Margaret Fuller

Alexander Sergeyevitch Pushkin was born at Moscow on June 7, 1799. He came of an ancient family, a strange ancestor being a favourite negro ennobled by Peter the Great, who bequeathed to him a mass of curly hair and a somewhat darker skin than usually falls to the lot of the ordinary Russian. Early in life a daring "Ode to Liberty" brought him the displeasure of the court, and the young poet narrowly escaped a journey to Siberia by accepting an official post at Kishineff, in Southern Russia. But on the accession of Tsar Nicholas in 182s, Pushkin was recalled and appointed imperial historiographer. His death, which occurred on February 10, 1837, was the result of a duel fought with his brother-in-law. Pushkin's career was one of almost unparallelled brilliancy. As a poet, he still remains the greatest Russia has produced; and although his prose works do not rise to the high standard of his verse, yet they are of no inconsiderable merit. "The Captain's Daughter, a Russian Romance," was written about 1831, and published under the nom de plume of Ivan Byelkin. It is a story of the times of Catherine II., and is not only told with interest and charm, but with great simplicity and reality, and with a due sense of drama. Others of his novels are "The Pistol Shot," "The Queen of Spades," and "The Undertaker," the last-named a grim story in a style that has been familiarised to English readers by Edgar Allan Poe.

I.--I Join the Army

My father, after serving in the army, had retired with the rank of senior major. Since that time he had always lived on his estate, where he married the eldest daughter of a poor gentleman in the neighbourhood. All my brothers and sisters died young, and it was decided that I should enter the army.

When I was nearly seventeen, instead of being sent to join the guards' regiment at Petersburg, my father told me I was going to Orenburg. "You will learn nothing at Petersburg but to spend money and commit follies," he said. "No, you shall smell powder and become a soldier, not an idler."

It seemed horrible to me to be doomed to the dullness of a savage and distant province, and to lose the gaiety I had been looking forward to; but there was nothing for it but to submit.

The morning arrived for my departure, the travelling carriage was at the door, and our old servant SavÉlÜtch was in attendance to accompany me.

Two days later, when we were nearing our destination, a snowstorm overtook us. We might have perished in the snow, for all traces of the road were lost, but for a stranger who guided us to a small and lonely inn, where we passed the night. In the morning, to the sorrow of SavÉlÜtch, I insisted on giving our guide, who was but thinly clad, one of my cloaks--a hare-skin touloup.

"Thanks, your excellency," said the vagrant, "and may heaven reward you. As long as I live I shall never forget your kindness."

I soon forgot the snowstorm, the guide, and my hare-skin touloup, and on arrival at Orenburg hasted to wait on the general, an old comrade-in-arms of my father's. The general received me kindly, examined my commission, told me there was nothing for me to do in Orenburg, and sent me on to Fort BÉlogorsk to serve under Commander Mironoff. BÉlogorsk lay about thirty miles beyond Orenburg, on the frontier of the Kirghiz Kaisak Steppes, and it was to this outlandish place I was banished.

I expected to see high bastions, a wall and a ditch, but there was nothing at BÉlogorsk but a little village, surrounded by a wooden palisade. An old iron cannon was near the gateway, the streets were narrow and crooked, and the commandant's house to which I had been driven was a wooden erection.

Vassilissa Ignorofna, the commandant's wife, received me with simple kindness, and treated me at once as one of the family. An old army pensioner and Palashka, the one servant, laid the cloth for dinner; while in the square, near the house, the commandant, a tall and hale old man, wearing a dressing-gown and a cotton nightcap, was busy drilling some twenty elderly men--all pensioners.

Chvabrine, an officer who had been dismissed from the guards for fighting a duel, and Marya, a young girl of sixteen, with a fresh, round face, the commandant's daughter, were also at dinner.

Mironoff pleaded in excuse for being late for dinner that he had been busy drilling his little soldiers, but his wife cut him short ruthlessly.

"Nonsense," she said, "you're only boasting; they are past service, and you don't remember much about the drill. Far better for you to stay at home and say your prayers." Vassilissa Ignorofna never seemed to stop talking, and overwhelmed me with questions.

In the course of a few weeks I found that she not only led her husband completely, but also directed all military affairs, and ruled the fort as completely as she did the household. This really suited Ivan Mironoff very well, for he was a good-hearted, uneducated man, staunch and true, who had been raised from the ranks, and was now grown lazy. Both husband and wife were excellent people, and I soon became attached to them, and to the daughter Marya, an affectionate and sensible girl.

As for Chvabrine, he at first professed great friendship for me; but being in love with Marya, who detested him, he began to hate me when he saw a growing friendliness between Marya and myself.

I was now an officer, but there was little work for me to do. There was no drill, no mounting guard, no reviewing of troops. Sometimes Captain Mironoff tried to drill his soldiers, but he never succeeded in making them know the right hand from the left.

All seemed peace, in spite of my quarrels with Chvabrine. Every day I was more and more in love with Marya, and the notion that we might be disturbed at Fort BÉlogorsk by any repetition of the riots and revolts which had taken place in the province of Orenburg the previous year was not entertained. Danger was nearer than we had imagined. The Cossacks and half-savage tribes of the frontier were again already in revolt.

II.--The Rebel Chief

One evening early in October, 1773, Captain Mironoff called Chvabrine and me to his house. He had received a letter from the general at Orenburg with information that a fugitive Cossack named PugatchÉf had taken the name of the late Czar, Peter III., and, with an army of robbers, was rousing the country, destroying forts and committing murder and theft. The news spread quickly, and then came a disquieting report that a neighbouring fort some sixteen miles away had been taken by PugatchÉf, and its officers hanged.

Neither Mironoff nor Vassilissa showed any fear, and the latter declined to leave BÉlogorsk, though willing that Marya should be sent to Orenburg for safety. An insolent proclamation from PugatchÉf, inviting us to surrender on peril of death, and the treachery of our Cossacks and of Chvabrine, who went over at once to the rebels, only made the commandant and his wife more resolute.

"The scoundrel!" cried Vassilissa. "He has the impudence to invite us to lay our flag at his feet, and he doesn't know we have been forty years in the service!"

It was the same when PugatchÉf was actually at our door, and the assault had actually begun. Old Ivan Mironoff blessed his daughter, and embraced his wife, and then faced death. There was no fight in the poor old pensioners who made up our garrison, and both Mironoff and myself were soon captured, bound with ropes, and led before PugatchÉf.

The commandant indignantly refused to swear fidelity to the robber chief, and was hanged there and then in the market square; an old one-eyed lieutenant was soon swinging by his side. Then came my turn, and I gave the same answer as my captain had done. The rope was round my neck, when PugatchÉf shouted out "Stop!" and ordered my release. A few minutes later, and poor old Vassilissa, who had come in search of her husband, was lying dead in the market square, cut down by a Cossack's sword. PugatchÉf's arrival had prevented Marya's escape to Orenburg, and she was now lying too ill to be moved, in the house of Father Garassim, the parish priest.

PugatchÉf gave me leave to depart in safety, but before SavÉlÜtch and I left the fort, the rebel bade me come and see him. He laughed aloud when I presented myself.

"Who would have thought," he said, "that the man who guided you to a lodging on that night of the snowstorm was the great tzar himself? But you shall see better things; I will load you with favours when I have recovered my empire."

Then he invited me again and again to enter his service, but I told him I had sworn fidelity to the crown; and finally he let me go, saying: "Either entirely punish or entirely pardon. Tell the officers at Orenburg they may expect me in a week."

It hurt me to leave Marya behind, especially as PugatchÉf had made Chvabrine commandant of the fort, but there was no help for it. Father Garassim and his wife bade me good-bye. "Except you, poor Marya has no longer any protector or comforter," said the priest's wife.

At Orenburg I was in safety, but the town was soon besieged, and I could not persuade the general to sally out and attack the rebels. All through those dreary weeks of the siege I was wondering anxiously about Marya, and then one day when we had been driving off a party of cossacks, one of the rebels, whom I recognised a former soldier at BÉlogorsk, lingered to give me a letter. It was from Marya, and she told me that she was now in the house of Chvabrine, who threatened to kill her or hand her over to the robber camp if she did not marry him, and that she had but three days left before her fate would be sealed. Death would be easier, she said, than to be the wife of a man like Chvabrine.

I rushed off at once to the general, and implored him to give me a battalion of soldiers, and let me march on BÉlogorsk; but the general only shook his head, and said the expedition was unreasonable.

I decided to go alone and appeal to PugatchÉf, but the faithful SavÉlÜtch insisted on accompanying me, and together we arrived at the rebel camp.

PugatchÉf received me quite cordially, and I told him the truth, that I was in love with Marya, and that Chvabrine was persecuting her. He flared up indignantly at Chvabrine's presumption, and declared he would take me at once to BÉlogorsk, and attend my wedding. But on our arrival Chvabrine mentioned that Marya was the daughter of Mironoff, and immediately the countenance of the robber chief clouded over.

"Listen," I said, knowing PugatchÉf was well disposed towards me. "Do not ask of me anything against my honour or my conscience. Let me go with this unhappy orphan whither God shall direct, and whatever befall we will pray every day to God to watch over you."

It seemed as if PugatchÉf's fierce heart was touched. "Be it as you wish," he answered. "Either entirely punish or entirely pardon is my motto. Take your pretty one where you like, and may God give you love and wisdom."

A safe-conduct pass was given us, and I made up my mind to take Marya to my parents' house. I knew my father would think it a duty and an honour to shelter the daughter of a veteran who had died for his country. But Marya said she would never be my wife unless my parents approved of the marriage. We set off, and as we started I saw Chvabrine standing at the commandant's window, with a face of dark hatred.

III.--The Arrest

I parted from Marya two days later, and entrusted her to SavÉlÜtch, who promised me to escort her faithfully to my parents. My reason for this was that we had fallen in with a detachment of the army, and the officer in charge persuaded me to join him, and it seemed to me I was bound in honour to serve the tzarina.

So all that winter, and right on till the spring came, we pursued the rebels; and still PugatchÉf remained untaken; and this war with the robbers went on to the destruction of the countryside.

At last PugatchÉf was taken, and the war was at an end. A few days later I should have been in the bosom of my family, when an unforeseen thunderbolt struck me. I was ordered to be arrested and sent to Khasan, to the commission of inquiry appointed to try PugatchÉf and his accomplices.

No sooner had I arrived in Khasan than I was lodged in prison, and irons were placed on my ankles. It was a bad beginning, but I was full of hope and courage, and believed that I could easily explain my dealings with PugatchÉf.

The next day I was summoned to appear before the commission, and asked how long I had been in PugatchÉf's service.

I replied indignantly that I had never been in his service; and then when I was asked how it was he had spared my life and given me a safe-conduct pass I told the story of the guide in the snowstorm and the hair-skin touloup.

Then came the question how was it I had left Orenburg, and gone straight to the rebel camp?

I felt I could not bring in Marya's name, and expose her as a witness to the cross-examination of the commission, and so I stammered and became silent.

The officer of the guard then requested that I should be confronted with my principal accuser, and Chvabrine was brought into court. A great change had come over him. He was pale and thin, and his hair had already turned grey. In a feeble but clear voice Chvabrine went through his story against me; that I had been PugatchÉf's spy in Orenburg, and that after leaving that town I had done all I could to aid the rebels. I was glad of one thing, some spark of feeling kept him from mentioning Marya's name.

I told the judges I could only repeat my former statement that I was entirely innocent of any part in the rebellion; and then I was taken back to prison, and underwent no further examination.

Several weeks passed, and then my father was informed that the tzarina had condescended to pardon his criminal son, and remit the capital punishment, condemning him instead to exile for life in the heart of Siberia.

The unexpected blow nearly killed my father. He had heard of my arrest, and both SavÉlÜtch and Marya had assured him of my complete innocence. Now he broke out into bitter lament.

"What!" he kept on saying. "What! My son mixed up in the plots of PugatchÉf! Just God! What have I lived to see! The tzarina grants him life, but does that make it easier for me to bear? It is not the execution which is horrible. My ancestors have perished on the scaffold for conscience sake; but that an officer should join with robbers and felons! Shame on our race for ever!"

In vain my mother endeavoured to comfort him by talking of the injustice of the verdict. My father was inconsolable.

IV.--The Captain's Daughter to the Rescue

From the first Marya had been received with the warm-hearted hospitality that belonged to old-fashioned country people. The opportunity of giving a home to a poor orphan seemed to them a favour from God. In a very short time they were sincerely attached to her, for no one could know Marya without loving her, and both my father and my mother looked forward to the union of their son Peter with the captain's daughter.

My trial and condemnation plunged all three into misery; and Marya, believing that I could have justified myself had I chosen, and suspecting the motive which had kept me silent, and holding herself the sole cause of my misfortune, determined to save me.

All at once she informed my parents that she was obliged to start for Petersburg, and begged them to give her the means to do so.

"Why must you go to Petersburg?" said my mother, in distress. "You, too--are you also going to forsake us?"

Marya answered that she was going to seek help from people in high position for the daughter of a man who had fallen a victim to his fidelity.

My father could only bow his head. "Go," he said. "I do not wish to cast any obstacles between you and your happiness. May God grant you an honest man, and not a convicted traitor, for husband."

To my mother alone Marya confided her plans, and then, with her maid Palashka and the faithful SavÉlÜtch--who, parted from me, consoled himself by remembering he was serving my betrothed--set out for the capital.

Arrived at Sofia, Marya learnt that the court was at the summer palace of Tzarskoe-Selo, and at once resolved to stop there. She was able to get a lodging at the post-house, and the postmaster's wife, who was a regular gossip, began to tell her all the routine of the palace, at what hour the tzarina rose, had her coffee, and walked in the gardens.

Next morning, very early, Marya dressed herself and went to the imperial gardens. She saw a lady seated on a little rustic bench near the large lake, and went and seated herself at the other end of the bench. The lady wore a cap and a white morning gown, and a light cloak. She appeared to be about fifty years old, and the repose and gravity of her face, and the sweetness of her blue eyes and her smile, all attracted Marya and inspired confidence. The lady was the first to speak.

"You do not belong to this place?"

"No, madame. I only arrived yesterday from the country."

"You came with your parents?"

"No, madame, alone. I have neither father nor mother."

"You are very young to travel by yourself. You have come on business?"

"Yes, madame. I have come to present a petition to the tzarina."

"You are an orphan. It is some injustice or wrong you complain of? What is your name?"

"I am the daughter of Captain Mironoff, and it is for mercy I have come to ask."

"Captain Mironoff? He commanded one of the forts in the Orenburg district?"

"Yes, madame."

The lady seemed moved.

"Forgive me," she said, speaking even more gently, "if I meddle in your affairs; but I am going to court. Perhaps if you explain to me what it is you want, I may be able to help you."

Marya rose and curtsied; then she took from her pocket a folded paper, and handed it to her protectress, who read it over. Suddenly the gentleness turned to hardness in the face of the unknown lady.

"You plead for Peter Grineff!" she said coldly. "The tzarina cannot grant him mercy. He passed over to this rebel not in ignorance, but because he is depraved."

"It is not true!" cried Marya. "Before God it is not true! I know all; I will tell you everything. It was only on my account that he exposed himself to the misfortunes which have overtaken him. And if he did not vindicate himself before the judges, it was because he did not wish me to be mixed up in the affair."

And Marya went on to relate all that had taken place at BÉlogorsk.

When she had finished, the lady asked her where she lodged, and told her she would not have to wait long for an answer to the letter.

Marya went back to the post-house full of hope, and presently, to the consternation of her hostess, a lackey in the imperial livery entered and announced that the tzarina condescended to summon to her presence the daughter of Captain Mironoff.

"Good heavens!" cried the postmaster's wife. "The tzarina summons you to court! And I'm sure you don't even know how to walk in court fashion. Shall I send for a dressmaker I know who will lend you her yellow gown with flounces? I think I ought to take you."

But the lackey explained that the tzarina wanted Marya to come alone, and in the dress she should happen to be wearing. There was nothing for it but to obey, and, with a beating heart, Marya got into the carriage and was driven to the palace. Presently she was ushered into the boudoir of the tzarina, and recognised the lady of the garden.

The tzarina spoke graciously to her, telling Marya that it was a happiness to grant her prayer.

"I have had it all looked into, and I am convinced of the innocence of your betrothed. Here is a letter for your father-in-law. Do not be uneasy about the future. I know you are not rich, but I owe a debt to the daughter of Captain Mironoff."

Marya, all in tears, fell at the feet of the tzarina, who raised her and kissed her forehead. The tzarina almost overwhelmed the orphan before she dismissed her.

That same day Marya hastened back to my father's house in the country, without even having the curiosity to see the sights of Petersburg.

I was released from captivity at the end of the year 1774, and, as it happened, I was present in Moscow when PugatchÉf was executed in the following year. The famous robber chief recognised me as I stood in the crowd, and bade me farewell with a silent movement of his head. A few moments later and the executioner held up the lifeless head for all the people to look upon.

Chvabrine I never saw again after the day I was confronted with him at my trial.

Soon after PugatchÉf's death, Marya and I were married from my father's house.

An autograph letter from the tzarina, Catherine II., framed and glazed, is carefully preserved. It is addressed to the father of Peter Grineff, and contains, with the acquittal of his son, many praises of the intelligence and good heart of the daughter of Captain Mironoff.