“Fedor Fedorovitch?[5] And why not? I beat your generals, and they have beaten him. My arms have always been successful up till now. But only wait awhile, you will see something very different when I march to Moscow.”
“And do you intend marching to Moscow?”
The impostor reflected for a moment and then said in a low voice:
“God knows. My road is narrow; my will is weak. My followers do not obey me. They are scoundrels. I must keep a sharp look-out; at the first reverse they will save their own necks at the expense of my head.”
“That is quite true,” I said to Pougatcheff. “Would it not be better for you to separate yourself from them in good time, and throw yourself upon the mercy of the Empress?”
Pougatcheff smiled bitterly.
“No,” replied he: “it is too late for me to repent now. There would be no pardon for me. I will go on as I have begun. Who knows? Perhaps I shall be successful. Grishka Otrepieff was made Czar at Moscow.”
“And do you know what his end was? He was flung out of a window, his body was cut to pieces and burnt, and then his ashes were placed in a cannon and scattered to the winds!”
“Listen,” said Pougatcheff with a certain wild inspiration. “I will tell you a tale which was told to me in my childhood by an old Calmuck. ‘The eagle once said to the crow: “Tell me, crow, why is it that you live in this bright world for three hundred years, and I only for thirty-three years?” “Because, little father,” replied the crow, “you drink live blood, and I live on carrion.”—The eagle reflected for a little while and then said: “Let us both try and live on the same food.”—“Good! agreed!” The eagle and the crow flew away. Suddenly they caught sight of a fallen horse, and they alighted upon it. The crow began to pick its flesh and found it very good. The eagle tasted it once, then a second time, then shook its pinions and said to the crow: “No, brother crow; rather than live on carrion for three hundred years, I would prefer to drink live blood but once, and trust in God for what might happen afterwards!”’ What do you think of the Calmuck’s story?”
“It is very ingenious,” I replied. “But to live by murder and robbery is, in my opinion, nothing else than living on carrion.”