Chapter 4

[1]The small wardrobe, with glass doors, in which the sacred images are kept, and which forms a domestic altar.

[2]The first false Demetrius, the Perkin Warbeck of Russia. The real Demetrius was the son of Ivan the Terrible (Ivan IV.), and is generally believed to have been assassinated by order of Boris Godunoff, a nobleman of Tartar origin, who was afterwards elected Czar. Otrepieff’s story was that his physician had pretended to comply with the orders of Boris, but had substituted the son of a serf for him. Being supported in his claims by the Poles, the pretender succeeded in gaining the throne, but his partiality for everything Polish aroused the national jealousy of the Russians, and he was slain by the infuriated populace of Moscow, after a brief reign of one year.

Early next morning I was awakened by the drum. I went to the place of assembly. There Pougatcheff’s followers were already drawn up round the gibbet, where the victims of the day before were still hanging. The Cossacks were on horseback, the soldiers were under arms. Flags were waving. Several cannon, among which I recognized our own, were mounted on travelling gun-carriages. All the inhabitants were gathered together there, awaiting the usurper. Before the steps of the Commandant’s house a Cossack stood holding by the bridle a magnificent white horse of Kirghis breed. I looked about for the corpse of the Commandant’s wife. It had been pushed a little on one side and covered with a mat. At length Pougatcheff came out of the house. The crowd took off their caps. Pougatcheff stood still upon the steps and greeted his followers. One of the chiefs gave him a bag filled with copper coins, and he began to scatter them by handfuls. The crowd commenced scrambling for them with eager cries, and there was no lack of pushing and scuffling in the attempts to get possession of them. Pougatcheff’s chief followers assembled round him. Among them stood Shvabrin. Our eyes met; in mine he could read contempt, and he turned away with an expression of genuine hate and affected scorn. Pougatcheff, seeing me among the crowd, nodded his head to me and called me to him.

“Listen,” said he to me, “set off at once for Orenburg and tell the governor and all the generals from me, that they may expect me in about a week. Advise them to receive me with filial love and submission; otherwise they shall not escape a terrible punishment. A pleasant journey, your lordship!”

Then turning round to the crowd and pointing to Shvabrin, he said:

“There, children, is your new Commandant. Obey him in everything; he is answerable to me for you and for the fortress.”

I heard these words with alarm: Shvabrin being made governor of the fortress, Maria Ivanovna remained in his power! Great God! what would become of her!

Pougatcheff descended the steps. His horse was brought to him. He vaulted nimbly into the saddle, without waiting for the Cossacks, who were going to help him to mount.

At that moment I saw my Savelitch emerge from the midst of the crowd; he approached Pougatcheff and gave him a sheet of paper. I could not imagine what was the meaning of this proceeding on his part.

“What is this?” asked Pougatcheff, with an air of importance.

“Read it, then you will see,” replied Savelitch. Pougatcheff took the paper and examined it for a long time with a consequential look.

“Why do you write so illegibly?” said he at last. “Our lucid eyes[1]cannot decipher a word. Where is my chief secretary?”

A young man, in the uniform of a corporal, immediately ran up to Pougatcheff.

“Read it aloud,” said the usurper, giving him the paper.

I was exceedingly curious to know what my follower could have written to Pougatcheff about. The chief secretary, in a loud voice, began to spell out as follows:

“Two dressing-gowns, one of linen and one of striped silk, six roubles.”

“What does this mean?” said Pougatcheff, frowning.

“Order him to read on,” replied Savelitch coolly.

The chief secretary continued:

“One uniform coat of fine green cloth, seven roubles.

“One pair of white cloth breeches, five roubles.

“Twelve Holland linen shirts with ruffles, ten roubles.

“A chest and tea-service, two roubles and a half....”

“What is all this nonsense?” exclaimed Pougatcheff. “What are these chests and breeches with ruffles to do with me?”

Savelitch cleared his throat and began to explain.

“This, my father, you will please to understand is a list of my master’s goods that have been stolen by those scoundrels——”

“What scoundrels?” said Pougatcheff, threateningly.

“I beg your pardon, that was a slip on my part,” replied Savelitch. “They were not scoundrels, but your fellows, who have rummaged and plundered everything. Do not be angry: the horse has got four legs, and yet he stumbles. Order him to read to the end.”

“Read on to the end,” said Pougatcheff.

The secretary continued:

“One chintz counterpane, another of taffety quilted with cotton wool, four roubles.

“A fox-skin pelisse, covered with red flannel, forty roubles.

“Likewise a hare-skin morning-gown, presented to your Grace at the inn on the steppe, fifteen roubles.”

“What’s that’!” exclaimed Pougatcheff, his eyes flashing fire.

I confess that I began to feel alarmed for my poor servant. He was about to enter again into explanations, but Pougatcheff interrupted him.

“How dare you pester me with such nonsense!” he cried, snatching the paper out of the secretary’s hands and flinging it in Savelitch’s face. “Stupid old man! You have been robbed; what a misfortune! Why, old greybeard, you ought to be eternally praying to God for me and my lads, that you and your master are not hanging yonder along with the other traitors to me.... A hare-skin morning-gown! Do you know that I could order you to be flayed alive and have your skin made into a morning-gown?”

“As you please,” replied Savelitch; “but I am not a free man, and must be answerable for my lord’s goods.”

Pougatcheff was evidently in a magnanimous humour. He turned round and rode off without saying another word. Shvabrin and the chiefs followed him. The troops marched out of the fortress in order. The crowd pressed forward to accompany Pougatcheff. I remained in the square alone with Savelitch. My servant held in his hand the list of my things and stood looking at it with an air of deep regret.

Seeing me on such good terms with Pougatcheff, he thought that he might take advantage of the circumstance; but his sage scheme did not succeed. I was on the point of scolding him for his misplaced zeal, but I could not restrain myself from laughing.

“Laugh away, my lord,” replied Savelitch: “laugh away; but when the time comes for you to procure a new outfit, we shall see if you will laugh then.”

I hastened to the priest’s house to see Maria Ivanovna. The priest’s wife met me with sad news. During the night Maria Ivanovna had been seized with a violent attack of fever. She lay unconscious and in a delirium. The priest’s wife conducted me into her room. I softly approached her bed. The change in her face startled me. She did not recognize me. For a long time I stood beside her without paying any heed either to Father Gerasim or to his good wife, who endeavoured to console me. Gloomy thoughts took possession of me. The condition of the poor defenceless orphan, left alone in the midst of the lawless rebels, as well as my own powerlessness, terrified me. But it was the thought of Shvabrin more than anything else that filled my imagination with alarm. Invested with power by the usurper, and entrusted with the command of the fortress, in which the unhappy girl—the innocent object of his hatred—remained, he was capable of any villainous act. What was I to do? How should I help her? How could I rescue her out of the hands of the brigands? There remained only one way. I resolved to set out immediately for Orenburg, in order to hasten the deliverance of Bailogorsk, and, as far as possible, to co-operate in the undertaking. I took leave of the priest and of Akoulina Pamphilovna, recommending to their care her whom I already considered as my wife. I seized the hand of the poor girl and kissed it, bedewing it with my tears.

“Farewell,” said the pope’s wife to me, accompanying me to the door “farewell, Peter Andreitch. Perhaps we shall see each other again in happier times. Do not forget us, and write to us often. Poor Maria Ivanovna has nobody now, except you, to console and protect her.”

On reaching the square, I stopped for a moment and looked at the gibbet, then, bowing my head before it, I quitted the fortress and took the road to Orenburg, accompanied by Savelitch, who had not left my side.

I was walking on, occupied with my reflections, when suddenly I heard behind me the trampling of horses’ feet. Looking round, I saw, galloping out of the fortress, a Cossack, holding a Bashkir horse by the rein and making signs to me from afar. I stopped and soon recognized our orderly. Galloping up to us, he dismounted from his own horse, and giving me the rein of the other, said:

“Your lordship! our father sends you a horse, and a pelisse from his own shoulders.” (To the saddle was attached a sheepskin pelisse.) “Moreover,” continued the orderly with some hesitation, “he sends you—half-a-rouble—but I have lost it on the road; be generous and pardon me.”

Savelitch eyed him askance and growled out:

“You lost it on the road! What is that chinking in your pocket, then, you shameless rascal!”

“What is that chinking in my pocket?” replied the orderly, without being in the least confused. “God be with you, old man! It is a horse’s bit, and not half-a-rouble.”

“Very well,” said I, putting an end to the dispute. “Give my thanks to him who sent you; and as you go back, try and find the lost half-rouble and keep it for drink-money.”

“Many thanks, your lordship,” replied he, turning his horse round; “I will pray to God for you without ceasing.” With these words he galloped back again, holding one hand to his pocket, and in about a minute he was hidden from sight.

I put on the pelisse and mounted the horse, taking Savelitch up behind me.

“Now do you see, my lord,” said the old man, “that I did not give the petition to the rascal in vain? The robber felt ashamed of himself. Although this lean-looking Bashkir jade and this sheepskin pelisse are not worth half of what the rascals stole from us, and what you chose to give him yourself, they may yet be of some use to us; from a vicious dog, even a tuft of hair.”

[1]An allusion to the customary form of speech on presenting a petition to the Czar: “I strike the earth with my forehead, and present my petition to your lucid eyes.”

In approaching Orenburg, we saw a crowd of convicts, with shaven heads, and with faces disfigured by the hangman’s pincers. They were at work on the fortifications, under the direction of the soldiers of the garrison. Some were carrying away in wheel-barrows the earth and refuse which filled the moat, others with shovels were digging up the ground; on the rampart the masons were carrying stones and repairing the walls. The sentinels stopped us at the gate and demanded our passports. As soon as the sergeant heard that I came from Bailogorsk, he took me straight to the General’s house.

I found him in the garden. He was inspecting the apple-trees, which the autumn winds had stripped of their leaves, and, with the help of an old gardener, was carefully covering them with straw. His face expressed tranquillity, health, and good-nature. He was much pleased to see me, and began questioning me about the terrible events of which I had been an eye-witness. I related everything to him. The old man listened to me with attention, and continued the meantime to lop off the dry twigs.

“Poor Mironoff!” said he, when I had finished my sad story; “I feel very sorry for him, he was a good officer; and Madame Mironoff was a good woman,—how clever she was at pickling mushrooms! And what has become of Masha, the Captain’s daughter?”

I replied that she was still at the fortress in the hands of the pope and his wife.

“That is bad, very bad. Nobody can place any dependence upon the discipline of robbers. What will become of the poor girl?”

I replied that the fortress of Bailogorsk was not far off and that, without doubt, his Excellency would not delay in sending thither a detachment of soldiers to deliver the poor inhabitants.

The General shook his head dubiously.

“We shall see, we shall see,” said he, “we have plenty of time to talk about that. Do me the pleasure of taking a cup of tea with me: a council of war is to be held at my house this evening. You may be able to give us some trustworthy information concerning this rascal Pougatcheff and his army. And now go and rest yourself for a little while.”

I went to the quarter assigned to me, where Savelitch had already installed himself, and where I awaited with impatience the appointed time. The reader will easily imagine that I did not fail to make my appearance at the council which was to have such an influence upon my fate At the appointed hour I repaired to the General’s house.

I found with him one of the civil officials of the town, the director of the custom-house, if I remember rightly, a stout, red-faced old man in a silk coat. He began to question me about the fate of Ivan Kouzmitch, whom he called his gossip, and frequently interrupted my discourse with additional questions and moral observations, which, if they did not prove him to be a man well versed in military matters, showed at least that he possessed sagacity and common sense. In the meantime the other persons who had been invited to the council had assembled. When they were all seated, and a cup of tea had been handed round to each, the General entered into a clear and detailed account of the business in question.

“And now, gentlemen,” continued he, “we must decide in what way we are to act against the rebels: offensively or defensively? Each of these methods has its advantages and disadvantages. Offensive warfare holds out a greater prospect of a quicker extermination of the enemy; defensive action is safer and less dangerous.... Therefore let us commence by putting the question to the vote in legal order, that is, beginning with the youngest in rank. Ensign,” continued he, turning to me, “will you please favour us with your opinion?”

I rose, and after having described, in a few words, Pougatcheff and his followers, I expressed my firm opinion that the usurper was not in a position to withstand disciplined troops.

My opinion was received by the civil officials with evident dissatisfaction. They saw in it only the rashness and temerity of a young man. There arose a murmur, and I distinctly heard the word “greenhorn” pronounced in a whisper. The General turned to me and said with a smile:

“Ensign, the first voices in councils of war are generally in favour of adopting offensive measures. We will now continue and hear what others have to say. Mr. Counsellor of the College, tell us your opinion.”

The little old man in the silk coat hastily swallowed his third cup of tea, into which he had poured some rum, and then replied:

“I think, your Excellency, that we ought to act neither offensively nor defensively.”

“How, Sir Counsellor?” replied the astonished General. “Tactics present no other methods of action; offensive action or defensive....”

“Your Excellency, act diplomatically.”

“Ah! your idea is a very sensible one. Diplomatic action is allowed by the laws of tactics, and we will profit by your advice. We might offer for the head of the rascal ... seventy or even a hundred roubles ... out of the secret funds....”

“And then,” interrupted the Director of the Customs, “may I become a Kirghis ram, and not a College Counsellor, if these robbers do not deliver up to us their leader, bound hand and foot.”

“We will think about it, and speak of it again,” replied: the General. “But, in any case, we must take military precautions. Gentlemen, give your votes in regular order.”

The opinions of all were contrary to mine. All the civil officials expatiated upon the untrustworthiness of the troops, the uncertainty of success, the necessity of being cautious, and the like. All agreed’ that it was more prudent to remain behind the stone walls of the fortress under the protection of the cannon, than to try the fortune of arms in the open field. At length the General, having heard all their opinions, shook the ashes from his pipe and spoke as follows:

“Gentlemen, I must declare to you that, for my part, I am entirely of the same opinion as the ensign; because this opinion is founded upon sound rules of tactics, which nearly always give the preference to offensive action rather than to defensive.”

Then he paused and began to fill his pipe. My vanity triumphed. I cast a proud glance at the civil officials, who were whispering among themselves with looks of displeasure and uneasiness.

“But, gentlemen,” continued the General, heaving a deep sigh, and emitting at the same time a thick cloud of tobacco smoke, “I dare not take upon myself such a great responsibility, when it is a question of the safety of the provinces confided to me by Her Imperial Majesty, my Most Gracious Sovereign. Therefore it is that I fall in with the views of the majority, who have decided that it is safer and more prudent to await the siege inside the town, and to repel the attack of the enemy by the use of artillery and—if possible—by sallies.”

The officials in their turn now glanced at me ironically. The council separated. I could not but deplore the weakness of this estimable soldier, who, contrary to his own conviction, resolved to follow the advice of ignorant and inexperienced persons.

Some days after this memorable council we heard that Pougatcheff, faithful to his promise, was marching on Orenburg. From the lofty walls of the town I observed the army of the rebels. It seemed to me that their numbers had increased since the last assault, of which I had been a witness. They had with them also some pieces of artillery which had been taken by Pougatcheff from the small fortresses that had been conquered by him. Remembering the decision of the council, I foresaw a long incarceration within the walls of Orenburg, and I was almost ready to weep with vexation.

I do not intend to describe the siege of Orenburg, which belongs to history and not to family memoirs. I will merely observe that this siege, through want of caution on the part of the local authorities, was a disastrous one for the inhabitants, who had to endure hunger and every possible privation. It can easily be imagined that life in Orenburg was almost unbearable. All awaited in melancholy anxiety the decision of fate; all complained of the famine, which was really terrible. The inhabitants became accustomed to the cannon-balls falling upon their houses; even Pougatcheff’s assaults no longer produced any excitement. I was dying of ennui. Time wore on. I received no letters from Bailogorsk. All the roads were cut off. Separation from Marla Ivanovna became insupportable to me. Uncertainty with respect to her fate tortured me. My only diversion consisted in making excursions outside the city. Thanks to the kindness of Pougatcheff, I had a good horse, with which I shared my scanty allowance of food, and upon whose back I used to ride out daily beyond the walls and open fire upon Pougatcheff’s partisans. In these skirmishes the advantage was generally on the side of the rebels, who had plenty to eat and drink, and possessed good horses. Our miserable cavalry were unable to cope with them. Sometimes our famished infantry made a sally; but the depth of the snow prevented their operations being successful against the flying cavalry of the enemy. The artillery thundered in vain from the summit of the ramparts, and had it been in the field, it could not have advanced on account of our emaciated horses. Such was our style of warfare! And this was what the civil officials of Orenburg called prudence and foresight!

One day, when we had succeeded in dispersing and driving off a tolerably large body of the enemy, I came up with a Cossack who had remained behind his companions, and I was just about to strike him with my Turkish sabre, when he suddenly took off his cap and cried out:

“Good day, Peter Andreitch; how do you do?”

I looked at him and recognized our orderly. I cannot say how delighted I was to see him.

“Good day, Maximitch,” said I to him. “How long is it since you left Bailogorsk?”

“Not long, Peter Andreitch; I only returned from there yesterday. I have a letter for you.”

“Where is it?” cried I, perfectly beside myself with excitement.

“I have it here,” replied Maximitch, placing his hand upon his bosom. “I promised Palasha that I would give it to you somehow.”

He then gave me a folded paper and immediately galloped off. I opened it and, deeply agitated, read the following lines:

“It has pleased God to deprive me suddenly of both father and mother: I have now on earth neither a relation nor a protector. I therefore turn to you, because I know that you have always wished me well, and that you are ever ready to help others. I pray to God that this letter may reach you in some way! Maximitch has promised to give it to you. Palasha has also heard from Maximitch that he has frequently seen you from a distance in the sorties, and that you do not take the least care of yourself, not thinking about those who pray to God for you in tears. I was ill a long time, and, when I recovered, Alexei Ivanovitch, who commands here in place of my deceased father, compelled Father Gerasim to deliver me up to him, threatening him with Pougatcheff’s anger if he refused. I live in our house which is guarded by a sentry. Alexei Ivanovitch wants to compel me to marry him. He says that he saved my life because he did not reveal the deception practised by Akoulina Pamphilovna, who told the rebels that I was her niece. But I would rather die than become the wife of such a man as Alexei Ivanovitch. He treats me very cruelly, and threatens that if I do not change my mind and agree to his proposal, he will conduct me to the rebels’ camp, where I shall suffer the same fate as Elizabeth Kharloff.[1]I have begged Alexei Ivanovitch to give me time to reflect. He has consented to give me three days longer, and if at the end of that time I do not agree to become his wife, he will show me no further mercy. Oh, Peter Andreitch! you are my only protector; save a poor helpless girl! Implore the General and all the commanders to send us help as soon as possible, and come yourself if you can.“I remain your poor obedient orphan,“MARIA MIRONOFF.”

“I remain your poor obedient orphan,

“MARIA MIRONOFF.”

The reading of this letter almost drove me out of my mind. I galloped back to the town, spurring my poor horse without mercy. On the way I turned over in my I mind one plan and another for the rescue of the poor girl, but I could not come to any definite conclusion. On reaching the town I immediately repaired to the General’s, and presented myself before him without the least delay.

He was walking up and down the room, smoking his meerschaum pipe. On seeing me he stopped. Probably; he was struck by my appearance, for he anxiously inquired the reason of my hasty visit.

“Your Excellency,” said I to him, “I come to you as I would to my own father: for Heaven’s sake, do not refuse my request; the happiness of my whole life depends upon it!”

“What is the matter?” asked the astonished old soldier. “What can I do for you? Speak!”

“Your Excellency, allow me to take a battalion of soldiers and a company of Cossacks to recapture the fortress of Bailogorsk.”

The General looked at me earnestly, imagining, without doubt, that I had taken leave of my senses—and, for the matter of that, he was not very far out in his supposition.

“How?—what? Recapture the fortress of Bailogorsk?” said he at last.

“I will answer for the success of the undertaking,” I replied with ardour; “only let me go.”

“No, young man,” said he, shaking his head. “At such a great distance the enemy would easily cut off your communication with the principal strategical point, and gain a complete victory over you. Communication being cut off....”

I became alarmed when I perceived that he was about to enter upon a military dissertation, and I hastened to interrupt him.

“The daughter of Captain Mironoff has written a letter to me,” I said to him; “she asks for help: Shvabrin wants to compel her to become his wife.”

“Indeed! Oh, this Shvabrin is a great rascal, and if he should fall into my hands I will order him to be tried within twenty-four hours, and we will have him shot on the parapet of the fortress. But in the meantime we must have patience.”

“Have patience!” I cried, perfectly beside myself. “But in the meantime he will force Maria Ivanovna to become his wife!”

“Oh!” exclaimed the General. “But even that would be no great misfortune for her. It would be better for her to become the wife of Shvabrin, he would then take her under his protection; and when we have shot him we will soon find a sweetheart for her, please God. Pretty widows do not remain single long; I mean that a widow finds a husband much quicker than a spinster.”

“I would rather die,” said I in a passion, “than resign her to Shvabrin.”

“Oh, oh!” said the old man, “now I understand. You are evidently in love with Maria Ivanovna, and that alters the case altogether. Poor fellow! But, for all that, I cannot give you a battalion of soldiers and fifty Cossacks. Such an expedition would be the height of folly, and I cannot take the responsibility of it upon myself.”

I cast down my head; despair took possession of me. Suddenly a thought flashed through my mind: what it was, the reader will discover in the following chapter, as the old romance writers used to say.

[1]A Commandant’s daughter, whom Pougatcheff outraged and then put to death.

I left the General and hastened to my own quarters. Savelitch received me with his usual admonitions.

“What pleasure do you find, my lord, in fighting against drunken robbers? Is that the kind of occupation for a nobleman? All hours are not alike, and you will sacrifice your life for nothing. It would be all well and good if you were fighting against the Turks or the Swedes, but it is a shame to mention the name of the enemy that you are dealing with now.”

I interrupted him in his speech by the question:

“How much money have I left?”

“You have a tolerably good sum still left,” he replied, with a look of satisfaction. “In spite of their searching and rummaging, I succeeded in hiding it from the robbers.” So saying, he drew from his pocket a long knitted purse, filled with silver pieces.

“Well, Savelitch,” said I to him, “give me half of what you have, and keep the rest yourself. I am going to Fortress Bailogorsk.”

“My little father, Peter Andreitch!” said my good old servant in a trembling voice; “do not tempt God! How can you travel at the present time, when none of the roads are free from the robbers? Have compassion upon your parents, if you have no pity for yourself. Where do you Want to go? And why? Wait a little while. The troops will soon be here and will quickly make short work of the robbers. Then you may go in whatever direction you like.” But my resolution was not to be shaken.

“It is too late to reflect,” I said to the old man. “I must go, I cannot do otherwise than go. Do not grieve, Savelitch: God is merciful, perhaps we may see each other again. Have no scruples about spending the money, and don’t be sparing of it. Buy whatever you require, even though you have to pay three times the value of it. I give this money to you. If in three days I do not return——”

“What are you talking about, my lord?” said Savelitch, interrupting me. “Do you think that I could let you go alone? Do not imagine anything of the kind. If you have resolved to go, I will accompany you, even though it be on foot; I will not leave you. The idea of my sitting down behind a stone wall without you! Do you think then that I have gone out of my mind? Do as you please, my lord, but I will not leave you.”

I knew that it was useless to dispute with Savelitch, and I allowed him to prepare for the journey. In half an hour I was seated upon the back of my good horse, while Savelitch was mounted upon a lean and limping jade, which one of the inhabitants of the town had given to him for nothing, not having the means to keep it any longer. We reached the gates of the town; the sentinels allowed us to pass, and we left Orenburg behind us.

It was beginning to grow dark. My road led past the village of Berd, one of Pougatcheff’s haunts. The way was covered with snow, but over the whole of the steppe could be seen the footprints of horses, renewed every day. I rode forward at a quick trot. Savelitch could hardly keep pace with me, and kept calling out:

“Not so fast, my lord, for Heaven’s sake, not so fast! My accursed hack cannot keep up with your long-legged devil. Where are you off to in such a hurry? It would be all very well if we were going to a feast, but we are more likely going to run our heads into a noose.... Peter Andreitch ... little father ... Peter Andreitch! Lord God! the child is rushing to destruction!”

We soon caught sight of the fires of Berd glimmering in the distance. We approached some ravines, which served as natural defences to the hamlet. Savelitch still followed me, and did not cease to utter his plaintive entreaties. I hoped to be able to ride round the village without being observed, when suddenly I perceived through the darkness, straight in front of me, five peasants armed with clubs; it was the advanced guard of Pougatcheff’s camp. They challenged us. Not knowing the password, I wanted to ride on without saying anything; but they immediately surrounded me, and one of them seized hold of my horse’s bridle. I drew my sword and struck the peasant on the head. His cap saved him, but he staggered and let the reins fall from his hand. The others grew frightened and took to their heels; I seized the opportunity, and, setting spurs to my horse, I galloped off.

The increasing darkness of the night might have saved me from further dangers, but, turning round all at once, I perceived that Savelitch was no longer with me. The poor old man, with his lame horse, had not been able to get clear of the robbers. What was to be done? After waiting a few minutes for him, and feeling convinced that he had been stopped, I turned my horse round to hasten to his assistance.

Approaching the ravine, I heard in the distance confused cries, and the voice of my Savelitch. I quickened my pace, and soon found myself in the midst of the peasants who had stopped me a few minutes before. Savelitch was among them. With loud shouts they threw themselves upon me and dragged me from my horse in a twinkling. One of them, apparently the leader of the band, informed us that he was going to conduct us immediately before the Czar. I “And our father,” added he, “will decide whether you shall be hanged immediately or wait till daylight.”

I offered no resistance; Savelitch followed my example, and the sentinels led us away in triumph.

We crossed the ravine and entered the village. In all the huts fires were burning. Noise and shouts resounded on every side. In the streets I met a large number of people; but nobody observed us in the darkness, and no one recognized in me an officer from Orenburg. We were conducted straight to a cottage which stood at the corner where two streets met. Before the door stood several wine-casks and two pieces of artillery.

“This is the palace,” said one of the peasants; “we will announce you at once.”

He entered the cottage. I glanced at Savelitch: the old man was making the sign of the cross and muttering his prayers to himself.

I waited a long time; at last the peasant returned and said to me:

“Come inside; our father has given orders for the officer to be brought before him.”

I entered the cottage, or the palace, as the peasants called it. It was lighted by two tallow candles, and the walls were covered with gilt paper; otherwise, the benches, the table, the little wash-hand basin suspended by a cord, the towel hanging on a nail, the oven-fork in the corner, the broad shelf loaded with pots—everything was the same as in an ordinary cottage. Pougatcheff was seated under the holy picture,[1]dressed in a redcaftanand wearing a tall cap, and with his arms set akimbo in a very self-important manner. Around him stood several of his principal followers, with looks of feigned respect and submission upon their faces. It was evident that the news of the arrival of an officer from Orenburg had awakened a great curiosity among the rebels, and that they had prepared to receive me with as much pomp as possible. Pougatcheff recognized me at the first glance. His assumed importance vanished all at once.

“Ah! your lordship!” said he gaily. “How do you do?”

“What, in Heaven’s name, has brought you here?”

I replied that I was travelling on my own business, and that his people had stopped me.

“What business?” asked he.

I knew not what to reply. Pougatcheff, supposing that I did not like to explain in the presence of witnesses, turned to his companions and ordered them to go out of the room. All obeyed, except two, who did not stir from their places.

“Speak boldly before them,” said Pougatcheff, “I do not hide anything from them.”

I glanced stealthily at the impostor’s confidants. One of them, a weazen-faced, crooked old man, with a short grey beard, had nothing remarkable about him except a blue riband, which he wore across his grey tunic. But never shall I forget his companion. He was a tall, powerful, broad-shouldered man, and seemed to me to be about forty-five years of age. A thick red beard, grey piercing eyes, a nose without nostrils, and reddish scars upon his forehead and cheeks, gave to his broad, pock-marked face an indescribable expression. He had on a red shirt, a Kirghis robe, and Cossack trousers. The first, as I learned afterwards, was the runaway corporal Bailoborodoff; the other, Afanassy Sokoloff, surnamed Khlopousha,[2]a condemned criminal, who had three times escaped from the mines of Siberia. In spite of the feelings of agitation which so exclusively occupied my mind at that time, the society in the midst of which I so unexpectedly found myself awakened my curiosity in a powerful degree. But Pougatcheff soon recalled me to myself by his question:

“Speak! on what business did you leave Orenburg?”

A strange thought came into my head: it seemed to me that Providence, by conducting me a second time into the presence of Pougatcheff, gave me the opportunity of carrying my project into execution. I determined to take advantage of it, and, without any further reflection, I replied to Pougatcheff’s question:

“I was going to the fortress of Bailogorsk to rescue an orphan who is oppressed there.”

Pougatcheff’s eyes sparkled.

“Which of my people dares to oppress the orphan?” cried he. “Were he seven feet high he should not escape my judgment. Speak! who is the culprit?”

“Shvabrin is the culprit,” replied I. “He holds captive the young girl whom you saw ill at the priest’s house, and wants to force her to marry him.”

“I will soon put Shvabrin in his right place,” said Pougatcheff fiercely. “He shall learn what it is to oppress my people according to his own will and pleasure. I will have him hanged.”

“Allow me to speak a word,” said Khlopousha in a hoarse; voice. “You were in too great a hurry in appointing Shvabrin to the command of the fortress, and now you are in too great a hurry to hang him. You have already offended the Cossacks by placing a nobleman over them as their chief; do not now alarm the nobles by hanging them at the first accusation.”

“They ought neither to be pitied nor favoured,” said the little old man with the blue riband. “To hang Shvabrin would be no great misfortune, neither would it be amiss to put this officer through a regular course of questions. Why has he deigned to pay us a visit? If he does not recognize you as Czar, he cannot come to seek justice from you; and if he does recognize you, why has he remained up to the present time in Orenburg along with your enemies? Will you not order him to be conducted to the court-house, and have a fire lit there?[3]It seems to me that his Grace is sent to us from the generals in Orenburg.”

The logic of the old rascal seemed to me to be plausible enough. A shudder passed through the whole of my body, when I thought into whose hands I had fallen. Pougatcheff observed my agitation.

“Well, your lordship,” said he to me, winking his eyes; “my Field-Marshal, it seems to me, speaks to the point. What do you think?”

Pougatcheff’s raillery restored my courage. I calmly replied that I was in his power, and that he could deal with me in whatever way he pleased.

“Good,” said Pougatcheff. “Now tell me, in what condition is your town?”

“Thank God!” I replied, “everything is all right.”

“All right!” repeated Pougatcheff, “and the people are dying of hunger!”

The impostor spoke the truth; but in accordance with the duty imposed upon me by my oath, I assured him that what he had heard were only idle reports, and that in Orenburg there was a sufficiency of all kinds of provisions.

“You see,” observed the little old man, “that he deceives you to your face. All the deserters unanimously declare that famine and sickness are rife in Orenburg, that they are eating carrion there and think themselves fortunate to get it to eat; and yet his Grace assures us that there is plenty of everything there. If you wish to hang Shvabrin, then hang this young fellow on the same gallows, that they may have nothing to reproach each other with.”

The words of the accursed old man seemed to produce an effect upon Pougatcheff. Fortunately, Khlopousha began to contradict his companion.

“That will do, Naoumitch,” said he to him: “you only think of strangling and hanging. What sort of a hero are you? To look at you, one is puzzled to imagine how your body and soul contrive to hang together. You have one foot in the grave yourself, and you want to kill others. Haven’t you enough blood on your conscience?”

“And what sort of a saint are you?” replied Bailoborodoff. “Whence this compassion on your side?”

“Without doubt,” replied Khlopousha, “I also am a sinner, and this hand”—here he clenched his bony fist and, pushing back his sleeve, disclosed his hairy arm—“and this hand is guilty of having shed Christian blood. But I killed my enemy, and not my guest; on the open highway or in a dark wood, and not in the house, sitting behind the stove; with the axe and club, and not with old woman’s chatter.”

The old man turned round and muttered the words: “Slit nostrils!”

“What are you muttering, you old greybeard?” cried Khlopousha. “I will give you slit nostrils. Just wait a little, and your turn will come too. Heaven grant that your nose may smell the pincers.... In the meantime, take care that I don’t pull out your ugly beard by the roots.” “Gentlemen, generals!” said Pougatcheff loftily, “there has been enough of this quarrelling between you. It would be no great misfortune if all the Orenburg dogs were hanging by the heels from the same crossbeam; but it would be a very great misfortune if our own dogs were to begin devouring each other. So now make it up and be friends again.”

Khlopousha and Bailoborodoff said not a word, but glared furiously at each other. I felt the necessity of changing the subject of a conversation which might end in a very disagreeable manner for me, and turning to Pougatcheff, I said to him with a cheerful look:

“Ah! I had almost forgotten to thank you for the horse and pelisse. Without you I should never have reached the town, and I should have been frozen to death on the road.”

My stratagem succeeded. Pougatcheff became good-humoured again.

“The payment of a debt is its beauty,” said he, winking his eyes. “And now tell me, what have you to do with this young girl whom Shvabrin persecutes? Has she kindled a flame in your young heart, eh?”

“She is my betrothed,” I replied, observing a favourable change in the storm, and hot deeming it necessary to conceal the truth.

“Your betrothed!” exclaimed Pougatcheff. “Why did you not say so before? We will marry you, then, and have some merriment at your wedding!”

Then turning to Bailoborodoff:

“Listen, Field-Marshal!” said he to him: “his lordship and I are old friends; let us sit down to supper; morning’s judgment is wiser than that of evening—so we will see to-morrow what is to be done with him.”

I would gladly have declined the proposed honour, but there was no help for it. Two young Cossack girls, daughters of the owner of the cottage, covered the table with a white cloth, and brought in some bread, fish-soup, and several bottles of wine and beer, and for the second time I found myself seated at the same table with Pougatcheff and his terrible companions.

The drunken revel, of which, I was an involuntary witness, continued till late into the night. At last, intoxication began; to overcome the three associates. Pougatcheff fell off to sleep where he was sitting: his companions rose and made signs to me to leave him where he was. I went out with them. By order of Khlopousha, the sentinel conducted me; to the justice-room, where I found Savelitch, and where they left me shut up with him. My servant was so astonished at all he saw and heard, that he could not ask me a single question. He lay down in the dark, and continued to sigh and moan for a long time; but at length he began to snore, and I gave myself up to meditations, which hindered me from obtaining sleep for a single minute during the whole of the night.

The next morning, Pougatcheff gave orders for me to be brought before him. I went to him. In front of his door stood akibitka, with three Tartar horses harnessed to it. The crowd filled the street. I encountered Pougatcheff in the hall. He was dressed for a journey, being attired in a fur cloak and a Kirghis cap. His companions of the night before stood around him, exhibiting an appearance of submission, which contrasted strongly with everything that I had witnessed the previous evening. Pougatcheff saluted me in a cheerful tone, and ordered me to sit down beside him in thekibitka.

We took our seats.

“To the fortress of Bailogorsk!” said Pougatcheff to the broad-shouldered Tartar who drove the vehicle. My heart beat violently. The horses broke into a gallop, the little bell tinkled, and thekibitkaflew over the snow.

“Stop! stop!” cried a voice which I knew only too well, and I saw Savelitch running towards us.

Pougatcheff ordered the driver to stop.

“Little father, Peter Andreitch!” cried my servant; “do not leave me in my old age among these scoun——”

“Ah, old greybeard!” said Pougatcheff to him. “It is God’s will that we should meet again. Well, spring up behind.”

“Thanks, Czar, thanks, my own father!” replied Savelitch, taking his seat. “May God give you a hundred years of life and good health for deigning to cast your eyes upon and console an old man. I will pray to God for you all the days of my life, and I will never again speak about the hareskin pelisse.”

This allusion to the hareskin pelisse might have made Pougatcheff seriously angry. Fortunately, the usurper did not hear, or pretended not to hear, the misplaced remark. The horses again broke into a gallop; the people in the streets stood still and made obeisance. Pougatcheff bowed his head from side to side. In about a minute we had left the village behind us and were flying along over the smooth surface of the road.

One can easily imagine what my feelings were at that moment. In a few hours I should again set eyes upon her whom I had already considered as lost to me for ever. I pictured to myself the moment of our meeting.... I thought also of the man in whose hands lay my fate, and who, by a strange concourse of circumstances, had become mysteriously connected with me. I remembered the thoughtless cruelty and the bloodthirsty habits of him, who now constituted himself the deliverer of my beloved. Pougatcheff did not know that she was the daughter of Captain Mironoff; the exasperated Shvabrin might reveal everything to him; it was also possible that Pougatcheff might find out the truth in some other way.... Then what would become of Maria Ivanovna? A shudder passed through my frame, and my hair stood on end.

Suddenly Pougatcheff interrupted my meditations, by turning to me with the question:

“What is your lordship thinking of?”

“What should I not be thinking of,” I replied. “I am an officer and a gentleman; only yesterday I was fighting against you, and now to-day I am riding side by side with you in the same carriage, and the happiness of my whole life depends upon you.”

“How so?” asked Pougatcheff. “Are you afraid?”

I replied that, having already had my life spared by him,

I hoped, not only for his mercy, but even for his assistance.

“And you are right; by God, you are right!” said the impostor. “You saw that my fellows looked askant at you; and this morning the old man persisted in his statement that you were a spy, and that it was necessary that you should be interrogated by means of torture and then hanged. But I would not consent to it,” he added, lowering his voice, so that Savelitch and the Tartar should not be able to hear him, “because I remembered your glass of wine and hareskin pelisse. You see now that I am not such a bloodthirsty creature as your brethren maintain.”

I recalled to mind the capture of the fortress of Bailogorsk but I did not think it advisable to contradict him, and so I made no reply.

“What do they say of me in Orenburg?” asked Pougatcheff, after a short interval of silence.

“They say that it will be no easy matter to get the upper hand of you; and there is no denying that you have made yourself felt.”

The face of the impostor betokened how much his vanity was gratified by this remark.

“Yes,” said he, with a look of self-satisfaction, “I wage war to some purpose. Do you people in Orenburg know about the battle of Youzeiff?[4]Forty general officers killed, four armies taken captive. Do you think the King of Prussia could do as well as that?”

The boasting of the brigand appeared to me to be somewhat amusing.

“What do you think about it yourself?” I said to him: “do you think that you could beat Frederick?”

“Fedor Fedorovitch?[5]And why not? I beat your generals, and they have beaten him. My arms have always been successful up till now. But only wait awhile, you will see something very different when I march to Moscow.”

“And do you intend marching to Moscow?”

The impostor reflected for a moment and then said in a low voice:

“God knows. My road is narrow; my will is weak. My followers do not obey me. They are scoundrels. I must keep a sharp look-out; at the first reverse they will save their own necks at the expense of my head.”

“That is quite true,” I said to Pougatcheff. “Would it not be better for you to separate yourself from them in good time, and throw yourself upon the mercy of the Empress?”

Pougatcheff smiled bitterly.

“No,” replied he: “it is too late for me to repent now. There would be no pardon for me. I will go on as I have begun. Who knows? Perhaps I shall be successful. Grishka Otrepieff was made Czar at Moscow.”

“And do you know what his end was? He was flung out of a window, his body was cut to pieces and burnt, and then his ashes were placed in a cannon and scattered to the winds!”

“Listen,” said Pougatcheff with a certain wild inspiration. “I will tell you a tale which was told to me in my childhood by an old Calmuck. ‘The eagle once said to the crow: “Tell me, crow, why is it that you live in this bright world for three hundred years, and I only for thirty-three years?” “Because, little father,” replied the crow, “you drink live blood, and I live on carrion.”—The eagle reflected for a little while and then said: “Let us both try and live on the same food.”—“Good! agreed!” The eagle and the crow flew away. Suddenly they caught sight of a fallen horse, and they alighted upon it. The crow began to pick its flesh and found it very good. The eagle tasted it once, then a second time, then shook its pinions and said to the crow: “No, brother crow; rather than live on carrion for three hundred years, I would prefer to drink live blood but once, and trust in God for what might happen afterwards!”’ What do you think of the Calmuck’s story?”

“It is very ingenious,” I replied. “But to live by murder and robbery is, in my opinion, nothing else than living on carrion.”

Pougatcheff looked at me in astonishment and made no reply. We both became silent, each being wrapped in his own thoughts. The Tartar began to hum a plaintive song. Savelitch, dozing, swayed from side to side. Thekibitkaglided along rapidly over the smooth frozen road.... Suddenly I caught sight of a little village on the steep bank of the Yaik, with its palisade and belfry, and about a quarter of an hour afterwards we entered the fortress of Bailogorsk.

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