I was inscribed as a sergeant of the Séménofski guards at a very early
age. I was entrusted to the care of one of my father’s serfs, named
Savéliitch. He taught me to read and write, and was very indignant
when he learned that a Frenchman was to be conveyed back to the estate
with the annual provision of wine and oil from Moscow. “Nobody can say
that the child has not been well fed, well combed, and well washed,”
murmured old Savéliitch; “why then spend money on a Frenchman, while
there are plenty of native servants in the house!”
M. Beaupré came and engaged himself to teach me French, German, and
all the sciences; but he made me teach him my native language, and
taught me many things that did me little good. He was fond of brandy,
and was, as I was told, too ardent an admirer of ladies. I remember
only that one day, when my respected tutor was lying upon his bed in a
hopeless state of drunkenness, and I was cutting up a map of Moscow for
a kite, my father entered the room, boxed my ears, and turned moussié
out of the house, to the great joy of Savéliitch, and to my sorrow. My
education being thus brought to a sudden close, I amused myself until I
had completed my sixteenth year, in playing at leap-frog, and watching
my mother make her exquisite preparations of honey, when one day my
father said to my mother:
“Avdotia Vassiliéva, what age is Pétroucha?”
“He has just entered his seventeenth year. Pétroucha was born the same
year that Nastasia Garasimova lost her eye, and--”
“Well, well,” my father replied, “he starts for his regiment to-morrow.”
My mother burst into tears, and I jumped for joy.
“Don’t forget, André Pétrovitch,” said my mother to my father, who was
writing my letter of introduction, “to remember me to Prince B----, and
to bid him show every kindness to Pétroucha.”
“Pétroucha is not going to St. Petersburg,” my father replied. I was
heart-broken. I had dreamed of nothing but St. Petersburg. When my
father had finished the letter, he turned to me and said:
“This letter is addressed to André Karlovitch, my old companion in
arms. He is at Orenberg, and you will join him there.” The kibitka was
at the door. The servants had stowed away in it a tea-service, and
pies of different sorts tied up in cloths. My parents gave me their
blessing. My father said to me, “Good bye, Pierre; serve your Empress
with fidelity; obey your superiors, don’t seek favours from them; and
remember the proverb, ‘Take care of your coat while it is new, and
of your honour while it is white.’” A hare-skin touloup, or cape, was
thrown about me, and over it a fox-skin cloak. Thus equipped, I took my
seat in the kibitka, and left my parents, accompanied by Savéliitch.
We arrived that night at Simbirsk, where I committed my first folly
by losing one hundred roubles at billiards, while Savéliitch was out,
executing some orders from home with which he had been entrusted. I
lost this sum to Ivan Lowrine, a captain of hussars. On this occasion
I also became intoxicated for the first time. Savéliitch hastened my
departure the following morning, and reluctantly paid my losses. I
promised him that, henceforth, I would not spend a single kopek without
his consent.
We travelled rapidly; and, as we approached our destination, the
country became a measureless waste, covered with snow. Presently, the
coachman, taking off his hat, asked me anxiously whether we should not
return; and, pointing to a white cloud far in the east, said, “That is
the bourane!”
I had heard of the bourane, and I knew that it sometimes buried whole
caravans of travellers. I knew it to be a tremendous cloud of snow, out
of which few people, once fairly in it, ever made their way. But this
one seemed to me to be a long way off, so I told the coachman to drive
forward. We went at full gallop. The wind rose rapidly, however; the
little white cloud became a huge moving snow mountain; very fine flakes
began to fall about us; then the wind howled, and in a few minutes we
could not see an inch beyond our noses. It was, in truth, the bourane.
The horses stopped; the snow began to bury us; Savéliitch began to
scold; the coachman played nervously with the horses’ harness--and no
house could be seen. We had begun to believe we should be soon buried
alive, when we suddenly perceived a black object near us, which we were
afraid was a wolf, but which turned out to be a man. We asked our way;
he replied that he knew the country under ordinary circumstances, but
could not distinguish anything then. Suddenly he cried, “Turn to the
left--there you will find a house: I smell the smoke.”
The coachman managed to whip the horses into unusual exertion, and we
presently reached a hut lighted by a loutchina (a deal stick which
serves for a candle). The ornaments of the little room into which we
were ushered were a carbine and a Cossack hat. The Cossack host got us
some tea; and then I inquired for a guide. Some one called out from a
recess that he was cold, for he had pawned his touloup the day before,
for brandy. I offered him a cup of tea, and he advanced to drink it. He
was a remarkable fellow in appearance: tall, with very broad shoulders.
He wore a black beard, and short hair; his eyes were restless and
large; the expression of his face was, at times agreeable, at times
malicious. He preferred brandy to tea; and, having held a mysterious
conversation with the host, he retired for the night. I did not like
the look of affairs; the hut was in the middle of the steppe--very
lonely, and very like the meeting-place for thieves.
But we were not robbed; and, the following morning, as we left to
proceed on our journey, I gave my hare-skin touloup, much against my
servant’s wish, to the guide who had led us to the house. The guide
was grateful, and promised that if ever he could be of service to
me I should be served. At that time the promise seemed sufficiently
ridiculous.
We arrived without further adventure at Orenberg, where I presented
my letter to the general, who received me kindly, and then sent
me to serve, under the orders of Captain Mirinoff, in the fort of
Bélogorsk. This did not please me. The fort was a wretched little
village, surrounded by palisades. I stopped before a little wooden
house, which, I was informed, was the commandant’s. I entered. In
the antechamber I found an old man, seated upon a table, occupied in
sewing a blue patch upon one of the elbows of a green uniform. He
beckoned me into the inner chamber. It was a clean little room, with
an officer’s commission, neatly framed, hanging against the wall, and
rude prints surrounding it. In one corner of the room an old lady, with
a handkerchief bound round her head, was unwinding some thread from
the hands of a little old man with only one eye, who wore an officer’s
uniform. The old lady, on seeing me, said:
“Ivan Kourmitch is not at home; but I am his wife. Be good enough to
love us, and take a seat, my little father.”
I obeyed, and the old lady sent for her subaltern, the ouriadnik. While
the servant was gone, the lady and the officer both questioned me, and
judged that it was for some offence that I was sent to Bélogorsk. The
lady informed me that Chvabrine, an officer at Bélogorsk, had been sent
thither for duelling. The ouriadnik appeared, and was a fine specimen
of a Cossack officer.
“Quarter Piote Andréïtch,” said the old lady, “upon Siméon Kouroff. The
fellow let his horse break into my garden.”
These, my quarters, looked out upon the dreary steppe. The next
morning a little fellow, with a remarkably vivacious appearance,
came to see me. I found that he was Chvabrine, the duellist. His
lively conversation amused me, and we went together that day to the
commandant’s house to dinner. As we approached it I saw about twenty
little old invalids, wearing long tails, and three-cornered hats,
ranged in order of battle. The commandant, a tall, hale old man,
dressed in a cotton nightcap and a morning gown, was reviewing this
terrible force. He spoke some civil words to me, and we left him to
complete his military duties. When we arrived at his house, we found
the old one-eyed man and Palachka laying the cloth. Presently, the
captain’s daughter, Marie, made her appearance. Chvabrine had described
her to me as a very foolish person. She was about sixteen years of age,
had a fine fresh colour, and was very bashful.
I did not think much of her that day. She blushed terribly when her
mother declared that all she could bring her husband in the way
of wealth was a comb and a few kopeks. We talked chiefly of the
possibility of standing a siege from the Bachkirs; and the commandant
declared that if such a siege occurred he would teach the enemy a
terrible lesson. I thought of the twenty invalids, and did not feel
quite so confident on the subject.
Ivan Kourmitch and his wife Vassilissa were very kind to me, and
received me as one of the family. I liked the little one-eyed officer;
I became more intimate with Marie.
Father Garasim and his wife Akoulina I was also glad to meet, almost
daily, at the commandant’s house. But I soon disliked Chvabrine. He
talked lightly and slightingly of Marie, and even of Vassilissa. One
day, however, I read to him some amorous verses I had written; he saw
at once, and truly, that they were addressed to Marie. He ridiculed
them mercilessly, and told me that if I wished to win the love of Marie
I had only to give her a pair of ear-rings. I flew into a passion, and
asked him how he dared to take away the character of the commandant’s
daughter. He replied, impertinently, that he spoke of her from
personal experience. I told him to his teeth that he lied. He demanded
satisfaction.
I went to the one-eyed officer--whom I found threading mushrooms for
Vassilissa--to ask him to act as second. But he declined. In the
evening I was at the commandant’s house; and thinking that night that
it might be my last, as my duel with Chvabrine was to be early on the
morrow, Marie appeared dearer to me than ever. Chvabrine came, and
behaved so insolently that I could hardly wait until the morrow.
I was to my time, the next morning, behind a haystack; Chvabrine was
also punctual. We had just stripped our coats off, when the one-eyed
officer appeared with five invalids, and marched us off in custody.
Vassilissa ordered us to give up our swords, and told Palachka to take
them up into the loft; for, in truth, Vassilissa was the commandant
of Bélogorsk. She then ordered Ivan Kourmitch to put us in opposite
corners of the rooms, and to feed us on bread and water until we
repented. Marie was very pale. After a stormy discussion, however, our
swords were restored to us, and I parted with my adversary: feigning
reconcilement, but secretly agreeing to meet again when the affair had
quite blown over. The next night I had an opportunity of talking alone
with Marie Ivanovna; and I learned from her--how she blushed as she
told me!--that Chvabrine had proposed marriage to her, but that she had
refused him. This information explained to me the fellow’s measured
scandal. I burned to meet him again.
I had not to wait long. The next day, as I was biting my pen, thinking
of a rhyme in an elegy I was composing, the very fellow tapped at my
window. I understood him; seized my sword; engaged with him; and fell
presently--wounded in the shoulder, and insensible.
When I became once more conscious, I found myself in a strange bed,
Savéliitch by my side, and--Marie Ivanovna also. She asked me tenderly
how I felt? Savéliitch, faithful fellow, cried out:
“Thanks to Heaven he recovers, after four days of it!”
But Marie interrupted him, and begged him not to disturb me with his
loud exclamations. I seized her hand, and she did not withdraw it.
Presently I felt her burning lips upon my forehead. I asked her then to
become my wife. She begged me to calm myself, if only for her sake, and
left me.
Although the barber of the regiment was my only medical adviser, I soon
recovered. I and Marie were engaged; but she doubted whether my parents
would consent. This doubt I could not help sharing; but the letter I
wrote to my father on the subject appeared to both of us so tender and
convincing, that we felt certain of its success, and gave ourselves up
to the happy dreams of lovers.
I found that Chvabrine was a prisoner in the corn-warehouse, and that
Vassilissa had his sword under lock and key. I obtained his pardon
from the captain; and, in my happiness at tracing his wretched calumny
to offended pride, forgave him. My father, in answer to my appeal,
refused my prayer, and informed me that I should soon be removed from
Bélogorsk. He also wrote to Savéliitch, and called him “an old dog,”
for not having taken better care of me.
I went straight to my mistress. She was bitterly distressed, but
adjured me to follow the will of Heaven, and submit. She would never
marry me, she declared, without the benediction of my parents, and from
that day she avoided me.
This was towards the end of the year seventeen hundred and
seventy-three. The inhabitants of the vast and fertile province of
Orenberg had only lately acknowledged the sovereignty of the Czar, and
were yet discontented, and full of revolutionary ideas. Every month
some little insurrection bubbled up. To suppress this harassing state
of things, the imperial government had erected fortresses in various
parts of the province, and quartered therein Cossack soldiers. These
Cossacks in their turn became turbulent; and the severe measures
adopted by General Traubenberg to reduce the army to obedience ended
in his cruel murder, and a rising that cost much blood. By severe
imperial punishments this rising had been suppressed; and it was only
some time after my arrival at Bélogorsk that the authorities perceived
how ineffectual their cruel punishments had been.
One evening when I was sitting alone in my room, thinking of doleful
things, I was sent for by the commandant. I found him in consultation
with Chvabrine, Ivan Ignatiitch, and the ouriadnik of the Cossacks.
Neither Marie nor her mother appeared. The subject of our conference
was the rising of the Cossacks under Pougatcheff, and his assumption
of the style and title of Peter the Third. The commandant had received
orders to be on his guard; and, if possible, to exterminate the enemy.
Putting on his spectacles, he began to bustle about, and to issue
orders to have the cannon cleaned; and to have the Cossacks kept true
to the imperial cause.
The ouriadnik had already deserted to the rebel’s camp. A Bachkir
had been taken prisoner, with seditious papers upon his person. This
prisoner, had been bound and secured in the commandant’s loft; and it
was resolved that he should be conducted before us, and be subjected to
the torture, in order to extract from him a description of his leader’s
strength.
The commandant had scarcely ordered the Bachkir into his presence,
when Vassilissa rushed into the chamber, and cried out that the rebels
had taken the fortress of Nijnéosern, had hanged all the officers, and
were now marching upon Bélogorsk. I thought of Marie, and trembled;
but my energy increased with the occasion, and I at once advised
the commandant to send the ladies to Orenberg. But Vassilissa would
not hear of this. She declared that she would live and die with
her husband, but that she thought Marie should be sent away; and
that evening--the last Marie might possibly spend at Bélogorsk--the
supper-table was surrounded by gloomy faces; and no face I think, was
gloomier than mine. We parted early, but I contrived to forget my
sword, that I might have an excuse for returning to bid Marie good-bye
alone. When I returned, I clasped her in my arms; she sobbed bitterly;
and thus we parted. I went home, and, without undressing myself, lay
down to sleep.
I was aroused by the entrance of the corporal, who came to announce
to me that the Cossack soldiers had all deserted the fortress, and
that bands of strange men surrounded us. I thought, with horror, that
Marie’s retreat was cut off. Having given some necessary orders to the
bearer of this unwelcome news, I hurried off to the commandant’s house,
as the day was dawning. On the way I was met by Ivan Ignatiitch, who
told me that the commandant was already upon the ramparts, and that
it was too late for the commandant’s daughter to be safely conveyed
to Orenberg. Terribly agitated, I followed the one-eyed officer to
that little eminence protected by a pallisade, which was the only
fortification of Bélogorsk. The captain was arranging his soldiers
in order of battle. In the dreary distance of the steppe, I could
plainly see the Cossacks and the Bachkirs. The commandant ordered Ivan
Ignatiitch to point the cannon upon the enemy, and the soldiers all
vowed that they would fight to the death.
Presently, as the enemy began to advance in a compact mass, Vassilissa,
accompanied by Marie, who would not leave her mother, appeared, to know
how affairs stood. Marie’s pale face was turned upon me, and I burned
to prove to her that I had a brave spirit worthy of her love. In the
midst of the advancing enemy, Pougatcheff, the renowned rebel leader,
could be distinguished, mounted upon a white horse. In a few minutes
four horsemen advanced from the main body, and rode close up to the
ramparts. They were four traitors from the fortress. They called upon
us not to resist. The captain replied by a volley which killed one
of the four, and the rest rode back to join the advancing army. The
balls now began to whistle about us; and at this moment the commandant
ordered Vassilissa and Marie to withdraw. The old man blessed his
child, embraced his wife, and bade her put a sarafan upon Marie, lest
she should require it; the sarafan being the rich robe in which the
dead are buried. The pale girl came back to make to me the sign of a
last farewell, and then went away with her mother.
The fall of the fortress was soon accomplished. Our soldiers would not
fight (though they had very much affected me when they swore to do
it), but threw down their arms after the first assault. We were taken
prisoners, and dragged by the triumphant rebels through the streets, to
an open place, where Pougatcheff was seated surrounded by his officers.
He was handsomely dressed; and, as I caught a glimpse of his face
through the crowd, I thought it was one I had seen before. Pougatcheff
ordered the commandant to swear fidelity to him as his lawful czar.
Ivan Kourmitch replied with a defiance. Pougatcheff fluttered a white
handkerchief in the air, and in a few moments our poor commandant was
swinging from a gibbet. Ivan Ignatiitch shared his commander’s fate:
and then my turn came. I was ready to follow my brave brother officers;
when Chvabrine, who had found time to cut his hair short and provide
himself with a Cossack caftan, to desert to the enemy, whispered
something in the chief’s ear. Pougatcheff, without looking at me, said,
“Hang him at once!”
The rope was round my neck, and my thoughts were with Heaven, when I
was suddenly released. I found that Savéliitch had thrown himself at
the chief’s feet, and told him that a large sum would be paid for my
ransom. I was put aside, and remained a horrified spectator of the
scenes which ensued. A Cossack killed Vassilissa with his sword, at
the foot of her husband’s gibbet, and then Pougatcheff went to Father
Garasim’s to dinner. I rushed to the commandant’s house to find Marie;
there every room had been ransacked. Presently, however, I found
Palachka, and she told me that the commandant’s daughter was at Father
Garasim’s house. Wild with terror I rushed thither, for it was to be
the scene of Cossack revels. I asked for the father’s wife; and she
told me that she had passed Marie off as her niece. The poor girl was
safe. I returned home hastily, passing groups of rebels engaged in the
work of pillage.
Savéliitch asked me whether I did not remember Pougatcheff. I did not.
He was surprised; and reminded me of the drunken fellow to whom I had
given my touloup on my way to Orenberg. He was right; that drunken
wanderer was now the successful rebel-chief, and I understood the mercy
that had been extended to me. But I was much troubled. I could not
make up my mind to leave Marie; yet I knew that my duty to my country
forbade me to remain in the midst of a rebel camp. While I was thinking
deeply of these opposite calls upon my conduct, a Cossack arrived
to take me once more before his chief, at the commandant’s house,
where I found Pougatcheff seated at a table covered with bottles, and
surrounded by eight or ten Cossack officers. The wine had already
excited them. Chvabrine and the rebel ouriadnik, who had deserted with
the Cossacks from the fort, were of the party.
Pougatcheff welcomed me heartily, and bade his officers make place
for me at the banqueting table. I sat down in silence. Here, on the
previous night, I had taken leave of Marie.
All were on good terms and quite free with their chief. A march upon
Orenberg having been arranged, the officers retired. I was about to
follow them, when Pougatcheff bade me remain. When we were alone, he
burst into a fit of laughter; telling me he had spared me because of my
kindness to him when he was hiding from his enemies, and that now, if I
would serve him, he would heap favours upon me. He asked me to tell him
frankly whether or not I believed him to be the Czar. I was firm, and
told him that he was too clever to believe me, even if I were capable
of telling him a lie to serve my purpose. He promised to make me
field-marshal if I would remain with him. I replied that I had sworn to
serve the Empress; and that, if he wished to do me a favour, he would
provide me with an escort to Orenberg. I told him that my life was in
his hands, but that I would neither serve him nor promise not to bear
arms against him. He behaved well, and said I should be free.
Next morning I found Pougatcheff surrounded by his officers, throwing
money to the crowd. He beckoned me to approach, told me to leave
instantly for Orenberg, and to tell the garrison to expect him in a
week. If they threw open the gates to him they would be well treated:
if they resisted they must expect terrible consequences. He then turned
to the crowd, and, to my horror, presented Chvabrine to them as their
future governor! Chvabrine! Marie’s traducer!
When Pougatcheff had left the square, I hastened to Father Garasim’s
house to learn that Marie was in a fever and quite delirious. I rushed
to her room--how changed she was! She did not know me. How could I
leave the poor orphan at Bélogorsk while Chvabrine remained governor?
Suddenly, however, I thought that I might make all haste to Orenberg
and return with a strong force, drive the rebels away, and claim my
bride. I seized the poor girl’s burning hand, kissed it, took leave of
her good protectors, and was soon on my way, determined not to lose a
moment.
As we approached Orenberg we saw the state prisoners with their shaven
heads and disfigured faces, hard at work upon the fortifications. I was
conducted direct to the general, who was lopping the fruit trees in the
garden. I related to him the misfortunes of Bélogorsk, and pressed for
help. He replied that there would be a council of war in the evening,
and that he would be happy to see me at it. I was there punctually.
A cup of tea was given to each guest, after which the general called
upon all present to deliberate upon the state of affairs. The question
was, should the Imperial troops act on the offensive or defensive?
He declared that he should require an opinion from each individual;
and, as usual, he should begin by asking the opinion of the junior
officers. He then turned to me. I stated that the rebels were not in
a condition to resist a disciplined army, and therefore urged the
propriety of acting vigorously on the offensive: hereupon a little
civil functionary, who was taking his third cup of tea with the help of
an admixture of rum, suggested that operations should be confined to an
offer of seventy or one hundred roubles for the head of Pougatcheff.
Every voice was for defensive measures; and, when all present had
delivered their opinions, the general, tapping the ashes out of his
pipe, declared that he was of the same opinion as the ensign. I looked
proudly about me; but the conclusion of the general’s speech turned
the triumph to the side of my opponents, for this gallant old soldier
declared that he could not assume the responsibility of acting against
the decision of the majority; therefore, preparations must be made for
a siege, and we must depend upon the fire of the artillery, and the
force of vigorous sorties. I returned to my quarters in a state of
wretched despondency. Poor Marie!
Pougatcheff was true to his message. He appeared before Orenberg
with a considerable force, and the siege lasted long--with various
fortune--until the people within the walls were almost starving. One
day when some of our cavalry had dispersed a strong body of Cossacks,
I was about to dispatch a loiterer with my Turkish sword, when he
raised his hat and saluted me by name. I recognised the ouriadnik of
Bélogorsk. He had a letter for me--I tore it open--it was from Marie.
It informed me that she was the forced occupant of Chvabrine’s house,
and that within three days she would be compelled to marry him or be at
his mercy. The girl implored me to fly to her succour.
Almost mad, I spurred my horse, rode at full gallop to the general’s
house, threw myself without ceremony into his room, and asked him to
give me a battalion of soldiers and fifty Cossacks to drive the rebels
out of Bélogorsk. The old soldier began to argue the matter coolly.
This exasperated me, and I told him that the daughter of our late
valiant commander was in the hands of Chvabrine, and that he was about
to force her to marry him. The general thought that she might be very
happy with him for a time, and that afterwards, when he had shot him on
the ramparts of Orenberg, it would be time enough for me to marry the
charming widow. There was no hope of softening the old man. I wandered
away in despair. Out of this despair, grew a desperate resolution.
I resolved to leave Orenberg and go alone to Bélogorsk. Savéliitch
tried in vain to dissuade me from my purpose, but without effect. I
mounted my horse and rode briskly past the sentinels, out of Orenberg,
followed by my faithful servant: who was mounted upon a lean horse,
which one of the besieged had given him, having no more food for it. We
rode hard; but night had closed in when we approached the great ravine
where the main body of the rebels, under Pougatcheff, were encamped.
Suddenly four or five lusty fellows surrounded me. I struck at the
first with my sword--putting spurs to my horse, at the same time, and
so escaped; but Savéliitch was overpowered, and, returning to help
him, I was overpowered too, and through the darkness of that terrible
night, led before the rebel chief that his guard might know whether
they should hang me at once or wait till daylight. I was conducted at
once to the isbâ, which was called the czar’s palace. This imperial
hut was lighted by two tallow candles, and was furnished like any
common isbâ, except that the walls were finely papered. Pougatcheff,
surrounded by his officers, recognised me at once, and bade all his
attendants retire, except two, one of whom was a prisoner escaped from
Siberia. This man’s face was hideously disfigured; his nose had been
cut off, and his forehead and cheeks branded with red-hot irons. I told
my business frankly, and Pougatcheff declared that the oppressor of
the orphan should be hanged. But his officers dissuaded him, and one
of them suggested that he should try the effects of a little torture
upon me. Pougatcheff then questioned me as to the state of Orenberg;
and, although I knew that the people were dying of hunger, I declared
that it was excellently provisioned. This reply suggested to one of
the chief’s confidential friends, the propriety of having me hanged,
as an impertinent liar. But Pougatcheff was a generous enemy, and made
me declare to him that the commandant’s daughter was my betrothed, and
then he bade his officers prepare supper for us, saying that I was an
old friend of his. I would have willingly avoided the festivity, but it
was impossible; and I saw two little Cossack girls enter to spread the
cloth, sadly enough. I ate my fish soup almost in silence.
The festivity was continued until all present were more or less
intoxicated, and until Pougatcheff had fallen asleep in his seat. I
was then conducted to the place in which I was to sleep, and was there
locked up for the night. On the following morning I found a crowd
surrounding a kibitka, in which Pougatcheff was seated. He beckoned
me to a seat beside him, and to my astonishment shouted to the stout
Tartar driver, “To Bélogorsk!” The kibitka slipped quickly over the
snow. In a few hours I should see my beloved Marie.
We drew up, after a rapid journey, before the old commandant’s house.
Chvabrine hastened out to meet his sovereign; but was troubled when
he saw me. Pougatcheff entered the house, drank a glass of brandy,
then asked about Marie. Chvabrine said she was in bed. His chief then
ordered the traitor to conduct us to her room. The fellow did so, but
hesitated at her door,--pretended to have lost the key--then said that
the girl was delirious. Pougatcheff forced the door with his foot;
and, to my inexpressible horror I saw my dear betrothed lying upon
the floor, in coarse peasant clothing, with bread and water before
her. She shrieked when she saw me. Pougatcheff asked her what her
husband had been doing to her; but she replied vehemently that she was
not his wife, and never would be. Pougatcheff turned furiously upon
Chvabrine, and Chvabrine, to my disgust, fell upon his knees at the
rebel chief’s feet. Then Pougatcheff told Marie that she was safe; but
she recognised in him the murderer of her father and closed her eyes in
horror. However, he made Chvabrine write a safe-conduct for Marie and
me through all the provinces under the control of his followers; and
then he went out to inspect the fortifications. I was left alone, and
presently Marie came to me, with a smile upon her pale face, dressed in
her own becoming clothes.
We enjoyed the tenderness of our meeting for a time in silence; but
presently I told her my plan--how that it was impossible for her
to accompany me to Orenberg, where starvation was playing terrible
ravages;--how I had arranged that Savéliitch should conduct her to my
father’s house. Remembering my father’s letter, she hesitated; but, at
length, my arguments prevailed. In an hour my safe-conduct arrived.
We followed in a few hours, travelling in an old carriage that had
belonged to Marie’s father, Palachka being in attendance upon Marie.
A little after nightfall we arrived at a small town which we believed
to be in the possession of the rebels; but, on giving Pougatcheff’s
pass-word to the sentinels, we were instantly surrounded by Russian
soldiers, and I was hurried off to prison. I demanded an interview
with the commanding officer; but this was refused; and I was told the
major had ordered Marie to be taken to him. Blind with fury, I rushed
past the sentinels direct into the major’s room, where I found him
gambling with his officers. In a moment I recognised him,--as the
commander--Lowrine, who had lightened my purse at Simbirsk.
He received me with a hearty greeting, and began to rally me about my
travelling companion; but my explanations quieted his raillery, and he
went to make his excuses to Marie for his rude message, and to provide
her with the best lodging the town afforded. I supped with Lowrine
that night, and agreed to do my duty, by joining his troop at once,
and sending my betrothed on to Simbirsk, under the care of Savéliitch.
Savéliitch had many objections, but I overpowered them; and Marie shed
many tears, but I kissed them away before we parted.
The vigorous operations of the following spring brought many reverses
to Pougatcheff; at last he was taken. I jumped for joy. I should
clasp my beloved Marie once more in my arms. Lowrine laughed at my
extravagant delight.
I was about to depart for my father’s house when Lowrine entered my
room, and showed me an order for my arrest, and safe conveyance to
Kazan, to give evidence against Pougatcheff. This drove me nearly mad
with disappointment. There was no evasion to be thought of, and I was
escorted on my way to Kazan, between two hussars with drawn swords. I
found this place almost in ashes. Here I was at once placed in irons,
and locked up in a wretched cell. But my conscience was tranquil, for
I had resolved to tell the simple truth about my transactions with
Pougatcheff.
On the day after my arrival I appeared before the council. In reply
to the questions of my judges--who were evidently prejudiced against
me--I told every fact as it had occurred, until I came to Marie, when
I suddenly thought that to name her would be to ruin her. I hesitated
and was silent. I was then confronted with another prisoner--Chvabrine!
He lied my life away; swore that I had been a spy in the service of
Pougatcheff, and we were both conducted back to prison.
Meantime, my father had received Marie kindly, and both my parents
soon loved her. She explained to them the innocence of my connexion
with the rebel chief, and they laughed at my adventures; until one day
they received a letter from their relation, Prince Banojik, telling
them that I had been convicted; but that, through his interference, my
punishment was commuted to perpetual exile in Siberia.
My parents were stricken with grief, and Marie, with the soul of a
heroine, started with Palachka and the faithful Savéliitch for St.
Petersburg. She heard that the Court was at the summer palace of
Tzarskoïé-Selo; and, with the assistance of the wife of a tradesman
who served the Empress, gained access to the Palace gardens. Here she
met a very agreeable lady, to whom she told her story, mentioning how
I suffered because I would not even divulge her own name to exculpate
myself. This lady listened attentively, and then promised to take care
that the petition on my behalf should be presented to the Empress. A
few hours afterwards, Marie was summoned before the Empress herself, in
whom she recognised the lady she had met in the garden, and I received
my pardon; the Empress being convinced that I was innocent.