“Be it as you desire,” said he, “punish to the end, or pardon completely, that’s my way. Take your promised bride wherever you choose, and may God give you love and happiness.” He turned to Alexis, and ordered him to write me a passport for all the forts subject to his power. Alexis was petrified with astonishment. Pougatcheff went off to inspect the fortress; Alexis followed him; I remained.
I ran up to Marie’s room. The door was closed. I knocked.
“Who is there?” asked Polacca.
I gave my name. I heard Marie say: “In an instant, Peter, I shall join you at Accoulina’s.”
Father Garasim and Accoulina came out to welcome me. I was honored with everything at the command of the hostess, whose voluble tongue never ceased. It was not long before Marie entered, quite pale; she had laid aside the peasant’s dress, and was, as usual, clad in simplicity, but with neatness and taste. I seized her hand, unable to utter a word. We were both silent from full hearts. Our hosts left us, and I could now speak of plans for her safety. It was impossible that she should stay in a fortress subject to Pougatcheff, and commanded by the infamous Alexis. Neither could she find refuge at Orenbourg, suffering all the horrors of siege. I proposed that she should go to my father’s country-seat. This surprised her. But I assured her that my father would hold it a duty and an honor to receive the daughter of a veteran who had died for his country. In conclusion, I said: “My dear Marie; I consider thee as my wife; these strange events have bound us for ever to each other.”
Marie listened with dignity; she felt as I did, but repeated that without my parents’ consent she would never be my wife. I could not reply to this objection. I folded her to my heart, and my project became our mutual resolve.
An hour after, the Corporal brought me my passport, having the scratch which served as Pougatcheff’s sign-manual, and told me that the Czar awaited me. I found him ready for his journey. To this man — why not tell the truth? — cruel and terrible to all but me, I was drawn by strong sympathy. I wanted to snatch him from the horde of robbers, whose chief he was; but the presence of Alexis and the crowd around him prevented any expression of these feelings. Our parting was that of friends. As the horses were moving, he leaned out of the kibitka and said to me: “Adieu, again, your lordship; perhaps we may meet once more.”
We did meet again, but under what circumstances!
I returned to Father Garasim’s, where our preparations were soon completed. Our baggage was put into the Commandant’s old equipage. The horses were harnessed. Marie went, before setting off, to visit once more the tomb in the church-yard, and soon returned, having wept in silence over all that remained to her of her parents. Father Garasim and Accoulina stood on the steps. Marie, Polacca, and I sat in the interior of the kibitka. Saveliitch perched himself up in front.
“Adieu, Marie, sweet little dove! Adieu, Peter, our handsome falcon!” exclaimed the kind Accoulina.
Passing the Commandant’s house, I saw Alexis, whose face expressed determined hate.
XIII. THE ARREST.
In two hours we reached the neighboring fortress, which also belonged to Pougatcheff. We there changed horses. By the celerity with which they served us, and the eager zeal of the bearded Cossack, whom Pougatcheff had made Commandant, I perceived that, thanks to the talk of our postilion, I was supposed to be a favorite with their master. When we started off again, it was dusk; we were drawing near a town where, according to the bearded Commandant, there ought to be a very strong detachment of Pougatcheff’s forces. The sentinels stopped us and to the demand: “Who goes there?” our postilion answered in a loud voice: “A friend of the Czar, traveling with his wife.”
We were at once surrounded by a detachment of Russian hussars, who swore frightfully.
“Come out,” said a Russian officer, heavily mustached; “We’ll give you a bath!”
I requested to be taken before the authorities. Perceiving that I was an officer, the soldiers ceased swearing, and the officer took me to the Major’s. Saveliitch followed, growling out: “We fall from the fire into the flame!”
The kibitka came slowly after us. In five minutes we reached a small house, all lighted up. The officer left me under a strong guard, and entered to announce my capture. He returned almost instantly, saying that I was ordered to prison, and her ladyship to the presence of the Major.
“Is he mad?” I cried.
“I can not tell, your lordship.”
I jumped up the steps — the sentinels had not time to stop me — and burst into the room where six hussar officers were playing faro. The Major kept the bank. I instantly recognized the Major as Ivan Zourine, who had so thoroughly emptied my purse at Simbirsk. “Is it possible? is this you Ivan Zourine?”
“Halloo! Peter; what luck? where are you from? will you take a chance?”
“Thanks; I would rather have some apartments assigned me.”
“No need of apartments, stay with me.”
“I can not; I am not alone.”
“Bring your comrade with you.”
“I am not with a comrade; I am with — a lady.”
“A lady! where did you fish her out?” and he whistled in so rollicking a manner, that the rest burst out laughing.
“Well,” said Zourine, “then you must have a house in the town. Here, boy! why do you not bring in Pougatcheff’s friend?”
“What are you about,” said I. “It is Captain Mironoff’s daughter. I have just obtained her liberty, and I am taking her to my father’s, where I shall leave her.”
“In the name of Heaven, what are you talking about? Are you Pougatcheff’s chum?”
“I will tell you everything later; first go and see this poor girl, whom your soldiers have horribly frightened.”
Zourine went out into the street to excuse himself to Marie, and explain the mistake, and ordered the officer to place her and her maid in the best house in the city. I stayed with him. After supper, as soon as we were alone, I gave him the story of my adventures.
He shook his head. “That’s all very well; but why will you marry? As an officer and a comrade, I tell you marriage is folly! Now listen to me. The road to Simbirsk has been swept clean by our soldiers; you can therefore send the Captain’s daughter to your parents tomorrow, and remain yourself in my detachment. No need to return to Orenbourg; you might fall again into the hands of the rebels.”
I resolved to follow, in part, Zourine’s advice. Saveliitch came to prepare my room for the night. I told him to be ready to set out in the morning with Marie.
“Who will attend you, my lord?”
“My old friend,” said I, trying to soften him, “I do not need a servant here, and in serving Marie, you serve me, for I shall marry her as soon as the war is over.”
“Marry!” repeated he, with his hands crossed, and a look of inexpressible blankness, “the child wants to marry! What will your parents say?”
“They will, no doubt, consent as soon as they know Marie. You will intercede for us, will you not?”
I had touched the old man’s heart. “O Peter!” said he, “you are too young to marry, but the young lady is an angel, and it would be a sin to let the chance slip. I will do as you desire.”
The next day I made known my plans to Marie. As Zourine’s detachment was to leave the city that same day, delay was impossible. I confided Marie to my dear old Saveliitch, and gave him a letter for my father. Marie, in tears, took leave of me. I did not dare to speak, lest the bystanders should observe my feelings.
It was the end of the February; Winter, which had rendered manoeuvering difficult was now at a close, and our generals were preparing for a combined campaign. At the approach of our troops, revolted villages returned to their duty, while Prince Galitzin defeated the usurper, and raised the siege of Orenbourg, which was the death-blow to the rebellion. We heard of Pougatcheff in the Ural regions, and on the way to Moscow. But he was captured. The war was over. Zourine received orders to return his troops to their posts. I jumpe
d about the room like a boy. Zourine shrugged his shoulders, and said: “Wait till you are married, and see how foolish you are!”
I had leave of absence. In a few days I would be at home and united to Marie. One day Zourine came into my room with a paper in his hand, and sent away the servant.
“What’s the matter?” said I.
“A slight annoyance,” he answered, handing me the paper. “Read.”
It was confidential order addressed to all the chiefs of detachments to arrest me, and send me under guard to Khasan before the Commission of Inquiry, created to give information against Pougatcheff and his accomplices. The paper fell from my hands.
“Do not be cast down,” said Zourine, “but set out at once.”
My conscience was easy, but the delay! It would be months, perhaps, before I could get through the Commission. Zourine bade me an affectionate adieu. I mounted the telega (Summer carriage), two hussars withdrawn swords beside, and took the road to Khasan.
XIV. THE SENTENCE.
I had no doubt that I was arrested for having left the fortress of Orenbourg without leave, and felt sure that I could exculpate myself. Not only were we not forbidden, but on the contrary, we were encouraged to make forays against the enemy. My friendly relations with Pougatcheff, however, wore a suspicious look.
Arriving at Khasan, I found the city almost reduced to ashes. Along the streets there were heaps of calcined material of unroofed walls of houses — a proof that Pougatcheff had been there. The fortress was intact. I was taken there and delivered to the officer on duty. He ordered the blacksmith to rivet securely iron shackles on my feet. I was then consigned to a small, dark dungeon, lighted only by a loop-hole, barred with iron. This did not presage anything good, yet I did not lose courage; for, having tasted the delight of prayer, offered by a heart full of anguish, I fell asleep, without a thought for the morrow. The next morning I was taken before the Commission. Two soldiers crossed the yard with me, to the Commandant’s dwelling. Stopping in the ante-chamber, they let me proceed alone to the interior.
I entered quite a spacious room. At a table, covered with papers, sat tow personages, — a General advanced in years, of stern aspect, and a young officer of the Guards, of easy and agreeable manners. Near the window, at another table, a secretary, pen on ear, bending over a paper, was ready to take my deposition.
The interrogation began: “Your name and profession?” The General asked if I was the son of Andrew Grineff, and upon my replying in the affirmative, exclaimed: “It is a pity so honorable a man should have a son so unworthy of him!”
I replied that I hoped to refute all charges against me, by a sincere avowal of the truth. My assurance displeased him.
“You are a bold fellow,” said he, frowning; “but we have seen others like you.”
The young officer asked how, and for what purpose I had entered the rebel service.
I replied indignantly, that being an officer and a noble, I was incapable of enlisting in the usurper’s army, and had never served him in any way.
“How is it,” said my judge, “that the ‘officer and noble’ is the only one spared by Pougatcheff? How is it that the ‘officer and noble’ received presents from the chief rebel, of a horse and a pelisse? Upon what is this intimacy founded, if not on treason, or at least unpardonable cowardice?”
The words wounded me, and I undertook with warmth my own defense, finally invoking the name of my General who could testify to my zeal during the siege of Orenbourg. The severe old man took from the table an open letter, and read:
“With regard to Ensign Griness, I have the honor to declare,
that he was in the service at Orenbourg from the month of
October, 1773, till the following February. Since then, he
has not presented himself.”
Here the General said harshly: “What can you say now to justify your conduct?”
My judges had listened with interest and even kindness, to the recital of my acquaintance with the usurper, from the meeting in the snowdrift to the taking of Belogorsk, where he gave me my life through gratitude. I was going to continue my defense, by relating frankly my relations with Marie, and her rescue. But if I spoke of her the Commission would force her to appear, and her name would become the theme of no very delicate remarks by the interrogated witnesses. These thoughts so troubled me that I stammered, and at last was silent.
The judges were prejudiced against me by my evident confusion. The young Guardsman asked that I should be confronted by my chief accuser. Some minutes later the clank of iron fetters resounded, and Alexis entered.
He was pale and thin. His hair, formerly black as a raven’s wing, was turning gray. He repeated his accusation in a weak but decided tone.
According to him, I was Pougatcheff’s spy. I heard him to the end in silence, and rejoiced at one thing: he never pronounced the name of Marie Mironoff. Was it that his self-love smarted from her contemptuous rejection of him? or was there in his heart a spark of that same feeling which made me also silent on that point? This confirmed me in my resolution, and when asked what I had to answer to the charges of Alexis, I merely said that I held to my first declaration, and had nothing more to add.
The General remanded us to prison. I looked at Alexis. He smiled with satisfied hate, raised up his shackles to hasten his pace and pass before me. I had no further examination. I was not an eye-witness of what remains to be told the reader; but I have so often heard the story, that the minutest particulars are engraved on my memory.
Marie was received by my parents with the cordial courtesy which distinguished the preceding generation. They became very much attached to her, and my father no longer considered my love a folly. The news of my arrest was a fearful blow; but Marie and Saveliitch had so frankly told the origin of my connection with Pougatcheff, that the news did not seem grave. My father could not be persuaded that I would take part in an infamous revolt, whose object was the subversion of the throne and the extinction of the nobility. So better news was expected, and several weeks passed, when at last a letter came from our relative Prince B — -. After the usual compliments, he told my father that the suspicions of my complicity in the rebel plots were only too well founded, as had been proved, — that an exemplary execution might have been my fate, were it not that the Empress, out of consideration for the father’s white hair and loyal services, had commuted the sentence of the criminal son. She had exiled him for life to the depths of Siberia!
The blow nearly killed my father, his firmness gave way, and his usually silent sorrow burst into bitter plaints: “What! my son plotting with Pougatcheff! The Empress gives him his life! Execution not the worst thing in the world! My grandfather died on the scaffold in defense of his convictions! But, that a noble should betray his oath, unite with bandits, knaves and revolted slaves! shame! shame forever on our face!”
Frightened by his despair, my mother did not dare to show her grief, and Marie was more desolate than they. Persuaded that I could justify myself if I chose, she divined the motive of my silence, and believed that she was the cause of my suffering.
One evening, seated on his sofa, my father was turning over the leaves of the “Court Almanac,” but his thoughts were far away, and the book did not produce its usual effect upon him. My mother was knitting in silence, and from time to time a furtive tear dropped upon her work. Marie, who was sewing in the same room, without any prelude declared to my parents that she was obliged to go to Saint Petersburg, and begged them to furnish her the means.
My mother said: “Why will you leave us?”
Marie replied that her fate depended on this journey; that she was going to claim the protection of those in favor at Court, as the daughter of a man who had perished a victim to his loyalty.
My father bowed his head. A word which recalled the supposed crime of his son, seemed a sharp reproach.
“Go,” said he, at last, with a sigh; “we will not place an obstacle to your happiness. May God give you
an honorable husband and not a traitor!”
He rose and left the room. Alone with my mother, Marie confided to her, in part, the object of her journey. My mother, in tears, kissed her and prayed for the success of the project. A few days after, Marie, Polacca and Saveliitch left home.
When Marie reached Sofia, she learned that the Court was at that moment in residence at the summer palace of Tzarskoie-Selo. She decided to stop there, and obtained a small room at the post-house. The post mistress came to chat with the new-comer. She told Marie, pompously, that she was the niece of an official attached to the Court — her uncle having the honor of attending to the fires in her Majesty’s abode! Marie soon knew at what hour the Empress rose, took her coffee, and went on the promenade; in brief, the conversation of Anna was like a page from the memoirs of the times, and would be very precious in our days. The two women went together to the Imperial gardens, where Anna told Marie the romance of each pathway and the history of every bridge over the artificial streams. Next day very early Marie returned alone to the Imperial gardens. The weather was superb. The sun gilded the linden tops, already seared by the Autumn frosts. The broad lake sparkled, the swans, just aroused, came out gravely from the shore. Marie was going to a charming green sward, when a little dog, of English blood, came running to her barking. She was startled; but a voice of rare refinement said: “He will not bite you; do not be afraid.”
A lady about fifty years of age was seated on a rustic bench. She was dressed in a white morning-dress, a light cap and a mantilla. Her face, full and florid, was expressive of calmness and seriousness. She was the first to speak: “You are evidently a stranger here?”
“That is true, madam. I arrived from the country yesterday.”
“You are with your parents?”
“No, madam, alone.”
“You are too young to travel alone. Are you here on business?”
The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection) Page 49