Works of Alexander Pushkin (81 page)

“Speak! On what business did you leave Orenburg?”

A strange idea occurred to me. It seemed to me that Providence, in bringing me a second time before Pugatchéf, opened to me a way of executing my project. I resolved to seize the opportunity, and, without considering any longer what course I should pursue, I replied to Pugatchéf —

“I was going to Fort Bélogorsk, to deliver there an orphan who is being oppressed.”

Pugatchéf’s eyes flashed.

“Who among my people would dare to harm an orphan?” cried he. “Were he ever so brazen-faced, he should never escape my vengeance! Speak, who is the guilty one?”

“Chvabrine,” replied I; “he keeps in durance the same young girl whom you saw with the priest’s wife, and he wants to force her to become his wife.”

“I’ll give him a lesson, Master Chvabrine!” cried Pugatchéf, with a fierce air. “He shall learn what it is to do as he pleases under me, and to oppress my people. I’ll hang him.”

“Bid me speak a word,” broke in Khlopúsha, in a hoarse voice. “You were too hasty in giving Chvabrine command of the fort, and now you are too hasty in hanging him. You have already offended the Cossacks by giving them a gentleman as leader — do not, therefore, now affront the gentlemen by executing them on the first accusation.”

“They need neither be overwhelmed with favours nor be pitied,” the little old man with the blue ribbon now said, in his turn. “There would be no harm in hanging Chvabrine, neither would there be any harm in cross-examining this officer. Why has he deigned to pay us a visit? If he do not recognize you as Tzar, he needs not to ask justice of you; if, on the other hand, he do recognize you, wherefore, then, has he stayed in Orenburg until now, in the midst of your enemies. Will you order that he be tried by fire? It would appear that his lordship is sent to us by the Generals in Orenburg.”

The logic of the old rascal appeared plausible even to me. An involuntary shudder thrilled through me as I remembered in whose hands I was.

Pugatchéf saw my disquiet.

“Eh, eh! your lordship,” said he, winking, “it appears to me my field-marshal is right. What do you think of it?”

The banter of Pugatchéf in some measure restored me to myself.

I quietly replied that I was in his power, and that he could do with me as he listed.

“Very well,” said Pugatchéf; “now tell me in what state is your town?”

“Thank God,” replied I, “all is in good order.”

“In good order!” repeated Pugatchéf, “and the people are dying of hunger there.”

The usurper spoke truth; but, according to the duty imposed on me by my oath, I assured him it was a false report, and that Orenburg was amply victualled.

“You see,” cried the little old man, “that he is deceiving you. All the deserters are unanimous in declaring famine and plague are in Orenburg, that they are eating carrion there as a dish of honour. And his lordship assures us there is abundance of all. If you wish to hang Chvabrine, hang on the same gallows this lad, so that they need have naught wherewith to reproach each other.”

The words of the confounded old man seemed to have shaken Pugatchéf.

Happily, Khlopúsha began to contradict his companion.

“Hold your tongue, Naúmitch,” said he; “you only think of hanging and strangling. It certainly suits you well to play the hero. Already you have one foot in the grave, and you want to kill others. Have you not enough blood on your conscience?”

“But are you a saint yourself?” retorted Béloborodoff. “Wherefore, then, this pity?”

“Without doubt,” replied Khlopúsha, “I am also a sinner, and this hand” (he closed his bony fist, and turning back his sleeve displayed his hairy arm), “and this hand is guilty of having shed Christian blood. But
I
killed my enemy, and not my host, on the free highway and in the dark wood, but not in the house, and behind the stove with axe and club, neither with old women’s gossip.”

The old man averted his head, and muttered between his teeth —

“Branded!”

“What are you muttering there, old owl?” rejoined Khlopúsha. “I’ll brand you! Wait a bit, your turn will come. By heaven, I hope some day you may smell the hot pincers, and till then have a care that I do not tear out your ugly beard.”

“Gentlemen,” said Pugatchéf, with dignity, “stop quarrelling. It would not be a great misfortune if all the mangy curs of Orenburg dangled their legs beneath the same cross-bar, but it would be a pity if our good dogs took to biting each other.”

Khlopúsha and Béloborodoff said nothing, and exchanged black looks.

I felt it was necessary to change the subject of the interview, which might end in a very disagreeable manner for me. Turning toward Pugatchéf, I said to him, smiling —

“Ah! I had forgotten to thank you for your horse and ‘
touloup
.’ Had it not been for you, I should never have reached the town, for I should have died of cold on the journey.”

My stratagem succeeded. Pugatchéf became good-humoured.

“The beauty of a debt is the payment!” said he, with his usual wink. “Now, tell me the whole story. What have you to do with this young girl whom Chvabrine is persecuting? Has she not hooked your young affections, eh?”

“She is my betrothed,” I replied, as I observed the favourable change taking place in Pugatchéf, and seeing no risk in telling him the truth.

“Your betrothed!” cried Pugatchéf. “Why didn’t you tell me before? We will marry you, and have a fine junket at your wedding.” Then, turning to Béloborodoff, “Listen, field-marshal,” said he, “we are old friends, his lordship and me; let us sit down to supper. To-morrow we will see what is to be done with him; one’s brains are clearer in the morning than by night.”

I should willingly have refused the proposed honour, but I could not get out of it. Two young Cossack girls, children of the master of the “
izbá
,” laid the table with a white cloth, brought bread, fish, soup, and big jugs of wine and beer.

Thus for the second time I found myself at the table of Pugatchéf and his terrible companions. The orgy of which I became the involuntary witness went on till far into the night.

At last drunkenness overcame the guests; Pugatchéf fell asleep in his place, and his companions rose, making me a sign to leave him.

I went out with them. By the order of Khlopúsha the sentry took me to the lockup, where I found Savéliitch, and I was left alone with him under lock and key.

My retainer was so astounded by the turn affairs had taken that he did not address a single question to me. He lay down in the dark, and for a long while I heard him moan and lament. At last, however, he began to snore, and as for me, I gave myself up to thoughts which did not allow me to close my eyes for a moment all night.

On the morrow morning Pugatchéf sent someone to call me.

I went to his house. Before his door stood a “
kibitka
” with three Tartar horses. The crowd filled the street. Pugatchéf, whom I met in the ante-room, was dressed in a travelling suit, a pelisse and Kirghiz cap. His guests of yesterday evening surrounded him, and wore a submissive air, which contrasted strongly with what I had witnessed the previous evening.

Pugatchéf gaily bid me “good morning,” and ordered me to seat myself beside him in the “
kibitka
.” We took our places.

“To Fort Bélogorsk!” said Pugatchéf to the robust Tartar driver, who standing guided the team. My heart beat violently.

The horses dashed forward, the little bell tinkled, the “
kibitka
,” bounded across the snow.

“Stop! stop!” cried a voice which I knew but too well; and I saw
Savéliitch running towards us. Pugatchéf bid the man stop.

“Oh! my father, Petr’ Andréjïtch,” cried my follower, “don’t forsake me in my old age among the rob — ”

“Aha! old owl!” said Pugatchéf, “so God again brings us together. Here, seat yourself in front.”

“Thanks, Tzar, thanks my own father,” replied Savéliitch, taking his seat. “May God give you a hundred years of life for having reassured a poor old man. I shall pray God all my life for you, and I’ll never talk about the hareskin ‘
touloup
.’“

This hareskin “
touloup
” might end at last by making Pugatchéf seriously angry. But the usurper either did not hear or pretended not to hear this ill-judged remark. The horses again galloped.

The people stopped in the street, and each one saluted us, bowing low.
Pugatchéf bent his head right and left.

In a moment we were out of the village and were taking our course over a well-marked road. What I felt may be easily imagined. In a few hours I should see again her whom I had thought lost to me for ever. I imagined to myself the moment of our reunion, but I also thought of the man in whose hands lay my destiny, and whom a strange concourse of events bound to me by a mysterious link.

I recalled the rough cruelty and bloody habits of him who was disposed to prove the defender of my love. Pugatchéf did not know she was the daughter of Captain Mironoff; Chvabrine, driven to bay, was capable of telling him all, and Pugatchéf might learn the truth in other ways. Then, what would become of Marya? At this thought a shudder ran through my body, and my hair seemed to stand on end.

All at once Pugatchéf broke upon my reflections.

“What does your lordship,” said he, “deign to think about?”

“How can you expect me to be thinking?” replied I. “I am an officer and a gentleman; but yesterday I was waging war with you, and now I am travelling with you in the same carriage, and the whole happiness of my life depends on you.”

“What,” said Pugatchéf, “are you afraid?”

I made reply that having already received my life at his hands, I trusted not merely in his good nature but in his help.

“And you are right — ’fore God, you are right,” resumed the usurper; “you saw that my merry men looked askance at you. Even to-day the little old man wanted to prove indubitably to me that you were a spy, and should be put to the torture and hung. But I would not agree,” added he, lowering his voice, lest Savéliitch and the Tartar should hear him, “because I bore in mind your glass of wine and your ‘
touloup
.’ You see clearly that I am not bloodthirsty, as your comrades would make out.”

Remembering the taking of Fort Bélogorsk, I did not think wise to contradict him, and I said nothing.

“What do they say of me in Orenburg?” asked Pugatchéf, after a short silence.

“Well, it is said that you are not easy to get the better of. You will agree we have had our hands full with you.”

The face of the usurper expressed the satisfaction of self-love.

“Yes,” said he, with a glorious air, “I am a great warrior. Do they know in Orenburg of the battle of Jouzeïff? Forty Generals were killed, four armies made prisoners. Do you think the King of Prussia is about my strength?”

This boasting of the robber rather amused me.

“What do you think yourself?” I said to him. “Could you beat Frederick?”

“Fédor Fédorovitch, eh! why not? I can beat your Generals, and your
Generals have beaten him. Until now my arms have been victorious. Wait a
bit — only wait a bit — you’ll see something when I shall march on
Moscow?”

“And you are thinking of marching on Moscow?”

The usurper appeared to reflect. Then he said, half-aloud —

“God knows my way is straight. I have little freedom of action. My fellows don’t obey me — they are marauders. I have to keep a sharp look out — at the first reverse they would save their necks with my head.”

“Well,” I said to Pugatchéf, “would it not be better to forsake them yourself, ere it be too late, and throw yourself on the mercy of the Tzarina?”

Pugatchéf smiled bitterly.

“No,” said he, “the day of repentance is past and gone; they will not give me grace. I must go on as I have begun. Who knows? It may be. Grischka Otrépieff certainly became Tzar at Moscow.”

“But do you know his end? He was cast out of a window, he was massacred, burnt, and his ashes blown abroad at the cannon’s mouth, to the four winds of heaven.”

The Tartar began to hum a plaintive song; Savéliitch, fast asleep, oscillated from one side to the other. Our “
kibitka
” was passing quickly over the wintry road. All at once I saw a little village I knew well, with a palisade and a belfry, on the rugged bank of the Yaïk. A quarter of an hour afterwards we were entering Fort Bélogorsk.

CHAPTER XII.

THE ORPHAN.

The “
kibitka”
stopped before the door of the Commandant’s house. The inhabitants had recognized the little bell of Pugatchéf’s team, and had assembled in a crowd. Chvabrine came to meet the usurper; he was dressed as a Cossack, and had allowed his beard to grow.

The traitor helped Pugatchéf to get out of the carriage, expressing by obsequious words his zeal and joy.

Seeing me he became uneasy, but soon recovered himself.

“You are one of us,” said he; “it should have been long ago.”

I turned away my head without answering him. My heart failed me when we entered the little room I knew so well, where could still be seen on the wall the commission of the late deceased Commandant, as a sad memorial.

Pugatchéf sat down on the same sofa where ofttimes Iván Kouzmitch had dozed to the sound of his wife’s scolding.

Chvabrine himself brought brandy to his chief. Pugatchéf drank a glass of it, and said to him, pointing to me —

“Offer one to his lordship.”

Chvabrine approached me with his tray. I turned away my head for the second time. He seemed beside himself. With his usual sharpness he had doubtless guessed that Pugatchéf was not pleased with me. He regarded him with alarm and me with mistrust. Pugatchéf asked him some questions on the condition of the fort, on what was said concerning the Tzarina’s troops, and other similar subjects. Then suddenly and in an unexpected manner —

“Tell me, brother,” asked he, “who is this young girl you are keeping under watch and ward? Show me her.”

Chvabrine became pale as death.

“Tzar,” he said, in a trembling voice, “Tzar, she is not under restraint; she is in bed in her room.”