.
- Pay attention, Wilhelm! - aunt Breitkopf said solemnly. - We've decided that you're going to the Lyceum. That Lyceum is opening not far from here - in Sarskoye Selo. There you'll be taught everything - and verse too. You'll have comrades there...
Wilhelm stood stock-still.
- Baron Ioannikiy Fedorovich was so kind as to agree to take you to the Minister himself.
The Baron stopped sucking his candy and looked at aunt with curiosity.
Not saying a word, Wilhelm headed out of the room.
- What's wrong with him? - aunt asked in surprise.
Wilhelm wasn't disappointed. It was just that his escape to Verreaux with Senka was planned for that night. In the town of Verreaux, Minchen, the daughter of his respectable teacher, was waiting for him. She was only twelve years old. Before leaving, Wilhelm promised her to take her away from her father's house and marry her secretly. Senka would accompany him, and then, when Wilhelm and Minchen were married, the three of them would live in some hut, like a Swiss house, pick flowers and strawberries every day and be happy.
At night Senka knocks quietly at Wilya's window.
Everything is ready.
Wilhelm takes his notebook, puts two dried crusts in his pocket, then gets dressed. The window has been opened since evening - for that purpose. He goes round little Mishka's - his brother's - bed and climbs out of the window.
The garden turns out to be terrifying, although the night is moonlit and clear.
They walk quietly around the corner - there they'll climb over the fence. Before leaving father's house, Wilhelm stands on his knees and kisses the earth. He's read about it in some of Karamsin's books. He feels miserable and swallows a tear. Senka waits patiently.
They take two more steps and run into the opened window. The Baron in a gown and a nightcap on sits at the window and looks at Wilhelm indifferently.
Wilhelm freezes. Senka disappears behind the tree.
- Good evening. Bon soir, Guillaume, - the Baron says condescendingly, without much interest.
- Good evening, - Wilhelm answers, out of breath.
- Such good weather - like in Venice, - the Baron says with a sigh. He sniffs at his flask. - Such weather in May, they say, can only happen in a leap year.
He glances at Wilhelm and adds thoughtfully:
- Though it's not a leap year now. How are you getting on? - he then asks curiously.
- Thank you, - Wilhelm answers. - Good with German, and with French as well.
- Oh really? - the Baron asks in amazement.
- With Latin, too, - Wilhelm says, losing the ground under his feet.
- Ah, that's another pair of shoes, - the Baron calms down.
The window beside opens and surprised Ustinya Yakovlevna in a nightcap shows herself.
- Good evening, Ustinya Yakovlevna, - the Baron says politely. - What pleasant weather. You have Firenze la Bellahere. I'm just breathing this air.
- Yes, - Ustinya Yakovlevna says, perplexed, - but how come Wilhelm is here? What is he doing here in the garden at night?
- Wilhelm? - the Baron repeats absently. - Ah, Wilhelm, - he suddenly remembers. - Well, but Wilhelm is breathing this air, too. He's just out for a walk, you know.
She looks at her son in fear, stretches out her dry hand and caresses his wiry hair.
- Come to me, - Ustinya Yakovlevna says, gazing at him in worry. - Climb into my window.
Wilhelm climbs into his mother's window, hanging his head. Ustinya Yakovlevna's eyes are filled with tears. Seeing those tears, Wilhelm suddenly sobs and tells her everything, absolutely everything... Ustinya Yakovlevna laughs and cries and strokes her son's head.
The Baron sits at his window for quite a long time after that, sniffing at his flask with salt. He remembers one Italian actress, who had died forty years ago or so, and he almost fancies himself in Firenze la Bella.
2
The Baron wears his old-fashioned full-dress uniform with orders, pulls on his gloves, then, leaning on his cane, he takes Wilhelm's hand and they go to the Duke Aleksey Kirillovich Razumovsky, the Minister.
They walk into a great hall with columns, with a lot of portraits on the walls. There are about twelve adult men in the hall, and each and every one has a boy with him. Wilhelm passes by a tiny boy, who stands by a dull man in a functionary uniform.
The Baron sits down in an armchair. Wilhelm begins to look around. A tiny dark-haired boy is standing right near him, he's fidgety like a monkey. A man in a black cutaway with an order in a tab holds his hand.
- Michel, please calm down, - he burrs in French when a boy begins to make faces at Wilhelm.
He's a French tutor of a university boarding school, who has come to appoint Misha Yakovlev.
A little old gentleman in an admiral's uniform is standing near them. His face is frowned; like Baron, he has a cane. He's angry and he doesn't look at anybody. A boy stands near him, he's rosy and fat, with light eyes and fair hair.
When the admiral catches sight of the Baron, he brightens up.
- Ioannikiy Fedorovich? - he says in a hoarse bass.
The Baron stops sucking his candy and looks at the admiral. He then rises, comes up to him and shakes his hand.
- Ivan Petrovich, cher admiral!
- Petr Ivanovich, - the admiral grumbles, - Petr Ivanovich. My dear fellow, you're confusing names.
But the Baron starts a conversation with no trace of embarrassment. The admiral is an old friend of his (and the Baron has a lot of old good friends), Admiral Pushchin.
The Admiral is displeased. He's been waiting for the Minister for about half an hour now. Five more minutes pass. Wilhelm stares at the rosy boy while that boy examines Wilhelm with a bit of surprise.
- Vanya, - the admiral says, - go walk around the hall.
The boys walk through the hall a little awkwardly, staring at each other. When they pass by Misha Yakovlev, Misha quickly sticks out his tongue at them.
- A monkey, - Vanya says to Wilhelm. Wilhelm answers:
- He's just like a jester.
The Admiral gets angry. He starts knocking with his cane. At this moment the Baron starts knocking as well. The Admiral calls up a functionary on duty and says to him:
- Is His Excellency planning to receive us today?
- I'm sorry, Your Excellency, - the functionary answers. - His Excellency is finishing his dressing.
- But I need Aleksey Kirillovich, - the Admiral says, losing his temper, - not his dressing.
- I'll announce you immediately, - and the functionary makes a slight bow and slips to the hall next door.
In a minute everybody is called to the interior rooms. The appointment begins.
A dandy in a black cutaway and an absolutely extraordinary jabot comes up to the Admiral; he's strongly perfumed and tightened up. His eyes are little and lively, he's squinting a little; his nose resembles a bird's beak, and, although his waist is laced tight, the dandy already has a little, but quite noticeable paunch.
- Petr Ivanovich, - he says in an incredibly pleasant voice and begins to spout French phrases at Admiral.
The Admiral can't stand either the dandies or French chatter and, looking at the dandy, he thinks: `Eh, what a loafer!' (he calls all the dandies `loafers'); however, the Admiral appreciates honour and respect.
- Who have you brought with you, dear Vasily Lvovich? - he asks kindly.
- My nephew, Sergey Lvovich's son. Sasha! - he calls.
Sasha comes up to them. He's a curly-haired, sharp-eyed boy, he has a sullen look and a clodhoppery walk. When he sees Wilhelm, he laughs with his eyes and begins to watch him quietly.
At this moment a tall functionary comes out of the Minister's office; he has a paper in his hands and he begins to call out the names:
- Baron Delvig, Anton Antonovich!
A pale and plump boy with a sleepy face goes unwillingly and uncertainly.
- Komovsky!
A tiny boy minces carefully with little steps.
- Yakovlev!
A little monkey almost runs to the call.
The functionary calls out Pushchin, Pushkin, Wilhelm.
The minister's office frightens them a bit. Important people sit at the table covered with a blue tablecloth with golden fringes. The Minister himself is fat, curly-haired, with a ribbon across his chest, with a dull smile, pale-faced, curled and pomaded. He tells jokes lazily to a long tall man in a uniform, who reminds them of either a seminarian or an Englishman.
The tall one examines. He's Malinovsky, the newly-appointed director of the Lyceum. He asks questions, like tapping them out with a tiny hammer, and waits for the answers, tilting his head a little.
The exam ends late. Everybody leaves. Yakovlev makes one last grimace - such a grimace that Pushkin bares his white teeth in a grin and pushes Pushchin on the ribs.
3
On the 19th of October Wilhelm was getting himself up in the dress uniform. He pulled on the white trousers, wore the blue uniform (its red collar was a little too high), tied the white tie, set the white waistcoat right, pulled on the jackboots and looked at his reflection in the mirror with pleasure. The boy in the mirror was tall and lean with bulging eyes, the very picture of a parrot.
When everybody began to draw up in the lyceum corridor, Pushkin glanced at Wilhelm and laughed with his eyes. Wilhelm blushed and shook his head as if the collar hindered him.
They were walked to the hall. The inspector and the tutors in hurry formed them into three rows and stood in front of them like majors at the guard mounting.
In between the columns in the lyceum hall stood an endless table, covered with red cloth with golden fringes hanging down to the floor. Wilhelm closed his eyes tight - there was too much shining gold on the uniforms.
The Minister, pale, plump and curly-haired, was sitting in the armchair talking to the strange old man. He examined everybody with a dull eye, then said something into the pale director's ear, making him even paler, and left.
Silence.
The door opened and the Tsar went in. His blue eyes were smiling at everybody, his dandy tight frock coat fit his plump frame perfectly; he made a gesture at the Minister with a white hand, pointing at the place near him. Long and clumsy Grand Duke Konstantin walked beside him. His lower lip hung down, he had a sleepy look, was stooped, the uniform hung on him like a sack. On the Tsar's other side the white lace foam moved - that was Empress Elizavetha - and the brittle silk rustled loudly - there went the old Empress.
They made themselves comfortable. The director came in front of them with a package in his hands, trembling with worry and moving his long legs with a great effort, and, stammering, in a hollow voice he began to talk about the faithful feelings which should be introduced somewhere, developed, consolidated. The package was dancing in his hands. He was staring in the Tsar's eyes; the Tsar, with his eyebrows raised a little, biting his lips, wasn't listening to him. Admiral Pushchin began to cough loudly, Vasily Lvovich sneezed so loudly that all the hall heard him and blushed with embarrassment. Only Baron Nicolai was watching the director with approval, sniffing at his flask.
`His Majesty...' - was heard through the mumble, then again: `His Majesty', and mumbling again. The director sat down, the Admiral got his breath back.
The one who took the floor after the director was a straight, pale young man. He wasn't looking at the Tsar, he was looking at the boys. He was Kunitsyn, the law professor.
At the very first sounds of his voice, the Tsar became alerted.
- Under the study of the communal life, - Kunitsyn said, as if he was condemning somebody, - we understand not the art of being radiant with outer beauty, which is often just a handsome mask of the rank ignorance, but the real education of our hearts and minds.
Stretching his arm towards the boys, he said almost darkly:
- The time will come when our Fatherland will charge us with a sacred duty of protecting the public good.
And nothing about the Tsar. He has seemingly forgotten about his presence. But no, now he turns a little towards him:
- The man of government does never turn down the people's cry as the voice of the people is the voice of God.
And again - he looks only at the boys, and again his voice is condemning and the motions of his hand are fast.
- What's the use of being proud of titles gained not for one's true worth, when in everybody's eyes there is condemnation or contempt, abuse or censure, hatred or damnation? Do you have to look for decorations just to live in fear of infamy when you've got them?
Wilhelm doesn't shift his eyes from Kunitsyn. Kunitsyn's unmoving face is pale.
The Tsar listens carefully. He's even put his white hand to his ear as he's a little hard of hearing. His cheeks have reddened a bit; his stare is on the orator. The Minister looks at Kunitsyn with a dull, significant face - and squints at the Tsar. He wants to know what impression the strange speech has on His Majesty. But the Tsar's eyes don't show anything in particular, he wears a frown while his lips are smiling.
But suddenly Kunitsyn glanced seemingly unwillingly at the Minister. The Minister is listening carefully to the professor's strained voice:
- Imagine a man without any good knowledge in the government, a man who knows the government positions only by their name; you'll see how bitter his condition is. Not knowing the very first reasons to the prosperity and decline of the countries, he can not give a permanent direction to the proceedings, he loses his way with every step, he changes his mind with each new action. Correcting one mistake he immediately makes another; eradicating one evil he begins another one; instead of important benefits he searches for extraneous ones.
The Minister's pale, bagged cheeks blush. He bites into his lips and doesn't look at the orator any more. Baron Nicolai in the audience sniffs at his flask strongly. Vasily Lvovich sits with his mouth half-opened, which makes his face look incredibly stupid.
Kunitsyn's voice is sonorous; he doesn't look at the boys any more, he stares at the empty space so as not to look at the Minister and the Tsar.
- Tired of fruitless efforts, conscience-stricken, turned out by everybody's indignation, such a man goes with the flow or becomes a slave of the others' prejudice. Like a reckless swimmer, he throws himself on the rocks surrounded by the bitter leftovers of many, many shipwrecks. While a wise man would use the force of the ferocious winds, he lets their force lead him and, seeing the abyss opening wide, he looks for shelter where the sea is endless.
Calm, stiff, professor sits down. His cheeks burn. The Minister casts a glance at the Tsar.
Suddenly the head of reddish hair bends with approval: the Tsar suddenly remembered that he's the country's first liberal. He leans to the Minister casually and whispers loudly:
- Nominate for the distinction.
The Minister bends his head down, making his face happy.
The list is in the director's hands again, and again it dances in his fingers. They're being called out.
- Kuechelbecker Wilhelm!
Willy, drawing his frame a little forward, getting lost in his own two legs, comes up to that table that frightens them so much. He forgets the ceremonial and makes such an awkward bow that the Tsar puts a lorgnette to his dull eyes and looks at him for a second or two. Just a second or two. The reddish head nods at the boy patiently.
- It's Wilhelm, - the Baron says to the Admiral. - I appointed him to Lycee.
They're then led to the dining room. The old Empress tastes the soup. She stands behind Wilhelm, leans on his shoulders and asks kindly:
- Kud zup?
Surprised Wilhelm chokes with his pie, makes an attempt to stand up and, to his terror, answers in a squeaking voice:
- Oui, monsieur.
Pushchin, who sits beside him, swallows the hot soup and makes a desperate face. Pushkin then draws his head into his shoulders and his spoon stops halfway.
The Grand Duke Konstantin, who stands at the window with his sister and entertains himself by pinching and tickling her, hears it all from his place and begins to laugh. His laughter is barking, somehow wooden, as if somebody's clicking on the counting frame.
The Empress suddenly gets offended and flows stately past the Lyceum students. Konstantin then comes up to the table and, pulling his lip down, looks at Wilhelm; he really likes Wilhelm.
And Wilhelm feels like crying. He takes a hold of himself. His bulging-eyed face reddens and his lower lip trembles.
Everything ended well, though. His Highness goes back to the window to tickle Her Highness.