“What’s the meaning of this?” I cried in fury. “Is he out of his mind?”
“It’s not for me to know, Your Honor,” the sergeant replied. “It’s just that his high honor ordered that Your Honor be taken to jail and her honor be taken to his high honor, Your Honor!”
I dashed up to the porch. The sentries did not think of holding me back, and I ran straight into the room, where some six hussar officers were playing faro. The major was keeping the bank. What was my amazement when, glancing at him, I recognized Ivan Ivanovich Zurin, who once upon a time had beaten me at billiards in the Simbirsk inn!
“Can it be?” I cried. “Ivan Ivanych! Is it you?”
“Well, well, well, Pyotr Andreich! What wind blows you here? Where from? Greetings, brother. Want to stake on a card?”
“Thanks. Better tell them to show me to some quarters.”
“What quarters? Stay with me.”
“I can’t: I’m not alone.”
“Well, bring your comrade here, too.”
“I’m not with a comrade; I’m…with a lady.”
“A lady! Where did you pick her up? Ho-ho, brother!” (With those words Zurin whistled so expressively that they all burst out laughing, and I became completely embarrassed.)
“Well,” Zurin continued, “so be it. You’ll have your quarters. A pity, though…We could have feasted a bit like the old days…Hey, boy! Why don’t they bring Pugachev’s lady friend? Or is she holding back? Tell her not to be afraid, the master’s a fine gentleman, he won’t do her any harm—and give her a good shove.”
“What do you mean?” I said to Zurin. “What Pugachev’s lady friend? She’s the daughter of the late Captain Mironov. I rescued her from captivity, and I’m now accompanying her to my father’s estate, where I will leave her.”
“How’s that? So you’re the one they just reported to me? Good Lord, what does it mean?”
“I’ll tell you everything later. But now, for God’s sake, reassure the poor girl; your hussars have frightened her badly.”
Zurin saw to it at once. He went out himself to apologize to Marya Ivanovna for the unintentional misunderstanding and ordered the sergeant to take her to the best quarters in town. I spent the night at his place.
We had supper, and when the two of us were left alone, I told him my adventures. Zurin listened to me with great attention. When I finished, he shook his head and said:
“That’s all very good, brother; just one thing isn’t good: why the devil do you want to get married? As an honest officer, I don’t want to deceive you: believe me, marriage is folly. I mean, why go bothering with a wife and fussing with little kids? Ah, spit on it. Listen to me: unhitch yourself from the captain’s daughter. I’ve cleared the road to Simbirsk and it’s safe. Send her to your parents tomorrow on her own; and you stay with my detachment. There’s no need for you to go back to Orenburg. If you wind up in the hands of the rebels again, it’s unlikely you’ll shake them off a second time. This way your amorous folly will go away by itself, and all will be well.”
Although I did not entirely agree with him, nevertheless I felt that the duty of honor demanded my presence in the empress’s army. I decided to follow Zurin’s advice: to send Marya Ivanovna to the estate and stay in his detachment.
Savelyich came to help me undress; I told him that the next day he should be ready to travel with Marya Ivanovna. He began to protest.
“What do you mean, sir? How can I abandon you? Who will take care of you? What will your parents say?”
Knowing my tutor’s stubbornness, I decided to persuade him by means of gentleness and sincerity.
“My dear friend Arkhip Savelyich!” I said to him. “Don’t refuse me, be my benefactor; I’ll have no need of a servant here, and I won’t be at peace if Marya Ivanovna travels without you. Serving her, you serve me, because, as soon as circumstances permit, I’m firmly resolved to marry her.”
Here Savelyich clasped his hands with a look of indescribable amazement.
“Marry!” he repeated. “The little one wants to marry! And what will your father say, and what will your mother think?”
“They’ll agree, they’re sure to agree,” I replied, “once they get to know Marya Ivanovna. I’m also relying on you. My father and mother trust you: you’ll intercede for us, won’t you?”
The old man was touched.
“Ah, my dearest Pyotr Andreich!” he replied. “Though it’s a bit early for you to think of marrying, still Marya Ivanovna is such a good young lady that it would be a sin to miss the chance. Let it be your way! I’ll go with the little angel, and faithfully tell your parents that such a bride even needs no dowry.”
I thanked Savelyich and went off to sleep in the same room with Zurin. Flushed and excited, I chattered away. At first Zurin talked to me willingly; but his words gradually became fewer and less coherent; finally, instead of an answer to some question, he snored and whistled. I fell silent and soon followed his example.
The next morning I went to see Marya Ivanovna. I informed her of my proposals. She acknowledged that they were sensible and agreed with me at once. Zurin’s detachment was to leave town that same day. There could be no tarrying. I took leave of Marya Ivanovna there and then, having entrusted her to Savelyich and given her a letter to my parents. Marya Ivanovna wept.
“Farewell, Pyotr Andreich!” she said in a low voice. “God alone knows if we’ll see each other again; but I’ll never forget you; till the grave you alone will remain in my heart.”
I could make no reply. We were surrounded by people. I did not want to abandon myself in front of them to the feelings that stirred in me. She finally left. I returned to Zurin sad and silent. He wanted to cheer me up; I hoped to be diverted: we spent the day noisily and wildly, and in the evening set out on the march.
That was at the end of February. Winter, which had hampered military operations, would soon be over, and our generals were preparing for concerted action. Pugachev was still encamped near Orenburg. Meanwhile our detachments were joining forces and approaching the villain’s nest from all sides. The rebellious villages, at the sight of our troops, turned submissive; the bands of brigands fled from us everywhere, and everything betokened a swift and successful end.
Prince Golitsyn38 soon crushed Pugachev near the Tatishchevo fortress, scattered his hordes, liberated Orenburg, and, it seemed, delivered the final and decisive blow to the rebellion. At that time Zurin was dispatched against a band of mutinous Bashkirs, who scattered before we even saw them. Spring besieged us in a little Tatar village. The rivers overflowed and the roads became impassable. In our inaction we comforted ourselves with the thought of the imminent cessation of the tedious and petty war with brigands and savages.
But Pugachev had not been caught. He showed up in Siberian mills, gathered new bands there, and again began his villainies. Rumors of his successes spread once more. We learned of the devastation of Siberian fortresses. Soon the army commanders, who were counting on the despicable rebel’s weakness, were aroused from their carefree slumber by news of the taking of Kazan and the impostor’s march on Moscow. Zurin received orders to cross the Volga.*5
I will not describe our campaign and the end of the war. I will say briefly that the calamity was extreme. We passed through villages devastated by the rebels and unwillingly took from the poor inhabitants what little they had managed to save. Order broke down everywhere: the landowners hid in the forests. Bands of brigands spread their villainies everywhere; the commanders of separate detachments punished and pardoned arbitrarily; the condition of the whole vast region where the conflagration raged was terrible…God keep us from ever seeing a Russian rebellion—senseless and merciless!
Pugachev fled, pursued by Ivan Ivanovich Mikhelson.39 Soon we learned of his total defeat. Zurin finally received news of the impostor’s capture, and along with it the order to halt. The war was over. I could finally go to my parents! The thought of embracing them, of seeing Marya Ivanovna, from whom I had had
no news, filled me with rapture. I leaped about like a child. Zurin laughed and said, shrugging his shoulders:
“No, you won’t end well! You’ll get married—and perish for nothing!”
But meanwhile a strange feeling poisoned my joy: the thought of the villain drenched in the blood of so many innocent victims, and of the execution that awaited him, troubled me against my will. “Emelya, Emelya!” I thought with vexation. “Why didn’t you run onto a bayonet or catch a load of grapeshot? You couldn’t have come up with anything better.” What could I do? The thought of him was inseparable in me from the thought of the mercy he granted me in one of the moments when he was most terrible, and of the deliverance of my bride-to-be from the hands of the vile Shvabrin.
Zurin gave me a leave of absence. In a few days I was to find myself again in the bosom of my family, to see again my Marya Ivanovna…Suddenly an unexpected storm broke over me.
On the day appointed for my departure, at the very moment I was preparing to set off, Zurin came into my cottage with an extremely worried look, holding a paper in his hand. Something stabbed my heart. I became frightened, without knowing of what. He sent my orderly away and told me he had some business with me.
“What is it?” I asked uneasily.
“A small unpleasantness,” he replied, handing me the paper. “Read what I just received.”
I started to read: it was a secret order to all detachment commanders to arrest me wherever I might be found and send me at once under guard to Kazan, to the Investigation Commission set up for the Pugachev affair.
The paper nearly dropped from my hands.
“Nothing to be done!” said Zurin. “My duty is to obey orders. Rumors of your friendly travels with Pugachev have probably somehow reached the authorities. I hope the affair won’t have any consequences and that you’ll vindicate yourself before the commission. Don’t lose heart, just get on your way.”
My conscience was clear; I was not afraid of the tribunal; but the thought of putting off the moment of sweet reunion, maybe for several more months, appalled me. The wagon was ready. Zurin bade me a friendly farewell. I was put into the wagon. Two hussars with drawn swords got in with me, and I drove off down the high road.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Tribunal
Worldly rumor—
Sea waves’ murmur.
PROVERB
I was certain that my whole fault lay in my unauthorized absence from Orenburg. I could easily justify myself: sorties not only had never been forbidden, but had even been strongly encouraged. I could be accused of excessive fervor, but not of disobedience. But my friendly relations with Pugachev could be proved by many witnesses and would have to seem at the very least highly suspicious. For the whole journey I reflected on the interrogations awaiting me, thought over my responses, and decided to tell the whole truth before the tribunal, considering this means of justifying myself to be the most simple and at the same time the most reliable.
I arrived in devastated and burnt-down Kazan. In the streets, instead of houses, lay heaps of embers, and sooty walls stuck up without roofs or windows. Such were the traces left by Pugachev! They brought me to the fortress, left whole in the midst of the fire-ravaged town. The hussars handed me over to a guards officer. He ordered a blacksmith sent for. Shackles were put on my legs and riveted tightly. Then they took me to the prison and left me alone in a narrow and dark cell, with nothing but bare walls and a little window barred by an iron grille.
Such a beginning boded no good for me. However, I lost neither courage nor hope. I resorted to the consolation of all the afflicted and, tasting for the first time the sweetness of prayer poured forth from a pure but tormented heart, fell peacefully asleep, not caring what might happen to me.
The next day the prison guard woke me up with the announcement that I was summoned before the commission. Two soldiers led me across the yard to the commandant’s house, stopped in the front hall, and let me go inside alone.
I entered a rather big room. At a table covered with papers sat two men: an elderly general of stern and cold appearance, and a young captain of the guards, about twenty-eight years old, very pleasant in appearance, free and easy in manner. By the window at a special table sat a secretary with a pen behind his ear, bending over his paper, ready to take down my testimony. The interrogation began. They asked me my name and rank. The general inquired whether I was the son of Andrei Petrovich Grinyov. And to my reply retorted sternly:
“A pity such an estimable man should have such an unworthy son!”
I calmly replied that, whatever the accusations hanging over me, I hoped to dispel them by a frank explanation of the truth. He did not like my assurance.
“You’re a sharp one, brother,” he said to me, frowning, “but we’ve seen sharper!”
Then the young man asked me by what chance and at what time I had entered Pugachev’s service, and on what assignments I had been employed by him.
I replied with indignation that, as an officer and a gentleman, I could not enter into any service with Pugachev or accept any assignments from him.
“How is it, then,” my interrogator rejoined, “that the gentleman and officer was the only one spared by the impostor, while all his comrades were villainously put to death? How is it that this same officer and gentleman feasts amicably with the rebels, and accepts from the chief villain gifts of a fur coat, a horse, and fifty kopecks? How did such a strange friendship come about and what was it based on, if not on treason or at least on vile and criminal cowardice?”
I was deeply offended by the guards officer’s words and hotly began to justify myself. I told how my acquaintance with Pugachev began on the steppe, during a snowstorm; how, when the Belogorsk fortress was taken, he recognized me and spared me. I said that, in fact, I was not ashamed to have taken the coat and the horse from the impostor; but that I had defended the Belogorsk fortress from the villain to the final limit. Finally I referred to my general, who could testify to my zeal during the calamitous siege of Orenburg.
The stern old man took an opened letter from the table and began to read it aloud:
To Your Excellency’s inquiry concerning Lieutenant Grinyov, alleged to be involved in the present commotion and to have entered into relations with the villain impermissible in the service and contrary to his sworn duty, I have the honor to explain that the said Lieutenant Grinyov served in Orenburg from the beginning of October of last year, 1773, until the 24th of February of the present year, on which day he left town and thereafter has not presented himself under my command. But it has been heard from deserters that he was in Pugachev’s camp, and together with him drove to the Belogorsk fortress, where he used to serve; as concerns his behavior, I can…
Here he broke off his reading and said to me severely:
“What will you say now to justify yourself?”
I was going to go on as I had begun and explain my connection with Marya Ivanovna as frankly as all the rest. But I suddenly felt an insurmountable repugnance. It occurred to me that if I named her, the commission would call on her to testify; and the thought of mixing her name with the vile denunciations of villains and of her being brought in person to confront them—this terrible thought shocked me so much that I faltered and became confused.
My judges, who, it seemed, were beginning to listen to my responses with some benevolence, again became prejudiced against me, seeing my embarrassment. The officer of the guards requested that I be confronted with the main informer. The general ordered “yesterday’s villain” to be called. I turned briskly to the door, waiting for my accuser to appear. A few minutes later chains clanked, the door opened, and in came—Shvabrin. I was amazed at the change in him. He was terribly thin and pale. His hair, jet-black still recently, had turned completely gray; his long beard was disheveled. He repeated his accusations in a weak but resolute voice. According to him, I had been sent to Orenburg by Pugachev as a spy; I had ridden out on skirmishes every day in order to transmit news in
writing about all that was going on in the town; then I had openly gone over to the impostor, had driven with him from fortress to fortress, trying in all ways to ruin my comrade-traitors, so as to take their places and profit from the rewards bestowed by the impostor. I heard him out silently and was pleased with one thing: the vile villain did not utter Marya Ivanovna’s name, either because his vanity suffered at the thought of the one who had scornfully rejected him, or because hidden in his heart was a spark of the same feeling that had also made me keep silent—however it was, the name of the Belogorsk commandant’s daughter was not uttered in the presence of the commission. I became still more firm in my resolve, and when the judges asked how I could refute Shvabrin’s testimony, I replied that I stuck to my first explanation and could say nothing more to justify myself. The general ordered us taken away. We went out together. I glanced calmly at Shvabrin, but did not say a word to him. He grinned maliciously at me and, picking up his chains, went ahead of me and quickened his pace. I was taken back to prison and was not summoned for any further questioning.
I was not a witness to everything of which it now remains for me to inform the reader; but I have so often heard stories about it that the smallest details are engraved in my memory, and it seems to me as if I had been invisibly present.
Marya Ivanovna was received by my parents with that sincere cordiality which distinguished people of the old days. They saw it as a blessing from God that they had the chance to shelter and show kindness to the poor orphan. Soon they became sincerely attached to her, because it was impossible to know her and not love her. My love no longer seemed an empty whim to my father; and my mother wished only that her Petrusha should marry the captain’s dear daughter.
The rumor of my arrest shocked my whole family. Marya Ivanovna had told my parents so simply about my strange acquaintance with Pugachev that it not only had not troubled them, but had often even made them laugh wholeheartedly. My father did not want to believe that I could have been involved in a vile rebellion, the aim of which was the overthrow of the throne and the extermination of the nobility. He closely questioned Savelyich. My tutor did not conceal that his master had visited Emelka Pugachev and that the villain had, in fact, received him well; but he swore that he had not heard of any treason. The old folks calmed down and started waiting impatiently for favorable news. Marya Ivanovna was deeply troubled, but said nothing, for she was endowed in the highest degree with modesty and prudence.