“Farewell, Pyotr Andreich!” she said in a low voice. “God alone knows if we’ll see each other again; but I’ll never forget you; till the grave you alone will remain in my heart.”
I could make no reply. We were surrounded by people. I did not want to abandon myself in front of them to the feelings that stirred in me. She finally left. I returned to Zurin sad and silent. He wanted to cheer me up; I hoped to be diverted: we spent the day noisily and wildly, and in the evening set out on the march.
That was at the end of February. Winter, which had hampered military operations, would soon be over, and our generals were preparing for concerted action. Pugachev was still encamped near Orenburg. Meanwhile our detachments were joining forces and approaching the villain’s nest from all sides. The rebellious villages, at the sight of our troops, turned submissive; the bands of brigands fled from us everywhere, and everything betokened a swift and successful end.
Prince Golitsyn38 soon crushed Pugachev near the Tatishchevo fortress, scattered his hordes, liberated Orenburg, and, it seemed, delivered the final and decisive blow to the rebellion. At that time Zurin was dispatched against a band of mutinous Bashkirs, who scattered before we even saw them. Spring besieged us in a little Tatar village. The rivers overflowed and the roads became impassable. In our inaction we comforted ourselves with the thought of the imminent cessation of the tedious and petty war with brigands and savages.
But Pugachev had not been caught. He showed up in Siberian mills, gathered new bands there, and again began his villainies. Rumors of his successes spread once more. We learned of the devastation of Siberian fortresses. Soon the army commanders, who were counting on the despicable rebel’s weakness, were aroused from their carefree slumber by news of the taking of Kazan and the impostor’s march on Moscow. Zurin received orders to cross the Volga.*5
I will not describe our campaign and the end of the war. I will say briefly that the calamity was extreme. We passed through villages devastated by the rebels and unwillingly took from the poor inhabitants what little they had managed to save. Order broke down everywhere: the landowners hid in the forests. Bands of brigands spread their villainies everywhere; the commanders of separate detachments punished and pardoned arbitrarily; the condition of the whole vast region where the conflagration raged was terrible…God keep us from ever seeing a Russian rebellion—senseless and merciless!
Pugachev fled, pursued by Ivan Ivanovich Mikhelson.39 Soon we learned of his total defeat. Zurin finally received news of the impostor’s capture, and along with it the order to halt. The war was over. I could finally go to my parents! The thought of embracing them, of seeing Marya Ivanovna, from whom I had had no news, filled me with rapture. I leaped about like a child. Zurin laughed and said, shrugging his shoulders:
“No, you won’t end well! You’ll get married—and perish for nothing!”
But meanwhile a strange feeling poisoned my joy: the thought of the villain drenched in the blood of so many innocent victims, and of the execution that awaited him, troubled me against my will. “Emelya, Emelya!” I thought with vexation. “Why didn’t you run onto a bayonet or catch a load of grapeshot? You couldn’t have come up with anything better.” What could I do? The thought of him was inseparable in me from the thought of the mercy he granted me in one of the moments when he was most terrible, and of the deliverance of my bride-to-be from the hands of the vile Shvabrin.
Zurin gave me a leave of absence. In a few days I was to find myself again in the bosom of my family, to see again my Marya Ivanovna…Suddenly an unexpected storm broke over me.
On the day appointed for my departure, at the very moment I was preparing to set off, Zurin came into my cottage with an extremely worried look, holding a paper in his hand. Something stabbed my heart. I became frightened, without knowing of what. He sent my orderly away and told me he had some business with me.
“What is it?” I asked uneasily.
“A small unpleasantness,” he replied, handing me the paper. “Read what I just received.”
I started to read: it was a secret order to all detachment commanders to arrest me wherever I might be found and send me at once under guard to Kazan, to the Investigation Commission set up for the Pugachev affair.
The paper nearly dropped from my hands.
“Nothing to be done!” said Zurin. “My duty is to obey orders. Rumors of your friendly travels with Pugachev have probably somehow reached the authorities. I hope the affair won’t have any consequences and that you’ll vindicate yourself before the commission. Don’t lose heart, just get on your way.”
