第 八 章 · An Uninvited Guest.

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AN UNINVITED GUEST.

The square was deserted. I remained standing in the same place, unable

to collect my thoughts, bewildered as I was by so many terrible

emotions.

Uncertainty with respect to the fate of Maria Ivanovna tortured me more

than anything else. Where was she? What had become of her? Had she

contrived to hide herself? Was her place of refuge safe?

Filled, with these distracting thoughts, I made my way to the

Commandant’s house. It was empty. The chairs, tables, and chests were

broken, the crockery dashed to pieces, and everything in confusion. I

ran up the little staircase which led to Maria’s room, and which I now

entered for the first time in my life. Her bed had been ransacked by

the robbers; the wardrobe was broken open and plundered; the small lamp

was still burning before the empty image case.[1] There was also left a

small mirror hanging on the partition wall.... Where was the mistress

of his humble, virginal cell? A terrible thought passed through my

mind; I imagined her in the hands of the robbers.... My heart sank

within me.... I wept bitterly, most bitterly, and called aloud the

name of my beloved.... At that moment I heard a slight noise, and from

behind the ward-robe appeared Palasha, pale and trembling.

“Ah, Peter Andreitch!” said she, clasping her hands, “What a day! what

horrors!”

“And Maria Ivanovna?” I asked impatiently. “What has become of Maria

Ivanovna?”

“The young lady is alive,” replied Palasha; “she is hiding in the house

of Akoulina Pamphilovna.”

“With the priest’s wife!” I exclaimed in alarm. “My God! Pougatcheff is

there!”

I dashed out of the room, and in the twinkling of an eye I was in the

street and hurrying off to the clergyman’s house, without devoting the

slightest attention to anything else. Shouts, songs, and bursts of

laughter resounded from within.... Pougatcheff was feasting with his

companions. Palasha had followed me thither. I sent her to call out

Akoulina Pamphilovna secretly. In about a minute the priest’s wife came

out to me in the vestibule, with an empty bottle in her hand.

“In Heaven’s name! where is Maria Ivanovna?” I asked with indescribable

agitation.

“The dear little dove is lying down on my bed behind the partition,”

replied the priest’s wife. “But a terrible misfortune had very nearly

happened, Peter Andreitch! Thanks be to God, however, everything has

passed off happily. The villain had just sat down to dine, when the

poor child uttered a moan!... I felt as if I should have died. He heard

it. ‘Who is that moaning in your room, old woman?’--I bowed myself to

the ground, and replied: ‘My niece, Czar; she has been lying ill for

about a fortnight.’--‘And is your niece young?’--‘She is young, Czar.’

--‘Show me your niece then, old woman.’ My heart sank within me, but

there was no help for it. ‘Very well, Czar; but the girl will not have

the strength to get up and come before your Grace.’--‘Never mind, old

woman, I will go and see her myself.’ And the villain went behind the

partition and, will you believe it?--actually drew aside the curtain

and looked at her with his hawk-like eyes--but nothing came of it,--God

helped us! Will you believe it? I and the father were prepared for a

martyr’s death. Fortunately, my little dove did not recognize him. Lord

God! what have we lived to see! Poor Ivan Kouzmitch! who would have

thought it!... And Vassilissa Egorovna? And Ivan Ignatitch? What was

he killed for? And how came they to spare you? And what do you think

of Shvabrin? He has had his hair cut, and is now feasting inside along

with them! He is a very sharp fellow, there is no gainsaying that! When

I spoke of my sick niece--will you believe it?--he looked at me as if

he would have stabbed me; but he did not betray me. I am thankful to

him for that, anyway.”

At that moment I heard the drunken shouts of the guests and the voice

of Father Gerasim. The guests were demanding wine, and the host was

calling for his wife.

“Go back home, Peter Andreitch,” said the priest’s wife, somewhat

alarmed; “I cannot stop to speak to you now; I must go and wait upon

the drunken scoundrels. It might be unfortunate for you if you fell

into their hands. Farewell, Peter Andreitch. What is to be, will be;

perhaps God will not abandon us!”

The priest’s wife went back inside the house. Somewhat more easy

in mind, I returned to my quarters. As I crossed the square I saw

several Bashkirs assembled round the gibbets, engaged in dragging off

the boots of those who had been hanged. With difficulty I repressed

my indignation, feeling convinced that if I gave expression to it,

it would have been perfectly useless. The brigands invaded every

part of the fortress, and plundered the officers’ houses. On every

side resounded the shouts of the drunken mutineers. I reached home.

Savelitch met me on the threshold.

“Thank God!” he exclaimed when he saw me; “I was beginning to think

that the villains had seized you again. Ah! my little father, Peter

Andreitch, will you believe it, the robbers have plundered us of

everything--clothes, linen, furniture, plate--they have not left us a

single thing. But what does it matter? Thank God! they have spared your

life. But, my lord, did you recognize their leader?”

“No, I did not recognize him. Who is he then?”

“How, my little father! Have you forgotten that drunken scoundrel

who swindled you out of the pelisse at the inn? A brand new hareskin

pelisse; and the beast burst the seams in putting it on.”

I was astounded. In truth, the resemblance of Pougatcheff to my guide

was very striking. I felt convinced that Pougatcheff and he were one

and the same person, and then I understood why he had spared my life.

I could not but feel surprised at the strange connection of events--a

child’s pelisse, given to a roving vagrant, had saved me from the

hangman’s noose, and a drunkard, who had passed his life in wandering

from one inn to another, was now besieging fortresses and shaking the

empire!

“Will you not eat something?” asked Savelitch, still faithful to his

old habits. “There is nothing in the house; but I will go and search,

and get something ready for you.”

When I was left alone, I began to reflect. What was I to do? To remain

in the fortress now that it was in the hands of the villain, or to

join his band, was unworthy of an officer. Duty demanded that I should

go wherever my services might still be of use to my fatherland in the

present critical position of its affairs.... But love strongly urged

me to remain near Maria Ivanovna and be her protector and defender.

Although I foresaw a speedy and inevitable change in the course of

affairs, yet I could not help trembling when I thought of the danger

of her situation.

My reflections were interrupted by the arrival of one of the Cossacks,

who came to inform me that “the great Czar required me to appear before

him.”

“Where is he?” I asked, preparing to obey.

“In the Commandant’s house,” replied the Cossack. “After dinner our

father took a bath, but at present he is resting. Ah! your Excellency,

it is very evident that he is a distinguished person; at dinner he

deigned to eat two roasted sucking pigs, then he entered the bath,

where the I water was so hot that even Tarass Kourotchkin could not

bear it; he had to give the besom to Tomka Bikbaieff, and only came to

himself through having cold water poured over him. There is no denying

it; all his ways are majestic.... And I was told that in the bath he

showed his Czar’s signs upon his breast: on one side a two-headed eagle

as large as a five-copeck piece, and on the other his own likeness.”

I did not consider it necessary to contradict the Cossack’s

statement, and I accompanied him to the Commandant’s house, trying to

imagine beforehand what kind of a reception I should meet with from

Pougatcheff, and endeavouring to guess how it would end. The reader

will easily understand that I did not by any means feel easy within

myself.

It was beginning to get dark when I reached the Commandant’s house. The

gibbet, with its victims, loomed black and terrible before me. The body

of the poor Commandant’s wife still lay at the bottom of the steps,

near which two Cossacks stood on guard. The Cossack who accompanied me

went in to announce me, and, returning almost immediately, conducted me

into the room where, the evening before, I had taken a tender farewell

of Maria Ivanovna.

An unusual spectacle presented itself to my gaze. At a table, covered

with a cloth and loaded with bottles and glasses, sat Pougatcheff and

some half-a-score of Cossack chiefs, in coloured caps and shirts,

heated with wine, with flushed faces and flashing eyes. I did not see

among then: Shvabrin and his fellow traitor, the orderly.

“Ah! your Excellency!” said Pougatcheff, seeing me, “Welcome; honour to

you and a place at our banquet.”

The guests moved closer together. I sat down silently at the end of the

table. My neighbour, a young Cossack, tall and handsome, poured out for

me a glass of wine, which, however, I did not touch. I began to observe

the company with curiosity. Pougatcheff occupied the seat of honour,

his elbows resting on the table, and his broad fist propped under his

black beard. His features, regular and sufficiently agreeable, had

nothing fierce about them. He frequently turned to speak to a man of

about fifty years of age, addressing him sometimes as Count, sometimes

as Timofeitch, sometimes as uncle. All those present treated each other

as comrades, and did not show any particular respect for their leader.

The conversation was upon the subject of the assault of the morning,

of the success of the revolt, and of their future operations. Each one

boasted of what he had done, expressed his opinion, and fearlessly

contradicted Pougatcheff. And in this strange council of war it was

resolved to march upon Orenburg; a bold movement, and which was to be

very nearly crowned with success! The march was fixed for the following

day.

“Now, lads,” said Pougatcheff, “before we retire to rest, let us have

my favourite song. Choumakoff, begin!”

My neighbour sang, in a shrill voice, the following melancholy

peasants’ song, and all joined in the chorus:

“Stir not, mother, green forest of oak,

Disturb me not in my meditation;

For to-morrow before the court I must go,

Before the stern judge, before the Czar himself.

The great Lord Czar will begin to question me:

‘Tell me, young man, tell me, thou peasant’s son,

With whom have you stolen, with whom have you robbed?

Did you have many companions with you?’

‘I will tell you, true-believing Czar,

The whole truth I will confess to you.

My companions were four in number:

My first companion was the dark night,

My second companion was a steel knife,

My third companion was my good horse,

My fourth companion was my taut bow,

My messengers were my tempered arrows.’

Then speaks my hope, the true-believing Czar:

‘Well done! my lad, brave peasant’s son;

You knew how to steal, you knew how to reply:

Therefore, my lad, I will make you a present

Of a very high structure in the midst of a field--

Of two upright posts with a cross-beam above.’”

It is impossible to describe the effect produced upon me by this

popular gallows song, trolled out by men destined for the gallows.

Their ferocious countenances, their sonorous voices, and the melancholy

expression which they imparted to the words, which in themselves were

not very expressive, filled me with a sort of poetical terror.

The guests drank another glass, then rose from the table and took leave

of Pougatcheff.

I wanted to follow them, but Pougatcheff said to me:

“Sit down; I want to speak to you.”

We remained face to face.

For some moments we both continued silent. Pougatcheff looked at

me fixedly, every now and then winking his left eye with a curious

expression of craftiness and drollery. At last he burst out laughing,

and with such unfeigned merriment, that I, too, looking at him, began

to laugh, without knowing why.

“Well, your lordship,” he said to me, “confess now, you were in a

terrible fright when my fellows put the rope round your neck. I do

not believe that the sky appeared bigger than a sheepskin to you just

then.... You would have been strung up to the crossbeam if it had not

been for your servant. I knew the old fellow at once. Well, would your

lordship have thought that the man who conducted you to the inn, was

the great Czar himself?”

Here he assumed an air of mystery and importance.

“You have been guilty of a serious offence against me,” continued he,

“but I pardoned you on account of your virtue, and because you rendered

me a service when I was compelled to hide myself from my enemies. But

you will see something very different presently! You will see how I

will reward you when I enter into possession of my kingdom! Will you

promise to serve me with zeal?”

The rascal’s question, and his insolence, appeared to me so amusing,

that I could not help smiling.

“Why do you smile?” he asked, frowning. “Perhaps you do not believe

that I am the great Czar? Is that so?--answer plainly.”

I became confused. To acknowledge a vagabond as emperor was quite out

of the question; to do so seemed to me unpardonable cowardice. To

tell him to his face that he was an impostor was to expose myself to

certain death, and that which I was prepared to say beneath the gibbet

before the eyes of the crowd, in the first outburst of my indignation,

appeared to me now a useless boast. I hesitated. In gloomy silence

Pougatcheff awaited my reply. At last (and even now I remember that

moment with self-satisfaction) the sentiment of duty triumphed over my

human weakness. I replied to Pougatcheff:

“Listen, I will tell you the whole truth. Judge yourself: can I

acknowledge you as emperor? You, as a sensible man, would know that it

would not be saying what I really thought.”

“Who am I, then, in your opinion?”

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

game.”

Pougatcheff threw a rapid glance at me.

“Then you do not believe,” said he, “that I am the Emperor Peter? Well,

be it so. But is not success the reward of the bold? Did not Grishka

Otrepieff[2] reign in former days? Think of me what you please, but do

not leave me. What does it matter to you one way or the other? Whoever

is pope is father. Serve me faithfully and truly, and I will make you a

field-marshal and a prince. What do you say?”

“No,” I replied with firmness. “I am by birth a nobleman; I have taken

the oath of fealty to the empress: I cannot serve you. If you really

wish me well, send me back to Orenburg.”

Pougatcheff reflected.

“But if I let you go,” said he, “will you at least promise not to serve

against me?”

“How can I promise you that?” I replied. “You yourself know that it

does not depend upon my own will. If I am ordered to march against

you, I must go--there is no help for it. You yourself are now a chief;

you demand obedience from your followers. How would it seem, if I

refused to serve when my services were needed? My life is in your

hands: if you set me free, I will thank you; if you put me to death,

God will be your judge; but I have told you the truth.”

My frankness struck Pougatcheff.

“Be it so,” said he, slapping me upon the shoulder. “One should either

punish completely or pardon completely. Go then where you like, and do

what you like. Come to-morrow to say good-bye to me, and now go to bed.

I feel very drowsy myself.”

I left Pougatcheff and went out into the street. The night was calm

and cold. The moon and stars were shining brightly, lighting up the

square and the gibbet. In the fortress all was dark and still. Only in

the tavern was a light visible, where could be heard the noise of late

revellers.

I glanced at the pope’s house. The shutters and doors were closed.

Everything seemed quiet within.

I made my way to my own quarters and found Savelitch grieving about

my absence. The news of my being set at liberty filled him with

unutterable joy.

“Thanks be to Thee, Almighty God!” said he, making the sign of the

cross. “At daybreak to-morrow we will leave the fortress and go

wherever God will direct us. I have prepared something for you; eat it,

my little father, and then rest yourself till the morning, as if you

were in the bosom of Christ.”

I followed his advice and, having eaten with a good appetite, I fell

asleep upon the bare floor, worn out both in body and mind.

[Footnote 1: The small wardrobe, with glass doors, in which the sacred

images are kept, and which forms a domestic altar.]

[Footnote 2: The first false Demetrius, the Perkin Warbeck of Russia.

The real Demetrius was the son of Ivan the Terrible (Ivan IV.), and

is generally believed to have been assassinated by order of Boris

Godunoff, a nobleman of Tartar origin, who was afterwards elected Czar.

Otrepieff’s story was that his physician had pretended to comply with

the orders of Boris, but had substituted the son of a serf for him.

Being supported in his claims by the Poles, the pretender succeeded

in gaining the throne, but his partiality for everything Polish

aroused the national jealousy of the Russians, and he was slain by the

infuriated populace of Moscow, after a brief reign of one year.]