She went pale in her turn. Having read it, she gave me back the letter with a trembling hand and said in a trembling voice:
“Clearly, it’s not my fate…Your parents don’t want me in their family. The Lord’s will be done in everything! God knows what we need better than we do. There’s nothing to be done, Pyotr Andreich. May you at least be happy…”
“This will not be!” I cried, seizing her by the hand. “You love me; I’m ready for anything. Let’s go and throw ourselves at your parents’ feet. They’re simple people, not hard-hearted and proud…They’ll give us their blessing; we’ll get married…and then, in time, I’m sure we’ll win my father over; mother will be for us; he’ll forgive me…”
“No, Pyotr Andreich,” Masha replied, “I won’t marry you without your parents’ blessing. Without their blessing there will be no happiness for you. Let us submit to God’s will. If you find the one who is meant for you, if you come to love another—God be with you, Pyotr Andreich; and you will both be in my…”
Here she began to weep and left me. I wanted to follow her inside, but felt that I was in no condition to control myself and went home.
I was sitting plunged in deep thought when Savelyich suddenly interrupted my reflections.
“Here, sir,” he said, handing me a sheet of paper covered with writing. “See whether I’m an informer on my master and am trying to make trouble between father and son.”
I took the paper from him: it was Savelyich’s reply to the letter he had received. Here it is word for word:
Gracious master and father, Andrei Petrovich!
I have received your gracious letter, in which you are pleased to be angry with me, your bondsman, for the shame of my not fulfilling my master’s orders; but I, not an old dog, but your faithful servant, do obey my master’s orders and have always served you zealously and have lived to be gray-haired. I did not write you anything about Pyotr Andreich’s wound, so as not to frighten you needlessly, and I hear that the mistress, our mother, Avdotya Vasilievna, has taken to her bed from fright even so, and I will pray to God for her health. And Pyotr Andreich was wounded under the right shoulder, in the chest just under the bone, two inches deep, and he lay in the commandant’s bed, where we brought him from the riverbank, and he was treated by the local barber, Stepan Paramonov; and now, thank God, Pyotr Andreich is well, and there is nothing to write about him except good things. The superiors, I hear, are pleased with him, and Vasilisa Egorovna treats him like her own son. And the boy should not be reproached for such a mishap: a horse has four legs, and still he stumbles. And you were pleased to write that you would send me to herd swine, and so be it by your lordly will. With my servile respects,
Your faithful serf,
Arkhip Savelyevich
I could not help smiling several times, reading the good old man’s letter. I was in no condition to write a reply to my father; and Savelyich’s letter seemed enough to reassure my mother.
From then on my situation changed. Marya Ivanovna hardly spoke to me and tried in every way to avoid me. The commandant’s house became hateful to me. I gradually accustomed myself to sitting at home alone. At first Vasilisa Egorovna chided me for that; but, seeing my persistence, she left me in peace. I saw Ivan Kuzmich only when the service called for it. I met Shvabrin rarely and reluctantly, the more so as I noticed in him a concealed animosity towards me, which confirmed me in my suspicions. My life became unbearable to me. I fell into a dark brooding, nourished by loneliness and inactivity. My love flared up in solitude and became more and more hard to bear. I lost the appetite for reading and literature. My spirits sank. I was afraid I would either go mad or throw myself into dissipation. Unexpected events, which were to have a significant influence on my whole life, suddenly gave my soul a strong and salutary shock.
CHAPTER SIX
The Pugachev Rebellion
You young striplings, listen well
To what we oldsters have to tell.
A SONG
Before I set out to describe the strange events I was witness to, I must say a few words about the situation in which the province of Orenburg found itself at the end of 1773.
This vast and rich province was inhabited by a multitude of half-savage peoples, who had only recently recognized the sovereignty of the Russian emperors. Their constant insurrections, unfamiliarity with law and civic life, light-mindedness and cruelty, demanded constant surveillance on the part of the government to keep them in obedience. Fortresses had been built in places considered suitable, and were occupied for the most part by Cossacks, longtime inhabitants of the banks of the Yaik. But the Yaik Cossacks themselves, whose duty it was to safeguard the peace and security of the region, had for some time been troublesome and dangerous subjects for the government. In 1772 there was an insurrection in their main town. It was caused by the strict measures taken by Major General Traubenberg19 to reduce the army to proper obedience. The result was the barbarous murder of Traubenberg, a high-handed change of regime, and, finally, the putting down of the rebellion by cannon fire and severe punishments.
This happened a short time before my arrival at the Belogorsk fortress. Everything was already quiet, or seemed so; the authorities trusted all too easily in the sham repentance of the cunning rebels, who nursed their malice in secret and awaited a good opportunity for renewed upheavals.
I return to my story.
One evening (it was at the beginning of October 1773) I was sitting at home alone, listening to the howling of the autumn wind and looking through the window at the clouds racing past the moon. They came to summon me on behalf of the commandant. I went at once. At the commandant’s I found Shvabrin, Ivan Ignatyich, and the Cossack sergeant. Neither Vasilisa Egorovna nor Marya Ivanovna was in the room. The commandant greeted me with a preoccupied air. He shut the door, had us all sit down—except for the sergeant, who stood by the door—took a paper from his pocket, and said to us: “Gentlemen officers, important news! Listen to what the general writes.”
Then he put on his spectacles and read the following:
To Captain Mironov, commandant of the Belogorsk fortress.
Confidential.
I hereby inform you that the fugitive Don Cossack and schismatic Emelyan Pugachev, having committed the unpardonable impudence of taking upon himself the name of the late emperor Peter III,20 has gathered a band of villains, stirred up an insurrection in the villages of the Yaik region, and already taken and ravaged several fortresses, carrying out robberies and murders everywhere. As a result, Captain, upon receipt of this, you are immediately to take appropriate measures for repulsing the said villain and impostor, and, if possible, for his total annihilation, in case he moves against the fortress entrusted to your care.
“Take appropriate measures,” said the commandant, removing his spectacles and folding the paper. “That’s easy enough to say. The villain seems to be strong; and we have all of a hundred and thirty men, not counting the Cossacks, who are none too trusty—no offense intended, Maximych.” (The sergeant grinned.) “However, there’s nothing to be done, gentlemen! Do your duty, set up sentries and a night watch; in case of attack, lock the gate and muster your men. You, Maximych, keep a sharp eye on your Cossacks. Inspect the cannon and clean it well. And, above all, keep the whole thing secret, so that nobody in the fortress learns of it ahead of time.”
Having given these orders, Ivan Kuzmich dismissed us. I went out together with Shvabrin, discussing what we had just heard.
“How do you think it will end?” I asked him.
“God knows,” he replied. “We’ll find out. For the time being I don’t see it as anything important. But if…”
Here he became thoughtful and started absentmindedly whistling a French air.
In spite of all our precautions, news of Pugachev’s appearance spread through the fortress. Ivan Kuzmich had great respect for his wife, but not for anything in the world would he have revealed to her a secret entrusted to him by the service. On receivi
ng the general’s letter, he had contrived to send Vasilisa Egorovna away, telling her that Father Gerasim had received some remarkable news from Orenburg, which he was keeping in great secrecy. Vasilisa Egorovna immediately wanted to go and visit the priest’s wife, and, on Ivan Kuzmich’s advice, took Masha along with her, so that she would not be bored alone.
Ivan Kuzmich, left in full control, at once sent for us and locked Palashka in the storeroom, so that she could not overhear us.
Vasilisa Egorovna came home, having failed to find out anything from the priest’s wife, and learned that during her absence Ivan Kuzmich had held a meeting and that Palashka had been locked up. She realized that her husband had tricked her and accosted him with questions. But Ivan Kuzmich was prepared for the attack. He was not put out in the least and cheerfully answered his inquisitive consort:
“You know, dearest, our womenfolk took it into their heads to heat their stoves with straw; and since that could lead to disaster, I gave strict orders that in future our womenfolk heat their stoves, not with straw, but with brushwood and fallen branches.”
“And why did you have to lock up Palashka?” asked his wife. “Why was the poor girl left sitting in the storeroom till we came back?”
Ivan Kuzmich was not prepared for such a question; he became muddled and muttered something quite incoherent. Vasilisa Egorovna saw her husband’s perfidy; but knowing that she would get nothing out of him, she broke off her questions and started talking about pickled cucumbers, which Akulina Pamfilovna prepared in a totally unusual way. Vasilisa Egorovna could not sleep all night and simply could not figure out what was in her husband’s head that she was not allowed to know.
The next day, coming back from church, she saw Ivan Ignatyich pulling out of the cannon rags, gravel, wood chips, knucklebones, and all sorts of trash that the children had stuffed into it.
“What might these military preparations mean?” the commandant’s wife thought. “Are they expecting an attack from the Kirghiz? Can it be that Ivan Kuzmich would conceal such trifles from me?”
She called Ivan Ignatyich with the firm intention of wheedling out of him the secret that tormented her feminine curiosity.
Vasilisa Egorovna made several observations to him concerning household matters, like a judge who begins an investigation with unrelated questions, so as to put the defendant off guard. Then, after a few moments’ silence, she sighed deeply and said, shaking her head: “Lord God! Such news! What will come of it?”
“Eh, dear lady!” Ivan Ignatyich replied. “God is merciful, we’ve got enough soldiers, plenty of powder, and I’ve cleaned the cannon. Maybe we’ll fend off Pugachev. If God doesn’t forget us, the pigs won’t get us.”
“And what sort of man is this Pugachev?”asked the commandant’s wife.
Here Ivan Ignatyich realized that he had made a gaffe and bit his tongue. But it was too late. Vasilisa Egorovna forced him to confess everything, giving him her word that she would not tell anybody.
Vasilisa Egorovna kept her promise and did not say a word to anybody, except for the priest’s wife, and then only because her cow grazed on the steppe and could be seized by the villains.
Soon everybody was talking about Pugachev. The rumors varied. The commandant sent the Cossack sergeant out, charging him to thoroughly reconnoiter the surrounding villages and fortresses. The sergeant came back in two days and reported that on the steppe, about forty miles from the fortress, he had seen many lights, and he had heard from the Bashkirs that an unknown force was coming. However, he could not say anything definite, because he had been afraid to go on further.
In the fortress an unusual agitation could be noticed among the Cossacks; they clustered everywhere in little groups, talked softly among themselves, and dispersed on seeing a dragoon or a garrison soldier. Spies were sent among them. Yulai, a baptized Kalmyk, brought important intelligence to the commandant. The sergeant’s information, according to Yulai, was false: on his return, the cunning Cossack told his comrades that he had gone to the rebels, had presented himself to their leader in person, who had allowed him to kiss his hand and talked at length with him. The commandant immediately put the sergeant under guard and appointed Yulai in his place. The Cossacks received this news with obvious displeasure. They murmured loudly, and Ivan Ignatyich, who carried out the commandant’s order, with his own ears heard them say: “You’re going to get it, you garrison rat!” The commandant intended to question his prisoner that same day; but the sergeant escaped from the guard, probably with the help of his accomplices.
A new circumstance increased the commandant’s anxiety. A Bashkir was seized with inflammatory leaflets. On this occasion the commandant again intended to gather his officers and for that again wanted to send Vasilisa Egorovna away on some plausible pretext. But since Ivan Kuzmich was a most straightforward and truthful man, he found no other way than the same one he had already employed.
“See here, Vasilisa Egorovna,” he said, clearing his throat, “they say Father Gerasim has received from town…”
“Enough nonsense, Ivan Kuzmich,” his wife interrupted. “So you want to call a meeting and talk about Emelyan Pugachev without me; but this time you won’t pull it off!”
Ivan Kuzmich goggled his eyes.
“Well, dearest,” he said, “since you know everything, you might as well stay; we’ll talk with you here.”
“That’s the way, my dear,” she replied. “You’re no good at trickery. Send for the officers.”
We gathered again. Ivan Kuzmich, in the presence of his wife, read to us Pugachev’s proclamation, written by some semiliterate Cossack. The brigand announced his intention to go at once against our fortress; he invited the Cossacks and the soldiers to join his band, and exhorted the commanders to put up no resistance, threatening them with execution otherwise. The proclamation was written in crude but forceful language and was bound to make a dangerous impression on the minds of simple people.
“What a fraud!” exclaimed the commandant’s wife. “How dare he make us such offers! To go out to him and lay our banners at his feet! Ah, the son of a dog! Doesn’t he know we’ve already been forty years in the service and, thank God, seen it all? Can such commanders be found as would listen to the brigand?”
“Seems like there shouldn’t be,” Ivan Kuzmich replied. “Yet they say the villain has already taken many fortresses.”
“He must be really strong, then,” observed Shvabrin.
“We’ll soon see just how strong he is,” said the commandant. “Vasilisa Egorovna, give me the key to the shed. Ivan Ignatyich, bring that Bashkir and tell Yulai to fetch us a whip.”
“Wait, Ivan Kuzmich,” said his wife, getting up. “Let me take Masha away somewhere; she’ll hear the screams and get frightened. And, to tell the truth, I’m no lover of interrogations either. Good-bye and good luck.”
In the old days torture was so ingrained in legal procedure that the beneficial decree that abolished it long remained without any effect.21 The thinking was that a criminal’s own confession was necessary for his full conviction—an idea not only without foundation, but totally contrary to juridical common sense: for if a criminal’s denial is not accepted as proof of his innocence, still less should his confession be proof of his guilt. Even now I sometimes hear old judges regretting the abolition of this barbaric custom. But in our day nobody doubted the necessity of torture, neither the judges, nor the accused. And so, the commandant’s order neither surprised nor alarmed any of us. Ivan Ignatyich went for the Bashkir, who sat locked in Vasilisa Egorovna’s shed, and a few minutes later the prisoner was led into the front hall. The commandant ordered that he be brought before him.
The Bashkir stepped across the threshold with difficulty (he was in clogs) and, taking off his tall hat, stopped by the door. I looked at him and shuddered. Never will I forget this man. He looked to be over seventy. He had no nose or ears. His head was shaved; instead of a beard several gray hairs stuck out; he was short, skinny, and bent; but
his narrow eyes still flashed fire.
“Aha!” said the commandant, recognizing by his terrible marks one of the rebels punished in 1741.22 “It’s clear you’re an old wolf—you’ve visited our traps. Must be this isn’t your first rebellion, since your nob’s been planed so smooth. Come closer; tell us, who sent you?”
The old Bashkir said nothing and looked at the commandant with a totally vacant air.
“Why are you silent?” Ivan Kuzmich went on. “Or maybe you don’t have a lick of Russian? Yulai, ask him in your language who sent him to our fortress.”
Yulai repeated Ivan Kuzmich’s question in Tatar. But the Bashkir looked at him with the same expression and answered not a word.
“Yakshi,”*3 said the commandant, “you’ll speak to me yet. Hey, lads! Take off his stupid stripy robe and hemstitch his back. Look to it, Yulai: give it to him good!”
Two veterans began to undress the Bashkir. The poor man’s face showed anxiety. He looked all around like a little animal caught by children. But when one of the veterans took his arms, put them around his neck, and raised the old man onto his shoulders, while Yulai took the whip and swung it—then the Bashkir moaned in a weak, pleading voice, and, wagging his head, opened his mouth, in which, instead of a tongue, a short stump twitched.
When I recall that this happened in my lifetime and that I have now lived to see the mild reign of the emperor Alexander,23 I cannot help marveling at the rapid success of enlightenment and the spread of the principles of humanity. Young man, if my notes find themselves in your hands, remember that the best and most lasting changes are those that proceed from the improvement of morals, without any violent upheavals.
We were all shocked.
“Well,” said the commandant, “it’s clear we won’t get any sense out of him. Yulai, take the Bashkir back to the shed. And we, gentlemen, still have a thing or two to talk over.”
We had begun to discuss our situation, when Vasilisa Egorovna suddenly came in, breathless and looking extremely alarmed.
Novels, Tales, Journeys: The Complete Prose of Alexander Pushkin Page 34
