The Blizzard
A snowy night, a lost bridegroom, and the stranger who took his place
Page 1
At the end of 1811, on the estate of Nenaradovo, lived the good Gavrila Gavrilovich. His daughter, Marya, was seventeen, pale, slender, and in love with a poor army ensign, Vladimir. Her parents had noticed. "Vladimir is a good man, but he is poor," her father declared. "There is no place for him in this house."
"She must think of her future," her mother agreed, watching her daughter stare out at the snow. "She will forget him."
But Marya would not forget. She and Vladimir exchanged letters in secret and laid their plans. They would elope, be married, and then throw themselves at her parents' feet. Surely, faced with such romantic constancy, their hearts would melt and they would say, 'Children! Come to our arms.' The plan was desperate, reckless, and to them, perfect.
Page 2
On the appointed day, Marya felt ill with nerves and ate nothing. She was to slip out after dinner and be driven to the church at Zhadrino, where Vladimir would be waiting. As evening fell, she moved about her room, her heart pounding. She packed a bundle with linen and a dress. She wrote two farewell letters, one to her parents, the other to a friend. "My dearest parents, forgive me," she whispered, reading over her words. "My fate is sealed. I am to be Vladimir's wife." She sealed them with a Tula seal bearing two flaming hearts. As she worked, the wind began to howl outside, and the shutters rattled. A blizzard was coming. "I must not be afraid," she told herself, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Everything depends on me now."
Page 3
Marya threw on a warm shawl and grabbed her bundle. Her maid, Tasha, was waiting in the corridor with a lantern. Together they slipped out onto the back porch and into the furious blast of the storm. "The blizzard is terrible, baryshnya," the coachman shouted over the wind from the sledge below. "Are you certain we can make it to Zhadrino?"
"We must," Marya replied, her voice small but firm as she descended the icy steps.
"Be careful, my dear!" Tasha cried, holding the lantern high. Its light danced in the swirling snow.
The driver helped Marya into the sledge and tucked a heavy bear-skin rug around her. For a moment, she looked back at the dark shape of the house where her parents slept. Then she gave the driver a nod. "Go!" she commanded.
Page 4
Vladimir had set out alone on horseback as soon as it grew dark. But the moment he left the village, the blizzard engulfed him. The road vanished. "Where is the road?" he shouted into the storm, his voice snatched away by the wind. He rode on at random, but soon realized he was circling in a field. His horse stumbled in deep drifts. Hours passed. He was cold, exhausted, and desperate. The village of Zhadrino was lost. "Marya is waiting!" he cried out, the thought a torment. "I have failed her!" He was utterly lost in the white, howling darkness. He could see nothing, no lights, no landmarks, only the endless, churning snow.
Page 5
Marya waited at the Zhadrino church, but Vladimir was not there. At last, just as she was about to give up, a sledge flew up to the church. A man jumped out. The weary priest looked at him. "Shall we begin at last?" he asked. The young man, his face hidden in shadows, simply nodded. Marya was so dazed she barely stood. They circled the lectern. When it was over, the priest said, "You may kiss the bride." The man bent towards her. As his cold lips touched her cheek, Marya cried out in a dreadful voice. "Oh! It is not him! It is not him!" The man turned, gave a single glance at her fallen figure, and ran from the church. He leaped into his sledge and was gone.
Page 6
Marya was found unconscious at home and fell into a fever. For two weeks she lay at death's door. "Vladimir!" she would cry in her delirium. "The snow... the church... it was not him!" Her parents, terrified of losing her, decided their disapproval was worthless. "Hush, my love," her mother soothed, smoothing her hair. "We have sent for him. You will be married." In the doorway, her father conferred with the doctor. "We must send the letter at once," he insisted. They wrote to Vladimir, giving their consent. But his reply was a shock: he was rejoining the army and would never trouble them again. Soon after, news came that he had been mortally wounded at Borodino. Marya, recovering slowly, knew nothing of it. The family guarded the secret, and the name of Vladimir was never spoken again.
Page 7
Years passed. The war ended. Marya's father died, leaving her a great heiress. She and her mother moved to a new estate. Suitors thronged around her, but she gave encouragement to none. One hopeful young man bowed before her. "Marya Gavrilovna, you are the most beautiful woman here. Why do you look so sad?" She gave him a polite, distant smile. "Some memories are best kept. Please, excuse me." She turned away, leaving him standing. Her mother sighed, watching from across the room. "She is waiting for someone," she told a friend. "But for whom?" Marya seemed to guard a secret sorrow, reading novels, wearing black, and never speaking of the past.
Page 8
A wounded hussar colonel, Burmin, came to the district on leave. He was charming and intelligent, and he and Marya were soon inseparable. One afternoon, walking in the park, he spoke of the war. "I was wounded at Borodino," he said, gesturing with his good hand. "A lucky shot, they told me."
Marya stopped walking and looked at him. "A friend of my youth... died there."
He saw the pain in her eyes and his voice softened. "The war took many good men. But we who are left must live, must we not?" For the first time in years, Marya felt her sadness lift. They spent hours walking and talking, and before they knew it, they were in love.
Page 9
The day for his declaration came. Burmin took her hand. "I love you, Marya Gavrilovna, more than life," he said, his voice strained. "But I cannot ask for your hand. There is a terrible obstacle." He dropped her hand and stepped back. "I am not free. I am already married."
"Married?" she whispered, her heart turning to ice. "To whom?"
"I do not know," he answered, his voice full of shame. "Years ago, in a blizzard, I stumbled into a church as a cruel joke. Before I knew what was happening, I was married to a young woman I could not see clearly. She fainted, and I fled. I have never seen her since."
Page 10
Burmin finished his story, staring at the floor. He waited for Marya to recoil, but instead she reached out and took his hand. "My God!" he exclaimed, looking up at her pale, intense face. "And you do not know what became of her?" Marya asked, her voice trembling. "You do not know the name of that village?"
"No," he said, his own eyes widening as he stared at her. "My God, was it...?"
"It was Zhadrino," she whispered, her grip tightening on his hand. "So it was you!" Burmin stared, then gave a great cry and fell to his knees before her. The blizzard had thrown them together as strangers, and now, love had led them to find each other again.
About this story
- Audience: general readers
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