Pugachov looked at Shvabrin and said wryly, “A fine little field hospital you’ve got here!” Then he went up to Maria Ivanovna and said, “Tell me, my little dove, what is your husband punishing you for? What have you done to offend him?”
“My husband!” she repeated. “He is not my husband. I shall never be his wife. I would rather die, and I shall die unless I am allowed to go free.”
Pugachov shot a stern look at Shvabrin. “How dare you deceive me? Do you realize what you deserve for this, you wretch?”
Shvabrin sank to his knees. At that moment my feelings of hatred and fury were swallowed up by contempt. The sight of a nobleman at the feet of a renegade Cossack filled me with loathing. Pugachov softened. “I pardon you for now,” he said to Shvabrin, “but if you offend again, this will be remembered against you.” Then he turned to Maria Ivanovna and said gently, “Go free, fair maiden. I grant you your wish. I am the Tsar.”
Maria Ivanovna looked at him again and realized that before her stood her parents’ murderer. She buried her face in her hands and fell to the ground senseless. I rushed to her side, but at that very moment dear Palasha boldly made her way into the room and set about attending to her mistress. Pugachov went out and Shvabrin and I followed him downstairs.
“Well, your Honor?” Pugachov said with a laugh. “We have rescued the fair maiden. What do you think? Hadn’t we better send for the priest now and have him marry you to his niece? I’ll give her away myself if you like, and Shvabrin can be best man. We’ll feast and drink as if there’s no tomorrow—we’ll drink and feast and bid farewell to sorrow!”
My earlier fears had not been groundless; Shvabrin now lost all self-control. “Your Majesty!” he shouted out desperately, “I am at fault, I have lied to you, but Grinyov is also deceiving you. This girl is no priest’s niece; she is the daughter of Ivan Mironov, who was hanged when we captured this fortress.”
Pugachov looked at me with his fiery eyes. “What the devil’s all this?” he asked in bewilderment.
“Shvabrin has told you the truth,” I said resolutely.
“This is something you kept from me,” said Pugachov, and his face darkened.
“Judge for yourself,” I replied. “How could I have told you in front of all your men that Mironov’s daughter was alive? They’d have torn her to pieces. Nothing would have saved her.”
“You’re right there,” Pugachov said with a laugh. “My drunkards would have shown the poor girl no mercy. The priest’s wife did well to deceive them.”
“Listen,” I said, seeing that he had softened. “Who you truly are I don’t know—and I don’t want to know. But as God is my witness, I would be glad to repay you with my life for what you have done for me. Only don’t ask of me what is against my honor and my Christian conscience. You are my benefactor. End as you have begun. Let me and the poor orphan go free, wherever God guides us. And whatever happens to you and wherever you may be, we shall pray to God every day for the redemption of your sinful soul.”
It seemed that Pugachov’s harsh soul was moved by my words. “So be it!” he said. “When I hang a man, I hang him; when I pardon, I pardon. That’s the way I am. Take your sweetheart, go with her where you will and God grant you love and concord!”
Then he turned to Shvabrin and told him to provide me with a letter of safe-conduct for every fortress and picket controlled by their men. In his defeat Shvabrin seemed dumbfounded. Pugachov set off to inspect the fortress. Shvabrin went with him; I stayed behind, saying I needed to prepare for my departure.
I ran back upstairs. The door was bolted. I knocked. “Who’s there?” called Palasha. I answered. From behind the door I heard Maria Ivanovna’s sweet voice: “Wait a moment, Pyotr Andreich. I’m changing my dress. Go over to Akulina Pamfilovna’s—I’ll be there in a moment.”
I did as she said and went to the priest’s house. Both Father Gerasim and his wife ran out to meet me. Savelich had already told them everything. “Greetings, Pyotr Andreich!” said Akulina Pamfilovna. “By God’s grace we meet again. How are you keeping? Not a day has passed but we have remembered you. And to think of all that Maria Ivanovna, the poor darling, has had to go through without you! But tell us, good sir, how come you’ve hit it off so well with that Pugachov? Why didn’t the villain just do away with you? We’ve got that, at least, to thank him for.” “That will do, my dear,” Father Gerasim interrupted. “Don’t let your tongue run away with everything that you know. In many words lies no salvation. Pray come in, dear Pyotr Andreich! It’s been a long, long time since we’ve seen you.”
Akulina Pamfilovna put before me all the food she could find and did not stop talking for a single moment. She told me how Shvabrin had forced them to hand Maria Ivanovna over to them; how Maria Ivanovna had wept and not wanted to leave them; how Maria Ivanovna had kept in touch with them all the time through Palashka (a spirited girl who made even Maximich dance to her tune!); how she herself had advised Maria Ivanovna to write to me, and so on. In return I briefly told them my own story. On learning that Pugachov now knew of their deceit, she and her husband crossed themselves. “The power of the Cross be with us!” said Akulina Pamfilovna. “May the Lord avert this storm cloud! But as for that Shvabrin . . . What a snake!” Just then the door opened and Maria Ivanovna came in, a smile on her pale face. She had taken off her peasant clothes and was dressed as before, simply and sweetly.
I seized her hand and for a long time could not utter a single word. Our hearts were too full for speech. Sensing that they were in the way, our hosts left the room. There was only Maria Ivanovna and I—everything else disappeared. We talked and talked and still could not say all there was to say. Maria Ivanovna told me what had happened to her after the fortress had been taken; she described all the horror of her situation and the ordeals to which she had been subjected by the vile Shvabrin. We also recalled the happy days of the past. We both wept. Eventually I told her my plans. It was, of course, out of the question for her to remain in a fortress subject to Pugachov and under the command of Shvabrin. Neither could I think of taking her to besieged Orenburg. She had not a single relative in the world. I suggested she go and stay with my parents. At first she hesitated, afraid of my father’s hostility. I reassured her. I knew that my father would see it as both a joy and a duty to take in the daughter of an honorable soldier who had given his life for the fatherland. “Darling Maria Ivanovna,” I said. “I look upon you as my wife. Miraculous circumstances have united us. Nothing in the world can separate us.” Maria Ivanovna listened straightforwardly, without the least hint of coyness or feigned protest. She felt that her fate and mine were now one. But she repeated that she would marry me only if my parents agreed. I did not argue with her. We kissed ardently and with true feeling—and so everything was settled between us.
An hour later Maximich brought me a safe-conduct, signed with Pugachov’s scrawls, and said that Pugachov wished to see me. I found him preparing to leave. I cannot describe what I felt as I said goodbye to this villain, a monster of evil in the eyes of everyone except me. But why not tell the truth? At that moment I felt strongly drawn to him. I felt a burning desire to prise him away from the criminals whose leader he was; I wanted to try to save his head before it was too late. Shvabrin and the crowd pressing around us made it impossible for me to give voice to everything that filled my heart.
We parted as friends. Seeing Akulina Pamfilovna in the crowd, Pugachov shook his finger at her and winked knowingly. Then he got into the sleigh and told the driver to return to Berdy. As the horses moved off, he looked out once more and shouted, “Goodbye, your Honor! Maybe we’ll see each other again.” We would indeed see each other again—but in what circumstances!
Pugachov left. I gazed for a long time at the white steppe across which his troika was gliding away. The crowd dispersed. Shvabrin vanished. I returned to Father Gerasim’s. Everything was ready for our departure; I did not want to delay any longer. Our belongings had all been packed into an old sleigh t
hat had belonged to the commandant. The coachmen harnessed the horses in no time at all. Maria Ivanovna went to pay her respects to the graves of her parents, who had been buried behind the church. I wanted to accompany her, but she asked me to allow her to go alone. She came back a few minutes later, weeping silent tears. The sleigh was brought up. Father Gerasim and his wife stood on the porch. Three of us—Maria Ivanovna, Palasha, and I—got into the sleigh. Savelich climbed up beside the driver. “Goodbye, Maria Ivanovna, my darling! Goodbye, Pyotr Andreich, our bright falcon!” said kindhearted Akulina Pamfilovna. “Have a safe journey, and may God grant you both happiness!” We set off. I glimpsed Shvabrin, standing at the little window of the commandant’s house. His face was a picture of black fury. Not wanting to gloat over a defeated enemy, I looked the other way. Then we drove out through the main gate and left Fort Belogorsk forever.
13. ARREST
“Duty, dear sir, requires that I compel
Your Honor to remain within this cell.”
“Duty, of course, is duty—I obey,
But first, dear sir, allow me too my say.”
—KNYAZHNIN [1]
IT WAS hard to believe that I had been so suddenly reunited with the girl I loved and about whom, only that morning, I had felt so deeply troubled; there were moments when I feared that all the events of the day might have been just a dream. Maria Ivanovna gazed abstractedly now at me, now at the road; it was as if she had not yet come back to herself. We were both silent. Our hearts were too exhausted. Two hours slipped by—and we found we had reached the next fortress, which was also in Pugachov’s hands. There we changed horses. The fresh horses were harnessed remarkably quickly and the bearded Cossack whom Pugachov had appointed commandant was unusually eager to oblige; I realized that, thanks to our talkative driver, I was being taken for one of the impostor’s favorites.
We travelled on. It began to get dark. We were approaching a small town where, according to the bearded commandant, we would find a large detachment of soldiers about to join forces with Pugachov. We were stopped by sentries. To the question “Who goes there?” the driver bellowed back, “A trusty friend of the Tsar and his lady!” A crowd of Hussars at once surrounded us, uttering the most terrible curses. “Out you get, trusty friend of Satan!” said a sergeant major with a bushy moustache. “You’re in hot water now—you and your lady friend!”
I got out of the sleigh and demanded to be taken to their commanding officer. Seeing my uniform, the soldiers stopped swearing. The sergeant major took me off to the major on duty. Savelich stuck close by, muttering, “Out of the frying pan and into the fire! So much for the friendship of trusty Tsars! Lord God almighty, whatever next!” The sleigh followed slowly behind us.
After walking for five minutes we came to a small, brightly lit house. The sergeant major left me with the sentries and went in to report. He returned straightaway and informed me that his High Honor had no time to receive me; he had given orders that I should be taken off to the jail while my lady friend was taken in to his High Honor.
“What do you mean?” I shouted furiously. “Is he out of his mind?”
“I cannot know, your Honor,” answered the sergeant major. “All I know is that his High Honor has ordered your Honor to be taken to the gaol and her Honor to be taken in to his High Honor, your Honor.”
I rushed up onto the porch. The sentries made no attempt to restrain me and I ran straight into a room where six Hussar officers were playing faro.[2] The major was dealing. Imagine my surprise when I recognized him immediately: it was Ivan Ivanovich Zurin, the officer who had fleeced me at billiards at the inn in Simbirsk.
“No!” I cried. “Ivan Ivanich! I don’t believe it!”
“Well, I’ll be damned! Pyotr Andreich! Where’ve you sprung from? Welcome, brother! May I deal you a card?”
“Thank you. But I’d rather you found me a billet.”
“What do you mean? You can stay with me.”
“I can’t. I’m not alone.”
“Well, bring your friend along too.”
“I’m not with a friend. I’m with . . . a lady.”
“A lady! Where did you pick her up? Aha, my friend!” Zurin then let out a whistle so very expressive that everyone roared with laughter and I was overcome with confusion.
“All right,” said Zurin. “We’ll find you a billet. A pity, though. We could have lived it up a bit, like we did last time . . . Hey, you there! Why hasn’t Pugachov’s sweetheart been brought in yet? Don’t say she’s playing hard to get! Tell her not to be shy. Say the gentleman’s a right fine fellow and that he’ll do her no harm. And then march her over here!”
“What’s got into you?” I said. “Pugachov’s sweetheart? She’s the daughter of the late Captain Mironov. I rescued her from captivity and am now escorting her to safety. I’m taking her to my father’s estate.”
“What? So it was you they were telling me about just now! Lord have mercy! What on earth’s going on?”
“I’ll explain everything later. But first, for the love of God, go and calm the poor girl. Your Hussars have frightened her out of her wits.”
Zurin immediately took everything in hand. He went out to apologize to Maria Ivanovna for the misunderstanding and ordered the sergeant major to accompany her to the best quarters available. I was to stay the night with Zurin.
We had supper with the other officers. Afterwards, when Zurin and I were alone, I recounted my adventures. Zurin listened attentively. When I finished, however, he shook his head and said, “That’s all very well, my friend, except for one thing. Why the devil do you want to get married? I’m an officer and a man of honor and I have no wish to deceive you. Take it from me: marriage is folly. Why saddle yourself with a wife and end up forever fussing about with babies? To hell with all that! Do as I say and get rid of this captain’s daughter. I’ve cleared the road to Simbirsk; it’s safe now. Tomorrow you can pack her off to your parents while you, my friend, stay here and join my regiment. There’s no point in going back to Orenburg. If the rebels catch you, you won’t get off so lightly a second time. Do as I say: with the girl out of the way, you’ll forget this love nonsense and come back to your senses.”
Although I did not agree with his sentiments, I recognized that duty and honor required my presence in the Empress’s troops. I decided to follow Zurin’s advice; I would send Maria Ivanovna to my parents while I stayed behind and joined his regiment.
Savelich came in to help me undress. I told him to be ready to set off in the morning with Maria Ivanovna. At first he objected. “What do you mean, sir? How can I leave you? Who will take care of you? What will your parents say?”
Knowing Savelich’s obstinacy, I resolved to win him round through candor and gentleness. “My dear friend,” I began, “dear Arkhip Savelich, do not refuse me. You will be doing me a great kindness. I don’t need a servant here, and I should have no peace of mind were Maria Ivanovna to continue her journey without you. By serving her, you will be serving me too, for I am firmly resolved to marry her as soon as circumstances allow.”
Savelich threw up his hands in astonishment. “Marry her!” he repeated. “The child wants to marry! But what will your dear father say? What will your dear mother think?”
“They will give their consent,” I said. “Once they know Maria Ivanovna, they’re sure to give their consent. And I’m counting on you too. Father and Mother trust you. You will intercede on our behalf, won’t you?”
The old man was moved. “Dear Pyotr Andreich,” he replied, “dear master, it’s early days for you to be thinking of wedlock, but then Maria Ivanovna is such a kind young lady that it would be a sin not to seize the chance while it’s there. I shall do as you wish. I shall go with her, the sweet angel of God, and humbly inform your parents that a bride like her has no need of a dowry.”
I thanked Savelich, then went to bed in the same room as Zurin. Excited and overwrought as I was, I could not stop talking. At first Zurin answered readily enough, bu
t his answers grew shorter and less coherent until he ended up responding to one of my questions with a snore and a whistle. I fell silent and was soon asleep myself.
The following morning I went to Maria Ivanovna and told her my plans. She saw their good sense and at once agreed with me. Zurin’s regiment was to leave the town that same day; having little time to spare, I said goodbye to Maria Ivanovna there and then, entrusting her to Savelich and handing her a letter for my parents. Maria Ivanovna began to cry. “Farewell, Pyotr Andreich!” she said softly. “Only God knows if we shall see each other again, but I shall never forget you. Until my dying day you—and you alone—will live in my heart.” I was unable to say a word in reply. There were people all around and I did not want to give way to my feelings in the presence of strangers. At last she and Savelich drove off. I returned to Zurin’s quarters, silent and downcast. He wanted to cheer me up and I was glad to be distracted; after a riotous and noisy day, we set off with the regiment in the evening.
It was the end of February. Winter, which had made military operations difficult, was drawing to an end, and our generals were preparing for concerted action. Pugachov was still laying siege to Orenburg, but detachments of our troops were joining forces around him and closing in on his stronghold from all sides. The mere sight of our troops was enough to bring mutinous villages to heel; armed bands fled at our approach; everything presaged a swift and happy conclusion to the campaign.
Soon Prince Golitsyn routed Pugachov at Fort Tatishchev, [3] relieved Orenburg, and dealt the rebellion what seemed like a final, decisive blow. Zurin’s regiment, in the meantime, had been sent out against a band of rebel Bashkirs who fled before we even set eyes on them. Spring besieged us in a small Tatar village. The rivers were in flood and the roads impassable. We consoled ourselves during our forced confinement with the thought that this tedious and trivial war against brigands and wild tribesmen would soon be over.
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