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  A young Cossack hit her on the head with his saber and she fell dead on the steps. Pugachov rode away; the people rushed after him.

  VIII

  AN UNBIDDEN GUEST

  An unbidden guest is worse than a Tatar.

  A PROVERB

  THE SQUARE emptied. I was still standing there, unable to collect my thoughts, confused by the terrible impressions of the day.

  Uncertainty as to Marya Ivanovna’s fate tortured me most. Where was she? What had happened to her? Had she had time to hide? Was her refuge secure? Full of anxious thoughts I entered the Commandant’s house. All was empty; chairs, tables, boxes had been smashed, crockery broken; everything had been taken. I ran up the short stairway that led to the top floor and for the first time in my life entered Marya Ivanovna’s room. I saw her bed pulled to pieces by the brigands; the wardrobe had been broken and pillaged; the sanctuary lamp was still burning before the empty ikon stand. The little mirror that hung between the windows had been left, too…. Where was the mistress of this humble virginal cell? A terrible thought flashed through my mind: I imagined her in the brigands’ hands … my heart sank…. I wept bitterly and called aloud my beloved’s name…. At that moment I heard a slight noise and Palasha, pale and trembling, appeared from behind the wardrobe.

  “Ah, Pyotr Andreyich!” she cried, clasping her hands. “What a day! What horrors!”

  “And Marya Ivanovna?” I asked impatiently. “What has happened to her?”

  “She is alive,” Palasha answered; “she is hiding in Akulina Pamfilovna’s house.”

  “At the priest’s!” I cried, in horror. “Good God! Pugachov is there!”

  I dashed out of the room, instantly found myself in the street and ran headlong to the priest’s house, not seeing or feeling anything. Shouts, laughter, and songs came from there…. Pugachov was feasting with his comrades. Palasha followed me. I sent her to call out Akulina Pamfilovna without attracting attention. A minute later the priest’s wife came into the entry to speak to me, with an empty bottle in her hands.

  “For God’s sake, where is Marya Ivanovna?” I asked, with inexpressible anxiety.

  “She is lying on my bed there, behind the partition, poor darling,” the priest’s wife answered. “Well, Pyotr Andreyich, we very nearly had trouble, but thank God, all passed off well: the villain had just sat down to dinner when she, poor thing, came to herself and groaned. I simply gasped! He heard. ‘Who is it groaning there, old woman?’ he said. I made a deep bow to the thief: ‘My niece is ill, sire, she has been in bed for a fortnight.’ ‘And is your niece young?’ ‘She is, sire.’ ‘Show me your niece, old woman.’ My heart sank, but there was nothing for it. ‘Certainly, sire; only the girl cannot get up and come into your presence.’ ‘Never mind, old woman, I will go and have a look at her myself.’ And, you know, the wretch did go behind the partition. What do you think? He drew back the curtain, glanced at her with hawk’s eyes—and nothing happened…. God saved us! But, would you believe it, both my husband and I had prepared to die a martyr’s death. Fortunately the dear girl did not know who he was. Good Lord, what things we have lived to see! Poor Ivan Kuzmich! Who would have thought it! And Vasilisa Yegorovna! And Ivan Ignatyich! What did they hang him for? How is it you were spared? And what do you think of Shvabrin? You know, he cropped his hair like a Cossack and is sitting here with them feasting! He is a sharp one, there’s no gainsaying! And when I spoke about my sick niece, his eyes, would you believe it, went through me like a knife; but he hasn’t betrayed us, and that’s something to be thankful for.”

  At that moment the drunken shouts of the guests were heard, and Father Gerasim’s voice. The guests were clamoring for more drink and the priest was calling his wife. Akulina Pamfilovna was in a flutter.

  “You go home now, Pyotr Andreyich,” she said. “I haven’t any time for you; the villains are drinking. It might be the end of you if they met you now. Good-bye, Pyotr Andreyich. What is to be, will be; I hope God will not forsake us!”

  The priest’s wife left me. I set off to my lodgings feeling somewhat calmer. As I passed through the market place I saw several Bashkirs, who crowded round the gallows, pulling the boots off the hanged men’s feet; I had difficulty in suppressing my indignation, but I knew that it would have been useless to intervene. The brigands were running about the fortress, plundering the officers’ quarters. The shouts of the drunken rebels resounded everywhere. I reached my lodgings. Savelyich met me at the threshold.

  “Thank God!” he cried, when he saw me. “I was afraid the villains had seized you again. Well, Pyotr Andreyich, my dear! Would you believe it, the rascals have robbed us of everything: clothes, linen, crockery—they have left nothing. But there! Thank God they let you off with your life! Did you recognize their leader, sir?”

  “No, I didn’t; why, who is he?”

  “What, sir? You have forgotten that drunkard who took the hareskin jacket from you at the inn? The coat was as good as new, and the brute tore it along the seams as he struggled into it!”

  I was surprised. Indeed, Pugachov had a striking resemblance to my guide. I felt certain Pugachov and he were the same person and understood the reason for his sparing me. I could not help marveling at the strange concatenation of circumstances: a child’s coat given to a tramp had saved me from the gallows, and a drunkard who had wandered from inn to inn was besieging fortresses and shaking the foundations of the State!

  “Won’t you have something to eat?” asked Savelyich, true to his habit. “There is nothing at home; I will look about and prepare something for you.”

  Left alone, I sank into thought. What was I to do? It was not fitting for an officer to remain in a fortress that belonged to the villain or to follow his gang. It was my duty to go where my services could be of use to my country in the present trying circumstances…. But love prompted me to stay by Marya Ivanovna to protect and defend her. Although I had no doubt that things would soon change, I could not help shuddering at the thought of the danger she was in.

  My reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a Cossack, who had run to tell me that “the great Czar was asking for me.”

  “Where is he?” I said, making ready to obey.

  “In the Commandant’s house,” the Cossack answered. “After dinner our father went to the bathhouse and now he is resting. Well, your honor, one can see by everything that he is a person of importance: at dinner he was pleased to eat two roast suckling pigs, and he likes the bathhouse so hot that even Taras Kurochkin could not stand it—he passed on the birch to Fomka Bikbaev, and had to have cold water poured over him. There’s no denying it, all his ways are so grand…. And they say, in the bathhouse, he showed them the royal marks on his breast: on one side the two-headed eagle, the size of a penny, and on the other his own likeness.”

  I did not think it necessary to dispute the Cossack’s opinion and, together with him, went to the Commandant’s house, trying to picture my meeting with Pugachov and wondering how it would end. The reader may well guess that I was not altogether calm.

  It was growing dusk when I reached the Commandant’s house. The gallows, with its victims, loomed menacingly in the dark. Poor Vasilisa Yegorovna’s body was still lying at the bottom of the steps, where two Cossacks were mounting guard. The Cossack who had brought me went to announce me and, returning at once, led me into the room where the night before I had taken such tender leave of Marya Ivanovna.

  An extraordinary scene was before me. Pugachov and a dozen Cossack elders, wearing colored shirts and caps, were sitting round a table covered with a cloth and littered with bottles and glasses; their faces were flushed with drink and their eyes glittered. Neither Shvabrin nor our sergeant—the freshly recruited traitors—were among them.

  “Ah, your honor!” said Pugachov, when he saw me, “come and be my guest; here is a place for you, you are very welcome.”

  The company made room for me. I sat down at the end of the table without speaking. My neighbor, a slim
and good-looking young Cossack, poured out a glass of vodka for me, which I did not touch. I looked at my companions with curiosity. Pugachov sat in the place of honor leaning on the table, his black beard propped up with his broad fist. His features, regular and rather pleasant, had nothing ferocious about them. He often turned to a man of fifty, addressing him sometimes as Count, sometimes as Timofeich, and occasionally calling him uncle. They all treated one another as comrades and showed no particular deference to their leader. They talked of the morning’s attack, of the success of the rising, and of the plans for the future. Everyone boasted, offered his opinion, and freely argued with Pugachov. At this strange council of war it was decided to go to Orenburg: a bold move which was very nearly crowned with disastrous success! The march was to begin the following day.

  “Well, brothers,” Pugachov said, “let us have my favorite song before we go to bed. Chumakov, strike up!”

  My neighbor began in a high-pitched voice a mournful boatmen’s song and all joined in:

  “Murmur not, mother-forest of rustling green leaves,

  Hinder not a brave lad thinking his thoughts,

  For tomorrow I go before the judgment seat,

  Before the dreaded judge, our sovereign Czar,

  And the Czar, our lord, will ask me:

  Tell me now, good lad, tell me, peasant’s son,

  With whom didst thou go robbing and plundering,

  And how many were thy comrades bold?

  I shall tell thee the whole truth and naught but truth.

  Four in number were my comrades bold:

  My first trusty comrade was the dark night,

  And my second true comrade—my knife of steel,

  And my third one was my faithful steed,

  And the fourth one was my stout bow,

  And my messengers were my arrows sharp.

  Then our Christian Czar will thus speak to me:

  Well done, good lad, thou peasant’s son!

  Thou knowest how to rob and to answer for it,

  And a fine reward is in store for thee—

  A mansion high in the open plain,

  Two pillars and a cross-beam I grant thee.”

  I cannot describe how affected I was by this peasant song about the gallows, sung by men doomed to the gallows. Their menacing faces, their tuneful voices, the mournful expression they gave to the words, expressive enough in themselves—it all thrilled me with a feeling akin to awe.

  The guests drank one more glass, got up from the table, and took leave of Pugachov. I was about to follow them when Pugachov said to me: “Sit still, I want to talk to you.”

  We were left alone. We were both silent for a few minutes; Pugachov was watching me intently, occasionally screwing up his left eye with an extraordinary expression of slyness and mockery. At last he laughed with such unaffected gaiety that, as I looked at him, I laughed, too, without knowing why.

  “Well, your honor?” he said to me. “Confess you had a bit of a fright when my lads put your head in the noose? I expect the sky seemed no bigger than a sheepskin to you…. And you would have certainly swung if it had not been for your servant. I knew the old creature at once. Well, did you think, your honor, that the man who brought you to the inn was the great Czar himself?” (He assumed an air of mystery and importance.) “You are very much at fault,” he continued, “but I have spared you for your kindness, for your having done me a service when I had to hide from my enemies. But this is nothing to what you shall see! It’s not to be compared to the favor I’ll show you when I obtain my kingdom! Do you promise to serve me zealously?”

  The rascal’s question and his impudence struck me as so amusing that I could not help smiling.

  “What are you smiling at?” he asked, with a frown. “Don’t you believe I am the Czar? Answer me plainly.”

  I was confused. I felt I could not acknowledge the tramp as Czar: to do so seemed to me unpardonable cowardice. To call him an impostor to his face meant certain death; and what I was ready to do under the gallows, in sight of all the people and in the first flush of indignation, now seemed to me useless bravado. I hesitated. Pugachov gloomily awaited my reply. At last (and to this day I recall that moment with self-satisfaction) the feeling of duty triumphed over human weakness. I said to Pugachov: “Listen, I will tell you the whole truth. Think, how can I acknowledge you as Czar? You are an intelligent man; you would see I was pretending.”

  “Who, then, do you think I am?”

  “God only knows; but whoever you may be, you are playing a dangerous game.”

  Pugachov threw a swift glance at me.

  “So you don’t believe,” he said, “that I am the Czar Peter III? Very well. But there is such a thing as success for the bold. Didn’t Grishka Otrepyev‖ reign in the old days? Think of me what you like, but follow me. What does it matter to you? One master is as good as another. Serve me truly and faithfully, and I’ll make you Field Marshal and Prince. What do you say?”

  “No,” I answered firmly. “I am a gentleman by birth; I swore allegiance to the Empress: I cannot serve you. If you really wish me well, let me go to Orenburg.”

  Pugachov was thoughtful.

  “And if I let you go,” he said, “will you promise, at any rate, not to fight against me?”

  “How can I promise that?” I answered. “You know yourself I am not free to do as I like; if they send me against you, I shall go, there is nothing for it. You yourself are a leader now; you require obedience from those who serve under you. What would you call it if I refused to fight when my service was required? My life is in your hands; if you let me go, I will thank you; if you hang me, God be your judge; but I have told you the truth.”

  My sincerity impressed Pugachov.

  “So be it,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “I don’t do things by halves. Go wherever you like and do what you think best. Come tomorrow to say good-bye to me and now go to bed; I, too, am sleepy.”

  I left Pugachov and went out into the street. The night was still and frosty. The moon and the stars shone brightly, shedding their light on the square and the gallows. In the fortress all was dark and quiet. Only the tavern windows were lighted and the shouts of late revelers came from there. I looked at the priest’s house. The gates and shutters were closed. All seemed quiet there.

  I went home and found Savelyich grieving for my absence. The news of my freedom delighted him more than I can say.

  “Thanks be to God!” he said, crossing himself. “We shall leave the fortress as soon as it is light and go straightaway. I have prepared some supper for you, my dear; have something to eat and then sleep peacefully till morning.”

  I followed his advice and, having eaten my supper with great relish, went to sleep on the bare floor, exhausted both in mind and body.

  IX

  THE PARTING

  Sweet it was, O dear heart,

  To meet and learn to love thee.

  But sad it was from thee to part—

  As though my soul fled from me.

  KHERASKOV

  EARLY IN the morning I was wakened by the drum. I went to the square. Pugachov’s crowds were already forming into ranks by the gallows, where the victims of the day before were still hanging. The Cossacks were on horseback, the soldiers under arms. Banners were flying. Several cannon, among which I recognized ours, were placed on their carriages. All the inhabitants were there, too, waiting for the impostor. A Cossack stood at the steps of the Commandant’s house, holding a beautiful white Kirghiz horse by the bridle. I searched with my eyes for Vasilisa Yegorovna’s body. It had been moved a little to one side and covered with a piece of matting. At last Pugachov appeared in the doorway. The people took off their caps. Pugachov stood on the steps and greeted them all. One of the elders gave him a bag of coppers and he began throwing them down in handfuls. The crowd rushed to pick them up, shouting; some were hurt in the scramble. Pugachov was surrounded by his chief confederates. Shvabrin was among them. Our eyes met; he could read
contempt in mine, and he turned away with an expression of sincere malice and feigned mockery. Catching sight of me in the crowd, Pugachov nodded and beckoned to me.

  “Listen,” he said to me. “Go at once to Orenburg and tell the Governor and all his generals from me that they are to expect me in a week. Advise them to meet me with childlike love and obedience, else they will not escape a cruel death. A pleasant journey to you, your honor!”

  Then he turned to the people and said, pointing to Shvabrin: “Here, children, is your new Commandant. Obey him in everything, and he will be answerable to me for you and the fortress.”

  I heard these words with horror; Shvabrin was put in command of the fortress; Marya Ivanovna would be in his power! My God! What would become of her? Pugachov came down the steps. His horse was brought to him. He quickly jumped into the saddle without waiting for the Cossacks to help him. At that moment I saw my Savelyich step out of the crowd and hand Pugachov a sheet of paper. I could not imagine what this would lead to.

  “What is this?” Pugachov asked, with an air of importance.

  “Read and you will see,” Savelyich answered.

  Pugachov took the paper and gazed at it significantly for a few moments.

  “Why do you write so illegibly?” he said at last. “Our bright eyes can make nothing of it. Where is my chief secretary?”

  A young man in a corporal’s uniform at once ran up to Pugachov.

  “Read it aloud,” said the impostor, giving him the paper. I was extremely curious to know what Savelyich could have written to Pugachov. The chief secretary began reading aloud, syllable by syllable: “Two dressing gowns, one cotton and one striped silk, worth six rubles.”

  “What does this mean?” Pugachov asked, with a frown.

  “Tell him to read on,” Savelyich answered calmly.

  The chief secretary continued: “A uniform coat of fine green cloth, worth seven rubles. White cloth trousers, worth five rubles. Twelve fine linen shirts with frilled cuffs, worth ten rubles. A tea set worth two and a half rubles….”