[1]The picture of some saint, usually painted on wood. There is generally one of them hung in the corner of every room in the houses of the Russians.
[1]The picture of some saint, usually painted on wood. There is generally one of them hung in the corner of every room in the houses of the Russians.
[2]The name of a celebrated bandit of the last century, who for a long time offered resistance to the Imperial troops.
[2]The name of a celebrated bandit of the last century, who for a long time offered resistance to the Imperial troops.
[3]For the purpose of torture.
[3]For the purpose of torture.
[4]An engagement in which Pougatcheff had the advantage.
[4]An engagement in which Pougatcheff had the advantage.
[5]The name given to Frederick the Great by the Russian soldiers.
[5]The name given to Frederick the Great by the Russian soldiers.
Thekibitkadrew up in front of the Commandant’s house. The inhabitants had recognized Pougatcheff’s little bell, and came crowding around us. Shvabrin met the impostor at the foot of the steps. He was dressed as a Cossack, and had allowed his beard to grow. The traitor helped Pougatcheff to alight from thekibitka, expressing, in obsequious terms, his joy and zeal. On seeing me, he became confused; but quickly recovering himself, he stretched out his hand to me, saying:
“And are you also one of us? You should have been so long ago!”
I turned away from him and made no reply.
My heart ached when we entered the well-known room, on the wall of which still hung the commission of the late Commandant, as a mournful epitaph of the past. Pougatcheff seated himself upon the same sofa on which Ivan Kouzmitch was accustomed to fall asleep, lulled by the scolding of his wife. Shvabrin himself brought him some brandy. Pougatcheff drank a glass, and said to him, pointing to me:
“Give his lordship a glass.”
Shvabrin approached me with his tray, but I turned away from him a second time. He seemed to have become quite another person. With his usual sagacity, he had certainly perceived that Pougatcheff was dissatisfied with him. He cowered before him, and glanced at me with distrust.
Pougatcheff asked some questions concerning the condition of the fortress, the reports referring to the enemy’s army, and the like. Then suddenly and unexpectedly he said to him:
“Tell me, my friend, who is this young girl that you hold a prisoner here? Show her to me.”
Shvabrin turned as pale as death.
“Czar,” said he, in a trembling voice... “Czar, she is not a prisoner ... she is ill ... she is in bed.”
“Lead me to her,” said the impostor, rising from his seat.
Refusal was impossible. Shvabrin conducted Pougatcheff to Maria Ivanovna’s room. I followed behind them.
Shvabrin stopped upon the stairs.
“Czar,” said he: “you may demand of me whatever you please; but do not permit a stranger to enter my wife’s bedroom.”
I shuddered.
“So you are married!” I said to Shvabrin, ready to tear him to pieces.
“Silence!” interrupted Pougatcheff: “that is my business. And you,” he continued, turning to Shvabrin, “keep your airs and graces to yourself: whether she be your wife or whether she be not, I will take to her whomsoever I please. Your lordship, follow me.”
At the door of the room Shvabrin stopped again, and said in a faltering voice:
“Czar, I must inform you that she is in a high fever, and has been raving incessantly for the last three days.”
“Open the door!” said Pougatcheff.
Shvabrin began to search in his pockets and then said that he had not brought the key with him. Pougatcheff pushed the door with his foot; the lock gave way, the door opened, and we entered.
I glanced round the room—and nearly fainted away. On the floor, clad in a ragged peasant’s dress, sat Maria Ivanovna, pale, thin, and with dishevelled hair. Before her stood a pitcher of water, covered with a piece of bread. Seeing me, she shuddered and uttered a piercing cry. What I felt at that moment I cannot describe.
Pougatcheff looked at Shvabrin and said with a sarcastic smile:
“You have a very nice hospital here!”
Then approaching Maria Ivanovna:
“Tell me, my little dove, why does your husband punish you in this manner?”
“My husband!” repeated she. “He is not my husband. I will never be his wife! I would rather die, and I will die, if I am not set free.”
Pougatcheff cast a threatening glance at Shvabrin.
“And you have dared to deceive me!” he said to him. “Do you know, scoundrel, what you deserve?”
Shvabrin fell upon his knees.... At that moment contempt extinguished within me all feelings of hatred and resentment. I looked with disgust at the sight of a nobleman grovelling at the feet of a runaway Cossack.
Pougatcheff relented.
“I forgive you this time,” he said to Shvabrin: “but bear in mind that the next time you are guilty of an offence, I will remember this one also.”
Then he turned to Maria Ivanovna and said to her kindly:
“Go, my pretty girl; I give you your liberty. I am the Czar.”
Maria Ivanovna glanced rapidly at him, and intuitively divined that before her stood the murderer of her parents. She covered her face with both hands and fainted away. I hastened towards her; but at that moment my old acquaintance, Palasha, very boldly entered the room, and began to attend to her young mistress. Pougatcheff quitted the apartment, and we all three entered the parlour.
“Well, your lordship,” said Pougatcheff smiling, “we have set the pretty girl free! What do you say to sending for the pope and making him marry his niece to you? If you like, I will act as father, and Shvabrin shall be your best man. We will then smoke and drink and make ourselves merry to our hearts’ content!”
What I feared took place. Shvabrin, hearing Pougatcheff’s proposal, was beside himself with rage.
“Czar!” he exclaimed, in a transport of passion, “I am guilty; I have lied to you; but Grineff is deceiving you also. This young girl is not the pope’s niece: she is the daughter of Ivan Mironoff, who was hanged at the taking of the fortress.”
Pougatcheff glanced at me with gleaming eyes.
“What does this mean?” he asked in a gloomy tone.
“Shvabrin has told you the truth,” I replied in a firm voice.
“You did not tell me that,” replied Pougatcheff, whose face had become clouded.
“Judge of the matter yourself,” I replied: “could I, in the presence of your people, declare that she was the daughter of Mironoff? They would have torn her to pieces! Nothing would have saved her!”
“You are right,” said Pougatcheff smiling. “My drunkards would not have spared the poor girl; the pope’s wife did well to deceive them.”
“Listen,” I continued, seeing him so well disposed; “I know not what to call you, and I do not wish to know.... But God is my witness that I would willingly repay you with my life for what you have done for me. But do not demand of me anything that is against my honour and my Christian conscience. You are my benefactor. End as you have begun: let me go away with that poor orphan wherever God will direct us. And wherever you may be, and whatever may happen to you, we will pray to God every day for the salvation of your soul....”
Pougatcheff’s fierce soul seemed touched.
“Be it as you wish!” said he. “Punish thoroughly or pardon thoroughly: that is my way. Take your beautiful one, take her wherever you like, and may God grant you love and counsel!”
Then he turned to Shvabrin and ordered him to give me a safe conduct for all barriers and fortresses subjected to his authority. Shvabrin, completely dumbfounded, stood as if petrified. Pougatcheff then went off to inspect the fortress. Shvabrin accompanied him, and I remained behind under the pretext of making preparations for my departure.
I hastened to Maria’s room. The door was locked. I knocked.
“Who is there?” asked Palasha.
I called out my name. The sweet voice of Maria Ivanovna sounded from behind the door:
“Wait a moment, Peter Andreitch. I am changing my dress. Go to Akoulina Pamphilovna; I shall be there presently.”
I obeyed and made my way to the house of Father Jerasim. He and his wife came forward to meet me Savelitch had already informed them of what had happened.
“You are welcome, Peter Andreitch,” said the pope’s wife. “God has ordained that we should meet again. And how are you? Not a day has passed without our talking about you. And Maria Ivanovna, the poor little dove, what has she not suffered while you have been away! But tell us, little father, how did you manage to arrange matters with Pougatcheff? How was it that he did not put you to death? The villain be thanked for that, at all events!”
“Enough, old woman,” interrupted Father Gerasim. “Don’t babble about everything that you know. There is; no salvation for chatterers. Come in, Peter Andreitch, I beg of you. It is a long, long time since we saw each other.” The pope’s wife set before me everything that she had in the house, without ceasing to chatter away for a single moment. She related to me in what manner Shvabrin had compelled them to deliver Maria Ivanovna up to him; how the poor girl wept and did not wish to be parted from them; how she had kept up a constant communication with them; by means of Palashka[1](a bold girl who compelled the orderly himself to dance to her pipe); how she had advised Maria Ivanovna to write a letter to me, and so forth.
I then, in my turn, briefly related to them my story. The pope and his wife made the sign of the cross on hearing that; Pougatcheff had become acquainted with their deception.
“The power of the Cross defend us!” ejaculated Akoulina Pamphilovna. “May God grant that the cloud will pass over. Well, well, Alexei Ivanitch, you are a very nice fellow: there is no denying that!”
At that moment the door opened, and Maria Ivanovna entered the room with a smile upon her pale face. She had doffed her peasant’s dress, and was attired as before, plainly and becomingly.
I grasped her hand and for some time could not utter a single word. We were both silent from fulness of heart. Our hosts felt that their presence was unnecessary to us, and so they withdrew. We were left by ourselves. Everything else was forgotten. We talked and talked and could not say enough to each other. Maria related to me all that had happened to her since the capture of the fortress; she described to me all the horror of her situation, all the trials which she had experienced at the hands of the detestable Shvabrin. We recalled to mind the happy days of the past, and we could not prevent the tears coming into our eyes. At last I began to explain to her my project. For her to remain in the fortress, subjected to Pougatcheff and commanded by Shvabrin, was impossible. Neither could I think of taking her to Orenburg, just then undergoing all the calamities of a siege. She had not a single relative in the whole world. I proposed to her that she should seek shelter with my parents. She hesitated at first: my father’s unfriendly disposition towards her frightened her. I made her mind easy on that score. I knew that my father would consider himself bound in honour to receive into his house the daughter of a brave and deserving soldier who had lost his life in the service of his country.
“Dear Maria Ivanovna,” I said at last: “I look upon you as my wife. Strange circumstances have united us together indissolubly; nothing in the world can separate us.”
Maria Ivanovna listened to me without any assumption of affectation. She felt that her fate was linked with mine. But she repeated that she would never be my wife, except with the consent of my parents. I did not contradict her. We kissed each other fervently and passionately, and in this manner everything was resolved upon between us.
About an hour afterwards, the orderly brought me my safe conduct, inscribed with Pougatcheff’s scrawl, and informed me that his master wished to see me. I found him ready to st out on his road. I cannot describe what I felt on taking leave of this terrible man, this outcast, so villainously cruel to all except myself alone. But why should I not tell the truth? At that moment I felt drawn towards him by a powerful sympathy. I ardently wished to tear him away! from the midst of the scoundrels, whom he commanded, and save his head while there was yet time. Shvabrin, and the crowd gathered around us, prevented me from giving expression to all that filled my heart.
We parted as friends. Pougatcheff, catching sight of Akoulina Pamphilovna among the crowd, threatened her with his finger and winked significantly; then he seated himself in hiskibitka[2]and gave orders to return to Berd; and when the horses started off, he leaned once out of the carriage, and cried out to me: “Farewell, your lordship! Perhaps we shall see each other again!”
We did indeed see each other again, but under what circumstances!
Pougatcheff was gone. I stood for a long time gazing across the white steppe, over which histroika[6] went gliding rapidly. The crowd dispersed. Shvabrin disappeared. I returned to the pope’s house. Everything was ready for our departure; I did not wish to delay any longer. Our luggage had already been deposited in the Commandant’s old travelling carriage. The horses were harnessed in a twinkling. Maria Ivanovna went to pay a farewell visit to the graves of her parents, who were buried behind the church. I wished to accompany her, but she begged of me to let her go alone. After a few minutes she returned silently weeping. The carriage was ready. Father Gerasim and his wife came out upon the steps. Maria Ivanovna, Palasha and I took our places inside thekibitka, while Savelitch seated himself in the front.
“Farewell, Maria Ivanovna, my little dove; farewell, Peter Andreitch, my fine falcon!” said the pope’s good wife. “A safe journey, and may God bless you both and make you happy!”
We drove off. At the window of the Commandant’s house I perceived Shvabrin standing. His face wore an expression of gloomy malignity. I did not wish to triumph over a defeated enemy, so I turned my eyes the other way.
At last we passed out of the gate, and left the fortress of Bailogorsk behind us for ever.
[1]Diminutive of Palasha.
[1]Diminutive of Palasha.
[2]An open vehicle drawn by three horses yoked abreast.
[2]An open vehicle drawn by three horses yoked abreast.
United so unexpectedly with the dear girl, about whom I was so terribly uneasy that very morning, I could scarcely believe the evidence of my senses, and imagined that everything that had happened to me was nothing but an empty dream. Maria Ivanovna gazed thoughtfully, now at me, now at the road, and seemed as if she had not yet succeeded in recovering her senses. We were both silent. Our hearts were too full of emotion. The time passed almost imperceptibly, and after journeying for about two hours, we reached the next fortress, which was also subject to Pougatcheff. Here we changed horses. By the rapidity with which this was effected, and by the obliging manner of the bearded Cossack who had been appointed Commandant by Pougatcheff, I perceived that, thanks to the gossip of our driver, I was taken for a favourite of their master.
We continued our journey. It began to grow dark. We approached a small town, where, according to the bearded Commandant, there was a strong detachment on its way to join the impostor. We were stopped by the sentries. In answer to the challenge: “Who goes there?” our driver replied in a loud voice: “The Czar’s friend with his little, wife.”
Suddenly a troop of hussars surrounded us, uttering the most terrible curses.
“Step down, friend of the devil!” said a moustached sergeant-major. “We will make it warm for you and your little wife!”
I got out of thekibitkaand requested to be brought before their commander. On seeing my officer’s uniform, the soldiers ceased their imprecations, and the sergeant conducted me to the major.
Savelitch followed me, muttering:
“So much for your being a friend of the Czar! Out of the frying-pan into the fire. Lord Almighty! how is all this going to end?”
Thekibitkafollowed behind us at a slow pace.
In about five minutes we arrived at a small, well-lighted house. The sergeant-major left me under a guard and entered to announce me. He returned immediately and informed me that his Highness had no time to receive me, but that he had ordered that I should be taken to prison, and my wife conducted into his presence.
“What does this mean?” I exclaimed in a rage. “Has he taken leave of his senses?”
“I do not know, your lordship,” replied the sergeant-major. “Only his Highness has ordered that your lordship should be taken to prison, and her ladyship conducted into his presence, your lordship!”
I dashed up the steps. The sentinel did not think of detaining me, and I made my way straight into the room, where six Jiussar officers were playing at cards. The major was dealing. What was my astonishment when, looking at him attentively, I recognized Ivan Ivanovitch Zourin, who had once beaten me at play in the Simbirsk tavern.
“Is it possible?” I exclaimed. “Ivan Ivanovitch! Is it really you?”
“Zounds! Peter Andreitch! What chance has brought you here? Where have you come from? How is it with you, brother? Won’t you join in a game of cards?”
“Thank you, but I would much rather you give orders for quarters to be assigned to me.”
“What sort of quarters do you want? Stay with me.”
“I cannot: I am not alone.”
“Well, bring your comrade with you.”
“I have no comrade with me; I am with a—lady.”
“A lady! Where did you pick her up? Aha, brother mine!”
And with these words, Zourin whistled so significantly that all the others burst out laughing, and I felt perfectly confused.
“Well,” continued Zourin: “let it be so. You shall have quarters. But it is a pity.... We should have had one of our old sprees.... I say, boy! Why don’t you bring in Pougatcheff’s lady friend? Or is she obstinate? Tell her that she need not be afraid, that the gentleman is very kind and will do her no harm—then bring her in by the collar.”
“What do you mean?” said I to Zourin. “What lady-friend of Pougatcheff’s are you talking of? It is the daughter of the late Captain Mironoff. I have released her from captivity, and I am now conducting her to my father’s country seat, where I am going to leave her.”
“What! Was it you then who was announced to me just now? In the name of Heaven! what does all this mean?”
“I will tell you later on. For the present, I beg of you to set at ease the mind of this poor girl, who has been terribly frightened by your hussars.”
Zourin immediately issued the necessary orders. He went out himself into the street to apologize to Maria Ivanovna for the involuntary misunderstanding, and ordered the sergeant-major to conduct her to the best lodging in the town. I remained to spend the night with him.
We had supper, and when we two were left together, I related to him my adventures. Zourin listened to me with the greatest attention. When I had finished, he shook his head, and said:
“That is all very well, brother; but there is one thing which is not so; why the devil do you want to get married? As an officer and a man of honour, I do not wish to deceive you; but, believe me, marriage is all nonsense. Why should you saddle yourself with a wife and be compelled to dandle children? Scout the idea. Listen to me: shake off this Captain’s daughter. I have cleared the road to Simbirsk, and it is quite safe. Send her to-morrow by herself to your parents, and you remain with my detachment. There is no need for you to return to Orenburg. If you should again fall into the hands of the rebels, you may not escape from them so easily a second time. In this way your love folly will die a natural death, and everything will end satisfactorily.”
Although I did not altogether agree with him, yet I felt that duty and honour demanded my presence in the army of the Empress. I resolved to follow Zourin’s advice: to send Maria Ivanovna to my father’s estate, and to remain with his detachment.
Savelitch came in to help me to undress; I told him that he was to get ready the next day to accompany Maria Ivanovna on her journey. He began to make excuses.
“What do you say, my lord? How can I leave you? Who will look after you? What will your parents say?”
Knowing the obstinate disposition of my follower, I resolved to get round him by wheedling and coaxing him.
“My dear friend, Arkhip Savelitch!” I said to him: “do not refuse me; be my benefactor. I do not require a servant here, and I should not feel easy if Maria Ivanovna were to set out on her journey without you. By serving her you will be serving me, for I am firmly resolved to marry her, as soon as circumstances will permit.”
Here Savelitch clasped his hands with an indescribable look of astonishment.
“To marry!” he repeated: “the child wants to marry! But what will your father say? And your mother, what will she think?”
“They will give their consent, without a doubt, when they know Maria Ivanovna,” I replied. “I count upon you. My father and mother have great confidence in you; you will therefore intercede for us, won’t you?”
The old man was touched.
“Oh, my father, Peter Andreitch!” he replied, “although you are thinking of getting married a little too early, yet Maria Ivanovna is such a good young lady, that it would be a pity to let the opportunity escape. I will do as you wish. I will accompany her, the angel, and I will humbly say to your parents, that such a bride does not need a dowry.”
I thanked Savelitch, and then lay down to sleep in the same room with Zourin. Feeling very much excited, I began to chatter. At first Zourin listened to my remarks very willingly; but little by little his words became rarer and more disconnected, and at last, instead of replying to’ one of my questions, he began to snore. I stopped talking and soon followed his example.
The next morning I betook myself to Maria Ivanovna. I communicated to her my plans. She recognized the reasonableness of them, and immediately agreed to carry them out. Zourin’s detachment was to leave the town that day. There was no time to be lost. I at once took leave of Maria Ivanovna, confiding her to the care of Savelitch, and giving her a letter to my parents.
Maria burst into tears.
“Farewell, Peter Andreitch,” said she in a gentle voice. “God alone knows whether we shall ever see each other again or not; but I will never forget you; till my dying day you alone shall live in my heart!”
I was unable to reply. There was a crowd of people around us, and I did not wish to give way to my feelings before them. At last she departed. I returned to Zourin, silent and depressed. He endeavoured to cheer me up, and I tried to divert my thoughts; we spent the day in noisy mirth, and in the evening we set out on our march.
It was now near the end of February. The winter, which had rendered all military movements extremely difficult, was drawing to its close, and our generals began to make preparations for combined action. Pougatcheff was still under the walls of Orenburg, but our divisions united and began to close in from every side upon the rebel camp. On the appearance of our troops, the revolted villages returned to their allegiance; the rebel bands everywhere retreated before us, and everything gave promise of a speedy and successful termination to the campaign.
Soon afterwards Prince Golitzin defeated Pougatcheff under the walls of the fortress of Tatischtscheff, routed his troops, relieved Orenburg, and to all appearances seemed to have given the final and decisive blow to the rebellion. Zourin was sent at this time against a band of rebellious Bashkirs, who, however, dispersed before we were able to come up with them. The spring found us in a little Tartar village. The rivers overflowed their banks, and the roads became impassable. We consoled ourselves for our inaction with the thought that there would soon be an end to this tedious petty warfare with brigands and savages.
But Pougatcheff was not yet taken. He soon made his appearance in the manufacturing districts of Siberia, where he collected new bands of followers and once more commenced his marauding expeditions. Reports of fresh successes on his part were soon in circulation. We heard of the destruction of several Siberian fortresses. Then came the news of the capture of Kazan, and the march of the impostor to Moscow, which greatly disturbed the leaders of the army, who had fondly imagined that the power of the despised rebel had been completely broken. Zourin received orders to cross the Volga.
I will not describe our march and the conclusion of the war. I will only say that the campaign was as calamitous as it possibly could be. Law and order came to an end everywhere, and the land-holders concealed themselves in the woods. Bands of robbers scoured the country in all directions; the commanders of isolated detachments punished and pardoned as they pleased; and the condition of the extensive territory in which the conflagration raged, was terrible.... Heaven grant that we may never see such, a senseless and merciless revolt again!
Pougatcheff took to flight, pursued by Ivan Ivanovitch Michelson. We soon heard of his complete overthrow. At last Zourin received news of the capture of the impostor, and, at the same time, orders to halt. The war was ended. At last it was possible for me to return to my parents. The thought of embracing them, and of seeing Maria Ivanovna, again, of whom I had received no information, filled me with delight. I danced about like a child. Zourin laughed and said with a shrug of his shoulders:
“No good will come of it! If you get married, you are lost!”
In the meantime a strange feeling poisoned my joy: the thought of that evil-doer, covered with the blood of so many innocent victims, and of the punishment that awaited him, troubled me involuntarily.
“Emelia, Emelia!”[1]I said to myself with vexation, “why did you not dash yourself against the bayonets, or fall beneath the bullets? That was the best thing you could have done.”[2]
And how could I feel otherwise? The thought of him was inseparably connected with the thought of the mercy which he had shown to me in one of the most terrible moments of my life, and with the deliverance of my bride from the hands of the detested Shvabrin.
Zourin granted me leave of absence. In a few days’ time I should again be in the midst of my family, and should once again set eyes upon the face of my Maria Ivanovna.... Suddenly an unexpected storm burst upon me.
On the day of my departure, and at the very moment when I was preparing to set out, Zourin came to my hut, holding in his hand a paper, and looking exceedingly troubled. A pang went through my heart. I felt alarmed, without knowing why. He sent my servant out of the room, and said that he had something to tell me.
“What is it?” I asked with uneasiness.
“Something rather disagreeable,” replied he, giving me the paper. “Read what I have just received.”
I read it: it was a secret order to all the commanders of detachments to arrest me wherever I might be found, and to send me without delay under a strong guard to Kazan, to appear before the Commission instituted for the trial of Pougatcheff.
The paper nearly fell from my hands.
“There is no help for it,” said Zourin, “my duty is to obey orders. Probably the report of your intimacy with Pougatcheff has in some way reached the ears of the authorities. I hope that the affair will have no serious consequences, and that you will be able to justify yourself before the Commission. Keep up your spirits and set out at once.”
My conscience was clear, and I did not fear having to appear before the tribunal; but the thought that the hour of my meeting with Maria might be deferred for several months, filled me with misgivings.
Thetelega[3]was ready. Zourin took a friendly leave of me, and I took my place in the vehicle. Two hussars with drawn swords seated themselves, one on each side of me, and we set out for our destination.
[1]Diminutive of Emelian.
[1]Diminutive of Emelian.
[2]After having advanced to the gates of Moscow, Pougatcheff was defeated, and being afterwards sold by his accomplices for 100,000 roubles, he was imprisoned in an iron cage and carried to Moscow, where he was executed in the year 1775.
[2]After having advanced to the gates of Moscow, Pougatcheff was defeated, and being afterwards sold by his accomplices for 100,000 roubles, he was imprisoned in an iron cage and carried to Moscow, where he was executed in the year 1775.
[3]An open vehicle without springs.
[3]An open vehicle without springs.
I felt convinced that the cause of my arrest was my absenting myself from Orenburg without leave. I could easily justify myself on that score: for sallying out against the enemy had not only not been prohibited, but had even been encouraged. I might be accused of undue rashness instead of disobedience of orders. But my friendly intercourse with Pougatcheff could be proved by several witnesses, and could not but at least appear very suspicious. During the whole of the journey I thought of the examination that awaited me, and mentally prepared the answers that I should make. I resolved to tell the plain unvarnished truth before the court, feeling convinced that this was the simplest and, at the same time, the surest way of justifying myself.
I arrived at Kazan—the town had been plundered and set on fire. In the streets, instead of houses, there were to be seen heaps of burnt stones, and blackened walls without roofs or windows. Such were the traces left by Pougatcheff! I was conducted to the fortress which had escaped the ravages of the fire. The hussars delivered me over to the officer of the guard. The latter ordered a blacksmith to be sent for. Chains were placed round my feet and fastened together. Then I was taken to the prison and left alone in a dark and narrow dungeon, with four blank walls and a small window protected by iron gratings.
Such a beginning boded no good to me. For all that, I did not lose hope nor courage. I had recourse to the consolation of all those in affliction, and after having tasted for the first time the sweet comforting of prayer poured out from a pure but sorrow-stricken heart, I went off into a calm sleep, without thinking of what might happen to me.
The next morning the gaoler awoke me with the announcement that I was to appear before the Commission. Two soldiers conducted me through a courtyard to the Commandant’s house: they stopped in the ante-room and allowed me to enter the inner room by myself.
I found myself in a good-sized apartment At the table, which was covered with papers, sat two men: an elderly general, of a cold and stem aspect, and a young captain of the Guards, of about twenty-eight years of age, and of very agreeable and affable appearance. Near the window, at a separate table, sat the secretary, with a pen behind his ear, and bending over his paper, ready to write down my depositions.
The examination began. I was asked my name and profession. The General inquired if I was the son of Andrei Petrovitch Grineff, and on my replying in the affirmative, he exclaimed in a stem tone:
“It is a pity that such an honourable man should have such an unworthy son!”
I calmly replied that whatever were the accusations against me, I hoped to be able to refute them by the candid avowal of the truth.
My assurance did not please him.
“You are very audacious, my friend,” said he, frowning: “but we have dealt with others like you.”
Then the young officer asked me under what circumstances and at what time I had entered Pougatcheff’s service, and in what affairs I had been employed by him.
I replied indignantly, that, as an officer and a nobleman, I could never have entered Pougatcheff’s service, and could never have received any commission from him whatever.
“How comes it then,” continued the interrogator, “that the nobleman and officer was the only one spared by the impostor, while all his comrades were cruelly murdered? How comes it that this same officer and nobleman could revel with the rebellious scoundrels, and receive from the leader of the villains presents, consisting of a pelisse, a horse, and half a rouble? Whence came such strange friendship, and upon what does it rest, if not upon treason, or at least upon abominable and unpardonable cowardice?”
I was deeply offended by the words of the officer of the Guards, and I began to defend myself with great warmth. I related how my acquaintance with Pougatcheff began upon the steppe during a snow-storm, how he had recognized me at the capture of the fortress of Bailogorsk and spared my life. I admitted that I had received a pelisse and a horse from the impostor, but that I had defended the fortress of Bailogorsk against the rebels to the last extremity. In conclusion I appealed to my General, who could bear witness to my zeal during the disastrous siege of Orenburg.
The stern old man took up from the table an open letter and began to read it aloud:
“In reply to your Excellency’s inquiry respecting Ensign Grineff, who is charged with being implicated in the present insurrection and with entering into communication with the leader of the robbers, contrary to the rules of the service and the oath of allegiance, I have the honour to report that the said Ensign Grineff formed part of the garrison in Orenburg from the beginning of October 1773 to the twenty-fourth of February of the present year, on which date he quitted the town, and since that time he has not made his appearance again. We have heard from some deserters that he was in Pougatcheff’s camp, and that he accompanied him to the fortress of Bailogorsk, where he had formerly been garrisoned. With respect to his conduct, I can only....”
Here the General interrupted his reading and said to me harshly:
“What do you say now by way of justification?”
I was about to continue as I began and explain the state of affairs between myself and Maria Ivanovna as frankly as all the rest, but suddenly I felt an invincible disgust at the thought of doing so. It occurred to my mind, that if I mentioned her name, the Commission would summon her to appear, and the thought of connecting her name with the vile doings of hardened villains, and of herself being confronted with them—this terrible idea produced such an impression upon me, that I became confused and maintained silence.
My judges, who seemed at first to have listened to my answers with a certain amount of good-will, were once more prejudiced against me on perceiving my confusion. The officer of the Guards demanded that I should be confronted with my principal accuser. The General ordered that the “rascal of yesterday” should be summoned. I turned round quickly towards the door, to await the appearance of my accuser. After a few moments I heard the clanking of chains, the door opened, and—Shvabrin entered the room. I was astonished at the change in his appearance. He was terribly thin and pale. His hair, but a short time ago as black as pitch, was now quite grey;his long beard was unkempt. He repeated all his accusations in a weak but determined voice. According to his account, I had been sent by Pougatcheff to Orenburg as a spy; every day I used to ride out to the advanced posts, in order to transmit written information of all that took place within the town; that at last I had gone quite over to the side of the usurper and had accompanied him from fortress to fortress, endeavouring in every way to injure my companions in crime, in order to occupy their places and profit the better by the rewards of the impostor.
I listened to him in silence, and I rejoiced on account of one thing: the name of Maria was not mentioned by the scoundrel, whether it was that his self-love could not bear the thought of one who had rejected him with contempt, or that within his heart there was a spark of that self-same feeling which had induced me to remain silent. Whatever it was, the name of the daughter of the Commandant of Bailogorsk was not pronounced in the presence of the Commission. I became still more confirmed in my resolution, and when the judges asked me what I had to say in answer to Shvabrin’s evidence, I replied that I still stood by my first statement and that I had nothing else to add in justification of myself.
The General ordered us to be led away. We quitted the room together. I looked calmly at Shvabrin, but did not say a word to him. He looked at me with a malicious smile, lifted up his fetters and passed out quickly in front of me. I was conducted back to prison, and was not compelled to undergo a-second examination.
I was not a witness of all that now remains for me to impart to the reader; but I have heard it related so often, that the most minute details are indelibly engraven upon my memory, and it seems to me as if I had taken a part in them unseen.
Maria Ivanovna was received by my parents with that sincere kindness which distinguished people in the olden time. They regarded it as a favour from God that the opportunity was afforded them of sheltering and consoling the poor orphan. They soon became sincerely attached to her, because it was impossible to know her and not to love her. My love for her no longer appeared mere folly to my father, and my mother had one wish only, that her Peter should marry the pretty Captain’s daughter.
The news of my arrest filled all my family with consternation. Maria Ivanovna had related so simply to my parents my strange acquaintance with Pougatcheff, that not only had they felt quite easy about the matter, but had often been obliged to laugh heartily at the whole story. My father would not believe that I could be implicated in an infamous rebellion, the aim of which was the destruction of the throne and the extermination of the nobles. He questioned Savelitch severely. My retainer did not deny that I had been the guest of Pougatcheff, and that the villain had acted very generously towards me, but he affirmed with a solemn oath that he had never heard a word about treason. My old parents became easier in mind, and waited impatiently for more favourable news. Maria Ivanovna, however, was in a state of great agitation, but she kept silent, as she was modest and prudent in the highest degree.
Several weeks passed.... Then my father unexpectedly received from St. Petersburg a letter from our relative, Prince B——. The letter was about me. After the usual compliments, he informed him that the suspicions which had been raised concerning my participation in the plots of the rebels, had unfortunately been shown to be only too well founded; that capital punishment would have been meted out to me, but that the Empress, in consideration of the faithful services and the grey hairs of my father, had resolved to be gracious towards his criminal son, and, instead of condemning him to suffer an ignominious death, had ordered that he should be sent to the most remote part of Siberia for the rest of his life.
This unexpected blow nearly killed my father. He lost his usual firmness, and his grief, usually silent, found vent in bitter complaints.
“What!” he cried, as if beside himself: “my son has taken part in Pougatcheff’s plots! God of Justice, that I should live to see this! The Empress spares his life! Does that make it any better for me? It is not death at the hands of the executioner that is so terrible: my great-grandfather died upon the scaffold for the defence of that which his conscience regarded as sacred;[1]my father suffered with Volinsky and Khrouschtcheff.[2]But that a nobleman should be false to his oath, should associate with robbers, with murderers and with runaway slaves!... Shame and disgrace upon our race!”
Frightened by his despair, my mother dared not weep in his presence; she endeavoured to console him by speaking of the uncertainty of reports, and the little dependency to be placed upon the opinions of other people. But my father was inconsolable.
Maria Ivanovna suffered more than anybody. Being firmly convinced that I could have justified myself if I had only wished to do so, she guessed the reason of my silence, and considered herself the cause of my misfortune. She hid from everyone her tears and sufferings, and was incessantly thinking of the means by which I might be saved.
One evening my father was seated upon the sofa turning over the leaves’ of the “Court Calendar,” but his thoughts were far away, and the reading of the book failed to produce upon him its usual effect. He was whistling an old march. My mother was silently knitting a woollen waistcoat, and from time to time her tears ran down upon her work. All at once, Maria Ivanovna, who was also at work in the same room, declared that it was absolutely necessary that she should go to St. Petersburg, and she begged of my parents to furnish her with the means of doing so. My mother was very much hurt at this resolution.
“Why do you wish to go to St. Petersburg?” said she. “Is it possible, Maria Ivanovna, that you want to forsake us also?”
Maria replied that her fate depended upon this journey, that she was going to seek help and protection from powerful persons, as the daughter of a man who had fallen a victim to his fidelity.
My father lowered his head; every word that recalled to mind the supposed crime of his son, was painful to him, and seemed like a bitter reproach.
“Go, my child,” he said to her at last with a sigh; “we do not wish to stand in the way of your happiness. May God give you an honest man for a husband, and not an infamous traitor.”
He rose and left the room.
Maria Ivanovna, left alone with my mother, confided to her a part of her plan. My mother, with tears in her eyes, embraced her and prayed to God that her undertaking might be crowned with success. Maria Ivanovna made all her preparations, and a few days afterwards she set out on her road with the faithful Palasha and the equally faithful Savelitch, who, forcibly separated from me, consoled himself at least with the thought that he was serving my betrothed.
Maria Ivanovna arrived safely at Sofia, and learning that the Court was at that time at Tsarskoe Selo, she resolved to stop there. At the post-house, a small recess behind a. partition was assigned to her. The postmaster’s wife came immediately to chat with her, and she informed Maria that she was niece to one of the stove-lighters of the Court, and she initiated her into all the mysteries of Court life. She told her at what hour the Empress usually got up, when she took coffee, and when she went out for a walk; what great lords were then with her; what she had deigned to say the day before at table, and whom she had received in the evening. In a word, the conversation of Anna Vlassievna was as good as a volume of historical memoirs, and would be very precious to the present generation.
Maria Ivanovna listened to her with great attention. They went together into the palace garden. Anna Vlassievna related the history of every alley and of every little bridge, and after seeing all that they wished to see, they returned to the post-house, highly satisfied with each other.
The next day, early in the morning, Maria Ivanovna awoke, dressed herself, and quietly betook herself to the palace garden. It was a lovely morning; the sun was gilding the tops of the linden trees, already turning yellow beneath the cold breath of autumn. The broad lake glittered in the light. The swans, just awake, came sailing majestically out from under the bushes overhanging the banks. Maria Ivanovna walked towards a delightful lawn, where a monument had just been erected in honour of the recent victories gained by Count Peter Alexandrovitch Roumyanzoff.[3]Suddenly a little white dog of English breed ran barking towards her. Maria grew frightened and stood still. At the same moment she heard an agreeable female voice call out:
“Do not be afraid, it will not bite.”
Maria saw a lady seated on the bench opposite the monument. Maria sat down on the other end of the bench. The lady looked at her attentively; Maria on her side, by a succession of stolen glances, contrived to examine the stranger from head to foot. She was attired in a white morning gown, a light cap, and a short mantle. She seemed to be about forty years of age. Her face, which was full; and red, wore an expression of calmness and dignity, and her blue eyes and smiling lips had an indescribable charm about them. The lady was the first to break silence.
“You are doubtless a stranger here?” said she.
“Yes, I only arrived yesterday from the country.”
“Did you come with your parents?”
“No, I came alone.”
“Alone! But you are very young to travel alone.”
“I have neither father nor mother.”
“Perhaps you have come here on some business?”
“Yes, I have come to present a petition to the Empress.”
“You are an orphan: probably you have come to complain of some injustice.”
“No, I have come to ask for mercy, not justice.”
“May I ask you who you are?”
“I am the daughter of Captain Mironoff.”
“Of Captain Mironoff! the same who was Commandant of one of the Orenburg fortresses?”
“The same, Madam.”
The lady appeared moved.
“Forgive me,” said she, in a still kinder voice, “for interesting myself in your business; but I am frequently at Court; explain to me the nature of your request, and perhaps I may be able to help you.”
Maria Ivanovna arose and thanked her respectfully. Everything about this unknown lady drew her towards her and inspired her with confidence. Maria drew from her pocket a folded paper and gave it to her unknown protectress, who read it to herself.
At first she began reading with an attentive and benevolent expression; but suddenly her countenance changed, and Maria, whose eyes followed all her movements, became frightened by the severe expression of that face, which a moment before had been so calm and gracious.
“You are supplicating for Grineff?” said the lady in a cold tone. “The Empress cannot pardon him. He went over to the usurper, not out of ignorance and credulity, but as a depraved and dangerous scoundrel.”
“Oh! it is not true!” exclaimed Maria.
“How, not true?” replied the lady, her face flushing.
“It is not true; as God is above us, it is not true! I know all, I will tell you everything. It was for my sake alone that he exposed himself to all the misfortunes that have overtaken him. And if he did not justify himself before the Commission, it was only because he did not wish to implicate me.”
She then related with great warmth all that is already known to the reader.
The lady listened to her attentively.
“Where are you staying?” she asked, when Maria had finished her story; and hearing that it was with Anna Vlassievna, she added with a smile:
“Ah, I know. Farewell; do not speak to anybody about our meeting. I hope that you will not have to wait long for an answer to your letter.”
With these words she rose from her seat and proceeded down a covered alley, while Maria Ivanovna returned to Anna Vlassievna, filled with joyful hopes.
Her hostess scolded her for going out so early; the autumn air, she said, was not good for a young girl’s health. She brought an urn, and over a cup of tea she was about to begin her endless discourse about the Court, when suddenly a carriage with armorial bearings stopped before the door, and a lackey entered with the announcement that the Empress summoned to her presence the daughter of Captain Mironoff.
Anna Vlassievna was perfectly amazed.
“Good Lord!” she exclaimed: “the Empress summons you to Court. How did she get to know anything about you? And how will you present yourself before Her Majesty, my little mother? I do not think that you even know how to walk according to Court manners.... Shall I conduct you? I could at any rate give you a little caution. And how can you go in your travelling dress? Shall I send to the nurse for her yellow gown?”
The lackey announced that it was the Empress’s pleasure that Maria Ivanovna should go alone and in the dress that she had on. There was nothing else to be done: Maria took her seat in the carriage and was driven off, accompanied by the counsels and blessings of Anna Vlassievna.
Maria felt that our fate was about to be decided; her heart beat violently. In a few moments the carriage stopped at the gate of the palace. Maria descended the steps with trembling feet. The doors flew open before her. She traversed a large number of empty but magnificent rooms, guided by the lackey. At last, coming to a closed door, he informed her that she would be announced directly, and then left her by herself.
The thought of meeting the Empress face to face so terrified her, that she could scarcely stand upon her feet. In about a minute the door was opened, and she was ushered into the Empress’s boudoir.
The Empress was seated at her toilette-table, surrounded by a number of Court ladies, who respectfully made way for Maria Ivanovna. The Empress turned round to her with an amiable smile, and Maria recognized in her the lady with whom she had spoken so freely a few minutes before. The Empress bade her approach, and said with a smile:
“I am glad that I am able to keep my word and grant your petition. Your business is arranged. I am convinced of the innocence of your lover. Here is a letter which you will give to your future father-in-law.”
Maria took the letter with trembling hands and, bursting into tears, fell at the feet of the Empress, who raised her up and kissed her upon the forehead.
“I know that you are not rich,” said she; “but I owe a debt to the daughter of Captain Mironoff. Do not be uneasy about the future. I will see to your welfare.”
After having consoled the poor orphan in this way, the Empress allowed her to depart. Maria left the palace in the same carriage that had brought her thither. Anna Vlassievna, who was impatiently awaiting her return, overwhelmed her with questions, to which Maria returned very vague answers. Although dissatisfied with the weakness of her memory, Anna Vlassievna ascribed it to her provincial bashfulness, and magnanimously excused her. The same day Maria, without even desiring to glance at St. Petersburg, set out on her return journey.
The memoirs of Peter Andreitch Grineff end here. But from a family Tradition we learn that he was released from his imprisonment towards the end of the year 1774 by order of the Empress, and that he was present at the execution of Pougatcheff, who recognized him in the crowd and nodded to him with his head, which, a few moments afterwards, was shown lifeless and bleeding to the people.[4]Shortly afterwards, Peter Andreitch and Maria Ivanovna were married. Their descendants still flourish in the government of Simbirsk. About thirty versts from ----, there is a village belonging to ten landholders. In the house of one of them, there may still be seen, framed and glazed, the autograph letter of Catherine II. It is addressed to the father of Peter Andreitch, and contains the justification of his son, and a tribute of praise to the heart and intellect of Captain Mironoff’s daughter.