He received me with a hearty greeting, and began to rally me about my travelling companion; but my explanations quieted his raillery, and he went to make his excuses to Marie for his rude message, and to provide her with the best lodging the town afforded. I supped with Lowrine that night, and agreed to do my duty, by joining his troop at once, and sending my betrothed on to Simbirsk, under the care of Savéliitch. Savéliitch had many objections,but I overpowered them; and Marie shed many tears, but I kissed them away before we parted.
The vigorous operations of the following spring brought many reverses to Pougatcheff; at last he was taken. I jumped for joy. I should clasp my beloved Marie once more in my arms. Lowrine laughed at my extravagant delight.
I was about to depart for my father’s house when Lowrine entered my room, and showed me an order for my arrest, and safe conveyance to Kazan, to give evidence against Pougatcheff. This drove me nearly mad with disappointment. There was no evasion to be thought of, and I was escorted on my way to Kazan, between two hussars with drawn swords. I found this place almost in ashes. Here I was at once placed in irons, and locked up in a wretched cell. But my conscience was tranquil, for I had resolved to tell the simple truth about my transactions with Pougatcheff.
On the day after my arrival I appeared before the council. In reply to the questions of my judges—who were evidently prejudiced against me—I told every fact as it had occurred, until I came to Marie, when I suddenly thought that to name her would be to ruin her. I hesitated and was silent. I was then confronted with another prisoner—Chvabrine! He lied my life away; swore that I had been a spy in the service of Pougatcheff, and we were both conducted back to prison.
Meantime, my father had received Marie kindly, and both my parents soon loved her. She explained to them the innocence of my connexion with the rebel chief, and they laughed at my adventures; until one day they received a letter from their relation, Prince Banojik, telling them that I had been convicted; but that, through his interference, my punishment was commuted to perpetual exile in Siberia.
My parents were stricken with grief, and Marie, with the soul of a heroine, started with Palachka and the faithful Savéliitch for St. Petersburg. She heard that the Court was at the summer palace of Tzarskoïé-Selo; and, with the assistance of the wife of a tradesman who served the Empress, gained access to the Palace gardens. Here she met a very agreeable lady, to whom she told her story, mentioning how I suffered because I would not even divulge her own name to exculpate myself. This lady listened attentively, and then promised to take care that the petition on my behalf should be presented to the Empress. A few hours afterwards, Marie was summoned before the Empress herself, in whom she recognised the lady she had met in the garden, and I received my pardon; the Empress being convinced that I was innocent.
Shortly afterwards, we were married.[C]
[C] This story forms the substance of the most popular prose fiction of the Russian poet Pouschkin, who died in eighteen hundred and thirty-nine. He was historiographer to the Emperor Nicholas.
P.N.C.C.
The thing which drove me from my late purchase of Longfield Hall in Cumberland—after nine months’ trial,—back to town, has been a dead secret, until this present writing. My friends have found a mine of reasons to explain the circumstance: either the county families refused to visit us; or our income was not more than enough to maintain our lodge-keeper; or my eldest daughter had made love to the surgeon’s young man at Nettleton; or I could not get on without my billiards and my five to two at whist; or I had been horse-whipped by Lord Wapshaw for riding over his hounds. There was more behind the curtain than people thought; and a thousand other good-natured explanations.