Narrative and Miscellaneous PapersDe Quincey, Thomas
General
Narrative and Miscellaneous Papers
De Quincey, Thomas
English essays; English fiction
Christmas arrived; and, a little before that time, courier upon courier
came dropping in, one upon the very heels of another, to St. Petersburg,
assuring the Czarina that beyond all doubt the Kalmucks were in the
very crisis of departure. These despatches came from the Governor of
Astrachan, and copies were instantly forwarded to Kichinskoi. Now, it
happened that between this governor--a Russian named Beketoff--and the
Pristaw had been an ancient feud. The very name of Beketoff inflamed
his resentment; and no sooner did he see that hated name attached to
the despatch, than he felt himself confirmed in his former views with
tenfold bigotry, and wrote instantly, in terms of the most pointed
ridicule, against the new alarmist, pledging his own head upon the
visionariness of his alarms. Beketoff, however, was not to be put down
by a few hard words, or by ridicule: he persisted in his statements: the
Russian Ministry were confounded by the obstinacy of the disputants; and
some were beginning even to treat the Governor of Astrachan as a bore,
and as the dupe of his own nervous terrors, when the memorable day
arrived, the fatal 5th of January, which for ever terminated the
dispute, and put a seal upon the earthly hopes and fortunes of
unnumbered myriads. The Governor of Astrachan was the first to hear the
news. Stung by the mixed furies of jealousy, of triumphant vengeance,
and of anxious ambition, he sprang into his sledge, and, at the rate of
three hundred miles a day, pursued his route to St. Petersburg, rushed
into the Imperial presence,--announced the total realization of his
worst predictions,--and upon the confirmation of this intelligence
by subsequent despatches from many different posts on the Wolga, he
received an imperial commission to seize the person of his deluded
enemy, and to keep him in strict captivity. These orders were eagerly
fulfilled, and the unfortunate Kichinskoi soon afterwards expired of
grief and mortification in the gloomy solitude of a dungeon; a victim
to his own immeasurable vanity, and the blinding self-delusions of a
presumption that refused all warning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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