No More Learning

I was taken back to prison, and after that I underwent
no further examination.

I was not witness to all that I have still to tell my readers, but I
have heard the whole thing related so often that the least little
details have remained graven in my memory, and it seems to me I was
present myself.

Marya was received by my parents with the cordial kindness
characteristic of people in old days. In the opportunity presented to
them of giving a home to a poor orphan they saw a favour of God. Very
soon they became truly attached to her, for one could not know her
without loving her. My love no longer appeared a folly even to my
father, and my mother thought only of the union of her Petrusha with the
Commandant's daughter.

The news of my arrest electrified with horror my whole family. Still,
Marya had so simply told my parents the origin of my strange friendship
with Pugatchef that, not only were they not uneasy, but it even made
them laugh heartily. My father could not believe it possible that I
should be mixed up in a disgraceful revolt, of which the object was the
downfall of the throne and the extermination of the race of "_boyars_. "
He cross-examined Saveliitch sharply, and my retainer confessed that I
had been the guest of Pugatchef, and that the robber had certainly
behaved generously towards me. But at the same time he solemnly averred
upon oath that he had never heard me speak of any treason. My old
parents' minds were relieved, and they impatiently awaited better news.
But as to Marya, she was very uneasy, and only caution and modesty kept
her silent.

Several weeks passed thus. All at once my father received from
Petersburg a letter from our kinsman, Prince Banojik.
After the usual
compliments he announced to him that the suspicions which had arisen of
my participation in the plots of the rebels had been proved to be but
too well founded, adding that condign punishment as a deterrent should
have overtaken me, but that the Tzarina, through consideration for the
loyal service and white hairs of my father, had condescended to pardon
the criminal son, and, remitting the disgrace-fraught execution, had
condemned him to exile for life in the heart of Siberia.

This unexpected blow nearly killed my father. He lost his habitual
firmness, and his sorrow, usually dumb, found vent in bitter lament.

"What! " he never ceased repeating, well-nigh beside himself, "What! my
son mixed up in the plots of Pugatchef! 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 ancestor perished on
the scaffold for conscience sake,[71] my father fell with the martyrs
Volynski and Khuchtchoff,[72] but that a '_boyar_' should forswear his
oath--that he should join with robbers, rascals, convicted felons,
revolted slaves! Shame for ever--shame on our race! "

Frightened by his despair, my mother dared not weep before him, and
endeavoured to give him courage by talking of the uncertainty and
injustice of the verdict. But my father was inconsolable.

Marya was more miserable than anyone. Fully persuaded that I could have
justified myself had I chosen, she suspected the motive which had kept
me silent, and deemed herself the sole cause of my misfortune.