Chapter 3

[1]For administrative purposes Russia is divided into seventy-two governments, exclusive of Finland, which enjoys a separate administration.

Before I proceed to write a description of the strange events of which I was a witness, I must say a few words concerning the condition of the government of Orenburg towards the end of the year 1773.

This rich and extensive government was inhabited by horde? of half-savage people, who had only recently acknowledged the sovereignty of the Russian Czars. Their continual revolts, their disinclination to a civilized life and an existence regulated by laws, their fickleness and cruelty, demanded on the part of the government a constant vigilance in order to keep them in subjection. Fortresses had been erected in convenient places, and were garrisoned for the most part by Cossacks, who had formerly held possession of the shores of the Yaik. But these Yaikian Cossacks, whose duty it was to preserve peace and to watch over the security of this district, had themselves for some time past become very troublesome and dangerous to the government. In the year 1772 an insurrection broke out in their principal city. The causes of it were the severe measures taken by General Traubenberg to bring the army into a state of obedience. The result was the barbarous murder of Traubenberg, the selection of new leaders, and finally the suppression of the revolt by grapeshot and cruel punishments.

This happened a little while before my arrival at the fortress of Bailogorsk. All was now quiet, or at least appeared so; but the authorities believed too easily in the pretended repentance of the cunning rebels, who nursed their hatred in secret and only waited for a favourable opportunity to recommence the struggle.

I now return to my narrative.

One evening (it was in the beginning of October in the year. 1773) I was sitting indoors alone, listening to the moaning of the autumn wind, and gazing out of the window at the clouds, as they sailed rapidly over the face of the moon. A message was brought to me to wait upon the Commandant. I immediately repaired to his quarters. I there found Shvabrin, Ivan Ignatitch, and the Cossack orderly. Neither Vassilissa Egorovna nor Maria Ivanova was in the room. The Commandant greeted me with a pre-occupied air. He closed the door, made us all sit-down except the orderly, who remained standing near the door, drew a paper out of his pocket, and said to us:—

“Gentlemen, we have here important news! Hear what the general writes.”

Then he put on his spectacles and read as follows:

“To the Commandant of the Fortress of Bailogorsk, Captain Mironoff. (Confidential.)“I hereby inform you that the fugitive and schismatic Don Cossack, Emelian Pougatcheff, after having been guilty of the unpardonable insolence of assuming the name of the deceased Emperor Peter III.,[1]has collected a band of evil-disposed persons, has excited disturbances in the settlements along the banks of the Yaik, and has already taken and destroyed several fortresses, pillaging and murdering on every side. Therefore, on the receipt of this letter, you, Captain, will at once take the necessary measures to repel the above-mentioned villain and impostor, and, if possible, to completely annihilate him, if he should turn his arms against the fortress entrusted to your care.”

“To the Commandant of the Fortress of Bailogorsk, Captain Mironoff. (Confidential.)

“I hereby inform you that the fugitive and schismatic Don Cossack, Emelian Pougatcheff, after having been guilty of the unpardonable insolence of assuming the name of the deceased Emperor Peter III.,[1]has collected a band of evil-disposed persons, has excited disturbances in the settlements along the banks of the Yaik, and has already taken and destroyed several fortresses, pillaging and murdering on every side. Therefore, on the receipt of this letter, you, Captain, will at once take the necessary measures to repel the above-mentioned villain and impostor, and, if possible, to completely annihilate him, if he should turn his arms against the fortress entrusted to your care.”

“Take the necessary measures,” said the Commandant, taking off his spectacles and folding up the letter; “you see that it is very easy to say that. The villain is evidently strong in numbers, whereas we have but 130 men altogether, not counting the Cossacks, upon whom we can place very little dependence—without intending any reproach to you, Maximitch.” The orderly smiled. “Still, there is no help for it, but to do the best we can, gentlemen. Let us be on our guard and establish night patrols; in case of attack, shut the gates and assemble the soldiers. You, Maximitch, keep a strict eye on your Cossacks. See that the cannon be examined and thoroughly cleaned. Above all things, keep what I have said a secret, so that nobody in the fortress may know anything before the time.”

After giving these orders, Ivan Kouzmitch dismissed us. I walked away with Shvabrin, reflecting upon what we had heard.

“How do you think that this will end?” I asked him.

“God knows,” he replied; “we shall see. I do not see anything to be alarmed about at present. If, however——”

Then he began to reflect and to whistle abstractedly a French air.

In spite of all our precautions, the news of the appearance of Pougatcheff soon spread through the fortress. Although Ivan Kouzmitch entertained the greatest respect for his wife, he would not for anything in the world have confided to her a secret entrusted to him in connection with the service. After having received the general’s letter, he contrived in a tolerably dexterous manner to get Vassilissa Egorovna out of the way, telling her that Father Gerasim had received some extraordinary news from Orenburg, which he kept a great secret. Vassilissa Egorovna immediately wished to go and pay a visit to the pope’s wife and, by the advice of Ivan Kouzmitch, she took Masha with her, lest she should feel dull by herself.

Ivan Kouzmitch, being thus left sole master of the situation, immediately sent for us, having locked Palashka in the pantry, so that she might not be able to overhear what we had to say.

Vassilissa Egorovna returned home, without having succeeded in getting anything out of the pope’s wife, and she learned that, during her absence, a council of war had been held in Ivan Kouzmitch’s house, and that Palashka had been under lock and key. She suspected that she had been duped by her husband, and she began to assail him with questions. But Ivan Kouzmitch was prepared for the attack. He was not in the least perturbed, and boldly made answer to his inquisitive consort:

“Hark you, mother dear, our women hereabouts have taken a notion into their heads to heat their ovens with straw, and as some misfortune might be the outcome of it, I gave strict orders that the women should not heat their ovens with straw, but should burn brushwood and branches of trees instead.”

“But why did you lock up Palashka, then?” asked his wife. “Why was the poor girl compelled to sit in the kitchen till we returned?”

Ivan Kouzmitch was not prepared for such a question; he became confused, and stammered out something very incoherent. Vassilissa Egorovna perceived her husband’s perfidy, but, knowing that she would get nothing out of him just then, she abstained from asking any further questions and turned the conversation to the subject of the pickled; cucumbers, which Akoulina Pamphilovna knew how to prepare in such an excellent manner. But all that night Vassilissa Egorovna could not sleep a wink, nor could she understand what it was that was in her husband’s head that; she was not permitted to know.

The next day, as she was returning home from mass, she saw Ivan Ignatitch, who was busily engaged in clearing the cannon of pieces of rag, small stones, bits of bone, and rubbish of every sort, which had been deposited there by the little boys of the place.

“What mean these warlike preparations?” thought the Commandant’s wife. “Can it be that they fear an attack on the part of the Kirghises? But is it possible that Ivan Kouzmitch could conceal such a trifle from me?”

She called Ivan Ignatitch to her with the firm determination of learning from him the secret which tormented her woman’s curiosity.

Vassillissa Egorovna began by making a few observations to him about household matters, like a judge who commences an examination with questions foreign to the matter in hand, in order to lull the suspicions of the person accused. Then, after a silence of a few moments, she heaved a deep sigh, and said, shaking her head:

“Oh, Lord God! What news! What will be the end of all this?”

“Well, well, mother!” replied Ivan Ignatitch; “God is merciful; we have soldiers enough, plenty of powder, and I have cleaned the cannon. Perhaps we shall be able to offer a successful resistance to this Pougatcheff; if God will only not abandon us, we shall be safe enough here.”

“And what sort of a man is this Pougatcheff?” asked the Commandant’s wife.

Then Ivan Ignatitch perceived that he had said more ban he ought to have done, and he bit his tongue. But it was now too late. Vassilissa Egorovna compelled him to inform her of everything, having given him her word that she would not mention the matter to anybody.

Vassilissa Egorovna kept her promise and said not a word to anybody, except to the pope’s wife, and to her only because her cow was still feeding upon the steppe, and might be captured by the brigands.

Soon everybody was talking about Pougatcheff. The reports concerning him varied very much. The Commandant sent his orderly to glean as much information as possible about him in all the neighbouring villages and fortresses. The orderly returned after an absence of two days, and reported that, at about sixty versts from the fortress, he had seen a large number of fires upon the steppe, and that he had heard from the Bashkirs that an immense force was advancing. He could not say anything more positive, because he had feared to venture further.

An unusual agitation now began to be observed among the Cossacks of the fortress; in all the streets they congregated in small groups, quietly conversing among themselves, and dispersing whenever they caught sight of a dragoon or any other soldier belonging to the garrison. They were closely watched by spies. Youlai, a converted Calmuck, made an important communication to the commandant. The orderly’s report, according to Youlai, was a false one; on his return the treacherous Cossack announced to his companions that he had been among the rebels, and had been presented to their leader, who had given him his hand and had conversed with him for a long time. The Commandant immediately placed the orderly under arrest, and appointed Youlai in his place. This change was the cause of manifest dissatisfaction among the Cossacks. They murmured loudly, and Ivan Ignatitch, who executed the Commandant’s instructions, with his own ears heard them say:

“Just wait a little while, you garrison rat!”

The Commandant had intended interrogating the prisoner that very same day, but the orderly had made his escape, no doubt with the assistance of his partisans.

A fresh event served to increase the Commandant’s uneasiness. A Bashkir, carrying seditious letters, was seized. On this occasion the Commandant again decided upon assembling his officers, and therefore he wished once more to get Vassilissa Egorovna out of the way under some plausible pretext. But as Ivan Kouzmitch was a most upright and sincere man, he could find no other method than that employed on the previous occasion.

“Listen, Vassilissa Egorovna,” he said to her, coughing to conceal his embarrassment: “they say that Father Gerasim has received——”

“That’s enough, Ivan Kouzmitch,” said his wife, interrupting him: “you wish to assemble a council of war to talk about Emelian Pougatcheff without my being present; but you shall not deceive me this time.”

Ivan Kouzmitch opened his eyes.

“Well, little mother,” he said, “if you know everything, you may remain; we shall speak in your presence.”

“Very well, my little father,” replied she; “you should not try to be so cunning; send for the officers.”

We assembled again. Ivan Kouzmitch, in the presence of his wife, read to us Pougatcheff’s proclamation, drawn up probably by some half-educated Cossack. The robber announced therein his intention of immediately marching upon our fortress; he invited the Cossacks and soldiers to join him, and advised the superior officers not to offer any resistance, threatening them with death in the event of their doing so. The proclamation was couched in coarse but vigorous language, and could not but produce a powerful impression upon the minds of simple people.

“What a rascal!” exclaimed the Commandant’s wife; “that he should propose such a thing to us. To go out to meet him and lay our flags at his feet! Ah! the son of a dog! He does not know then that we have been forty years in the service, and that, thanks to God, we have seen a good deal during that time. Is it possible that there are commandants who would be cowardly enough to yield to a robber like him?”

“There ought not to be,” replied Ivan Kouzmitch; “but it is reported that the scoundrel has already taken several fortresses.”

“He seems to have great power,” observed Shvabrin.

“We shall soon find out the real extent of his power,” said the Commandant. “Vassilissa Egorovna, give me the key of the loft. Ivan Ignatitch, bring hither the Bashkir, and tell Youlai to fetch a whip.”

“Wait a moment, Ivan Kouzmitch,” said his wife, rising from her seat. “Let me take Masha somewhere out of the house; otherwise she will hear the cries and will feel frightened. And I myself, to tell the truth, am no lover of inquisitions. So good-bye for the present.”

Torture, in former times, was so rooted in our judicial proceedings, that the benevolent ukase[2]ordering its abolition remained for a long time a dead letter. It was thought that the confession of the criminal was indispensable for his full conviction—an idea not only unreasonable, but even contrary to common sense from a jurisprudential point of view; for if the denial of the accused person be not accepted as proof of his innocence, the confession that has been wrung from him ought still less to be accepted as a proof of his guilt. Even in our days I sometimes hear old judges regretting the abolition of the barbarous custom. But in those days nobody had any doubt about the necessity of torture, neither the judges nor even the accused persons themselves. Therefore it was that the Commandant’s order did not astonish or alarm any of us. Ivan Ignatitch went to fetch the Bashkir, who was confined in the loft, under lock and key, and a few minutes afterwards he was led prisoner into the ante-room. The Commandant ordered the captive to be brought before him.—

The Bashkir stepped with difficulty across the threshold (for his feet were in fetters) and, taking off his high cap, remained standing near the door. I glanced at him and shuddered. Never shall I forget that man. He appeared to be about seventy years of age, and had neither nose nor ears. His head was shaved, and instead of a beard he had a few grey hairs upon his chin; he was of short stature, thin and bent; but his small eyes still flashed fire.

“Ah, ah!” said the Commandant, recognizing by these dreadful marks one of the rebels punished in the year 1741, “I see you are an old wolf; you have already been caught in our traps. It is not the first time that you have rebelled, since your head is planed so smoothly. Come nearer; speak, who sent you here?”

The old Bashkir remained silent and gazed at the Commandant with an air of complete stolidity.

“Why do you not answer?” continued Ivan Kouzmitch. “Don’t you understand Russian? Youlai, ask him in your language, who sent him to our fortress.”

Youlai repeated the Commandant’s question in the Tartar language. But the Bashkir looked at him with the same expression and answered not a word.

“By heaven!” exclaimed the Commandant, “you shall answer me. My lads! take off that ridiculous striped gown of his, and tickle his back. Youlai, see that it is carried out properly.”

Two soldiers began to undress the Bashkir. The face of the unhappy man assumed an expression of uneasiness. He looked round on every side, like a poor little animal f that has been captured by children. But when one of the soldiers seized his hands to twine them round his neck, and raised the old man upon his shoulders, and Youlai grasped the whip and began to flourish it round his head, then the Bashkir uttered a feeble groan, and, raising his head, opened his mouth, in which, instead of a tongue, moved a short stump.

When I reflect that this happened during my lifetime, and that I now live under the mild government of the Emperor Alexander, I cannot but feel astonished at the rapid progress of civilization, and the diffusion of humane ideas. Young man! if these lines of mine should fall into your hands, remember that those changes which proceed from an amelioration of manners and customs are much better and more lasting than those which are the outcome of acts of violence.

We were all horror-stricken.

“Well,” said the Commandant, “it is evident that we shall get nothing out of him. Youlai, lead the Bashkir back to the loft; and let us, gentlemen, have a little further talk about the matter.”

We were yet considering our position, when Vassilissa Egorovna suddenly rushed into the room, panting for breath, and beside herself with excitement.

“What has happened to you?” asked the astonished Commandant.

“I have to inform you of a great misfortune!” replied Vassilissa Egorovna. “Nijniosern was taken this morning. Father Gerasim’s servant has just returned from there. He saw how they took it. The Commandant and all the officers are hanged, and all the soldiers are taken prisoners. In a little while the villains will be here.”

This unexpected intelligence produced a deep impression upon me. The Commandant of the fortress of Nijniosem, a quiet and modest young man, was an acquaintance of mine; two months before he had visited our fortress when on his way from Orenburg along with his young wife, and had stopped for a little while in the house of Ivan Kouzmitch. Nijniosern was about twenty-five versts from our fortress. We might therefore expect to be attacked by Pougatcheff at any moment. The fate in store for Maria Ivanovna presented itself vividly to my imagination, and my heart sank within me.

“Listen, Ivan Kouzmitch,” said I to the Commandant; “our duty is to defend the fortress to the last gasp; there is no question about that. But we must think about the safety of the women. Send them on to Orenburg, if the road be still open, or to some safer and more distant fortress where these villains will not be able to make their way.”

Ivan Kouzmitch turned round to his wife and said to her:

“Listen, mother; would it not be just as well if we sent you away to some place farther off until we have settled matters with these rebels?”

“What nonsense!” said the Commandant’s wife. “Where is there a fortress that would be safe from bullets? Why is Bailogorsk not safe? Thank God, we have lived in it for two-and-twenty years! We have seen Bashkirs and Kirghises; perhaps we shall also escape the clutches of Pougatcheff.”

“Well, mother,” replied Ivan Kouzmitch, “stay if you like, if you have such confidence in our fortress. But what shall we do with Masha? All well and good if we offer a successful resistance, or can hold out till we obtain help; but what if the villains should take the fortress?”

“Why, then——”

But at this juncture Vassilissa Egorovna began to stammer and then remained silent, evidently agitated by deep emotion.

“No, Vassilissa Egorovna,” continued the Commandant, observing that his words had produced an impression upon her, perhaps for the first time in his life, “Masha must not remain here. Let us send her to Orenburg, to her godmother; there are plenty of soldiers and cannon there, and the walls are of stone. And I would advise you to go there with her; for although you are an old woman, think what might happen to you if the fortress should be taken by storm.”

“Very well,” replied the Commandant’s wife; “let it be so: we will send Masha away. As for me, you need not trouble yourself about asking me to go; I will remain here. Nothing shall make me part from you in my old age to go and seek a lonely grave in a strange country. Together we have lived, together we will die.”

“Well, you are right,” said the Commandant; “but let us not delay any longer. Go and get Masha ready for the journey. She must set out at daybreak to-morrow, and we shall let her have an escort, although we have not too many men in the fortress to be able to spare any of them. But where is Masha?”

“Along with Akoulina Pamphilovna,” replied the Commandant’s wife. “She fainted away when she heard of the capture of Nijniosern; I am afraid that she will be ill. Lord God of heaven, what have we lived to see!”

Vassilissa Egorovna went to prepare for her daughter’s departure. The consultation with the Commandant was then continued; but I no longer took any part in it, nor did I listen to anything that was said. Maria Ivanovna appeared at supper, her face pale and her eyes red with weeping. We supped in silence, and rose from the table sooner than usual; then taking leave of the family, we all returned to our respective quarters. But I intentionally forgot my sword, and went back for it: I had a presentiment that I should find Maria alone. True enough I met her in the doorway, and she handed me my sword.

“Farewell, Peter Andreitch!” she said to me, with tears in her eyes; “they are going to send me to Orenburg. May you be well and happy. God may be pleased to ordain that we should see each other again; if not——”

Here she burst out sobbing. I clasped her in my arms.

“Farewell, my angel!” said I. “Farewell, my darling, my heart’s desire! Whatever may happen to me, rest assured that my last thought and last prayer shall be for you.”

Masha still continued to weep, resting her head upon my breast. I kissed her fervently, and hastily quitted the room.

[1]Husband of the Empress Catherine II. The latter, whom the Emperor had threatened to divorce, having won over to her side a considerable portion of the army, had compelled her unpopular consort to sign an act of abdication in 1762. Having been removed as a prisoner to Ropscha, it was shortly afterwards announced that He had died of colic, though the truth was, he had been strangled to death by Alexis Orloff, one of Catherine’s numerous admirers.

[2]Torture was abolished in 1768 by an edict of Catherine II.

That night I neither slept nor undressed. It was my intention to proceed early in the morning to the gate of the fortress through which Maria Ivanovna would have to pass, so that I might take leave of her for the last time. I felt within myself a great change; the agitation of my soul was far less burdensome to me than the melancholy into which I had lately fallen. With the grief of separation there was mingled a vague, but sweet hope, an impatient expectation of danger, a feeling of noble ambition.

The night passed away imperceptibly. I was just about to leave the house when my door opened, and the corporal entered the room with the information that our Cossacks had quitted the fortress during the night, taking Youlai by force along with them, and that strange people were riding round the fortress. The thought that Maria Ivanovna would not be able to get away filled me with alarm. I hurriedly gave some orders to the corporal, and then hastened at once to the Commandant’s quarters.

Day had already begun to dawn. I was hurrying along the street when I heard someone call out my name. I stopped.

“Where are you going?” said Ivan Ignatitch, overtaking me. “Ivan Kouzmitch is on the rampart, and he has sent me for you. Pougatch[1]has come.”

“Has Maria Ivanovna left the fortress?” I asked, with a trembling heart.

“She was unable to do so,” replied Ivan Ignatitch; “the road to Orenburg is cut off and the fortress is surrounded. It is a bad look-out, Peter Andreitch.”

We made our way to the rampart, an elevation formed by nature and fortified by a palisade. The inhabitants of the fortress were already assembled there. The garrison stood drawn up under arms. The cannon had been dragged thither the day before. The Commandant was walking up and down in front of his little troop. The approach of danger had inspired the old warrior with unusual vigour. On the steppe, not very far from the fortress, about a score of men could be seen riding about on horseback. They seemed to be Cossacks, but among them were some Bashkirs, who were easily recognized by their hairy caps, and by their quivers.

The Commandant walked along the ranks of his little army, saying to the soldiers:

“Now, my children, let us stand firm to-day for our mother the Empress and let us show the whole world that we are brave people, and true to our oath.”

The soldiers responded to his appeal with loud shouts. Shvabrin stood near me and attentively observed the enemy. The people riding about on the steppe, perceiving some movement in the fortress, gathered together in a group and began conversing among themselves. The Commandant ordered Ivan Ignatitch to point the cannon at them, and then applied the match to it with his own hand. The ball whistled over their heads, without doing any harm. The horsemen dispersed, galloping out of sight almost immediately, and the steppe was deserted.

At that moment Vassilissa Egorovna appeared upon the rampart, followed by Masha, who was unwilling to leave her.

“Well,” said the Commandant’s wife, “how goes the battle? Where is the enemy?”

“The enemy is not far off,” replied Ivan Kouzmitch. “God grant that all may go well!... Well, Masha, do you feel afraid?”

“No, papa,” replied Maria Ivanovna; “I feel more afraid being at home alone.”

Then she looked at me and made an effort to smile. I involuntarily grasped the hilt of my sword, remembering that I had received it from her hand the evening before—as if for the protection of my beloved. My heart throbbed. I imagined myself her champion. I longed to prove that I was worthy of her confidence, and waited impatiently for the decisive moment.

All of a sudden some fresh bodies of mounted men made their appearance from behind an elevation situated about half a mile from the fortress, and soon the steppe was covered with crowds of persons armed with lances and quivers. Among them, upon a white horse, was a man in a redcaftan[2], holding a naked sword in his hand; this was Pougatcheff himself. He stopped his horse, and the others gathered round him, and, in obedience to his order as it seemed, four men detached themselves from the crowd and galloped at full speed towards the fortress. We recognized among them some of our traitors. One of them held a sheet of paper above his head, while another bore upon the top of his lance the head of Youlai, which he threw over the palisade among us. The head of the poor Calmuck fell at the feet of the Commandant.

The traitors cried out:

“Do not fire! Come out and pay homage to the Czar. The Czar is here!”

“Look out for yourselves!” cried Ivan Kouzmitch, “Ready, lads—fire!”

Our soldiers fired a volley. The Cossack who held the letter staggered and fell from his horse; the others galloped back. I turned and looked at Maria Ivanovna. Terror-stricken by the sight of the bloodstained head of Youlai, and stunned by the din of the discharge, she seemed perfectly paralyzed. The Commandant called the corporal and ordered him to fetch the paper from the hands of the fallen Cossack. The corporal went out into the plain, and returned leading by the bridle the horse of the dead man. He handed the letter to the Commandant. Ivan Kouzmitch read it to himself and then tore it into pieces. In the meantime we could see the rebels preparing for the attack. Soon the bullets began to whistle about our ears, and several arrows fell close to us, sticking in the ground and in the palisade.

“Vassilissa Egorovna!” said the Commandant; “women have no business here. Take Masha away; you see that the girl is more dead than alive.”

Vassilissa Egorovna, tamed by the bullets, cast a glance at the steppe, where a great commotion was observable, and then turned round to her husband and said to him:

“Ivan Kouzmitch, life and death are in the hands of God; bless Masha. Masha, come near to your father.”

Masha, pale and trembling, approached Ivan Kouzmitch, knelt down before him, and bowed herself to the ground. The old Commandant made the sign of the cross over her three times, then raised her up, and kissing her, said in a voice of deep emotion:

“Well, Masha, be happy. Pray to God; He will never forsake you. If you find a good man, may God give you love and counsel. Live together as your mother and I have lived. And now, farewell, Masha. Vassilissa Egorovna, take her away quickly.”

Masha threw her arms round his neck and sobbed aloud.

“Let us kiss each other also,” said the Commandant’s wife, weeping. “Farewell, my Ivan Kouzmitch. Forgive me if I have ever vexed you in any way!”

“Farewell, farewell, little mother!” said the Commandant, embracing the partner of his joys and sorrows for so many years. “Come now, that is enough! Make haste home; and if you can manage it, put asarafan[3]on Masha.”

The Commandant’s wife walked away along with her daughter. I followed Maria Ivanovna with my eyes; she turned round and nodded her head to me.

Ivan Kouzmitch then returned to us, and bestowed all his attention upon the enemy. The rebels gathered round their leader and suddenly dismounted from their horses.

“Stand firm now,” said the Commandant, “the assault is going to begin.”

At that moment frightful yells and cries rose in the air; the rebels dashed forward towards the fortress. Our cannon was loaded with grape-shot.

The Commandant allowed them to come very close, and then suddenly fired again. The grape fell into the very midst of the crowd. The rebels recoiled and then dispersed on every side. Their leader alone remained facing us. He heaved his sword and seemed to be vehemently exhorting his followers to return to the attack. The shrieks and yells, which had ceased for a minute, were immediately renewed.

“Now, lads!” said the Commandant; “open the gate, beat the drum, and let us make a sally. Forward, and follow me!”

The Commandant, Ivan Ignatitch, and I were outside the wall of the fortress in a twinkling; but the timid garrison did not move.

“Why do you hold back, my children?” cried Ivan Kouzmitch. “If we are to die, let us die doing our duty!”

At that moment the rebels rushed upon us and forced an entrance into the fortress. The drum ceased to beat; the garrison flung down their arms. I was thrown to the ground, but I rose up and entered the fortress along with the rebels. The Commandant, wounded in the head, was surrounded by a crowd of the robbers, who demanded of him the keys. I was about to rush to his assistance, but several powerful Cossacks seized hold of me and bound me with their sashes, exclaiming:

“Just wait a little while and see what you will get, you traitors to the Czar!”

They dragged us through the streets; the inhabitants came out of their houses with bread and salt;[4]the bells began to ring. Suddenly among the crowd a cry was raised that the Czar was in the square waiting for the prisoners to take their oath of allegiance to him. The throng pressed towards the market-place, and our captors dragged us thither also.

Pougatcheff was seated in an armchair on the steps of the Commandant’s house. He was attired in an elegant Cossackcaftan, ornamented with lace. A tall cap of sable, with gold tassels, came right down to his flashing eyes. His face seemed familiar to me. He was surrounded by the Cossack chiefs. Father Gerasim, pale and trembling, stood upon the steps with a cross in his hands, and seemed to be silently imploring mercy for the victims brought forward. In the square a gallows was being hastily erected. As we approached, the Bashkirs drove back the crowd, and we were brought before Pougatcheff. The bells had ceased ringing, and a deep silence reigned around.

“Which is the Commandant?” asked the pretender.

Our orderly stepped forward out of the crowd and pointed to Ivan Kouzmitch.

Pougatcheff regarded the old man with a menacing look, and said to him:

“How dared you oppose me—your emperor?”

The Commandant, weakened by his wound, summoned ill his remaining strength and replied in a firm voice:

“You are not my emperor; you are a robber and a pretender, that is what you are!”

Pougatcheff frowned savagely and waved his white handkerchief. Several Cossacks seized the old captain and dragged him towards the gallows. Astride upon the cross-beam could be seen the mutilated Bashkir whom we had examined the day before. He held in his hand a rope, and a minute afterwards I saw poor Ivan Kouzmitch suspended in the air. Then Ivan Ignatitch was brought before Pougatcheff.

“Take the oath of fealty,” said Pougatcheff to him, “to the Emperor Peter Fedorovitch!”

“You are not our emperor,” replied Ivan Ignatitch, repeating the words of his captain; “you, uncle, are a robber and a pretender!”

Pougatcheff again waved his handkerchief, and the good lieutenant was soon hanging near his old chief.

It was now my turn. I looked defiantly at Pougatcheff, prepared to repeat the answer of my brave comrades, when, to my inexpressible astonishment, I perceived, among the rebels, Shvabrin, his hair cut close, and wearing a Cossackkaftan.He stepped up to Pougatcheff and whispered a few words in his ear.

“Let him be hanged!” said Pougatcheff, without even looking at me.

The rope was thrown round my neck. I began to repeat a prayer to myself, expressing sincere repentance for all my sins, and imploring God to save all those who were dear to me. I was led beneath the gibbet.

“Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” said my executioners, wishing sincerely, perhaps, to encourage me.

Suddenly I heard a cry:

“Stop, villains! hold!”

The executioners paused. I looked round. Savelitch was on his knees at the feet of Pougatcheff.

“Oh, my father!” said my poor servant, “why should you wish for the death of this noble child? Let him go you will get a good ransom for him; if you want to make an example of somebody for the sake of terrifying others order me to be hanged—an old man!”

Pougatcheff gave a sign, and I was immediately unbound and set at liberty.

“Our father pardons you,” said the rebels who had charge of me.

I cannot say that at that moment I rejoiced at my deliverance, neither will I say that I was sorry for it. My feelings were too confused. I was again led before the usurper and compelled to kneel down in front of him. Pougatcheff stretched out to me his sinewy hand.

“Kiss his hand, kiss his hand!” exclaimed voices on every side of me.

But I would have preferred the most cruel punishment to such contemptible degradation.

“My little father, Peter Andreitch,” whispered Savelitch standing behind me and nudging my elbow, “do not be obstinate. What will it cost you? Spit[5]and kiss the brig——pshaw! kiss his hand!”

I did not move. Pougatcheff withdrew his hand, saying with a smile:

“His lordship seems bewildered with joy. Lift him up!”

I was raised to my feet and released. I then stood by to observe the continuation of the terrible comedy.

The inhabitants began to take the oath of allegiance. They approached one after another, kissed the crucifix and then bowed to the usurper. Then came the turn of the soldiers of the garrison. The regimental barber, armed with his blunt scissors, cut off their hair. Then, after shaking their heads, they went and kissed the hand of Pougatcheff, who declared them pardoned, and then enrolled them among his followers.

All this lasted for about three hours. At length Pougatcheff rose up from his armchair and descended the steps, accompanied by his chiefs. A white horse, richly caparisoned, was led forward to him. Two Cossacks took hold of him under the arms and assisted him into the saddle. He informed Father Gerasim that he would dine with him. At that moment a woman’s scream was heard. Some of the brigands were dragging Vassilissa Egorovna, with her hair dishevelled and her clothes half torn off her body, towards the steps. One of them had already arrayed himself in her gown. The others were carrying off beds, chests, tea-services, linen, and all kinds of furniture.

“My fathers!” cried the poor old woman, “have pity upon me and let me go. Kind fathers! take me to Ivan Kouzmitch.”

Suddenly she caught sight of the gibbet and recognized her husband.

“Villains!” she cried, almost beside herself; “what have you done to him? My Ivan Kouzmitch! light of my life! brave soldier heart! Neither Prussian bayonets nor Turkish bullets have touched you; not in honourable fight have you yielded up your life; you received your death at the hand of a runaway galley-slave!”

“Make the old witch hold her tongue!” said Pougatcheff.

A young Cossack struck her on the head with his sabre, and she fell dead at the foot of the steps. Pougatcheff rode off; the crowd followed him.

[1]A pun on the name of the rebel chief. Literally, “a scarecrow.”

[2]A kind of overcoat.

[3]A wide open robe without sleeves, beneath which is worn a full long-sleeved gown. It is usually made of velvet, richly embroidered, he embroidery varying according to the rank of the wearer. It is the custom among the Russians to bury the dead in their richest dress.

[4]The customary offering to a Russian emperor on entering a town. The act is indicative of submission.

[5]A sign of contempt among Russians and Orientals.

The square was deserted. I remained standing in the same place, unable to collect my thoughts, bewildered as I was by so many terrible emotions.

Uncertainty with respect to the fate of Maria Ivanovna tortured me more than anything else. Where was she? What had become of her? Had she contrived to hide herself? Was her place of refuge safe?

Filled, with these distracting thoughts, I made my way to the Commandant’s house. It was empty. The chairs, tables, and chests were broken, the crockery dashed to pieces, and everything in confusion. I ran up the little staircase which led to Maria’s room, and which I now entered for the first time in my life. Her bed had been ransacked by the robbers; the wardrobe was broken open and plundered; the small lamp was still burning before the empty image case.[1]There was also left a small mirror hanging on the partition wall.... Where was the mistress of his humble, virginal cell? A terrible thought passed through my mind; I imagined her in the hands of the robbers.... My heart sank within me.... I wept bitterly, most bitterly, and called aloud the name of my beloved.... At that moment I heard a slight noise, and from behind the ward-robe appeared Palasha, pale and trembling.

“Ah, Peter Andreitch!” said she, clasping her hands, “What a day! what horrors!”

“And Maria Ivanovna?” I asked impatiently. “What has become of Maria Ivanovna?”

“The young lady is alive,” replied Palasha; “she is hiding in the house of Akoulina Pamphilovna.”

“With the priest’s wife!” I exclaimed in alarm. “My God! Pougatcheff is there!”

I dashed out of the room, and in the twinkling of an eye I was in the street and hurrying off to the clergyman’s house, without devoting the slightest attention to anything else. Shouts, songs, and bursts of laughter resounded from within.... Pougatcheff was feasting with his companions. Palasha had followed me thither. I sent her to call out Akoulina Pamphilovna secretly. In about a minute the priest’s wife came out to me in the vestibule, with an empty bottle in her hand.

“In Heaven’s name! where is Maria Ivanovna?” I asked with indescribable agitation.

“The dear little dove is lying down on my bed behind the partition,” replied the priest’s wife. “But a terrible misfortune had very nearly happened, Peter Andreitch! Thanks be to God, however, everything has passed off happily. The villain had just sat down to dine, when the poor child uttered a moan!... I felt as if I should have died. He heard it. ‘Who is that moaning in your room, old woman?’—I bowed myself to the ground, and replied: ‘My niece, Czar; she has been lying ill for about a fortnight.’—‘And is your niece young?’—‘She is young, Czar.’ —‘Show me your niece then, old woman.’ My heart sank within me, but there was no help for it. ‘Very well, Czar; but the girl will not have the strength to get up and come before your Grace.’—‘Never mind, old woman, I will go and see her myself.’ And the villain went behind the partition and, will you believe it?—actually drew aside the curtain and looked at her with his hawk-like eyes—but nothing came of it,—God helped us! Will you believe it? I and the father were prepared for a martyr’s death. Fortunately, my little dove did not recognize him. Lord God! what have we lived to see! Poor Ivan Kouzmitch! who would have thought it!... And Vassilissa Egorovna? And Ivan Ignatitch? What was he killed for? And how came they to spare you? And what do you think of Shvabrin? He has had his hair cut, and is now feasting inside along with them! He is a very sharp fellow, there is no gainsaying that! When I spoke of my sick niece—will you believe it?—he looked at me as if he would have stabbed me; but he did not betray me. I am thankful to him for that, anyway.”

At that moment I heard the drunken shouts of the guests and the voice of Father Gerasim. The guests were demanding wine, and the host was calling for his wife.

“Go back home, Peter Andreitch,” said the priest’s wife, somewhat alarmed; “I cannot stop to speak to you now; I must go and wait upon the drunken scoundrels. It might be unfortunate for you if you fell into their hands. Farewell, Peter Andreitch. What is to be, will be; perhaps God will not abandon us!”

The priest’s wife went back inside the house. Somewhat more easy in mind, I returned to my quarters. As I crossed the square I saw several Bashkirs assembled round the gibbets, engaged in dragging off the boots of those who had been hanged. With difficulty I repressed my indignation, feeling convinced that if I gave expression to it, it would have been perfectly useless. The brigands invaded every part of the fortress, and plundered the officers’ houses. On every side resounded the shouts of the drunken mutineers. I reached home. Savelitch met me on the threshold.

“Thank God!” he exclaimed when he saw me; “I was beginning to think that the villains had seized you again. Ah! my little father, Peter Andreitch, will you believe it, the robbers have plundered us of everything—clothes, linen, furniture, plate—they have not left us a single thing. But what does it matter? Thank God! they have spared your life. But, my lord, did you recognize their leader?”

“No, I did not recognize him. Who is he then?”

“How, my little father! Have you forgotten that drunken scoundrel who swindled you out of the pelisse at the inn? A brand new hareskin pelisse; and the beast burst the seams in putting it on.”

I was astounded. In truth, the resemblance of Pougatcheff to my guide was very striking. I felt convinced that Pougatcheff and he were one and the same person, and then I understood why he had spared my life. I could not but feel surprised at the strange connection of events—a child’s pelisse, given to a roving vagrant, had saved me from the hangman’s noose, and a drunkard, who had passed his life in wandering from one inn to another, was now besieging fortresses and shaking the empire!

“Will you not eat something?” asked Savelitch, still faithful to his old habits. “There is nothing in the house; but I will go and search, and get something ready for you.”

When I was left alone, I began to reflect. What was I to do? To remain in the fortress now that it was in the hands of the villain, or to join his band, was unworthy of an officer. Duty demanded that I should go wherever my services might still be of use to my fatherland in the present critical position of its affairs.... But love strongly urged me to remain near Maria Ivanovna and be her protector and defender. Although I foresaw a speedy and inevitable change in the course of affairs, yet I could not help trembling when I thought of the danger of her situation.

My reflections were interrupted by the arrival of one of the Cossacks, who came to inform me that “the great Czar required me to appear before him.”

“Where is he?” I asked, preparing to obey.

“In the Commandant’s house,” replied the Cossack. “After dinner our father took a bath, but at present he is resting. Ah! your Excellency, it is very evident that he is a distinguished person; at dinner he deigned to eat two roasted sucking pigs, then he entered the bath, where the I water was so hot that even Tarass Kourotchkin could not bear it; he had to give the besom to Tomka Bikbaieff, and only came to himself through having cold water poured over him. There is no denying it; all his ways are majestic.... And I was told that in the bath he showed his Czar’s signs upon his breast: on one side a two-headed eagle as large as a five-copeck piece, and on the other his own likeness.”

I did not consider it necessary to contradict the Cossack’s statement, and I accompanied him to the Commandant’s house, trying to imagine beforehand what kind of a reception I should meet with from Pougatcheff, and endeavouring to guess how it would end. The reader will easily understand that I did not by any means feel easy within myself.

It was beginning to get dark when I reached the Commandant’s house. The gibbet, with its victims, loomed black and terrible before me. The body of the poor Commandant’s wife still lay at the bottom of the steps, near which two Cossacks stood on guard. The Cossack who accompanied me went in to announce me, and, returning almost immediately, conducted me into the room where, the evening before, I had taken a tender farewell of Maria Ivanovna.

An unusual spectacle presented itself to my gaze. At a table, covered with a cloth and loaded with bottles and glasses, sat Pougatcheff and some half-a-score of Cossack chiefs, in coloured caps and shirts, heated with wine, with flushed faces and flashing eyes. I did not see among then: Shvabrin and his fellow traitor, the orderly.

“Ah! your Excellency!” said Pougatcheff, seeing me, “Welcome; honour to you and a place at our banquet.”

The guests moved closer together. I sat down silently at the end of the table. My neighbour, a young Cossack, tall and handsome, poured out for me a glass of wine, which, however, I did not touch. I began to observe the company with curiosity. Pougatcheff occupied the seat of honour, his elbows resting on the table, and his broad fist propped under his black beard. His features, regular and sufficiently agreeable, had nothing fierce about them. He frequently turned to speak to a man of about fifty years of age, addressing him sometimes as Count, sometimes as Timofeitch, sometimes as uncle. All those present treated each other as comrades, and did not show any particular respect for their leader. The conversation was upon the subject of the assault of the morning, of the success of the revolt, and of their future operations. Each one boasted of what he had done, expressed his opinion, and fearlessly contradicted Pougatcheff. And in this strange council of war it was resolved to march upon Orenburg; a bold movement, and which was to be very nearly crowned with success! The march was fixed for the following day.

“Now, lads,” said Pougatcheff, “before we retire to rest, let us have my favourite song. Choumakoff, begin!”

My neighbour sang, in a shrill voice, the following melancholy peasants’ song, and all joined in the chorus:

“Stir not, mother, green forest of oak,Disturb me not in my meditation;For to-morrow before the court I must go,Before the stern judge, before the Czar himself.The great Lord Czar will begin to question me:‘Tell me, young man, tell me, thou peasant’s son,With whom have you stolen, with whom have you robbed?Did you have many companions with you?’‘I will tell you, true-believing Czar,The whole truth I will confess to you.My companions were four in number:My first companion was the dark night,My second companion was a steel knife,My third companion was my good horse,My fourth companion was my taut bow,My messengers were my tempered arrows.’Then speaks my hope, the true-believing Czar:‘Well done! my lad, brave peasant’s son;You knew how to steal, you knew how to reply:Therefore, my lad, I will make you a presentOf a very high structure in the midst of a field—Of two upright posts with a cross-beam above.’”

It is impossible to describe the effect produced upon me by this popular gallows song, trolled out by men destined for the gallows. Their ferocious countenances, their sonorous voices, and the melancholy expression which they imparted to the words, which in themselves were not very expressive, filled me with a sort of poetical terror.

The guests drank another glass, then rose from the table and took leave of Pougatcheff.

I wanted to follow them, but Pougatcheff said to me:

“Sit down; I want to speak to you.”

We remained face to face.

For some moments we both continued silent. Pougatcheff looked at me fixedly, every now and then winking his left eye with a curious expression of craftiness and drollery. At last he burst out laughing, and with such unfeigned merriment, that I, too, looking at him, began to laugh, without knowing why.

“Well, your lordship,” he said to me, “confess now, you were in a terrible fright when my fellows put the rope round your neck. I do not believe that the sky appeared bigger than a sheepskin to you just then.... You would have been strung up to the crossbeam if it had not been for your servant. I knew the old fellow at once. Well, would your lordship have thought that the man who conducted you to the inn, was the great Czar himself?”

Here he assumed an air of mystery and importance.

“You have been guilty of a serious offence against me,” continued he, “but I pardoned you on account of your virtue, and because you rendered me a service when I was compelled to hide myself from my enemies. But you will see something very different presently! You will see how I will reward you when I enter into possession of my kingdom! Will you promise to serve me with zeal?”

The rascal’s question, and his insolence, appeared to me so amusing, that I could not help smiling.

“Why do you smile?” he asked, frowning. “Perhaps you do not believe that I am the great Czar? Is that so?—answer plainly.”

I became confused. To acknowledge a vagabond as emperor was quite out of the question; to do so seemed to me unpardonable cowardice. To tell him to his face that he was an impostor was to expose myself to certain death, and that which I was prepared to say beneath the gibbet before the eyes of the crowd, in the first outburst of my indignation, appeared to me now a useless boast. I hesitated. In gloomy silence Pougatcheff awaited my reply. At last (and even now I remember that moment with self-satisfaction) the sentiment of duty triumphed over my human weakness. I replied to Pougatcheff:

“Listen, I will tell you the whole truth. Judge yourself: can I acknowledge you as emperor? You, as a sensible man, would know that it would not be saying what I really thought.”

“Who am I, then, in your opinion?”

“God only knows; but whoever you may be, you are playing a dangerous game.”

Pougatcheff threw a rapid glance at me.

“Then you do not believe,” said he, “that I am the Emperor Peter? Well, be it so. But is not success the reward of the bold? Did not Grishka Otrepieff[2]reign in former days? Think of me what you please, but do not leave me. What does it matter to you one way or the other? Whoever is pope is father. Serve me faithfully and truly, and I will make you a field-marshal and a prince. What do you say?”

“No,” I replied with firmness. “I am by birth a nobleman; I have taken the oath of fealty to the empress: I cannot serve you. If you really wish me well, send me back to Orenburg.”

Pougatcheff reflected.

“But if I let you go,” said he, “will you at least promise not to serve against me?”

“How can I promise you that?” I replied. “You yourself know that it does not depend upon my own will. If I am ordered to march against you, I must go—there is no help for it. You yourself are now a chief; you demand obedience from your followers. How would it seem, if I refused to serve when my services were needed? My life is in your hands: if you set me free, I will thank you; if you put me to death, God will be your judge; but I have told you the truth.”

My frankness struck Pougatcheff.

“Be it so,” said he, slapping me upon the shoulder. “One should either punish completely or pardon completely. Go then where you like, and do what you like. Come to-morrow to say good-bye to me, and now go to bed. I feel very drowsy myself.”

I left Pougatcheff and went out into the street. The night was calm and cold. The moon and stars were shining brightly, lighting up the square and the gibbet. In the fortress all was dark and still. Only in the tavern was a light visible, where could be heard the noise of late revellers.

I glanced at the pope’s house. The shutters and doors were closed. Everything seemed quiet within.

I made my way to my own quarters and found Savelitch grieving about my absence. The news of my being set at liberty filled him with unutterable joy.

“Thanks be to Thee, Almighty God!” said he, making the sign of the cross. “At daybreak to-morrow we will leave the fortress and go wherever God will direct us. I have prepared something for you; eat it, my little father, and then rest yourself till the morning, as if you were in the bosom of Christ.”

I followed his advice and, having eaten with a good appetite, I fell asleep upon the bare floor, worn out both in body and mind.

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