Chapter 6

I rose, and in a few words depicted Pougatcheff and his army. I affirmed that the usurper was not in a condition to resist disciplined forces. My opinion was received by the civil service employes with visible discontent. They saw nothing in it but the levity of a young man. A murmur arose, and I heard distinctly the word “hare-brained” murmured in a low voice. The General turned to me smiling, and said:

“Ensign, the first votes (the youngest) in war councils, are for offensive measures. Now let us continue to collect the votes. The College Director will give us his opinion.”

The little old man in black silk, a College Director, as well as a customs officer, swallowed his third cup of tea, well dashed with a strong dose of rum, and hastened to speak:

“Your Excellency,” said he, “I think that we ought to act neither offensively nor defensively.”

“What’s that, sir?” said the General, stupefied; “military tactics present no other means; we must act either offensively or defensively.”

“Your Excellency, act _subornatively_.”

“Eh! eh! Your opinion is judicious,” said the General; “subornative acts--that is to say, indirect acts--are also admitted by the science of tactics, and we will profit by your counsel. We might offer for the rascal’s head seventy or even a hundred roubles, to be taken out of the secret funds.”

“And then,” interrupted the man in silk, “may I be a Kirghis ram, instead of a College Director, if the thieves do not bring their chief to you, chained hand and foot.”

“We can think about it,” said the General. “But let us, in any case, take some military measures. Gentlemen, give your votes in legal order.”

All the opinions were contrary to mine. All agreed, that it was better to stay behind a strong stone wall, protected by cannon, than to tempt fortune in the open field. Finally, when all the opinions were known, the General shook the ashes from his pipe and pronounced the following discourse:

“Gentlemen, I am of the Ensign’s opinion, for it is according to the science of military tactics, which always prefers offensive movements to defensive.” He stopped and stuffed the tobacco into his pipe. I glanced exultingly at the civil service employes, who, with discontented looks, were whispering to each other.

“But, gentlemen,” continued he, giving out with a sigh a long puff of smoke, “I dare not assume the responsibility. I go with the majority, which has decided that we await in this city the threatened siege, and repulse the enemy by the power of artillery, and if possible, by well-directed sorties.”

The council broke up. I could not but deplore the weakness of the worthy soldier, who, contrary to his own convictions, decided to follow the opinion of ignorant inexperience.

Some days after this famous council of war, Pougatcheff, true to his word, approached Orenbourg. From the top of the city walls I made a reconnaissance of the rebel army. It seemed to me that their number had increased ten-fold. They had more artillery, taken from the small forts captured by Pougatcheff. Remembering our council, I foresaw a long captivity behind the walls of Orenbourg, and I was ready to cry with chagrin. Far from me the intention of describing the siege of Orenbourg, which belongs to history and not to family memoirs. Suffice it to say, that this siege was disastrous to the inhabitants, who had to suffer hunger and privations of every kind. Life at Orenbourg became insupportable. The decision of fate was awaited with anguish. Food was scarce; bombshells fell upon the defenseless houses of citizens. The attacks of Pougatcheff made very little excitement. I was dying of _ennui_. I had promised Accoulina that I would correspond with her, but communication was cut off, and I could not send or receive a letter from Belogorsk. My only pastime consisted in military sorties. Thanks to Pougatcheff I had an excellent horse, and I shared my meager pittance with it. I went out every day beyond the ramparts to skirmish with Pougatcheff’s advance guards. The rebels had the best of it; they had plenty of food and were well mounted. Our poor cavalry were in no condition to oppose them. Sometimes our half-starved infantry went into the field; but the depth of the snow hindered them from acting successfully against the flying cavalry of the enemy. The artillery vainly thundered from the ramparts, and in the field it could not advance, because of the weakness of our attenuated horses. This was our way of making war; this is what the civil service employes of Orenbourg called prudence and foresight.

One day when we had routed and driven before us quite a large troop, I overtook a straggling Cossack; my Turkish sabre was uplifted to strike him when he doffed his cap and cried out: “Good day, Peter, how fares your health?”

I recognized our Corporal. I was delighted to see him.

“Good day, Maxim. How long since you left Belogorsk?”

“Not long, Peter. I came yesterday. I have a letter for you.”

“Where is it?” I cried, delighted.

“Here,” replied Maxim, putting his hand in his bosom. “I promised Polacca to try and give it to you.” He gave me a folded paper, and set off on a gallop. I read with agitation the following lines:

“By the will of God I am deprived of my parents, and except you, Peter, I know of no one who can protect me; Alexis commands in place of my late father. He so terrified Father Garasim that I was obliged to go and live at our house, where I am cruelly treated by Alexis. He will force me to become his wife. He says he saved my life by not betraying the trick of passing for the niece of Accoulina. I could rather die than be his wife. I have three days to accept his offer; after that I need expect no mercy from him. O, Peter! entreat your General to send us help, and if possible, come yourself. MARIE MIRONOFF.”

This letter nearly crazed me. I rushed back to the city, not sparing the spur to my poor horse. A thousand projects flashed through my mind to rescue her. Arrived in the city, I hurried to the General’s and ran into his room. He was walking up and down smoking his meerschaum. Seeing me he stopped, alarmed at my abrupt entrance.

“Your Excellency, I come to you, as to my own father; do not refuse me; the happiness of my life depends upon it.”

“But what is it?” said the General; “what can I do for you?”

“Your Excellency, permit me to take a battalion of soldiers and half a hundred Cossacks, to go and storm the fortress of Belogorsk.”

“Storm the fortress?” said the General.

“I answer for the success of the attack, only let me go.”

“No, young man,” said he; “at so great a distance the enemy would easily cut off all communication with the principal strategic point.”

I was frightened by his military wisdom, and hastened to interrupt him: “Captain Mironoff’s daughter has written me, begging for relief. Alexis threatens to compel her to be his wife!”

“Ah! Alexis, traitor! If he fall into my hands I shall try him in twenty-four hours, and he shall be shot on the glacis of the fortress! meantime patience.”

“Patience!” I cried; “in the interval Marie will be compelled to obey him.”

“Oh,” said the General, “that would not be a misfortune--it is better that she should become the wife of Alexis, who can protect her. When we shall have shot the traitor, then she will find a better husband.”

“I would rather die,” I said with fury, “than yield her to Alexis.”

“I understand it all now,” said the old man. “You are, no doubt, in love yourself with Marie Mironoff. That’s another thing. Poor boy! Still, I can not give you a battalion and fifty Cossacks. The thing is unreasonable.” I hung my head in despair. But I had a plan of my own.

XI. THE REBEL CAMP.

I left the General and hastened to my quarters. Saveliitch received me with his usual remonstrance: “What pleasure, my lord, is there in fighting these drunken brigands? If they were Turks or Swedes, all right; but these sons of dogs--”

I interrupted him: “How much money have I in all?”

“You have plenty,” said he with a satisfied air. “I knew how to whisk it out of sight of the rogues.” He drew from his pocket a long knitted purse full of silver coin.

“Saveliitch, give me half of what you have there, and keep the rest for yourself. I am off for the fortress of Belogorsk.”

“Oh, Peter!” said the old serf, “do you not fear God? The roads are cut off. Have pity on your parents; wait a little; our troops will come and disperse the brigands, and then you can go to the four quarters of the world.”

“It is too late to reflect. I must go. Do not grieve, Saveliitch; I make you a present of that money. Buy what you need. If I do not return in three days--”

“My dear,” said the old man, “I will go with you, were it on foot. If you go, I must first lose my senses before I will stay crouching behind stone walls.”

There was never any use disputing with the old man. In half an hour I was in the saddle, Saveliitch on an old, half-starved, limping rosinante, which a citizen, not having fodder, had given for nothing to the serf. We reached the city gates; the sentinels let us pass, and we were finally out of Orenbourg. Night was falling. My road lay before the town of Berd, the headquarters of Pougatcheff. This road was blocked up and hidden by snow; but across the steppe were traces of horses, renewed from day to day, apparently, and clearly visible. I was going at a gallop, Saveliitch could scarcely keep up and shouted, “Not so fast! My nag can not follow yours.” Very soon we saw the lights of Berd. We were approaching deep ravines, which served as natural fortifications to the town. Saveliitch, without however being left behind, never ceased his lamentations. I was in hopes of passing safely the enemy’s place, when I saw through the darkness five peasants armed with big sticks--Pougatcheff’s extreme outpost.

“_Qui vive_! Who goes there?”

Not knowing the watchword, I was for going on without answering. But one of them seized my horse’s bridle. I drew my sabre and struck the peasant of the head. His cap saved his life; he staggered and fell; the others, frightened, let me pass. The darkness, which was deepening, might have saved me from further hindrance; when, looking back, I saw that Saveliitch was not with me. What was I to do? The poor old man, with his lame horse, could not escape from the rascals. I waited a minute; then, sure that they must have seized him, I turned my horse’s head to go and aid him. Approaching the ravine I heard voices, and recognized that of Saveliitch. Hastening my steps, was soon within sight of the peasants. They had dismounted the old man, and were about to garrote him. They rushed upon me; in an instant I was on foot. Their chief said I should be conducted to the Czar. I made no resistance. We crossed the ravine to enter the town, which was illuminated. The streets were crowded and noisy. We were taken to a hut on the corner of two streets. There were some barrels of wine and a cannon near the door. One of the peasants said: “Here is the palace; we will announce you.” I glanced at Saveliitch; he was making signs of the cross, and praying. We waited a long time. At last the peasant re-appeared and said: “The Czar orders the officers to his presence.”

The palace, as the peasant called it, was lighted by two tallow candles. The walls were hung with gold paper. But every thing else, the benches, the table, the basin hung up by a cord, the towel on a nail in the wall, the shelf laden with earthen vessels, were exactly the same as in any other cabin. Pougatcheff, wearing his scarlet cafetan and high Cossack cap, with his hand on his hip, sat beneath the sacred pictures common to every Russian abode. Around him stood several of his chiefs. I could see that the arrival of an officer from Orenbourg had awakened some curiosity, and that they had prepared to receive me with pomp. Pougatcheff recognized me at once, and his assumed gravity disappeared.

“Ah! it is your lordship! how are you? What brings you here?”

I replied that I was traveling about my private business, when his people arrested me.

“What business?” asked he. I did not know what to answer. Pougatcheff thinking that I would not speak before witnesses gave a sign to his comrades to leave. All obeyed except two. “Speak before these,” said he; “conceal nothing from them.”

I glanced at these intimates of the usurper. One was an old man frail and bent, remarkable for nothing but a blue riband crossed over his coarse gray cloth cafetan; but I shall never forget his companion. He was tall, of powerful build, and seemed about forty-five. A thick red beard, piercing gray eyes, a nose without nostrils, marks of the searing irons on his forehead and cheeks, gave to his broad face, pitted by small-pox a most fierce expression. He wore a red shirt, a Kirghis robe, and wide Cossack pantaloons. Although wholly pre-occupied by my own feelings, yet this company deeply impressed me. Pougatcheff recalled me to myself quickly.

“What business brought you from Orenbourg?”

A bold idea suggested itself to my mind. It seemed to me that Providence, leading me a second time before this robber, gave me the means of accomplishing my work. I decided to seize the chance, and without reflecting on the step, I replied:

“I am on the way to the fortress of Belogorsk to liberate an oppressed orphan there.”

Pougatcheff’s eyes flashed. “Who dares to oppress an orphan? Were he seven feet high, he shall not escape my vengeance. Speak, who is the guilty one?”

“Alexis; he holds in slavery that same young girl whom you saw at Father Garasim’s, and wants to force her to marry him.”

“I shall give Alexis a lesson! I’ll teach him to oppress my subjects. I shall hang him.”

“Permit me a word,” said the man without nostrils. “You were too hasty giving the command to Alexis. You offended the Cossacks by giving them a noble as chief; do not offend the gentlemen by hanging one of them on the first accusation.”

“There is no need to pardon nor pity,” said the man with the blue riband. “It would be no harm to hang Alexis, nor to question this gentleman. Why does he visit us? If he does not acknowledge you as Czar he has no justice to get at your hands; if he acknowledge you, why did he stay at Orenbourg with your enemies? Will you not order him to prison, and have a fire lighted there?”

The old rascal’s logic seemed plausible even to myself. I shuddered when I remembered into whose hands I had fallen. Pougatcheff saw my trouble.

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

The jesting tone of the chief restored my courage. I replied calmly that I was in his power.

“Well,” said Pougatcheff, “tell me now the condition of your city?”

“It is, thank God, in a good state.”

“A good condition,” repeated the brigand, “when the people are dying of hunger.”

The usurper was right, but according to the duty imposed by my oath, I affirmed that it was a false report, and that the fort was sufficiently provisioned.

“You see he deceives you,” interrupted the man with the riband. “All the deserters are unanimous in saying that famine and pestilence are at Orenbourg; that thistles are eaten as dainties there. If you wish to hang Alexis, hang on the same gibbet this young fellow, that they may be equal.”

These words seemed to shake the chief. Happily the other wretch opposed this view.

“Silence,” said this powerful fellow. “You think of nothing but hanging and strangling. It becomes _you_ to play the hero. To look at you, no one knows where your soul is.”

“And which of the saints are you?” replied the old man.

“Generals,” said Pougatcheff, with dignity, “an end to your quarrels. It would be no great loss if all the mangy dogs from Orenbourg were dangling their legs under the same cross-beam; but it would be a misfortune if our own good dogs should bite each other.”

Feeling the necessity of changing the conversation, I turned to Pougatcheff with a smile, and said:

“Ah! I forgot to thank you for the horse and touloup. Without your aid I should not have reached the city. I would have died from cold on the journey.” My trick succeeded. Pougatcheff regained his good humor.

“The beauty of debt is the payment thereof,” said he, winking. “Tell me your story. What have you to do with the young girl that Alexis persecutes? Has she caught your heart, too?”

“She is my promised bride,” said I, seeing no risk in speaking the truth.

“Your promised bride! Why did you not tell me sooner? We’ll marry you, and be at your wedding. Listen, Field-marshal,” said he. “We are old friends, his lordship and I. Lets us go to supper. Tomorrow we shall see what is to be done with him. Night brings wisdom, and the morning is better than the evening.”

I would gladly have excused myself from proposed honor, but it was impossible. Two Cossacks girls covered the table with a white cloth, and brought bread, soup made of fish, and pitchers of wine and beer. Thus, for the second time, I was at table with Pougatcheff and his terrible companions. The orgie lasted far into the night. Drunkenness at last triumphed. Pougatcheff fell asleep in his place, and his companions signed to me to leave him. I went out with them. The sentry locked me up in a dark hole, where I found Saveliitch. He was so surprised by all that he saw and heard, that he asked no questions. Lying in darkness, he soon fell asleep.

The next morning Pougatcheff sent for me. Before his door stood a kibitka, with three horses abreast. The street was crowded. Pougatcheff, whom I met in the entry of his hut, was dressed for a journey, in a pelisse and Kirghis cap. His guests of the previous night surrounded him, and wore a look of submission which contrasted strongly with what I had seen on the preceding evening. Pougatcheff bade me good-morning gaily, and ordered me to sit beside him in the kibitka. We took our places.

“To the fortress of Belogorsk,” said Pougatcheff to the robust Tartar, who, standing, drove his horses. My heart beat violently. The Tartar horses shot off, the bells tinkled, the kibitka flew over the snow.

“Stop! stop!” cried a voice I knew too well. “O Peter! do not abandon me in my old age, in the midst of the rob--”

“Ah, you old owl!” said Pougatcheff, “sit up there in front.”

“Thanks, Czar, may God give you a long life.”

The horses set off again. The people in the streets stopped and bowed low, as the usurper passed. Pougatcheff saluted right and left. In an instant we were out of the town, taking our way over a well-defined road. I was silent. Pougatcheff broke in upon my reverie. “Why so silent, my lord?” said he.

“I can not help thinking,” said I, “of the chain of events. I am an officer, noble, yesterday at war with you; today I ride in the same carriage with you, and all the happiness of my life depends on you.”

“Are you afraid?”

“You have already given me my life!”

“You say truly. You know how my fellows looked upon you; only today they wanted to try you as a spy. The old one wanted to torture and then hang you; but I would not, because I remembered your glass of wine and your touloup. I am not bloodthirsty, as your friends say.” I remembered the taking of our fortress, but I did not contradict him.

“What do they say of me at Orenbourg?”

“It is said there, that you will not be easily vanquished. It must be confessed that you have given us some work.”

“Yes; I am a great warrior. Do you think the King Prussia is as strong as I?”

“What do you think yourself? Can you beat Frederick?”

“Frederick the Great? Why not? Wait till I march to Moscow!”

“You really intend to march on Moscow?”

“God knows,” said he, reflecting; “my road is narrow--my boys do not obey--they are thieves--I must listen--keep my ears open; at the first reverse they would save their own necks by my head.”

“Would it not be better,” I said, “to abandon them now, before it is too late, and have recourse to the clemency of the Empress?”

He smiled bitterly. “No; the time is passed. I shall end as I began. Who knows?”

Our Tartar was humming a plaintive air; Saveliitch, sound asleep, swayed from side to side; our kibitka was gliding rapidly over the winter road. I saw in the distance a village well known to my eyes, with its palisade and church spire on the steep bank of the river Iaik. A quarter of an hour after we entered the fortress of Belogorsk.

XII. MARIE.

The kibitka stopped before the Commandant’s house. The inhabitants had recognized the usurper’s bells and equipage, and had come out in crowds to meet him. Alexis, dressed like a Cossack, and bearded like one, helped the brigand to descend from his kibitka. The sight of me troubled him, but soon recovering himself, he said: “You are one of us?” I turned my head away without replying. My heart was wrung when we entered the room that I know so well, where still upon the wall hung, like an epitaph, the diploma of the deceased Commandant. Pougatcheff seated himself upon the same sofa where many a time Ivan Mironoff had dozed to the hum of his wife’s voice. Alexis’ own hand presented the brandy to his chief. Pougatcheff drank a glass and said, pointing to me: “Offer a glass to his lordship.” Alexis approached me, and again I turned my back upon him. Pougatcheff asked him a few questions about the condition of the fortress, and then, in an unpremeditated manner, said: “Tell me, who is this young girl that you have under guard?”

Alexis became pale as death. “Czar,” said he, a tremor in his voice, “she is in her own room; she is not locked up.”

“Take me to her room,” said the usurper, rising.

Hesitation was impossible. Alexis led the way to Marie’s room. I followed. On the stairs Alexis stopped: “Czar, demand of me what you will, but do not permit a stranger to enter my wife’s room.”

“You are married?” I shouted, ready to tear him to pieces.

“Silence!” interrupted the brigand, “this is my business. And you,” said he, turning to Alexis, “do not be too officious. Whether she be your wife or not, I shall take whom I please into her room. Your lordship, follow me.”

At the door of the room Alexis stopped again: “Czar, she has had a fever these three days; she is delirious.”

“Open,” said Pougatcheff.

Alexis fumbled in his pockets, and at last said that he had forgotten the key. Pougatcheff kicked the door; the lock yielded, the door opened and we entered.

I glanced into the room, and nearly fainted. On the floor, in the coarse dress of a peasant, Marie was seated, pale, thin, her hair in disorder; before her on the floor stood a pitcher of water covered by a piece of bread. Upon seeing me, she started, and uttered a piercing shriek. Pougatcheff glanced at Alexis, smiled bitterly, and said: “Your hospital is in nice order?”

“Tell me, my little dove, why does your husband punish you in this way?”

“My husband! he is not my husband. I am resolved to die rather than marry him; and I shall die, if not soon released.”

Pougatcheff gave a furious look at Alexis, and said: “Do you dare to deceive me, knave?”

Alexis fell on his knees. Contempt stifled all my feelings of hatred and vengeance. I saw with disgust, a gentleman kneeling at the feet of a Cossack deserter.

“I pardon you, this time,” said the brigand, “but remember, your next fault will recall this one.” He turned to Marie, and said, gently: “Come out, my pretty girl, you are free. I am the Czar!”

Marie looked at him, hid her face in her hands and fell on the floor unconscious. She had no doubt divined that he had caused her parents’ death. I rushed to aid her, when my old acquaintance, Polacca, boldly entered, and hastened to revive her mistress. Pougatcheff, Alexis and I went down to the reception room.