“Well, Your Honor?” he said to me. “So you turned coward, admit it, when my lads put the rope around your neck? I bet your blood ran cold…And you’d be swinging from the crossbeam if it wasn’t for your servant. I recognized the old geezer at once. Well, did it occur to you, Your Honor, that the man who led you to that inn was the great sovereign himself?” (Here he assumed an imposing and mysterious air.) “Your guilt before me is big,” he went on, “but I had mercy on you for your goodness, because you did me a service when I was forced to hide from my foes. And you’ll see more yet! I’ll show you still more favor, when I come to rule my kingdom! Do you promise to serve me with zeal?”
The rascal’s question and his brazenness seemed so amusing that I could not help smiling.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked me, frowning. “Or don’t you believe I’m the great sovereign? Tell me straight.”
I was perplexed. To acknowledge the vagabond as sovereign was impossible: it seemed inexcusably fainthearted to me. To call him a humbug to his face was to expose myself to destruction; and what I had been ready for under the gallows in the eyes of all the people and in the first heat of indignation, now seemed to me useless bravado. I hesitated. Pugachev grimly awaited my reply. Finally (and even now I remember this moment with self-satisfaction) the sense of duty won out in me over human weakness. I replied to Pugachev:
“Listen, I’ll tell you the whole truth. Just consider, can I acknowledge you as my sovereign? You’re a sensible man: you’d see yourself that I was being devious.”
“Who am I then, to your mind?”
“God knows; but whoever you are, you’re playing a dangerous game.”
Pugachev gave me a quick glance.
“So you don’t believe that I’m the sovereign Pyotr Fyodorovich?” he said. “Well, all right. But doesn’t fortune favor the bold? Didn’t Grishka Otrepev27 reign in the old days? Think what you like of me, but stay by me. What do you care one way or the other? As I say, so I am. Serve me faithfully and truly, and I’ll make you a field marshal and a prince. What do you think?”
“No,” I replied firmly. “I was born a nobleman; I swore allegiance to our sovereign empress: I cannot serve you. If you really wish me well, let me go to Orenburg.”
Pugachev reflected.
“And if I do,” he said, “will you promise at least not to fight against me?”
“How can I promise you that?” I replied. “You know yourself that it’s not up to me: if they order me to go against you, I’ll go—there’s nothing to be done. You’re a commander now yourself; you demand obedience from your men. How would it look if I refused to serve when my service was needed? My life is in your hands: if you let me go, thank you; if you hang me, God be your judge; but I’ve told you the truth.”
My frankness struck Pugachev.
“So be it,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder. “If it’s hanging, it’s hanging; if it’s pardon, it’s pardon. Go where the wind blows you and do whatever you like. Tomorrow come and say good-bye to me, and now go to bed—I’m nodding off myself.”
I left Pugachev and went out to the street. The night was calm and cold. The moon and stars shone brightly, illuminating the square and the gallows. In the fortress all was still and dark. Only in the pot-house was there light and one could hear the shouts of the belated revelers. I looked at the priest’s house. The shutters and gates were closed. It seemed that all was quiet inside.
I came to my quarters and found Savelyich grief-stricken over my absence. The news of my freedom delighted him beyond words.
“Glory be to God!” he said, crossing himself. “At first light we’ll leave the fortress and go wherever our feet take us. I’ve prepared you a little something; eat, dearest, and sleep till morning as in Christ’s bosom.”
I followed his advice and, having eaten supper with great appetite, fell asleep on the bare floor, mentally and physically exhausted.
CHAPTER NINE Parting
Sweet was the meeting of two hearts,
Thine and mine, my lovely girl;
Sad, how sad it is to part,
As sad as parting with my soul.
KHERASKOV28
