“Big trouble, my dears!” Vasilisa Egorovna replied. “The Nizhneozerny fortress was taken this morning. Father Gerasim’s hired man just came back from there. He saw it taken. The commandant and all the officers were hanged. All the soldiers were taken prisoner. Before you notice, the villains will be here.”
The unexpected news shocked me greatly. I knew the commandant of the Nizhneozerny fortress, a quiet and modest young man: some two months earlier he had been passing by from Orenburg with his young wife and put up at Ivan Kuzmich’s. The Nizhneozerny was about sixteen miles from our fortress. At any moment we, too, could expect Pugachev to attack. I vividly pictured Marya Ivanovna’s lot, and my heart sank.
“Listen, Ivan Kuzmich!” I said to the commandant. “Our duty is to defend the fortress to our last breath; that goes without saying. But we must think of the safety of the women. Send them to Orenburg, if the road is still open, or to some safer, more distant fortress that the villains won’t reach.”
Ivan Kuzmich turned to his wife and said:
“See here, dearest. In fact, why don’t we send you farther away, until we’ve dealt with the rebels?”
“Ehh, trifles!” said the commandant’s wife. “Where is there a fortress that hasn’t seen bullets flying? What’s unsafe about Belogorsk? Thank God, it’s twenty-two years we’ve lived in it. We’ve seen the Bashkirs and the Kirghiz; chances are we’ll outsit Pugachev, too!”
“Well, dearest,” Ivan Kuzmich rejoined, “you’re welcome to stay, since you trust in our fortress. But what are we to do with Masha? It’s fine if we sit it out or succor comes; but what if the villains take the fortress?”
“Well, then…” Here Vasilisa Egorovna hesitated and fell silent, looking extremely worried.
“No, Vasilisa Egorovna,” the commandant went on, noticing that his words had had an effect on her, perhaps for the first time in his life. “It won’t do for Masha to stay here. Let’s send her to Orenburg, to her godmother: they have troops and cannon aplenty, and the walls are stone. And I’d advise you to go there with her; never mind that you’re an old woman, just consider what would happen to you if they were to take the fortress by assault.”
“Very well,” said his wife, “so be it, we’ll send Masha off. But don’t dream of asking me to go: I won’t. Nothing will make me part from you in my old age and seek a solitary grave in strange parts somewhere. Together we’ve lived, and together we’ll die.”
“That’s it, then,” said the commandant. “Well, there’s no point in tarrying. Go, prepare Masha for the journey. Tomorrow at dawn we’ll send her off, and we’ll give her an escort, though we have no men to spare. But where is Masha?”
“At Akulina Pamfilovna’s,” his wife replied. “She felt faint when she heard that the Nizhneozerny fortress had been taken; I’m afraid she may fall ill. Lord God, that we’ve lived to see this!”
Vasilisa Egorovna went to busy herself with her daughter’s departure. The conversation at the commandant’s went on; but I no longer entered into it and was not listening. Marya Ivanovna appeared at supper pale and tear-stained. We finished supper in silence and got up from the table sooner than usual; taking leave of the whole family, we went to our homes. But I deliberately forgot my sword and went back for it; I had a feeling I would find Marya Ivanovna alone. Indeed, she met me at the door and handed me my sword.
“Good-bye, Pyotr Andreich!” she said to me in tears. “They’re sending me to Orenburg. May you live and be happy; perhaps the Lord will grant us to see each other again; but if not…”
Here she burst into sobs. I embraced her.
“Farewell, my angel,” I said, “farewell, my dear one, my heart’s desire! Whatever happens to me, trust that my last thought and last prayer will be about you!”
Masha sobbed, clinging to my breast. I kissed her ardently and hurried out of the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Assault
Head of mine, dear head of mine
This my dear long-serving head,
It has served, dear head of mine,
Exactly three and thirty years.
Ah, it has earned, this head of mine,
Naught of profit, naught of joy,
Naught of any kindly word
And naught of any higher rank;
All it has earned, this head of mine,
Is two lofty wooden posts,
A crossbar made of maple wood,
And a simple silken noose.
FOLK SONG
That night I did not sleep, nor did I undress. I intended to go at dawn to the fortress gate, from which Marya Ivanovna was to leave, and there say good-bye to her for the last time. I felt a great change in myself: the agitation of my soul was much less burdensome for me than the dejection I had been sunk in still recently. The sadness of separation mingled in me with vague but sweet hopes, the impatient expectation of danger, and a sense of noble ambition. The night passed imperceptibly. I was about to leave my house when the door opened and a corporal appeared with the report that the Cossacks had left the fortress during the night, taking Yulai with them by force, and that unknown men were riding around the fortress. The thought that Marya Ivanovna would not have time to leave horrified me; I quickly gave the corporal a few instructions and rushed at once to the commandant.
Dawn was breaking. I was flying down the street when I heard my name called. I stopped.
“Where are you going?” asked Ivan Ignatyich, catching up with me. “Ivan Kuzmich is on the rampart and sent me for you. Pugach has come.”
“Has Marya Ivanovna left?” I asked with a trembling heart.
“She didn’t have time,” Ivan Ignatyich replied. “The road to Orenburg has been cut; the fortress is surrounded. Things are bad, Pyotr Andreich!”
We went up to the rampart, an elevation formed by nature and fortified by a palisade. All the inhabitants of the fortress were already crowding there. The garrison stood under arms. The cannon had been moved there the day before. The commandant paced up and down in front of his scanty ranks. The proximity of danger inspired the old warrior with an extraordinary animation. On the steppe, no great distance from the fortress, some twenty horsemen were riding about. They seemed to be Cossacks, but there were also Bashkirs among them, easily recognizable by their lynx hats and their quivers. The commandant made the round of his troops, saying to his soldiers:
“Well, lads, let’s stand today for our mother empress and prove to the whole world that we are brave men faithful to our oath!”
The soldiers loudly voiced their zeal. Shvabrin stood next to me and gazed intently at the enemy. The people riding about on the steppe, noticing movement in the fortress, gathered into a little knot and started talking among themselves. The commandant ordered Ivan Ignatyich to point the cannon at them and put the match to it himself. The cannonball went whizzing over them without doing any damage. The riders, dispersing, galloped out of sight at once, and the steppe was left empty.
Then Vasilisa Egorovna appeared on the rampart, and with her Masha, who did not want to stay behind.
“Well, so?” said the commandant’s wife. “How’s the battle going? Where’s the enemy?”
“The enemy’s not far off,” replied Ivan Kuzmich. “God grant all will be well. What, Masha, are you scared?”
“No, papa,” replied Marya Ivanovna. “It’s scarier at home alone.”
Then she glanced at me and tried to smile. I involuntarily gripped the hilt of my sword, remembering that the day before I had received it from her hands, as if for the protection of my beloved. My heart glowed. I imagined myself as her knight. I longed to prove myself worthy of her trust, and waited impatiently for the decisive moment.
Just then new groups of horsemen appeared from over the rise half a mile from the fortress, and soon the steppe was strewn with a multitude of people, armed with lances and bows. Among them, on a white horse, rode a man in a red kaftan, with a drawn sword in his hand: this was Pugachev himself. He stopped; the men surrou
nded him, and, apparently at his command, four men separated from them and galloped at top speed right up to the fortress. We recognized them as our traitors. One of them held a sheet of paper under his hat; another had Yulai’s head stuck on his lance, which he shook off and threw over the paling to our side. The poor Kalmyk’s head landed at the commandant’s feet. The traitors shouted: “Don’t shoot; come out to the sovereign. The sovereign’s here!”
“I’ll give it to you!” cried Ivan Kuzmich. “Fire, lads!”
Our soldiers loosed a volley. The Cossack holding the letter reeled and fell off his horse; the others galloped back. I looked at Marya Ivanovna. Shocked by the sight of Yulai’s bloody head, deafened by the volley, she seemed to be in a daze. The commandant summoned the corporal and ordered him to take the piece of paper from the dead Cossack’s hand. The corporal went out to the field and came back leading the dead man’s horse by the bridle. He handed the commandant the letter. Ivan Kuzmich read it to himself and then tore it into little pieces. Meanwhile the rebels were evidently preparing for action. Soon bullets began to whistle past our ears and several arrows stuck into the ground and the palings near us.
“Vasilisa Egorovna!” said the commandant. “Women have no business here. Take Masha away. Look: the girl’s more dead than alive.”
Vasilisa Egorovna, grown quiet under the bullets, glanced at the steppe, on which great movement could be seen; then she turned to her husband and said to him:
“Ivan Kuzmich, life and death are as God wills: bless Masha. Masha, go to your father.”
Masha, pale and trembling, went to Ivan Kuzmich, knelt, and bowed to the ground before him. The old commandant crossed her three times; then he raised her up, kissed her, and said in an altered voice:
“Well, Masha, be happy. Pray to God: he won’t abandon you. If a good man comes along, God grant you love and harmony. Live as Vasilisa Egorovna and I have lived. So, farewell, Masha. Vasilisa Egorovna, take her away quickly.”
Masha threw herself on his neck and burst into sobs.
“Let’s us, too, kiss each other,” the commandant’s wife said, weeping. “Farewell, my Ivan Kuzmich. Forgive me if I’ve vexed you in any way!”
“Farewell, farewell, my dearest!” said the commandant, embracing his old woman. “Enough, now! Go, go home; and if you have time, put Masha in a peasant dress.”
The commandant’s wife and daughter went away. I followed Marya Ivanovna with my eyes; she looked back and nodded to me. Then Ivan Kuzmich turned to us, and fixed all his attention on the enemy. The rebels were gathering around their leader and suddenly began to dismount.
“Stand firm now,” said the commandant. “There’ll be an assault…”
Just then a terrible shrieking and shouting rang out; the rebels were rushing towards the fortress. Our cannon was loaded with grapeshot. The commandant let them get as close as possible and suddenly fired again. The grapeshot struck right in the middle of their crowd. The rebels shied away on either side and fell back. Their leader was left alone out in front…He brandished his sword and seemed to be heatedly exhorting them…The shouting and shrieking, which had ceased for a moment, revived again at once.
“Now, lads,” said the commandant, “open the gates, beat the drum. Forward, lads! Into the attack, follow me!”
The commandant, Ivan Ignatyich, and I instantly found ourselves outside the rampart; but the frightened soldiers did not budge.
“Why are you standing there, children?” Ivan Kuzmich shouted. “If we die, we die: it comes with the job!”
Just then the rebels overran us and burst into the fortress. The drumbeat stopped; the garrison dropped their guns; I was knocked off my feet, but I got up and entered the fortress along with the rebels. The commandant, wounded in the head, stood in a little knot of the villains, who were demanding the keys from him. I was just rushing to his aid when several stalwart Cossacks seized me and bound me with belts, repeating all the while: “Ah, you’re going to get it for disobeying the sovereign!” They dragged us down the street; people were coming out of the houses with bread and salt.24 Church bells rang. Suddenly someone in the crowd shouted that the sovereign was in the square, waiting for the prisoners and receiving oaths of allegiance. People thronged towards the square; we, too, were driven there.
Pugachev was sitting in an armchair on the porch of the commandant’s house. He was wearing a red Cossack kaftan trimmed with galloons. A tall sable hat with gold tassels was pulled down to his flashing eyes. His face seemed familiar to me. Cossack chiefs surrounded him. Father Gerasim, pale and trembling, stood by the porch with a cross in his hands and seemed to be silently pleading with him for the soon-to-be victims. A gallows was being hastily set up on the square. When we came closer, the Bashkirs drove the people aside, and we were introduced to Pugachev. The bells stopped ringing; a deep silence ensued.
“Which is the commandant?” asked the impostor. Our sergeant stepped out of the crowd and pointed to Ivan Kuzmich. Pugachev looked menacingly at the old man and said to him:
“How dared you oppose me, your sovereign?”
The commandant, growing faint from his wound, gathered his last strength and replied in a firm voice:
“You are not my sovereign, you are a thief and an impostor, see here!”
Pugachev frowned darkly and waved a white handkerchief. Several Cossacks picked up the old captain and dragged him to the gallows. The mutilated Bashkir whom we had questioned the day before turned up sitting astride the crossbar. He held a rope in his hand, and a moment later I saw poor Ivan Kuzmich hoisted into the air. Then Ivan Ignatyich was brought before Pugachev.
“Swear allegiance,” Pugachev said to him, “to the sovereign Pyotr Feodorovich!”25
“You’re not our sovereign,” Ivan Ignatyich answered, repeating his captain’s words. “You, uncle, are a thief and an impostor!”
Pugachev waved his handkerchief again, and the good lieutenant hung beside his old superior.
It was my turn. I looked boldly at Pugachev, preparing to repeat the response of my noble-hearted comrades. Then, to my indescribable amazement, I saw Shvabrin among the rebel chiefs, his hair in a bowl cut and wearing a Cossack kaftan. He went up to Pugachev and said a few words in his ear.
“Hang him!” said Pugachev, without even glancing at me.
They threw the noose around my neck. I began to recite a prayer to myself, offering God sincere repentance for all my transgressions and asking for the salvation of all who were near to my heart. They dragged me under the gallows.
“Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” repeated my undoers, perhaps truly wishing to hearten me. Suddenly I heard a shout:
“Stop, you fiends, wait!…”
The executioners stopped. I looked: Savelyich was lying at Pugachev’s feet.
“Dear father!” my poor tutor was saying. “What is the death of my master’s child to you? Let him go; you’ll get a ransom for him; and as an example and so as to put fear into people, have them hang my old self instead.”
Pugachev gave a sign, and they unbound me at once and let me go.
“Our father pardons you,” they said to me.
I cannot say that I was glad at that moment of my deliverance, though I also cannot say I regretted it. My feelings were too blurred. They brought me to the impostor again and made me go on my knees before him. Pugachev offered me his sinewy hand.
“Kiss his hand, kiss his hand!” said those around me. But I would have preferred the most cruel punishment to such base humiliation.
“Dearest Pyotr Andreich!” Savelyich whispered, standing behind me and prodding me. “Don’t be stubborn! What is it to you? Spit on it and kiss the vill—…pfui!…kiss his hand.”
I did not stir. Pugachev lowered his hand, saying with a little smirk:
“Seems his honor’s stupefied with joy. Stand him up!”
They stood me up and set me free. I started watching the continuation of the gruesome comedy.
The inhabitants
began to swear allegiance. They went up one after the other, kissed the crucifix, and then bowed to the impostor. The garrison soldiers stood there, too. The company tailor, armed with his dull scissors, cut off their queues. They shook themselves and went up to kiss the hand of Pugachev, who declared them pardoned and received them into his band. All this took about three hours. Finally Pugachev got up from his chair and came down from the porch, accompanied by his chiefs. A white horse adorned with rich harness was brought to him. Two Cossacks took him under the arms and seated him on the saddle. He told Father Gerasim that he would dine with him. Just then I heard a woman’s shout. Several of the brigands dragged Vasilisa Egorovna out to the porch, disheveled and stripped naked. One of them had already managed to dress himself in her warm vest. Others were carrying featherbeds, trunks, tea sets, linen, and all sorts of chattels.
“My dear ones!” the poor old woman cried. “Let me go in peace. Kind people, take me to Ivan Kuzmich.”
Suddenly she glanced at the gallows and recognized her husband.
“Villains!” she cried in frenzy. “What have you done to him? Light of my life, Ivan Kuzmich, my brave soldier! Neither Prussian bayonets nor Turkish bullets could touch you; you laid down your life not in fair combat, but undone by a runaway convict!”
“Silence the old witch!” said Pugachev.
Here a young Cossack struck her on the head with his sword, and she fell dead on the steps of the porch. Pugachev rode off; the people rushed after him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
An Uninvited Guest
An uninvited guest is worse than a Tatar.
PROVERB
The square was deserted. I went on standing in the same place and could not put my thoughts in order, confused as they were by such terrible impressions.
Uncertainty about the fate of Marya Ivanovna tormented me most of all. Where was she? What had happened to her? Had she had time to hide? Was her refuge safe?…Filled with anxious thoughts, I entered the commandant’s house…It was devastated; the chairs, tables, trunks were all broken; the dishes were all smashed; everything was pulled apart. I ran up the little stairway that led to the upper chamber and for the first time in my life entered Marya Ivanovna’s room. I saw her bed ransacked by the brigands; the wardrobe was broken and pillaged; a lamp still flickered before the empty icon stand. The little mirror on the wall between the windows was also intact…Where was the mistress of this humble maiden’s cell? A terrible thought flashed through my mind: I pictured her in the hands of the brigands…My heart was wrung…I wept bitter, bitter tears and loudly uttered the name of my beloved…Just then I heard a slight rustle and Palasha appeared from behind the wardrobe, pale and trembling.
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