



Produced by Clare Graham & Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature
(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)





THE INVADERS

AND

OTHER STORIES

BY

COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOI

_TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN_

BY

NATHAN HASKELL DOLE

NEW YORK

THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.

13 ASTOR PLACE

1887




                           CONTENTS.



                         THE INVADERS
                  THE WOOD-CUTTING EXPEDITION
                      AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
             LOST ON THE STEPPE; OR, THE SNOWSTORM
                          POLIKUSHKA
                KHOLSTOMÍR: A STORY OF A HORSE





THE INVADERS.[1]

_A VOLUNTEER'S NARRATIVE._



I.


On the 24th of July, Captain Khlopof in epaulets and cap--a style
of dress in which I had not seen him since my arrival in the
Caucasus--entered the low door of my earth-hut.

"I'm just from the colonel's," he said in reply to my questioning look;
"to-morrow our battalion is to move."

"Where?" I asked.

"To N----. The troops have been ordered to muster at that place."

"And probably some expedition will be made from there?"

"Of course."

"In what direction, think you?"

"I don't think. I tell you all I know. Last night a Tatar from the
general came galloping up,--brought orders for the battalion to march,
taking two days' rations. But whither, why, how long, isn't for them to
ask. Orders are to go--that's enough."

"Still, if they are going to take only two days' rations, it's likely
the army will not stay longer."

"That's no argument at all."

"And how is that?" I asked with astonishment.

"This is the way of it: When they went against Dargi they took a week's
rations, but they spent almost a month."

"And can I go with you?" I asked, after a short silence.

"Yes, you _can_ go; but my advice is--better not. Why run the risk?"

"No, allow me to disregard your advice. I have been spending a
whole month here for this very purpose,--of having a chance to see
action,--and you want me to let it have the go-by!"

"All right, come with us; only isn't it true that it would be better
for you to stay behind? You could wait for us here, you could go
hunting. But as to us,--God knows what will become of us!... And
that would be first-rate," he said in such a convincing tone that it
seemed to me at the first moment that it would actually be first-rate.
Nevertheless, I said resolutely that I wouldn't stay behind for any
thing.

"And what have you to see there?" said the captain, still trying
to dissuade me. "If you want to learn how battles are fought, read
Mikhaïlovski Danilevski's 'Description of War,' a charming book; there
it's all admirably described,--where every corps stands, and how
battles are fought."

"On the contrary, that does not interest me," I replied.

"Well, now, how is this? It simply means that you want to see how men
kill each other, doesn't it?... Here in 1832 there was a man like
yourself, not in the regular service,--a Spaniard, I think he was. He
went on two expeditions with us,... in a blue mantle or something of
the sort, and so the young fellow was killed. Here, _bátiushka,_ one is
not surprised at any thing."

Ashamed as I was at the captain's manifest disapprobation of my
project, I did not attempt to argue him down.

"Well, he was brave, wasn't he?"

"God knows as to that. He always used to ride at the front. Wherever
there was firing, there he was."

"So he must have been brave, then," said I.

"No, that doesn't signify bravery,--his putting himself where he wasn't
called."

"What do you call bravery, then?"

"Bravery, bravery?" repeated the captain with the expression of a man
to whom such a question presents itself for the first time. "A brave
man is one who conducts himself as he ought," said he after a brief
consideration.

I remembered that Plato defined bravery as the knowledge of what one
ought and what one ought not to fear; and in spite of the triteness and
obscurity in the terminology of the captain's definition, I thought
that the fundamental conception of both was not so unlike as might at
first sight appear, and that the captain's definition was even more
correct than the Greek philosopher's, for the reason, that, if he could
have expressed himself as Plato did, he would in all probability have
said that that man is brave who fears only what he ought to fear and
not what there is no need of fearing.

I was anxious to explain my thought to the captain.

"Yes," I said, "it seems to me that in every peril there is an
alternative, and the alternative adopted under the influence of,
say, the sentiment of duty, is bravery, but the alternative adopted
under the influence of a lower sentiment is cowardice; therefore it
is impossible to call a man brave who risks his life out of vanity
or curiosity or greediness, and, _vice versa,_ the man who under the
influence of the virtuous sentiment of family obligation, or simply
from conviction, avoids peril, cannot be called a coward."

The captain looked at me with a queer sort of expression while I was
talking.

"Well, now, I don't know how to reason this out with you," said he,
filling his pipe, "but we have with us a junker, and he likes to
philosophize. You talk with him. He also writes poetry."

I had only become intimate with the captain in the Caucasus, but I had
known him before in Russia. His mother, Marya Ivanovna Khlopova, the
owner of a small landed estate, lives about two _versts_[2] from my
home. Before I went to the Caucasus I visited her. The old lady was
greatly delighted that I was going to see her Páshenka[3] (thus she
called the old gray-haired captain), and, like a living letter, could
tell him about her circumstances and give him a little message. Having
made me eat my fill of a glorious pie and roast chicken, Marya Ivanovna
went to her sleeping-room and came back with a rather large black
relic-bag,[4] to which was attached some kind of silken ribbon.

"Here is this image of our Mother-Intercessor from the September
festival," she said, kissing the picture of the divine Mother attached
to the cross, and putting it into my hand. "Please give it to him,
_bátiushka._ You see, when he went to the Kaikaz, I had a Te Deum
sung, and made a vow, that if he should be safe and sound, I would
order this image of the divine Mother. And here it is seventeen years
that the _Mátushka_ and the saints have had him in their keeping;
not once has he been wounded, and what battles he has been in, as it
seems!... When Mikhailo, who was with him, told me about it, my hair
actually stood on end. You see, all that I know about him I have to
hear from others; he never writes me any thing about his doings, my
dove,[5]--he is afraid of frightening me."

(I had already heard in the Caucasus, but not from the captain himself,
that he had been severely wounded four times; and, as was to be
expected, he had not written his mother about his wounds any more than
about his campaigns.)

"Now let him wear this holy image," she continued. "I bless him with
it. The most holy Intercessor protect him, especially in battle may she
always look after him! And so tell him, my dear, friend,[6] that thy
mother gave thee this message."

I promised faithfully to fulfil her commission.

"I know you will be fond of him, of my Páshenka," the old lady
continued,--"he is such a splendid fellow! Would you believe me, not a
year goes by without his sending me money, and he also helps Annushka
my daughter, and all from his wages alone. Truly I shall always thank
God," she concluded with tears in her eyes, "that he has given me such
a child."

"Does he write you often?" I asked.

"Rarely, _bátiushka,_--not more than once a year; and sometimes when
he sends money he writes a little word, and sometimes he doesn't. 'If
I don't write you, _mámenka,_' he says, 'it means that I'm alive and
well; but if any thing should happen,--which God forbid,--then they
will write you for me.'"

When I gave the captain his mother's gift (it was in my room), he asked
me for some wrapping-paper, carefully tied it up, and put it away. I
gave him many details of his mother's life: the captain was silent.
When I had finished, he went into a corner, and took a very long time
in filling his pipe.

"Yes, she's a fine old lady," said he from the corner, in a rather
choked voice: "God grant that we may meet again!"

Great love and grief were expressed in these simple words.

"Why do you serve here?" I asked.

"Have to serve," he replied with decision. "And double pay means a good
deal for our brother, who is a poor man."

The captain lived economically; he did not play cards, he rarely drank
to excess, and he smoked ordinary tobacco, which from some inexplicable
reason he did not call by its usual name,[7] but _sambrotalicheski
tabák._ The captain had pleased me even before this. He had one of
those simple, calm Russian faces, and looked you straight in the eye
agreeably and easily. But after this conversation I felt a genuine
respect for him.


[Footnote 1: _Nabég_ (pronounced Na-be-ukh), the Invasion or Raid.]

[Footnote 2: One and a third miles.]

[Footnote 3: An affectionate diminished diminutive: Pavel (Paul),
Pasha, Pashenka.]

[Footnote 4: _ládanka,_ the bag containing sacred things worn by the
pious, together with the baptismal cross.]

[Footnote 5: _golubchik._]

[Footnote 6: _moï bátiushka._]

[Footnote 7: _tiutiún._]



II.


At four o'clock on the morning of the next day, the captain came riding
up to my door. He had on an old well-worn coat without epaulets, wide
Lesghian trousers, a round white Circassian cap, with drooping lambskin
dyed yellow, and an ugly-looking Asiatic sabre across his shoulder. The
little white horse[8] on which he rode came with head down, and mincing
gait, and kept switching his slender tail. In spite of the fact that
the good captain's figure was neither very warlike nor very handsome,
yet there was in it such an expression of good-will toward every one
around him, that it inspired involuntary respect.

I did not keep him waiting a minute, but immediately mounted, and we
rode off together from the gate of the fortress.

The battalion was already two hundred _sazhens_[9] ahead of us, and had
the appearance of some black, solid body in motion. It was possible to
make out that it was infantry, only from the circumstance that while
the bayonets appeared like long, dense needles, occasionally there came
to the ear the sounds of a soldier's song, the drum, and a charming
tenor, the leader of the sixth company,--a song which I had more than
once enjoyed at the fort.

The road ran through the midst of a deep, wide ravine, or _balka_ as it
is called in the Caucasian dialect, along the banks of a small river,
which at this time _was playing,_ that is, was having a freshet. Flocks
of wild pigeons hovered around it, now settling on the rocky shore, now
wheeling about in mid-air in swift circles and disappearing from sight.

The sun was not yet visible, but the summit of the balka on the
right began to grow luminous. The gray and white  crags, the
greenish-yellow moss wet with dew, the clumps of different kinds of
wild thorn,[10] stood out extraordinarily distinct and rotund in the
pellucid golden light of the sunrise.

On the other hand, the ravine, hidden in thick mist which rolled
up like smoke in varying volumes, was damp, and dark, and gave the
impression of an indistinguishable mixture of colors--pale lilac,
almost purple, dark green, and white.

Directly in front of us, against the dark blue of the horizon, with
startling distinctness appeared the dazzling white, silent masses of
the snow-capped mountains with their marvellous shadows and outlines
exquisite even in the smallest details. Crickets, grasshoppers, and
a thousand other insects, were awake in the tall grass, and filled
the air with their sharp, incessant clatter: it seemed as though a
numberless multitude of tiny bells were jingling in our very ears. The
atmosphere was alive with waters, with foliage, with mist; in a word,
had all the life of a beautiful early summer morning.

The captain struck a light, and began to puff at his pipe; the
fragrance of _sambrotalicheski tabák_ and of the punk struck me as
extremely pleasant.

We rode along the side of the road so as to overtake the infantry as
quickly as possible. The captain seemed more serious than usual; he
did not take his Daghestan pipe from his mouth, and at every step he
dug his heels into his horse's legs as the little beast, capering
from one side to the other, laid out a scarcely noticeable dark green
track through the damp, tall grass. Up from under his very feet, with
its shrill cry,[11] and that drumming of the wings that is so sure to
startle the huntsman in spite of himself, flew the pheasant, and slowly
winged its flight on high. The captain paid him not the slightest
attention.

"We had almost overtaken the battalion, when behind us was heard the
sound of a galloping horse, and in an instant there rode by us a very
handsome young fellow in an officer's coat, and a tall white Circassian
cap.[12] As he caught up with us he smiled, bowed to the captain, and
waved his whip.... I only had time to notice that he sat in the saddle
and held the bridle with peculiar grace, and that he had beautiful dark
eyes, a finely cut nose, and a mustache just beginning to grow. I was
particularly attracted by the way in which he could not help smiling,
as if to impress it upon us that we were friends of his. If by nothing
else than his smile, one would have known that he was still very young.

"And now where is he going?" grumbled the captain with a look of
dissatisfaction, not taking his pipe from his mouth.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"Ensign Alánin, a subaltern officer of my company.... Only last month
he came from the School of Cadets."

"This is the first time that he is going into action, I suppose?" said
I.

"And so he is overjoyed," replied the captain thoughtfully, shaking his
head; "it's youth."

"And why shouldn't he be glad? I can see that for a young officer this
must be very interesting."

The captain said nothing for two minutes.

"And that's why I say 'it's youth,'" he continued in a deep tone. "What
is there to rejoice in, when there's nothing to see? Here when one goes
often, one doesn't find any pleasure in it. Here, let us suppose there
are twenty of us officers going: some of us will be either killed or
wounded; that's likely. To-day my turn, to-morrow his, the next day
somebody else's. So what is there to rejoice in?"


[Footnote 8: _mashtak_ in the Caucasian dialect.]

[Footnote 9: Fourteen hundred feet.]

[Footnote 10: Paliurus, box-thorn, and _karachag._]

[Footnote 11: _tordoka'yé._]

[Footnote 12: _papákha._]



III.


Scarcely had the bright sun risen above the mountains, and begun
to shine into the valley where we were riding, when the undulating
clouds of mist scattered, and it grew warm. The soldiers with guns and
knapsacks on their backs marched slowly along the dusty road. In the
ranks were frequently heard Malo-Russian dialogues and laughter. A few
old soldiers in white linen coats--for the most part non-commissioned
officers--marched along the roadside with their pipes, engaged in
earnest conversation. The triple rows of heavily laden wagons advanced
step by step, and raised a thick dust, which hung motionless.

The mounted officers rode in advance; a few _jiggited,_ as they say
in the Caucasus;[13] that is, applying the whip to their horses, they
spurred them on to make four or five leaps, and then reined them in
suddenly, pulling the head back. Others listened to the song-singers,
who notwithstanding the heat and the oppressive air indefatigably tuned
up one song after another.

A hundred _sazhens_ in advance of the infantry, on a great white horse,
surrounded by mounted Tatars, rode a tall, handsome officer in Asiatic
costume, known to the regiment as a man of reckless valor, one who cuts
_any one straight in the eyes!_[14] He wore a black Tatar half-coat or
_beshmét_ trimmed with silver braid, similar trousers, new leggings[15]
closely laced with _chirazui_ as they call galloons in the Caucasus,
and a tall, yellow Cherkessian cap worn jauntily on the back of his
head. On his breast and back were silver lacings. His powder-flask and
pistol were hung at his back; another pistol, and a dagger in a silver
sheath, depended from his belt. Besides all this was buckled on a sabre
in a red morocco sheath adorned with silver; and over the shoulder hung
his musket in a black case.

By his garb, his carriage, his manner, and indeed by every motion,
it was manifest that his ambition was to ape the Tatars. He was just
saying something, in a language that I did not understand, to the
Tatars who rode with him; but from the doubtful, mocking glances which
these latter gave each other, I came to the conclusion that they did
not understand him either.

This was one of our young officers of the dare-devil, _jigit_ order,
who get themselves up à la Marlinski and Lermontof. These men look
upon the Caucasus, as it were, through the prism of the "Heroes of our
Time," Mulla-Nurof[16] and others, and in all their activities are I
directed not by their own inclinations but by the example of these
models.

This lieutenant, for instance, was very likely fond of the society
of well-bred women and men of importance, generals, colonels,
adjutants,--I may even go so far as to believe that he was very fond of
this society, because he was in the highest degree vainglorious,--but
he considered it his unfailing duty to show his rough side to all
important people, although he offended them always more or less; and
when any lady made her appearance at the fortress, then he considered
it his duty to ride by her windows with his cronies, or _kunaki_ as
they are called in the dialect of the Caucasus, dressed in a red shirt
and nothing but _chuviaki_ on his bare legs, and shouting and swearing
at the top of his voice--but all this not only with the desire to
insult her, but also to show her what handsome white legs he had, and
how easy it would be to fall in love with him if only he himself were
willing. Or he often went by at night with two or three friendly Tatars
to the mountains into ambush by the road so as to take by surprise and
kill hostile Tatars coming along; and though more than once his heart
told him that there was nothing brave in such a deed, yet he felt
himself under obligations to inflict suffering upon people in whom he
thought that he was disappointed, and whom he affected to hate and
despise. He always carried two things,--an immense holy image around
his neck, and a dagger above his shirt. He never took them off, but
even went to bed with them. He firmly believed that enemies surrounded
him. It was his greatest delight to argue that he was under obligations
to wreak vengeance on some one and wash out insults in blood. He was
persuaded that spite, vengeance, and hatred of the human race were the
highest and most poetical of feelings. But his mistress,--a Circassian
girl course,--whom I happened afterwards to meet, said that he was
the mildest and gentlest of men, and that every evening he wrote in
his gloomy diary, cast up his accounts on ruled paper, and got on his
knees to say his prayers. And how much suffering he endured, to seem
to himself only what he desired to be, because his comrades and the
soldiers could not comprehend him as he desired!

Once, in one of his nocturnal expeditions with his Tatar friends, it
happened that he put a bullet into the leg of a hostile Tchetchenets,
and took him prisoner. This Tchetchenets for seven weeks thereafter
lived with the lieutenant; the lieutenant dressed his wound, waited
on him as though he were his nearest friend, and when he was cured
sent him home with gifts. Afterwards, during an expedition when the
lieutenant was retreating from the post, having been repulsed by the
enemy, he heard some one call him by name, and his wounded _kunák_
strode out from among the hostile Tatars, and by signs asked him to do
the same. The lieutenant went to meet his _kunák,_ and shook hands with
him. The mountaineers stood at some little distance, and refrained from
firing; but, as soon as the lieutenant turned his horse to go back,
several shot at him, and one bullet grazed the small of his back.

Another time I myself saw a fire break out by night in the fortress,
and two companies of soldiers were detailed to put it out. Amid the
crowd, lighted up by the ruddy glare of the fire, suddenly appeared the
tall form of the man on a coal-black horse. He forced his way through
the crowd, and rode straight to the fire. As soon as he came near, the
lieutenant leaped from his horse, and hastened into the house, which
was all in flames on one side. At the end of five minutes he emerged
with singed hair and burned sleeves, carrying in his arms two doves
which he had rescued from the flames.

His name was Rosenkranz; but he often spoke of his ancestry, traced it
back to the Varangians, and clearly showed that he and his forefathers
were genuine Russians.


[Footnote 13: _jigit_ or _djigit_ in the Kumuits dialect signifies
valiant. The Russians make from it the verb _jigitovat._]

[Footnote 14: That is, known for telling the plain truth.]

[Footnote 15: _chuviaki._]

[Footnote 16: The name of a character In one of Marlinski's novels.]



IV.


The sun had travelled half its course, and was pouring down through
the glowing atmosphere its fierce rays upon the parched earth. The
dark blue sky was absolutely clear; only the bases of the snow-capped
mountains began to clothe themselves in pale lilac clouds. The
motionless atmosphere seemed to be full of some impalpable dust; it
became intolerably hot.

When the army came to a small brook that had overflowed half the road,
a halt was called. The soldiers, stacking their arms, plunged into
the stream. The commander of the battalion sat down in the shade,
on a drum, and, showing by his broad countenance the degree of his
rank, made ready, in company with a few officers, to take lunch. The
captain lay on the grass under the company's transport-wagon; the
gallant lieutenant Rosenkranz and some other young officers, spreading
out their Caucasian mantles, or _burki,_ threw themselves down, and
began to carouse as was manifest by the flasks and bottles scattered
around them and by the extraordinary liveliness of their singers, who,
standing in a half-circle behind them, gave an accompaniment to the
Caucasian dance-song sung by a Lesghian girl:--

    Shamyl resolved to make a league
    In the years gone by,
    Traï-raï, rattat-taï,
    In the years gone by.

Among these officers was also the young ensign who had passed us in the
morning. He was very entertaining: his eyes gleamed, his tongue never
grew weary. He wanted to greet every one, and show his good-will to
them all. Poor lad! he did not know that in acting this way he might be
ridiculous, that his frankness and the gentleness which he showed to
every one might win for him, not the love which he so much desired, but
ridicule; he did not know this either, that when at last, thoroughly
heated, he threw himself down on his _burka,_ and leaned his head
on his hand, letting his thick black curls fall over, he was a very
picture of beauty.

Two officers crouched under a wagon, and were playing cards on a hamper.

I listened with curiosity to the talk of the soldiers and officers,
and attentively watched the expression of their faces; but, to tell
the truth, in not one could I discover a shadow of that anxiety which
I myself felt; jokes, laughter, anecdotes, expressed the universal
carelessness, and indifference to the coming peril. How impossible to
suppose that it was not fated for some never again to pass that road!



V.


At seven o'clock in the evening, dusty and weary, we entered the wide,
fortified gate of Fort N----. The sun was setting, and shed oblique
rosy rays over the picturesque batteries and lofty-walled gardens
that surrounded the fortress, over the fields yellow for the harvest,
and over the white clouds which, gathering around the snow-capped
mountains, simulated their shapes, and formed a chain no less wonderful
and beauteous. A young half moon, like a translucent cloud, shone above
the horizon. In the native village or _aul,_ situated near the gate,
a Tatar on the roof of a hut was calling the faithful to prayer. The
singers broke out with new zeal and energy.

After resting and making my toilet I set out to call upon an adjutant
who was an acquaintance of mine, to ask him to make my intention known
to the general. On the way from the suburb where I was quartered, I
chanced to see a most unexpected spectacle in the fortress of N----.
I was overtaken by a handsome two-seated vehicle in which I saw a
stylish bonnet, and heard French spoken. From the open window of the
commandant's house came floating the sounds of some "Lízanka" or
"Kátenka" polka played upon a wretched piano, out of tune. In the
tavern which I was passing were sitting a number of clerks over their
glasses of wine, with cigarettes in their hands, and I overheard one
saying to another,--

"Excuse me, but taking politics into consideration, Márya Grigór'yevna
is our first lady."

A humpbacked Jew of sickly countenance, dressed in a dilapidated coat,
was creeping along with a shrill, broken-down hand-organ; and over the
whole suburb echoed the sounds of the finale of "Lucia."

Two women in rustling dresses, with silk kerchiefs around their necks
and bright- sun-shades in their hands, hastened past me on the
plank sidewalk. Two girls, one in pink, the other in a blue dress,
with uncovered heads, were standing on the terrace of a small house,
and affectedly laughing with the obvious intention of attracting the
notice of some passing officers. Officers in new coats, white gloves,
and glistening epaulets, were parading up and down the streets and
boulevards.

I found my acquaintance on the lower floor of the general's house.
I had scarcely had time to explain to him my desire, and have his
assurance that it could most likely be gratified, when the handsome
carriage, which I had before seen, rattled past the window where I was
sitting. From the carriage descended a tall, slender man, in uniform of
the infantry service and major's epaulets, and came up to the general's
rooms.

"_Akh!_ pardon me, I beg of you," said the adjutant, rising from his
place: "it's absolutely necessary that I tell the general."

"Who is it that just came?" I asked.

"The countess," he replied, and donning his uniform coat hastened
up-stairs.

In the course of a few minutes there appeared on the steps a short but
very handsome man in a coat without epaulets, and a white cross in his
button-hole. Behind him came the major, the adjutant, and two other
officers.

In his carriage, his voice, in all his motions, the general showed that
he had a very keen appreciation of his high importance.

_"Bon soir, Madame la Comtesse,"_ he said, extending his hand through
the carriage window.

A dainty little hand in dog-skin glove took his hand, and a pretty,
smiling little visage under a yellow bonnet appeared in the window.

From the conversation which lasted several minutes, I only heard, as I
went by, the general saying in French with a smile,--

"You know that I have vowed to fight the infidels; beware of becoming
one!"

A laugh rang from the carriage.

"_Adieu donc, cher général._"

"_Non, au revoir,_" said the general, returning to the steps of the
staircase; "don't forget that I have invited myself for to-morrow
evening.".

The carriage drove away.

"Here is a man," said I to myself as _I_ went home, "who has every
thing that Russians strive after,--rank, wealth, society,--and this
man, before a battle the outcome of which God only knows, jests with
a pretty little woman, and promises to drink tea with her on the next
day, just as though he had met her at a ball!"

There at that adjutant's I became acquainted with a man who still more
surprised me; it was the young lieutenant of the K. regiment, who was
distinguished for his almost feminine mildness and cowardice. He came
to the adjutant to pour out his peevishness and ill humor against those
men who, he thought, were intriguing against him to keep him from
taking part in the matter in hand.

He declared that it was hateful to be treated so, that it was not doing
as comrades ought, that he would remember him, and so forth.

As soon as I saw the expression of his face, as soon as I heard the
sound of his voice, I could not escape the conviction that he was not
only not putting it on, but was deeply stirred and hurt because he was
not allowed to go against the Cherkess, and expose himself to their
fire: he was as much hurt as a child is hurt who is unjustly punished.
I could not understand it at all.



VI.


At ten o'clock in the evening the troops were ordered to march. At
half-past nine I mounted my horse, and started off to find the general;
but on reflecting that he and his adjutant must be busy, I remained in
the street, and, tying my horse to a fence, sat down on the terrace to
wait until the general should come.

The heat and glare of the day had already vanished in the fresh night
air; and the obscure light of the young moon, which, infolding around
itself a pale gleaming halo against the dark blue of the starry sky,
was beginning to decline. Lights shone in the windows of the houses and
in the chinks of the earth huts. The gracefully proportioned poplars
in the gardens, standing out against the horizon from behind the earth
huts, whose reed-thatched roofs gleamed pale in the moonlight, seemed
still taller and blacker.

The long shadows of the houses, of the trees, of the fences, lay
beautifully across the white dusty road. In the river rang incessantly
the voice of the frogs;[17] in the streets were heard hurrying steps,
and sounds of voices, and the galloping of horses. From the suburb came
floating, now and again, the strains of the hand-organ; now the popular
Russian air, "The winds are blowing," now one of the Aurora waltzes.

I will not tell what my thoughts were: in the first place, because
I should be ashamed to confess to the melancholy ideas which without
cessation arose in my mind, while all around me I perceived only gayety
and mirth; and, in the second place, because they have nothing to do
with my story.

I was so deeply engrossed in thought, that I did not notice that the
bell was ringing for eleven o'clock, and the general was riding past me
with his suite.

The rearguard was just at the fortress gate. I galloped at full speed
across the bridge, amid a crush of cannon, caissons, military wagons,
and commanding officers shouting at the top of their voices. After
reaching the gate, I rode at a brisk trot for almost a verst, past
the army stretched out and silently moving through the darkness, and
overtook the general. As I made my way past the mounted artillery
dragging their ordnance, amid the cannon and officers, a German voice,
like a disagreeable dissonance interrupting soft and majestic harmony,
struck my ear. It screamed, "Agkhtingkhist,[18] bring a linstock."

And a soldier's voice replied, quick as a flash, "Chevchenko! the
lieutenant asks for a light!"

The greater part of the sky had become enveloped in long steel-gray
clouds: here and there gleamed from between them the lustreless stars.
The moon was now sinking behind the near horizon of dark mountains
which were on the right; and it shed on their summits a feeble, waning,
half light, which contrasted sharply with the impenetrable darkness
that marked their bases.

The air was mild, and so still, that not a single grass-blade, not a
single mist-wreath, moved. It became so dark, that it was impossible
to distinguish objects, even though very near at hand. On the side of
the road, there seemed to me sometimes to be rocks, sometimes animals,
sometimes strange men; and I knew that they were bushes only when I
heard them rustle, and felt the coolness of the dew with which they
were covered. In front of me I saw a dense, waving black shadow, behind
which followed a few moving spots; this was the van-guard of cavalry,
and the general with his suite. Between us moved another similar black
mass, but this was not as high as the first; this was the infantry.

Such silence reigned in the whole detachment, that there could be
plainly distinguished all the harmonious voices of the night, full of
mysterious charm. The distant melancholy howls of jackals, sometimes
like the wails of despair, sometimes like laughter; the monotonous
ringing song of the cricket, the frog, the quail; a gradually
approaching murmur, the cause of which I could not make clear to my own
mind; and all those nocturnal, almost audible motions of nature, which
it is so impossible either to comprehend or define,--unite into one
complete, beautiful harmony which we call silent night.

This silence was broken, or rather was unified, by the dull thud of the
hoofs, and the rustling of the tall grass through which the division
was slowly moving.

Occasionally, however, was heard in the ranks the ring of a heavy
cannon, the sound of clashing bayonets, stifled conversation, and the
snorting of a horse.

Nature breathed peacefully in beauty and power.

Is it possible that people find no room to live together in this
beautiful world, under this boundless starry heaven? Is it possible
that amid this bewitching nature, the soul of man can harbor the
sentiments of hatred and revenge, or the passion for inflicting
destruction upon his kind? All ugly feelings in the heart of man ought,
it would seem, to vanish away in this intercourse with nature,--with
this immediate expression of beauty and goodness!


[Footnote 17: The frogs in the Caucasus make a sound entirely different
from the _Kvakan'yé_ of the Russian frogs.]

[Footnote 18: German mispronunciation for _Antichrist,_ the accent of
which in Russian falls on the penult.]



VII.


We had now been marching more than two hours. I began to feel chilly,
and to be overcome with drowsiness. In the darkness the same indistinct
objects dimly appeared: at a little distance, the same black shadow,
the same moving spots. Beside me was the crupper of a white horse,
which switched his tail and swung his hind-legs in wide curves. I could
see a back in a white Circassian shirt, against which was outlined a
carbine in its black case, and the handle of a pistol in an embroidered
holster: the glow of a cigarette casting a gleam on a reddish mustache,
a fur collar, and a hand in a chamois-skin glove.

I leaned over my horse's neck, closed my eyes, and lost myself for a
few minutes: then suddenly the regular hoof-beat[19] and rustling came
into my consciousness again. I looked around, and it seemed to me as
though I were standing still in one spot, and that the black shadow
in front of me was moving down upon me; or else that the shadow stood
still, and I was rapidly riding down upon it.

At one such moment I was more strongly than ever impressed by that
incessantly approaching sound, the cause of which I could not fathom:
it was the roar of water. We were passing though a deep gulch, and
coming close to a mountain river, which at that season was in full
flood.[20] The roaring became louder, the damp grass grew taller and
thicker, bushes were encountered in denser clumps, and the horizon
narrowed itself down to closer limits. Now and then, in different
places in the dark hollows of the mountains, bright fires flashed out
and were immediately extinguished.

"Tell me, please, what are those fires," I asked in a whisper of the
Tatar riding at my side.

"Don't you really know?" was his reply.

"No," said I.

"That is mountain straw tied to a pole,[21] and the light is waved."

"What for?"

"So that every man may know the Russian is coming. Now in the Auls," he
added with a smile, "_aï, aï_ the _tomásha_[22] are flying about; every
sort of _khurda-murda_[23] will be hurried into the ravines."

"How do they know so soon in the mountains that the expedition is
coming?" I asked.

"_Eï!_ How can they help knowing? It's known everywhere: that's the
kind of people we are."

"And so Shamyl is now getting ready to march out?" I asked.

"_Yok_ (no)," he replied, shaking his head as a sign of negation,
"Shamyl will not march out. Shamyl will send his _naïbs_[24] and he
himself will look down from up yonder through his glass."

"But doesn't he live a long way off?"

"Not a long way off. Here, at your left, about ten _versts_ he will be."

"How do you know that?" I inquired. "Have you been there?"

"I've been there. All of us in the mountains have."

"And you have seen Shamyl?"

"_Pikh!_ Shamyl is not to be seen by us. A hundred, three hundred, a
thousand _murids_[25] surround him. Shamyl will be in the midst of
them," he said with an expression of fawning servility.

Looking up in the air, it was possible to make out that the sky which
had become clear again was lighter in the east, and the Pleiades were
sinking down into the horizon. But in the gulch through which we were
passing, it was humid and dark.

Suddenly, a little in advance of us, from out the darkness flashed a
number of lights; at the same instant, with a ping some bullets whizzed
by, and from out the silence that surrounded us from afar arose the
heavy, overmastering roar of the guns. This was the vanguard of the
enemy's pickets. The Tatars, of which it was composed, set up their
war-cry, shot at random, and fled in all directions.

Every thing became silent again. The general summoned his interpreter.
The Tatar in a white Circassian dress hastened up to him, and the two
held a rather long conversation in a sort of whisper and with many
gestures.

"Colonel Khasánof! give orders to scatter the enemy," said the general
in a low, deliberate, but distinct tone of voice.

The division went down to the river. The black mountains stood back
from the pass; it was beginning to grow light. The arch of heaven,
in which the pale, lustreless stars were barely visible, seemed to
come closer; the dawn began to glow brightly in the east; a cool,
penetrating breeze sprang up from the west, and a bright mist like
steam arose from the foaming river.


[Footnote 19: _topot._]

[Footnote 20: In the Caucasus the freshets take place in the mouth of
July.]

[Footnote 21: _tayak_ in the Caucasian dialect.]

[Footnote 22: _tomásha_ means slaves in the ordinary dialect invented
for intercourse between Russians and Tatars. There are many words in
this strange dialect, the roots of which are not to be found either in
Russian or Tatar.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.]

[Footnote 23: Goods and chattels in the same dialect.]

[Footnote 24: _naïb_ ordinarily means a Mohammedan judge or high
religious officer, in Turkey and the Caucasus; hero it means an officer
whom the great Circassian chieftain Shamyl endowed with special
authority.]

[Footnote 25: The word _murid_ has many significations, but in
the sense here employed it means something between adjutant and
body-guard.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.]



VIII.


The guide pointed out the ford; and the vanguard of cavalry, with
the general and his suite immediately in its rear, began to cross
the river. The water, which reached the horses' breasts, rushed with
extraordinary violence among the white bowlders which in some places
came to the top, and formed foaming, gurgling whirlpools around the
horses' legs. The horses were frightened at the roar of the water,
lifted their heads, pricked up their ears, but slowly and carefully
picked their way against the stream along the uneven bottom. The
riders held up their legs and fire-arms. The foot-soldiers, literally
in their shirts alone, lifting above the water their muskets to which
were fastened their bundles of clothing, struggled against the force
of the stream by clinging together, a score of men at a time, showing
noticeable determination on their excited faces. The artillery-men on
horseback, with a loud shout, put their horses into the water at full
trot. The cannon and green-painted caissons, over which now and then,
the water came pouring, plunged with a clang over the rocky bottom;
but the noble Cossack horses pulled with united effort, made the water
foam, and with dripping tails and manes emerged on the farther shore.

As soon as the crossing was effected, the general's face suddenly took
on an expression of deliberation and seriousness; he wheeled his horse
around, and at full gallop rode across the wide forest-surrounded
field which spread before us. The Cossack horses were scattered along
the edge of the forest.

In the forest appeal's a man in Circassian dress and round cap; then
a second and a third ... one of the officers shouts, "Those are
Tatars!" At this instant a puff of smoke came from behind a tree ... a
report--another. The quick volleys of our men drown out those of the
enemy. Only occasionally a bullet, with long-drawn ping like the hum of
a bee, flies by, and is the only proof that not all the shots are ours.

Here the infantry at double quick, and with fixed bayonets, dash
against the chain; one can hear the heavy reports of the guns, the
metallic clash of grape-shot, the whiz of rockets, the crackling of
musketry. The cavalry, the infantry, converge from all sides on the
wide field. The smoke from the guns, rockets, and fire-arms, unites
with the early mist arising from the dew-covered grass.

Colonel Khasánof gallops up to the general, and reins in his horse
while at full tilt.

"Your Excellency," says he, lifting his hand to his cap, "give orders
for the cavalry to advance. The standards are coming,"[26] and he
points with his whip to mounted Tatars, at the head of whom rode two
men on white horses with red and blue streamers on their lances.

"All right,[27] Iván Mikháïlovitch," says the general. The colonel
wheels his horse round on the spot, draws his sabre, and shouts
"Hurrah!"

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" echoes from the ranks, and the cavalry dash
after him.

All look on with excitement: there is a standard;[28] another; a third;
a fourth!...

The enemy, not waiting the assault, fly into the forest, and open
a musket fire from behind the trees. The bullets fly more and more
thickly.

_"Quel charmant coup d'oeil!"_ exclaimed the general as he easily rose
in English fashion on his coal-black, slender-limbed little steed.

"_Charmant,_" replies the major, who rolls his r's like a Frenchman,
and whipping up his horse dashes after the general. "It's a genuine
pleasure to carry on war in such a fine country," says he.[29]

"And above all in good company," adds the general still in French, with
a pleasant smile.

The major bowed.

At this time a cannon-ball from the enemy comes flying by with a swift,
disagreeable whiz, and strikes something; immediately is heard the
groan of a wounded man. This groan impresses me so painfully that the
martial picture instantly loses for me all its fascination: but no one
beside myself seems to be affected in the same way; the major smiles
apparently with the greatest satisfaction; another officer with perfect
equanimity repeats the opening words of a speech; the general looks in
the opposite direction, and with the most tranquil smile says something
in French.

"Will you give orders to reply to their heavy guns?" asks the commander
of the artillery, galloping up. "Yes, scare them a little," says the
general carelessly, lighting a cigar.

The battery is unlimbered, and the cannonade begins. The ground shakes
under the report; the firing continues without cessation; and the smoke
in which it is scarcely possible to distinguish those attending the
guns, blinds the eyes.

The aul is battered down. Again Colonel Khasánof dashes up, and at the
general's command darts off to the aul. The war-cry is heard again, and
the cavalry disappears in the cloud of its own dust.

The spectacle was truly grandiose. One thing only spoiled the general
impression for me as a man who had no part in the affair, and was
wholly unwonted to it; and this was that there was too much of it,--the
motion and the animation and the shouts. Involuntarily the comparison
occurred to me of a man who in his haste would cut the air with a
hatchet.


[Footnote 26: _znatchki._ This word among the mountaineers has almost
the signification of banner, with this single distinction, that each
jigit can make a standard for himself and carry it.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.]

[Footnote 27: _S Bógom,_ literally "with God," but a mere phrase.]

[Footnote 28: _znatchók._]

[Footnote 29: _C'est un vrai plaisir, que la guerre dans un aussi beau
pays._]



IX.


The aul was already in the possession of our men, and not a soul of the
enemy remained in it when the general with his suite, to which I had
joined myself, entered it.

The long neat huts or _saklí,_ with their flat earthen roofs and red
chimneys, were situated on rough, rocky hills, between which ran a
small river. On one side were seen the green gardens, shining in the
clear sun-light, with monstrous pear-trees, and the plum-trees, called
_luitcha._ The other side bristled with strange shadows, where stood
the high perpendicular stones of a cemetery, and the tall wooden poles
adorned at the ends with balls and variegated banners. These were the
tombs of jigits.

The army stood drawn up within the gates.

After a moment the dragoons, the Cossacks, the infantry, with evident
joy were let loose through the crooked streets, and the empty aul
suddenly teemed with life. Here a roof is crushed in; the axe rings on
the tough trees, and the plank door is broken down; there hay-ricks,
fences, and huts are burning, and the dense smoke arises like a tower
in the clear air. Here a Cossack is carrying off sacks of flour, and
carpets; a soldier with a gay face lugs from a hut a tin basin and a
dish-clout; another with outstretched arms is trying to catch a couple
of hens, which cackling furiously fly about the yard; a third is going
somewhere with a monstrous _kumgan_ or pitcher of milk, and drinking
as he goes, and when he has had his fill smashes it on the ground with
a loud laugh.

The battalion which I had accompanied from Fort N---- was also in the
aul. The captain was sitting on the roof of a hut, and was puffing
from his short little pipe clouds of smoke of _sambrotalicheski tabák_
with such an indifferent expression of countenance that when I saw him
I forgot that I was in a hostile aul, and it seemed to me that I was
actually at home with him.

"Ah! and here you are?" he said as he caught sight of me.

The tall form of Lieutenant Rosenkranz flashed here and there through
the aul. Without a moment's pause he was engaged in carrying out
orders, and he had the appearance of a man who had all he could do.
I saw him coming out of a hut, his face full of triumph; behind him
two soldiers were dragging an old Tatar with his arms tied. The old
man, whose garb consisted merely of a many- _beshmét_ torn in
tatters, and ragged drawers, was so feeble that it seemed as if his
bony arms, tightly tied behind his misshapen back, were almost falling
from his shoulders; and his crooked bare legs moved with difficulty.
His face, and even a part of his shaven head, were covered with deep
wrinkles; his distorted toothless mouth, encircled by gray clipped
mustache and beard, incessantly mumbled as though whispering something;
but his handsome eyes, from which the lashes were gone, still gleamed
with fire, and clearly expressed an old man's indifference to life.

Rosenkranz through an interpreter asked him why he had not gone with
the others.

"Where should I go?" he replied, calmly looking away.

"Where the rest have gone," suggested some one.

"The jigits have gone to fight with the Russians, and I am an old man."

"Aren't you afraid of the Russians?"

"What will the Russians do to me? I am an old man," he repeated,
carelessly glancing at the circle surrounding him.

On the way back, I saw this old man without a hat, with his hands still
tied, jolting behind a mounted Cossack, and he was looking about him
with the same expression of unconcern. He was necessary in an exchange
of prisoners.

I went to the staircase, and crept up to where the captain was.

"Not many of the enemy, it seems," I said to him, wishing to obtain his
opinion about the affair.

"The enemy," he repeated with surprise, "there weren't any at all. Do
you call these enemies?... Here when evening comes, you will see how we
shall retreat; you will see how they will go with us! Won't they show
themselves there?" he added, pointing with his pipe to the forest which
we had passed in the morning.

"What is that?" I asked anxiously, interrupting the captain, and
drawing his attention to some Don Cossacks who were grouped around some
one not far from us.

Among them was heard something like the weeping of a child, and the
words,--

"Eh! don't cut--hold on--you will be seen--here's a knife--give him the
knife."

"They are up to some mischief, the brutes," said the captain
indifferently.

But at this very instant, suddenly from around the corner came the
handsome ensign with burning, horror-stricken face, and waving his
hands rushed among the Cossacks.

"Don't you move! don't kill him!" he cried in his boyish treble.

When the Cossacks saw the officer they started back, and allowed a
little white goat to escape from their hands. The young ensign was
wholly taken aback, began to mutter something, and stood before them
full of confusion. When he caught sight of the captain and me on the
roof, he grew still redder in the face, and springing up the steps
joined us.

"I thought they were going to kill a child," he said with a timid
smile.



X.


The general had gone on ahead with the cavalry.

The battalion with which I had come from Fort N---- remained in
the rear-guard. The companies under command of Captain Khlopof and
Lieutenant Rosenkranz were retreating together.

The captain's prediction was fully justified: as soon as we had
reached the narrow forest of which he had spoken, from both sides
the mountaineers, mounted and on foot, began to show themselves
incessantly, and so near that I could very distinctly see many
crouching down, with muskets in their hands, and running from tree to
tree.

The captain took off his hat, and piously made the sign of the cross;
a few old soldiers did the same. In the forest were heard shouts, the
words, "_iáï! Giaur! Urús! iáï!_"

Dry, short musket reports followed in quick succession, and bullets
whizzed from both sides. Our men silently replied with rapid fire;
only occasionally in the ranks were heard exclamations in the guise
of directions: "_He_[30] has stopped shooting there;" "_He_ has a
good chance behind the trees;" "We ought to have cannon," and such
expressions.

The cannon were brought to bear on the range, and after a few
discharges of grape the enemy apparently gave way; but after a little
their fire became more and more violent with each step that the army
took, and the shouts and war-cries increased.

We were scarcely three hundred _sazhens_[31] from the aul when the
enemy's shot began to hail down upon us. I saw a ball with a thud
strike one soldier dead ... but why relate details of this terrible
spectacle, when I myself would give much to forget it?

Lieutenant Rosenkranz was firing his musket without a moment's
cessation; with animating voice he was shouting to the soldiers, and
galloping at full speed from one end of the line to the other. He
was slightly pale, and this was decidedly becoming to his martial
countenance.

The handsome ensign was in his element: his beautiful eyes gleamed
with resolution, his mouth was slightly parted with a smile; he
was constantly riding up to the captain, and asking permission to
charge.[32]

"We'll drive them back," he said impulsively,--"we'll drive them back
surely."

"No need of it," replied the captain gently: "we must get out of here."

The captain's company occupied the edge of the forest, and was fully
exposed to the enemy's fire. The captain in his well-worn coat and
tattered cap, slackening the reins for his white trotter and clinging
by his short stirrups, silently staid in one place. (The soldiers were
so well trained, and did their work so accurately, that there was no
need of giving commands to them.) Only now and then he raised his
voice, and shouted to those who exposed their heads. The captain's face
was very far from martial; but such truth and simplicity were manifest
in it, that it impressed me profoundly.

"There is some one who is truly brave," I said to myself involuntarily.

He was almost exactly the same as I had always seen him; the same
tranquil motions, the same even voice, the same expression of frankness
on his homely but honest face; but by his more than ordinarily keen
glance it was possible to recognize him as a man who infallibly knew
his business. It is easy to say _the same as always_; but how different
were the traits brought out in others! one tried to seem calmer,
another rougher, a third gayer, than usual; but by the captain's face
it was manifest that he did not even understand _how to seem._

The Frenchman who at Waterloo said, _La garde meurt, mais ne se rend
pas,_ and other heroes, especially among the French, who have uttered
notable sayings, were brave, and really uttered notable sayings;
but between their bravery, and the bravery of the captain, is this
difference, that if a great saying in regard to any subject came into
my hero's mind, I believe that he would not have uttered it; in the
first place, because he would have feared that in saying something
great he might spoil a great deed, and, secondly, because when a man is
conscious within himself of the power to do a great deed, there is no
need of saying any thing at all. This, in my opinion, is the especial
and lofty character of Russian bravery; and how, henceforth, can it
fail to wound the Russian heart when among our young warriors one hears
French platitudes which have their vogue because they were the stock
phrases of the old French nobility?...

Suddenly, from the direction in which the handsome ensign with his
division was stationed, was heard a faint hurrah from the enemy.
Turning round at this shouting I saw thirty soldiers who with
muskets in their hands and knapsacks on their shoulders were going at
double-quick across the ploughed field. They stumbled, but still pushed
ahead and shouted. Leading them galloped the young ensign, waving his
sabre.

All were lost to sight in the forest.

At the end of a few moments of shouting and clash of arms, a frightened
horse came dashing out of the woods, and just at the edge soldiers were
seen bearing the killed and wounded. Among the latter was the young
ensign. Two soldiers carried him in their arms. He was pale as a sheet,
and his graceful head, where could be now detected only the shadow of
that martial enthusiasm which inspired him but a moment before, was
strangely drawn down between his shoulders and rested on his breast. On
his white shirt under his coat, which was torn open, could be seen a
small blood-stain.

"Akh! what a pity!" I said in spite of myself, as I turned away from
this heart-rending spectacle.

"Indeed it's too bad," said an old soldier who with gloomy face stood
beside me leaning on his musket. "He wasn't afraid of any thing! How is
this possible?" he added, looking steadily at the wounded lad. "Always
foolish! and now he has to pay for it!"

"And aren't you afraid?" I asked.

"No, indeed!"


[Footnote 30: _On--_he--the collective expression by which the soldiers
in the Caucasus indicate the enemy.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.]

[Footnote 31: 2,100 feet.]

[Footnote 32: _brosítsa na urá--_ to rush with a hurrah!]



XI.


Four soldiers bore the ensign on a litter; behind them followed a
soldier from the suburb, leading a lean, foundered horse laden with
two green chests in which were the surgeon's implements. They were
expecting the doctor. The officers hurried up to the litter, and tried
to encourage and comfort the wounded lad.

"Well, brother Alánin, it'll be some time before you dance and make
merry again," said Lieutenant Rosenkranz coming up with a smile.

He probably intended these words to sustain the handsome ensign's
courage; but as could be easily seen from the coldly mournful
expression in the eyes of the latter, these words did not produce the
wished-for effect.

The captain also came up. He gazed earnestly at the wounded young
fellow, and his always cold, calm face expressed heartfelt pity.

"How is it, my dear Anatoli Ivánuitch?" said he in a tone which rang
with a deeper sympathy than I had expected from him: "we see it's as
God wills."

The wounded lad looked up; his pale face was lighted with a mournful
smile.

"Yes, I disobeyed you."

"Say rather, it was God's will," replied the captain.

The doctor, who had now arrived, took from his chest, bandages, probes,
and other instruments, and, rolling up his sleeves with a re-assuring
smile, approached the sufferer.

"So it seems they have been making a little hole through you," he said
in a tone of jesting unconcern. "Let us have a look at the place."

The ensign listened, but in the gaze which he fixed on the jolly doctor
were expressed surprise and reproachfulness which the latter did not
expect. He began to probe the wound and examine it from all sides; but
at last the sufferer, losing his patience, pushed away his hand with a
heavy groan.

"Let me be," he said in an almost inaudible voice: "it makes no
difference; I am dying." With these words he fell on his back; and five
minutes later when I joined the group gathered about him, and asked a
soldier, "How is the ensign?" I was told, "_He has gone._"



XII.


It was late when the expedition, deploying in a broad column, entered
the fortress with songs. The sun had set behind the snow-covered
mountain crest, and was throwing its last rosy rays on the long
delicate clouds which stretched across the bright pellucid western sky.
The snow-capped mountains began to clothe themselves in purple mist;
only their upper outlines were marked with extraordinary distinctness
against the violet light of the sunset. The clear moon, which had long
been up, began to shed its light through the dark blue sky. The green
of the grass and of the trees changed to black, and grew wet with
dew. The dark masses of the army, with gradually increasing tumult,
advanced across the field; from different sides were heard the sounds
of cymbals, drums, and merry songs. The leader of the sixth company
sang out with full strength, and full of feeling and power the clear
chest-notes of the tenor were borne afar through the translucent
evening air.




THE WOOD-CUTTING EXPEDITION.

(_Rúbka L'ýesa._)

_THE STORY OF A YUNKER'S[1] ADVENTURE._



I.


In midwinter, in the year 185-, a division of our batteries was engaged
in an expedition on the Great Chetchen River. On the evening of Feb.
26, having been informed that the platoon which I commanded in the
absence of its regular officer was detailed for the following day to
help cut down the forest, and having that evening obtained and given
the necessary directions, I betook myself to my tent earlier than
usual; and as I had not got into the bad habit of warming it with
burning coals, I threw myself, without undressing, down on my bed made
of sticks, and, drawing my Circassian cap over my eyes, I rolled myself
up in my _shuba,_ and fell into that peculiarly deep and heavy sleep
which one obtains at the moment of tumult and disquietude on the eve of
a great peril. The anticipation of the morrow's action brought me to
such a state.

At three o'clock in the morning, while it was still perfectly dark, my
warm sheep-skin was pulled off from me, and the red light of a candle
was unpleasantly flashed upon my sleepy eyes.

"It's time to get up," said some one's voice. I shut my eyes
involuntarily, wrapped my sheep-skin around me again, and dropped off
into slumber.

"It's time to get up," repeated Dmitri relentlessly, shaking me by the
shoulder. "The infantry are starting." I suddenly came to a sense of
the reality of things, started up, and sprang to my feet.

Hastily swallowing a glass of tea, and taking a bath in ice-water,
I crept out from my tent, and went to the park (where the guns were
placed). It was dark, misty, and cold. The night fires, lighted here
and there throughout the camp, lighted up the forms of drowsy soldiers
scattered around them, and seemed to make the darkness deeper by their
ruddy flickering flames. Near at hand one could hear monotonous,
tranquil snoring; in the distance, movement, the babble of voices,
and the jangle of arms, as the foot-soldiers got in readiness for the
expedition. There was an odor of smoke, manure, wicks, and fog. The
morning frost crept down my back, and my teeth chattered in spite of
all my efforts to prevent it.

Only by the snorting and occasional stamping of horses could one make
out in the impenetrable darkness where the harnessed limbers and
caissons were drawn up, and, by the flashing points of the lintstocks,
where the cannon were. With the words _s Bógom,--_ God speed it,--the
first gun moved off with a clang, followed by the rumbling caisson, and
the platoon got under way.

We all took off our caps, and made the sign of the cross. Taking its
place in the interval between the infantry, our platoon halted, and
waited from four o'clock until the muster of the whole force was made,
and the commander came.

"There's one of our men missing, Nikolaï Petróvitch," said a black
form coming to me. I recognized him by his voice only as the
platoon-artillerist Maksímof.

"Who?"

"Velenchúk is missing. When we hitched up he was here, I saw him; but
now he's gone."

As it was entirely unlikely that the column would move immediately,
we resolved to send Corporal Antónof to find Velenchúk. Shortly after
this, the sound of several horses riding by us in the darkness was
heard; this was the commander and his suite. In a few moments the head
of the column started and turned,--finally we also moved,--but Antónof
and Velenchúk had not appeared. However, we had not gone a hundred
paces when the two soldiers overtook us.

"Where was he?" I asked of Antónof.

"He was asleep in the park."

"What! he was drunk, wasn't he?"

"No, not at all."

"What made him go to sleep, then?"

"I don't know."

During three hours of darkness we slowly defiled in monotonous silence
across uncultivated, snowless fields and low bushes which crackled
under the wheels of the ordnance.

At last, after we had crossed a shallow but phenomenally rapid
brook, a halt was called, and from the vanguard were heard desultory
musket-shots. These sounds, as always, created the most extraordinary
excitement in us all. The division had been almost asleep; now the
ranks became alive with conversation, repartees, and laughter. Some of
the soldiers wrestled with their mates; others played hop, skip and
jump; others chewed on their hard-tack, or, to pass away the time,
engaged in drumming the different roll-calls. Meantime the fog slowly
began to lift in the east, the dampness became more palpable, and the
surrounding objects gradually made themselves manifest emerging from
the darkness.

I already began to make out the green caissons and gun-carriages, the
brass cannon wet with mist, the familiar forms of my soldiers whom I
knew even to the least details, the sorrel horses, and the files of
infantry, with their bright bayonets, their knapsacks, ramrods, and
canteens on their backs.

We were quickly in motion again, and, after going a few hundred paces
where there was no road, were shown the appointed place. On the right
were seen the steep banks of a winding river and the high posts of a
Tatar burying-ground. At the left and in front of us, through the fog,
appeared the black belt. The platoon got under way with the limbers.
The eighth company, which was protecting us, stacked their arms, and a
battalion of soldiers with muskets and axes started for the forest.

Not five minutes had elapsed when on all sides piles of wood began to
crackle and smoke; the soldiers swarmed about, fanning the fires with
their hands and feet, lugging brush-wood and logs; and in the forest
were heard the incessant strokes of a hundred axes and the crash of
falling trees.

The artillery, with not a little spirit of rivalry with the infantry,
heaped up their piles; and soon the fire was already so well under way
that it was impossible to get within a couple of paces of it. The
dense black smoke arose through the icy branches, from which the water
dropped hissing into the flames, as the soldiers heaped them upon the
fire; and the glowing coals dropped down upon the dead white grass
exposed by the heat. It was all mere boy's play to the soldiers; they
dragged great logs, threw on the tall steppe grass, and fanned the fire
more and more.

As I came near a bonfire to light a cigarette, Velenchúk, always
officious, but, now that he had been found napping, showing himself
more actively engaged about the fire than any one else, in an excess
of zeal seized a coal with his naked hand from the very middle of
the fire, tossed it from one palm to the other, two or three times,
and flung it on the ground. "Light a match and give it to him," said
another. "Bring a lintstock, fellows," said still a third.

When I at last lighted my cigarette without the aid of Velenchúk, who
tried to bring another coal from the fire, he rubbed his burnt fingers
on the back of his sheepskin coat, and, doubtless for the sake of
exercising himself, seized a great plane-tree stump, and with a mighty
swing flung it on the fire. When at last it seemed to him that he might
rest, he went close to the fire, spread out his cloak, which he wore
like a mantle fastened at the back by a single button, stretched his
legs, folded his great black hands in his lap, and opening his mouth a
little, closed his eyes.

"Alas![2] I forgot my pipe! What a shame, fellows!" he said after a
short silence, and not addressing anybody in particular.


[Footnote 1: Yunker (German _Junker_) is a non-commissioned officer
belonging to the nobility. Count Tolstoi himself began his military
service in the Caucasus as a Yunker.]

[Footnote 2: _Ekh-ma._]



II.


In Russia there are three predominating types of soldiers, which
embrace the soldiers of all arms,--those of the Caucasus, of the line,
the guards, the infantry, the cavalry, the artillery, and the others.

These three types, with many subdivisions and combinations, are as
follows:--

(1) The obedient,

(2) The domineering or dictatorial, and

(3) The desperate.

The obedient are subdivided into the apathetic obedient and the
energetic obedient.

The domineering are subdivided into the gruffly domineering and the
diplomatically domineering.

The desperate are subdivided into the desperate jesters and the simply
desperate.

The type more frequently encountered than the rest--the type most
gentle, most sympathetic, and for the most part endowed with the
Christian virtues of meekness, devotion, patience, and submission to
the will of God--is that of the obedient.

The distinctive character of the apathetic obedient is a certain
invincible indifference and disdain of all the turns of fortune which
may overtake him.

The characteristic trait of the drunken obedient is a mild poetical
tendency and sensitiveness.

The characteristic trait of the energetic obedient is his limitation in
intellectual faculties, united with an endless assiduity and fervor.

The type of the domineering is to be found more especially in the
higher spheres of the army: corporals, non-commissioned officers,
sergeants and others. In the first division of the gruffly domineering
are the high-born, the energetic, and especially the martial type, not
excepting those who are stern in a lofty poetic way (to this category
belonged Corporal Antónof, with whom I intend to make the reader
acquainted).

The second division is composed of the diplomatically domineering,
and this class has for some time been making rapid advances. The
diplomatically domineering is always eloquent, knows how to read, goes
about in a pink shirt, does not eat from the common kettle, often
smokes cheap Muscat tobacco, considers himself immeasurably higher than
the simple soldier, and is himself rarely as good a soldier as the
gruffly domineering of the first class.

The type of the desperate is almost the same as that of the
domineering, that is, it is good in the first division,--the desperate
jesters, the characteristic features of whom are invariably jollity,
a huge unconcern in regard to every thing, a wealth of nature and
boldness.

The second division is in the same way detestable: the criminally
desperate, who, however, it must be said for the honor of the Russian
soldier, are very rarely met with, and, if they are met with, then they
are quickly drummed out of comradeship with the true soldier. Atheism,
and a certain audacity in crime, are the chief traits of this character.

Velenchúk came under the head of the energetically obedient. He was a
Little Russian by birth, had been fifteen years in the service; and
while he was not a fine-looking nor a very skilful soldier, still he
was simple-hearted, kind, and extraordinarily full of zeal, though
for the most part misdirected zeal, and he was extraordinarily honest.
I say extraordinarily honest, because the year before there had been
an occurrence in which he had given a remarkable exhibition of this
characteristic. You must know that almost every soldier has his own
trade. The greater number are tailors and shoemakers. Velenchúk
himself practised the trade of tailoring; and, judging from the fact
that Sergeant Mikháil Doroféïtch gave him his custom, it is safe to
say that he had reached a famous degree of accomplishment. The year
before, it happened that while in camp, Velenchúk took a fine cloak
to make for Mikháil Doroféïtch. But that very night, after he had cut
the cloth, and stitched on the trimmings, and put it under his pillow
in his tent, a misfortune befell him: the cloth, which was worth seven
rubles, disappeared during the night. Velenchúk with tears in his eyes,
with pale quivering lips and with stifled lamentations, confessed the
circumstance to the sergeant.

Mikháil Doroféïtch fell into a passion. In the first moment of his
indignation he threatened the tailor; but afterwards, like a kindly
man with plenty of means, he waved his hand, and did not exact from
Velenchúk the value of the cloak. In spite of the fussy tailor's
endeavors, and the tears that he shed while telling about his
misfortune, the thief was not detected. Although strong suspicions
were attached to a corruptly desperate soldier named Chernof, who
slept in the same tent with him, still there was no decisive proof.
The diplomatically dictatorial Mikháil Doroféïtch, as a man of means,
having various arrangements with the inspector of arms and steward of
the mess, the aristocrats of the battery, quickly forgot all about
the loss of this particular cloak. Velenchúk, on the contrary, did not
forget his unhappiness. The soldiers declared that at this time they
were apprehensive about him, lest he should make way with himself, or
flee to the mountains, so heavily did his misfortune weigh upon him. He
did not eat, he did not drink, was not able to work, and wept all the
time. At the end of three days he appeared before Mikháil Doroféïtch,
and without any color in his face, and with a trembling hand, drew out
of his sleeve a piece of gold, and gave it to him.

"Faith,[3] and here's all that I have, Mikháil Doroféïtch; and this I
got from Zhdánof," he said, beginning to sob again. "I will give _you_
two more rubles, truly I will, when I have earned them. He (who the
_he_ was, Velenchúk himself did not know) made me seem like a rascal in
your eyes. He, the beastly viper, stole from a brother soldier his hard
earnings; and here I have been in the service fifteen years." ...

To the honor of Mikháil Doroféïtch, it must be said that he did not
require of Velenchúk the last two rubles, though Velenchúk brought them
to him at the end of two months.


[Footnote 3: _yéï Bogu._]



III.


Five other soldiers of my platoon besides Velenchúk were warming
themselves around the bonfire.

In the best place, away from the wind, on a cask, sat the platoon
artillerist[4] Maksímof, smoking his pipe. In the posture, the gaze,
and all the motions of this man it could be seen that he was accustomed
to command, and was conscious of his own worth, even if nothing were
said about the cask whereon he sat, which during the halt seemed to
become the emblem of power, or the nankeen short-coat which he wore.

When I approached, he turned his head round toward me; but his eyes
remained fixed upon the fire, and only after some time did they follow
the direction of his face, and rest upon me. Maksímof came from a
semi-noble family.[5] He had property, and in the school brigade he
obtained rank, and acquired some learning. According to the reports of
the soldiers, he was fearfully rich and fearfully learned.

I remember how one time, when they were making practical experiments
with the quadrant, he explained, to the soldiers gathered around him,
that the motions of the spirit level arise from the same causes as
those of the atmospheric quicksilver. At bottom Maksímof was far from
stupid, and knew his business admirably; but he had the bad habit of
speaking, sometimes on purpose, in such a way that it was impossible
to understand him, and I think he did not understand his own words.
He had an especial fondness for the words "arises" and "to proceed;"
and whenever he said "it arises," or "now let us proceed," then I
knew in advance that I should not understand what would follow. The
soldiers, on the contrary, as I had a chance to observe, enjoyed
hearing his "arises," and suspected it of containing deep meaning,
though, like myself, they could not understand his words. But this
incomprehensibility they ascribed to his depth, and they worshipped
Feódor Maksímuitch accordingly. In a word, Maksímof was diplomatically
dictatorial.

The second soldier near the fire, engaged in drawing on his sinewy
red legs a fresh pair of stockings, was Antónof, the same bombardier
Antónof who as early as 1837, together with two others stationed by one
gun without shelter, was returning the shot of the enemy, and with two
bullets in his thigh continued still to serve his gun and load it.

"He would have been artillerist long before, had it not been for his
character," said the soldiers; and it was true that his character was
odd. When he was sober, there was no man more calm, more peaceful, more
correct in his deportment; when he was drunk he became an entirely
different man. Not recognizing authority, he became quarrelsome and
turbulent, and was wholly valueless as a soldier. Not more than a
week before this time he got drunk at Shrovetide; and in spite of all
threats and exhortations, and his attachment to his cannon, he got
tipsy and quarrelsome on the first Monday in Lent. Throughout the fast,
notwithstanding the order for all in the division to eat meat, he lived
on hard-tack alone, and in the first week he did not even take the
prescribed allowance of vodka. However, it was necessary to see this
short figure, tough as iron, with his stumpy, crooked legs, his shiny
face with its mustache, when he, for example, under the influence of
liquor, took the _balaláïka,_ or three-stringed guitar of the Ukraïna,
into his strong hands, and, carelessly glancing to this side and that,
played some love-song, or with his cloak thrown over his shoulders, and
the orders dangling from it, and his hands thrust into the pockets of
his blue nankeen trousers, he rolled along the street; it was necessary
to see his expression of martial pride, and his scorn for all that did
not pertain to the military,--to comprehend how absolutely impossible
it was for him to compare himself at such moments with the rude or
the simply insinuating servant, the Cossack, the foot-soldier, or the
volunteer, especially those who did not belong to the artillery. He
quarrelled and was turbulent, not so much for his own pleasure as for
the sake of upholding the spirit of all soldierhood, of which he felt
himself to be the protector.

The third soldier, with ear-rings in his ears, with bristling
mustaches, goose-flesh, and a porcelain pipe in his lips, crouching
on his heels in front of the bonfire, was the artillery-rider Chikin.
The dear man Chikin, as the soldiers called him, was a jester. In
bitter cold, up to his knees in the mud, going without food two days
at a time, on the march, on parade, undergoing instruction, the dear
man always and everywhere screwed his face into grimaces, executed
flourishes with his legs, and poured out such a flood of nonsense that
the whole platoon would go into fits of laughter. During a halt or in
camp Chikin had always around him a group of young soldiers, whom he
either played cards with, or amused with tales about some sly soldier
or English milord, or by imitating the Tatar and the German, or simply
by making his jokes, at which everybody nearly died with laughter. It
was a fact, that his reputation as a joker was so widespread in the
battery, that he had only to open his mouth and wink, and he would be
rewarded with a universal burst of guffaws; but he really had a great
gift for the comic and unexpected. In every thing he had the wit to see
something remarkable, such as never came into anybody else's head; and,
what is more important, this talent for seeing something ridiculous
never failed under any trial.

The fourth soldier was an awkward young fellow, a recruit of the last
year's draft, and he was now serving in an expedition for the first
time. He was standing in the very smoke, and so close to the fire that
it seemed as if his well-worn short-coat[6] would catch on fire; but,
notwithstanding this, by the way in which he had flung open his coat,
by his calm, self-satisfied pose, with his calves arched out, it was
evident that he was enjoying perfect happiness.

And finally, the fifth soldier, sitting some little distance from the
fire, and whittling a stick, was Uncle Zhdánof. Zhdánof had been in
service the longest of all the soldiers in the battery,--knew all the
recruits; and everybody, from force of habit, called him _dy'á-denka,_
or little uncle. It was said that he never drank, never smoked, never
played cards (not even the soldier's pet game of _noski_), and never
indulged in bad talk. All the time when military duties did not engross
him he worked at his trade of shoemaking; on holidays he went to
church wherever it was possible, or placed a farthing candle before
the image, and read the psalter, the only book in which he cared to
read. He had little to do with the other soldiers,--with those higher
in rank,--though to the younger officers he was coldly respectful. With
his equals, since he did not drink, he had little reason for social
intercourse; but he was extremely fond of recruits and young soldiers:
he always protected them, read them their lessons, and often helped
them. All in the battery considered him a capitalist, because he had
twenty-five rubles, which he willingly loaned to any soldier who really
needed it. That same Maksímof who was now artillerist used to tell me
that when, ten years before, he had come as a recruit, and the old
drunken soldiers helped him to drink up the money that he had, Zhdánof,
pitying his unhappy situation, took him home with him, severely
upbraided him for his behavior, even administered a castigation, read
him the lesson about the duties of a soldier's life, and sent him away
after presenting him with a shirt (for Maksímof hadn't one to his back)
and a half-ruble piece.

"He made a man of me," Maksímof used to say, always with respect and
gratitude in his tone. He had also taken Velenchúk's part always,
ever since he came as a recruit, and had helped him at the time of
his misfortune about the lost cloak, and had helped many, many others
during the course of his twenty-five years' service.

In the service it was impossible to find a soldier who knew his
business better, who was braver or more obedient; but he was too meek
and homely to be chosen as an artillerist,[7] though he had been
bombardier fifteen years. Zhdánof's one pleasure, and even passion, was
music. He was exceedingly fond of some songs, and he always gathered
round him a circle of singers from among the young soldiers; and though
he himself could not sing, he stood with them, and putting his hands
into the pockets of his short-coat,[8] and shutting his eyes, expressed
his contentment by the motions of his head and cheeks. I know not why
it was, that in that regular motion of the cheeks under the mustache,
a peculiarity which I never saw in any one else, I found unusual
expression. His head white as snow, his mustache dyed black, and his
brown, wrinkled face, gave him at first sight a stern and gloomy
appearance; but as you looked more closely into his great round eyes,
especially when they smiled (he never smiled with his lips), something
extraordinarily sweet and almost childlike suddenly struck you.


[Footnote 4: _feierverker;_ German, _Feuerwerker._]

[Footnote 5: _odnodvortsui,_ of one estate; freemen, who in the
seventeenth century were settled in the Ukrafoa with special
privileges.]

[Footnote 6: _polushubochek,_ little half _shuba._]

[Footnote 7: _feierverker._]

[Footnote 8: _polushubka._]



IV.


"Alas! I have forgotten my pipe; that's a misfortune, fellows,"
repeated Velenchúk.

"But you should smoke _cikarettes,_[9] dear man," urged Chikin,
screwing up his mouth, and winking. "I always smoke _cikarettes_ at
home: it's sweeter."

Of course, all joined in the laugh.

"So you forgot your pipe?" interrupted Maksímof, proudly knocking out
the ashes from his pipe into the palm of his left hand, and not paying
any attention to the universal laughter, in which even the officers
joined. "You lost it somewhere here, didn't you, Velenchúk?"

Velenchúk wheeled to right face at him, started to lift his hand to his
cap, and then dropped it again.

"You see, you haven't woke up from your last evening's spree, so that
you didn't get your sleep out. For such work you deserve a good raking."

"May I drop dead on this very spot, Feódor Maksímovitch, if a single
drop passed my lips. I myself don't know what got into me," replied
Velenchúk. "How glad I should have been to get drunk!" he muttered to
himself.

"All right. But one is responsible to the chief for his brother's
conduct, and when you behave this way it's perfectly abominable," said
the eloquent Maksímof savagely, but still in a more gentle tone.

"Well, here is something strange, fellows," continued Velenchúk after a
moment's silence, scratching the back of his head, and not addressing
any one in particular; "fact, it's strange, fellows. I have been
sixteen years in the service, and have not had such a thing happen to
me. As we were told to get ready for a march, I got up, as my duty
behooved. There was nothing at all, when suddenly in the park _it_
came over me--came over me more and more; laid me out--laid me out on
the ground--and everything.... And when I got asleep, I did not hear
a sound, fellows. It must have been that I fainted away," he said in
conclusion.

"At all events, it took all my strength to wake you up," said Antónof,
as he pulled on his boot. "I pushed you, and pushed you. You slept like
a log."

"See here," remarked Velenchúk, "if I had been drunk" ...

"Like a peasant-woman we had at home," interrupted Chikin. "For almost
two years running she did not get down from the big oven. They tried
to wake her up one time, for they thought she was asleep; but there
she was, lying just as though she was dead: the same kind of sleep you
had--isn't that so, clear man?"

"Just tell us, Chikin, how you led the fashion the time when you had
leave of absence," said Maksímof, smiling, and winking at me as much as
to say, "Don't you like to hear what the foolish fellow has to say?"

"How led the fashion, Feódor Maksímuitch?" asked Chikin, casting a
quick side glance at me. "Of course, I merely told what kind of people
we are here in the Kapkas."[10]

"Well, then, that's so, that's so. You are not a fashion leader ... but
just tell us how you made them think you were commander."

"You know how I became commander for them. I was asked how we live,"
began Chikin, speaking rapidly, like a man who has often told the
same story. "I said, 'We live well, dear man: we have plenty of
victuals. At morning and night, to our delight all we soldiers get
our chocol_et_;[11] and then at dinner every sinner has his imperial
soup of barley groats, and instead of vodka, M_o_deira at each plate,
genuine old M_o_deira in the cask, forty-second degree!'".

"Fine M_o_deira!" replied Velenchúk louder than the others, and with a
burst of laughter. "Let's have some of it."

"Well, then, what did you have to tell them about the _Esiatics?_"
said Maksímof, carrying his inquiries still further, as the general
merriment subsided.

Chikin bent down to the fire, picked up a coal with his stick, put it
on his pipe, and, as though not noticing the discreet curiosity aroused
in his hearers, puffed for a long time in silence.

When at last he had raised a sufficient cloud of smoke, he threw away
the coal, pushed his cap still farther on the back of his head, and
making a grimace, and with an almost imperceptible smile, he continued:
"They asked," said he, "'What kind of a person is the little Cherkés
yonder? or is it the Turk that you are fighting with in the Kapkas
country?' I tell 'em, 'The Cherkés here with us is not of one sort,
but of different sorts. Some are like the mountaineers who live on the
rocky mountain-tops, and eat stones instead of bread. The biggest of
them,' I say, 'are exactly like big logs, with one eye in the middle
of the forehead, and they wear red caps;' they glow like fire, just as
you do, my dear fellow," he added, addressing a young recruit, who, in
fact, wore an odd little cap with a red crown.

The recruit, at this unexpected sally, suddenly sat down on the ground,
slapped his knees, and burst out laughing and coughing so that he could
hardly command his voice to say, "That's the kind of mountaineers we
have here."

"'And,' says I, 'besides, there are the _mumri,_'" continued Chikin,
jerking his head so that his hat fell forward on his forehead; "'they
go out in pairs, like little twins,--these others. Every thing comes
double with them,' says I,' and they cling hold of each other's hands,
and run so _queek_ that I tell you you couldn't catch up with them on
horseback.'--'Well,' says he, 'these _mumri_ who are so small as you
say, I suppose they are born hand in hand?'" said Chikin, endeavoring
to imitate the deep throaty voice of the peasant. "'Yes,' says I, 'my
dear man, they are so by nature. You try to pull their hands apart,
and it makes 'em bleed, just as with the Chinese: when you pull their
caps off, the blood comes.'--'But tell us,' says he, 'how they kill any
one.'--'Well, this is the way,' says I: 'they take you, and they rip
you all up, and they reel out your bowels in their hands. They reel 'em
out, and you defy them and defy them--till your soul'" ...

"Well, now, did they believe any thing you said, Chikin?" asked
Maksímof with a slight smile, when those standing round had stopped
laughing.

"And indeed it is a strange people, Feódor Maksímuitch: they believe
every one; before God, they do. But still, when I began to tell them
about Mount Kazbek, and how the snow does not melt all summer there,
they all burst out laughing at the absurdity of it. 'What a story!'
they said. 'Could such a thing be possible,--a mountain so big that the
snow does not melt on it?' And I say, 'With us, when the thaw comes,
there is such a heap; and even after it begins to melt, the snow lies
in the hollows.'--'Go away,'" said Chikin, with a concluding wink.


[Footnote 9: _sikhárki._]

[Footnote 10: _Kaphas_ for _Kavkas,_ Caucasus.]

[Footnote 11: _shchikuláta id'yót na soldátá._]



V.


The bright disk of the sun, gleaming through the milk-white mist, had
now got well up; the purple-gray horizon gradually widened: but, though
the view became more extended, still it was sharply defined by the
delusive white wall of the fog.

In front of us, on the other side of the forest, could be seen a
good-sized field. Over the field there spread from all sides the smoke,
here black, here milk-white, here purple; and strange forms swept
through the white folds of the mist. Far in the distance, from time to
time, groups of mounted Tatars showed themselves; and the occasional
reports from our rifles, guns, and cannon were heard.

"This isn't any thing at all of an action--mere boys' play," said the
good Captain Khlopof.

The commander of the ninth company of cavalry,[12] who was with us as
escort, rode up to our cannon, and pointing to three mounted Tatars who
were just then riding under cover of the forest, more than six hundred
_sazhens_ from us, asked me to give them a shot or a shell. His request
was an illustration of the love universal among all infantry officers
for artillery practice.

"You see," said he, with a kindly and convincing smile, laying his hand
on my shoulder, "where those two big trees are, right in front of us:
one is on a white horse, and dressed in a black Circassian coat; and
directly behind him are two more. Do you see? If you please, we must"
...

"And there are three others riding along under the lee of the forest,"
interrupted Antónof, who was distinguished for his sharp eyes, and had
now joined us with the pipe that he had been smoking concealed behind
his back. "The front one has just taken his carbine from its case. It's
easy to see, your Excellency."

"Ha! he fired then, fellows. See the white puff of smoke," said
Velenchúk to a group of soldiers a little back of us.

"He must be aiming at us, the blackguard!" replied some one else.

"See, those fellows only come out a little way from the forest. We see
the place: we want to aim a cannon at it," suggested a third. "If we
could only _blant_ a _krenade_ into the midst of 'em, it would scatter
'em." ...

"And what makes you think you could shoot to such a _tistance,_ dear
man?" asked Chikin.

"Only five hundred or five hundred and twenty _sazhens--_--it can't
be less than that," said Maksímof coolly, as though he were speaking
to himself; but it was evident that he, like the others, was terribly
anxious to bring the guns into play. "If the howitzer is aimed up at
an angle of forty-five degrees, then it will be possible to reach that
spot; that is perfectly possible."

"You know, now, that if you aim at that group, it would infallibly hit
some one. There, there! as they are riding along now, please hurry
up and order the gun to be fired," continued the cavalry commander,
beseeching me.

"Will you give the order to limber the gun?" asked Antónof suddenly, in
a jerky base voice, with a slight touch of surliness in his manner.

I confess that I myself felt a strong desire for this, and I commanded
the second cannon to be unlimbered.

The words had hardly left _my_ mouth ere the bomb was powdered and
rammed home; and Antónof, clinging to the gun-cheek, and leaning his
two fat fingers on the carriage, was already getting the gun into
position.

"Little ... little more to the left--now a little to the right--now,
now the least bit more--there, that's right," said he with a proud
face, turning from the gun.

The infantry officer, myself, and Maksímof, in turn sighted along the
gun, and all gave expression to various opinions.

"By God! it will miss," said Velenchúk, clicking with his tongue,
although he could only see over Antónof's shoulder, and therefore had
no basis for such a surmise.

"By-y-y God! it will miss: it will hit that tree right in front,
fellows."

"Two!" I commanded.

The men about the gun scattered. Antónof ran to one side, so as to
follow the flight of the ball. There was a flash and a ring of brass.
At the same instant we were enveloped in gunpowder smoke; and after
the startling report, was heard the metallic, whizzing sound of the
ball rushing off quicker than lightning, amid the universal silence and
dying away in the distance.

Just a little behind the group of horsemen a white puff of smoke
appeared; the Tatars scattered in all directions, and then the sound of
a crash came to us.

"Capitally done!" "Ah! they take to their heels;" "See! the devils
don't like it," were types of the exclamations and jests heard among
the ranks of the artillery and infantry.

"If you had aimed a trifle lower, you'd have hit right in the midst of
him," remarked Velenchúk. "I said it would strike the tree: it did; it
took the one at the right."


[Footnote 12: _jägers._]



VI.


Leaving the soldiers to argue about the Tatars taking to flight when
they saw the shell, and why it was that they came there, and whether
there were many in the forest, I went with the cavalry commander a few
steps aside, and sat down under a tree, expecting to have some warmed
chops which he had offered me. The cavalry commander, Bolkhof, was
one of the officers who are called in the regiment _bonjour-oli._ He
had property, had served before in the guards, and spoke French. But,
in spite of this, his comrades liked him. He was rather intellectual,
had tact enough to wear his Petersburg overcoat, to eat a good dinner,
and to speak French without too much offending the sensibilities of
his brother officers. As we talked about the weather, about the events
of the war, about the officers known to us both, and as we became
convinced, by our questions and answers, by our views of things in
general, that we were mutually sympathetic, we involuntarily fell
into more intimate conversation. Moreover, in the Caucasus, among men
who meet in one circle, the question invariably arises, though it is
not always expressed, "Why are you here?" and it seemed to me that my
companion was desirous of satisfying this inarticulate question.

"When will this expedition end?" he asked lazily: "it's tiresome."

"It isn't to me," I said: "it's much more so serving on the staff."

"Oh, on the staff it's ten thousand times worse!" said he fiercely.
"No, I mean when will this sort of thing end altogether?"

"What! do you wish that it would end?" I asked.

"Yes, all of it, altogether!... Well, are the chops ready, Nikoláief?"
he inquired of his servant.

"Why do you serve in the Caucasus, then," I asked, "if the Caucasus
does not please you?"

"You know wiry," he replied with an outburst of frankness: "on account
of tradition. In Russia, you see, there exists a strange tradition
about the Caucasus, as though it were the promised land for all sorts
of unhappy people."

"Well," said I, "it's almost true: the majority of us here "...

"But what is better than all," said he, interrupting me, "is,
that all of us who come to the Kavkas are fearfully deceived in
our calculations; and really, I don't see why, in consequence of
disappointment in love or disorder in one's affairs, one should come
to serve in the Caucasus rather than in Kazan or Kaluga. You see, in
Russia they imagine the Kavkas as something immense,--everlasting
virgin ice-fields, with impetuous streams, with daggers, cloaks,
Circassian girls,--all that is strange and wonderful; but in reality
there is nothing gay in it at all. If they only knew, for example, that
we have never been on the virgin ice-fields, and that there was nothing
gay in it at all, and that the Caucasus was divided into the districts
of Stavropol, Tiflis, and so forth" ...

"Yes," said I, laughing, "when we are in Russia we look upon the
Caucasus in an absolutely different way from what we do here. Haven't
you ever noticed it: when you read poetry in a language that you don't
know very well, you imagine it much better than it really is, don't
you?"

"I don't know how that is, but this Caucasus doesn't please me," he
said, interrupting me.

"It isn't so with me," I said: "the Caucasus is delightful to me now,
but only" ...

"Maybe it is delightful," he continued with a touch of asperity, "but I
know that it is not delightful to me."

"Why not?" I asked, with a view of saying something.

"In the first place, it has deceived me--all that which I expected,
from tradition, to be delivered of in the Caucasus, I find in me just
the same here, only with this distinction, that before, it was all on
a larger scale, but now on a small and nasty scale, at each round of
which I find a million petty annoyances, worriments, and miseries; in
the second place, because I find that each day I am falling morally
lower and lower; and principally because I feel myself incapable of
service here--I cannot endure to face the danger ... simply, I am a
coward." ...

He got up and looked at me earnestly.

Though this unbecoming confession completely took, me by surprise, I
did not contradict him, as my messmate evidently expected me to do; but
I awaited from the man himself the refutation of his words, which is
always ready in such circumstances.

"You know to-day's expedition is the first time that I have taken part
in action," he continued, "and you can imagine what my evening was.
When the sergeant brought the order for my company to join the column,
I became as pale as a sheet, and could not utter a word from emotion;
and if you knew how I spent the night! If it is true that people turn
gray from fright, then I ought to be perfectly white-headed to-day,
because no man condemned to death ever suffered so much from terror
in a single night as I did: even now, though I feel a little more at
my ease than I did last night, still it goes here in me," he added,
pressing his hand to his heart. "And what is absurd," he went on to
say, "while this fearful drama is playing here, I myself am eating
chops and onions, and trying to persuade myself that I am very gay....
Is there any wine, Nikoláief?" he added with a yawn.

"There _he_ is, fellows!" shouted one of the soldiers at this moment in
a tone of alarm, and all eyes were fixed upon the edge of the far-off
forest.

In the distance a puff of bluish smoke took shape, and, rising up,
drifted away on the wind. When I realized that the enemy were firing
at us, every thing that was in the range of my eyes at that moment,
every thing suddenly assumed a new and majestic character. The stacked
muskets, and the smoke of the bonfires, and the blue sky, and the green
gun-carriages, and Nikoláief's sunburned, mustachioed face,--all this
seemed to tell me that the shot which at that instant emerged from the
smoke, and was flying through space, might be directed straight at my
breast.

"Where did you get the wine?" I meanwhile asked Bolkhof carelessly,
while in the depths of my soul two voices were speaking with equal
distinctness; one said, "Lord, take my soul in peace;" the other, "I
hope I shall not duck my head, but smile while the ball is coming." And
at that instant something horribly unpleasant whistled above our heads,
and the shot came crashing to the ground not two paces away from us.

"Now, if I were Napoleon or Frederick the Great," said Bolkhof at this
time, with perfect composure, turning to me, "I should certainly have
said something graceful."

"But that you have just done," I replied, hiding with some difficulty
the panic which I felt at being exposed to such a danger.

"Why, what did I say? No one will put it on record."

"I'll put it on record."

"Yes: if you put it on record, it will be in the way of criticism, as
Mishchenkof says," he replied with a smile.

"_Tfu!_ you devils!" exclaimed Antónof in vexation just behind us, and
spitting to one side; "it just missed my leg."

All my solicitude to appear cool, and all our refined phrases, suddenly
seemed to me unendurably stupid after this artless exclamation.



VII.


The enemy, in fact, had posted two cannon on the spot where the Tatars
had been scattered, and every twenty or thirty minutes sent a shot at
our wood-choppers. My division was sent out into the field, and ordered
to reply to him. At the skirt of the forest a puff of smoke would show
itself, the report would be heard, then the whiz of the ball, and the
shot would bury itself behind us or in front of us. The enemy's shots
were placed fortunately for us, and no loss was sustained.

The artillerists, as always, behaved admirably, loaded rapidly, aimed
carefully wherever the smoke appeared, and jested unconcernedly with
each other. The infantry escort, in silent inactivity, were lying
around us, awaiting their turn. The wood-cutters were busy at their
work; their axes resounded through the forest more and more rapidly,
more and more eagerly, save when the _svist_ of a cannon-shot was
heard, then suddenly the sounds ceased, and amid the deathlike
stillness a voice, not altogether calm, would exclaim, "Stand aside,
boys!" and all eyes would be fastened upon the shot ricocheting upon
the wood-piles and the brush.

The fog was now completely lifted, and, taking the form of clouds, was
disappearing slowly in the dark-blue vault of heaven. The unclouded orb
of the sun shone bright, and threw its cheerful rays on the steel of
the bayonets, the brass of the cannon, on the thawing ground, and the
glittering points of the icicles. The atmosphere was brisk with the
morning frost and the warmth of the spring sun. Thousands of different
shades and tints mingled in the dry leaves of the forest; and on the
hard, shining level of the road could be seen the regular tracks of
wheel-tires and horse-shoes.

The action between the armies grew more and more violent and more
striking. In all directions the bluish puffs of smoke from the firing
became more and more frequent. The dragoons, with bannerets waving from
their lances, kept riding to the front. In the infantry companies songs
resounded, and the train loaded with wood began to form itself as the
rearguard. The general rode up to our division, and ordered us to be
ready for the return. The enemy got into the bushes over against our
left flank, and began to pour a heavy musketry-fire into us. From the
left-hand side a ball came whizzing from the forest, and buried itself
in a gun-carriage; then--a second, a third.... The infantry guard,
scattered around us, jumped up with a shout, seized their muskets, and
took aim. The cracking of the musketry was redoubled, and the bullets
began to fly thicker and faster. The retreat had begun, and the present
attack was the result, as is always the case in the Caucasus.

It became perfectly manifest that the artillerists did not like the
bullets as well as the infantry had liked the solid shot. Antónof put
on a deep frown. Chikin imitated the sound of the bullets, and fired
his jokes at them; but it was evident that he did not like them. In
regard to one he said, "What a hurry it's in!" another he called a
"honey-bee;" a third, which flew over us with a sort of slow and
lugubrious drone, he called an "orphan,"--a term which raised general
amusement.

The recruit, who had the habit of bending his head to one side, and
stretching out his neck, every time he heard a bullet, was also a
source of amusement to the soldiers, who said, "Who is it? some
acquaintance that you are bowing to?" And Velenchúk, who always showed
perfect equanimity in time of danger, was now in an alarming state of
mind; he was manifestly vexed because we did not send some canister in
the direction from which the bullets came. He more than once exclaimed
in a discontented tone, "What is _he_ allowed to shoot at us with
impunity for? If we could only answer with some grape, that would
silence him, take my word for it."

In fact, it was time to do this. I ordered the last shell to be fired,
and to load with grape.

"Grape!" shouted Antónof bravely in the midst of the smoke, coming up
to the gun with his sponge as soon as the discharge was made.

At this moment, not far-behind us, I heard the quick whiz of a bullet
suddenly striking something with a dry thud. My heart sank within me.
"Some one of our men must have been struck," I said to myself; but at
the same time I did not dare to turn round, under the influence of this
powerful presentiment. True enough, immediately after this sound the
heavy fall of a body was heard, and the "o-o-o-oï,"--the heart-rending
groan of the wounded man. "I'm hit, fellows," remarked a voice which I
knew. It was Velenchúk. He was lying on his back between the limbers
and the gun. The cartridge-box which he carried was flung to one side.
His forehead was all bloody, and over his right eye and his nose flowed
a thick red stream. The wound was in his body, but it bled very
little; he had hit his forehead on something when he fell.

All this I perceived after some little time. At the first instant I saw
only a sort of obscure mass, and a terrible quantity of blood as it
seemed to me.

None of the soldiers who were loading the gun said a word,--only the
recruit muttered between his teeth, "See, how bloody!" and Antónof,
frowning still blacker, snorted angrily; but all the time it was
evident that the thought of death presented itself to the mind of each.
All took hold of their work with great activity. The gun was discharged
every instant; and the gun-captain, in getting the canister, went
two steps around the place where lay the wounded man, now groaning
constantly.



VIII.


Evert one who has been in action has doubtless experienced the strange
although illogical but still powerful feeling of repulsion for the
place in which any one has been killed or wounded. My soldiers were
noticeably affected by this feeling at the first moment when it became
necessary to lift Velenchúk and carry him to the wagon which had driven
up. Zhdánof angrily went to the sufferer, and, notwithstanding his
cry of anguish, took him under his arms and lifted him. "What are you
standing there for? Help lug him!" he shouted; and instantly the men
sprang to his assistance, some of whom could not do any good at all.
But they had scarcely started to move him from the place when Velenchúk
began to scream fearfully and to struggle.

"What are you screeching for, like a rabbit?" said Antónof, holding him
roughly by the leg. "If you don't stop we'll drop you."

And the sufferer really calmed down, and only occasionally cried out,
"_Okh!_ I'm dead! _o-okh,_ fellows![13] I'm dead!"

As soon as they laid him in the wagon, he ceased to groan, and I
heard that he said something to his comrades--it must have been a
farewell--in a weak but audible voice.

Indeed, no one likes to look at a wounded man; and I, instinctively
hastening to get away from this spectacle, ordered the men to take him
as soon as possible to a suitable place, and then return to the guns.
But in a few minutes I was told that Velenchúk was asking for me, and I
returned to the ambulance.

The wounded man lay on the wagon bottom, holding the sides with both
hands. His healthy, broad face had in a few seconds entirely changed;
he had, as it were, grown gaunt, and older by several years. His lips
were pinched and white, and tightly compressed, with evident effort
at self-control; his glance had a quick and feeble expression; but
in his eyes was a peculiarly clear and tranquil gleam, and on his
blood-stained forehead and nose already lay the seal of death.

In spite of the fact that the least motion caused him unendurable
anguish, he was trying to take from his left leg his purse,[14] which
contained money.

A fearfully burdensome thought came into my mind when I saw his bare,
white, and healthy-looking leg as he was taking off his boot and
untying his purse.

"There are three silver rubles and a fifty_-kopek_ piece," he said when
I took the girdle-purse. "You keep them."

The ambulance had started to move, but he stopped it.

"I was working on a cloak for Lieutenant Sulimovsky. He had paid me
two-o-o silver rubles. I spent one and a half on buttons, but half a
ruble lies with the buttons in my bag. Give them to him."

"Very good, I will," said I. "Keep up good hopes, brother."

He did not answer me; the wagon moved away, and he began once more
to groan, and to exclaim "_Okh!"_ in the same terribly heart-rending
tone. As though he had done with earthly things, he felt that he had
no longer any pretext for self-restraint, and he now considered this
alleviation permissible.


[Footnote 13: _bratsuí moï._]

[Footnote 14: _chéres;_ diminutive, _chéresok,--_a leather purse in the
form of a girdle, which soldiers wear usually under the knee.--AUTHOR'S
NOTE.]



IX.


"Where are you off to? Come back! Where are you going?" I shouted to
the recruit, who, carrying in his arms his reserve linstock, and a sort
of cane in his hand, was calmly marching off toward the ambulance in
which the wounded man was carried.

But the recruit lazily looked up at me, and kept on his way, and I was
obliged to send a soldier to bring him back. He took off his red cap,
and looked at me with a stupid smile.

"Where were you going?" I asked.

"To camp."

"Why?"

"Because--they have wounded Velenchúk," he replied, still smiling.

"What has that to do with you? It's your business to stay here."

He looked at me in amazement, then coolly turned round, put on his cap,
and went to his place.

The result of the action had been fortunate. The Cossacks, it was
reported, had made a brilliant attack, and had captured three bodies
of the Tatars; the infantry had laid in a store of firewood, and had
suffered in all a loss of six men wounded. In the artillery, from the
whole array only Velenchúk and two horses were put _hors du combat._
Moreover, they had cut the forest for three _versts,_ and cleared a
place, so that it was impossible to recognize it; now, instead of a
seemingly impenetrable forest girdle, a great field was opened up,
covered with heaps of smoking bonfires, and lines of infantry and
cavalry on their way to camp. Notwithstanding the fact that the enemy
incessantly harassed us with cannonade and musketry, and followed us
down to the very river where the cemetery was, that we had crossed in
the morning, the retreat was successfully managed.

I was already beginning to dream of the cabbage-soup and rib of mutton
with _kasha_ gruel that were awaiting me at the camp, when the word
came, that the general had commanded a redoubt to be thrown up on
the river-bank, and that the third battalion of regiment K, and a
division of the fourth battery, should stay behind till the next day
for that purpose. The wagons with the firewood and the wounded, the
Cossacks, the artillery, the infantry with muskets and fagots on their
shoulders,--all with noise and songs passed by us. On the faces of all
shone enthusiasm and content, caused by the return from peril, and hope
of rest; only we and the men of the third battalion were obliged to
postpone these joyful feelings till the morrow.



X.


While we of the artillery were busy about the guns, disposing the
limbers and caissons, and picketing the horses, the foot-soldiers had
stacked their arms, piled up bonfires, made shelters of boughs and
cornstalks, and were cooking their grits.

It began to grow dark. Across the sky swept bluish-white clouds. The
mist, changing into fine drizzling fog, began to wet the ground and
the soldiers' cloaks. The horizon became contracted, and all our
surroundings took on gloomy shadows. The dampness which I felt through
my boots and on my neck, the incessant motion and chatter in which I
took no part, the sticky mud with which my legs were covered, and my
empty stomach, all combined to arouse in me a most uncomfortable and
disagreeable frame of mind after a day of physical and moral fatigue.
Velenchúk did not go out of my mind. The whole simple story of his
soldier's life kept repeating itself before my imagination.

His last moments were as unclouded and peaceful as all the rest of his
life. He had lived too honestly and simply for his artless faith in the
heavenly life to come, to be shaken at the decisive moment.

"Your health," said Nikoláïef, coming to me. "The captain begs you to
be so kind as to come and drink tea with him."

Somehow making my way between stacks of arms and the camp-fires,
I followed Nikoláïef to where Captain Bolkhof was, and felt a glow
of satisfaction in dreaming about the glass of hot tea and the gay
converse which should drive away my gloomy thoughts.

"Well, has he come?" said Bolkhof's voice from his cornstalk wigwam, in
which the light was gleaming.

"He is here, your honor,"[15] replied Nikoláïef in his deep bass.

In the hut, on a dry _burka,_ or Cossack mantle, sat the captain in
_négligé,_ and without his cap. Near him the samovar was singing, and a
drum was standing, loaded with lunch. A bayonet stuck into the ground
held a candle.

"How is this?" he said with some pride, glancing around his comfortable
habitation. In fact, it was so pleasant in his wigwam, that, while we
were at tea I absolutely forgot about the dampness, the gloom, and
Velenchúk's wound. We talked about Moscow and subjects that had no
relation to the war or the Caucasus.

After one of the moments of silence which sometimes interrupt the most
lively conversations, Bolkhof looked at me with a smile.

"Well, I suppose our talk this morning must have seemed very strange to
you?" said he.

"No. Why should it? It only seemed to me that you were very frank; but
there are things which we all know, but which it is not necessary to
speak about."

"Oh, you are mistaken! If there were only some possibility of
exchanging this life for any sort of life, no matter how tame and mean,
but free from danger and service, I would not hesitate a minute."

"Why, then, don't you go back to Russia?" I asked.

"Why?" he repeated. "Oh, I have been thinking about that for a long
time. I can't return to Russia until I have won the Anna and Vladímir,
wear the Anna ribbon around my neck, and am major, as I expected when I
came here."

"Why not, pray, if you feel that you are so unfitted as you say for
service here?"

"Simply because I feel still more unfitted to return to Russia the same
as I came. That also is one of the traditions existing in Russia which
were handed down by Passek, Sleptsof, and others,--that you must go to
the Caucasus, so as to come home loaded with rewards. And all of us are
expecting and working for this; but I have been here two years, have
taken part in two expeditions, and haven't won any thing. But still,
I have so much vanity that I shall not go away from here until I am,
major, and have the Vladímir and Anna around my neck. I am already
accustomed to having every thing avoid me, when even Gnilokishkin gets
promoted, and I don't. And so how could I show myself in Russia before
the eyes of my elder, the merchant Kotelnikof, to whom I sell wheat, or
to my aunty in Moscow, and all those people, if I had served two years
in the Caucasus without getting promoted? It is true that I don't wish
to know these people, and, of course, they don't care very much about
me; but a man is so constituted, that though I don't wish to know them,
yet on account of them I am wasting my best years, and destroying all
the happiness of my life, and all my future."


[Footnote 15: _váshie blagoródié._]



XI.


At this moment the voice of the battalion commander was heard on the
outside, saying, "Who is it with you, Nikoláï Feódorovitch?" Bolkhof
mentioned my name, and in a moment three officers came into the
wigwam,--Major Kirsánof, the adjutant of his battalion, and company
commander Trosenko.

Kirsánof was a short, thick-set fellow, with black mustaches, ruddy
cheeks, and little oily eyes. His little eyes were the most noticeable
features of his physiognomy. When he laughed, there remained of them
only two moist little stars; and these little stars, together with his
pursed-up lips and long neck, sometimes gave him a peculiar expression
of insipidity. Kirsánof considered himself better than any one else in
the regiment. The under officers did not dispute this; and the chiefs
esteemed him, although the general impression about him was, that he
was very dull-witted. He knew his duties, was accurate and zealous,
kept a carriage and a cook, and, naturally enough, managed to pass
himself off as arrogant.

"What are you gossiping about, captain?" he asked as he came in.

"Oh, about the delights of the service here."

But at this instant Kirsánof caught sight of me, a mere yunker; and
in order to make me gather a high impression of his knowledge, as
though he had not heard Bolkhof's answer, and glancing at the drum, he
asked,--

"What, were you tired, captain?"

"No. You see, we" ... began Bolkhof.

But once more, and it must have been the battalion commander's dignity
that caused him to interrupt the answer, he put a new question:--

"Well, we had a splendid action to-day, didn't we?"

The adjutant of the battalion was a young fellow who belonged to the
fourteenth army-rank, and had only lately been promoted from the yunker
service. He was a modest and gentle young fellow, with a sensitive and
good-natured face. I had met him before at Bolkhof's. The young man
would come to see him often, make him a bow, sit down in a corner,
and for hours at a time say nothing, and only make cigarettes and
smoke them; and then he would get up, make another bow, and go away.
He was the type of the poor son of the Russian noble family, who has
chosen the profession of arms as the only one open to him in his
circumstances, and who values above every thing else in the world his
official calling,--an ingenuous and lovable type, notwithstanding
his absurd, indefeasible peculiarities: his tobacco-pouch, his
dressing-gown, his guitar, and his mustache brush, with which we used
to picture him to ourselves. In the regiment they used to say of him
that he boasted of being just but stern with his servant, and quoted
him as saying, "I rarely punish; but when I am driven to it, then
let 'em beware:" and once, when his servant got drunk, and plundered
him, and began to rail at his master, they say he took him to the
guard-house, and commanded them to have every thing ready for the
chastisement; but when he saw the preparations, he was so confused,
that he could only stammer a few meaningless words: "Well, now you
see--I might," ... and, thoroughly upset, he set off home, and from
that time never dared to look into the eyes of his man. His comrades
gave him no peace, but were always nagging him about this; and I often
heard how the ingenuous lad tried to defend himself, and, blushing to
the roots of his hair, avowed that it was not true, but absolutely
false.

The third character, Captain Trosenko, was an old Caucasian[16] in
the full acceptation of the word: that is, he was a man for whom the
company under his command stood for his family; the fortress where the
staff was, his home; and the song-singers his only pleasure in life,--a
man for whom every thing that was not Kavkas was worthy of scorn, yes,
was almost unworthy of belief; every thing that was Kavkas was divided
into two halves, ours and not ours. He loved the first, the second he
hated with all the strength of his soul. And, above all, he was a man
of iron nerve, of serene bravery, of rare goodness and devotion to
his comrades and subordinates, and of desperate frankness, and even
insolence in his bearing, toward those who did not please him; that is,
adjutants and _bon jourists._ As he came into the wigwam, he almost
bumped his head on the roof, then suddenly sank down and sat on the
ground.

"Well, how is it?"[17] said he; and suddenly becoming cognizant of my
presence, and recognizing me, he got up, turning upon me a troubled,
serious gaze.

"Well, why were you talking about that?" asked the major, taking out
his watch and consulting it, though I verily believe there was not the
slightest necessity of his doing so.

"Well,[18] he asked me why I served here."

"Of course, Nikoláï Feódorovitch wants to win distinction here, and
then go home."

"Well, now, you tell us, Abram Ilyitch, why you serve in the Caucasus."

"I? Because, as you know, in the first place we are all in duty bound
to serve. What?" he added, though no one spoke. "Yesterday evening I
received a letter from Russia, Nikoláï Feódorovitch," he continued,
eager to change the conversation. "They write me that ... what strange
questions are asked!"

"What sort of questions?" asked Bolkhof.

He blushed.

"Really, now, strange questions ... they write me, asking, 'Can there
be jealousy without love?' ... What?" he asked, looking at us all.

"How so?" said Bolkhof, smiling.

"Well, you know, in Russia it's a good thing," he continued, as
though his phrases followed each other in perfectly logical sequence.
"When I was at Tambof in '52 I was invited everywhere, as though I
were on the emperor's suite. Would you believe me, at a ball at the
governor's, when I got there ... well, don't you know, I was received
very cordially. The governor's wife[19] herself, you know, talked with
me, and asked me about the Caucasus; and so did all the rest ... why,
I don't know ... they looked at my gold cap as though it were some
sort of curiosity, and they asked me how I had won it, and how about
the Anna and the Vladímir; and I told them all about it.... What?
That's why the Caucasus is good, Nikoláï Feódorovitch," he continued,
not waiting for a response. "There they look on us Caucasians very
kindly. A young man, you know, a staff-officer with the Anna and
Vladímir,--that means a great deal in Russia. What?"

"You boasted a little, I imagine, Abram Ilyitch," said Bolkhof.

"He-he," came his silly little laugh in reply. "You know, you have to.
Yes, and didn't I feed royally those two months!"

"So it is fine in Russia, is it?" asked Trosenko, asking about Russia
as though it were China or Japan.

"Yes, indeed![20] We drank so much champagne there in those two months,
that it was a terror!"

"The idea! you?[21] You drank lemonade probably. I should have died to
show them how the _Kavkázets_ drinks. The glory has not been won for
nothing. I would show them how we drink.... Hey, Bolkhof?" he added.

"Yes, you see, you have been already ten years in the Caucasus, uncle,"
said Bolkhof, "and you remember what Yermolof said; but Abram Ilyitch
has been here only six." ...

"Ten years, indeed! almost sixteen."

"Let us have some _salvia,_ Bolkhof: it's raw, b-rr! What?" he added,
smiling, "shall we drink, major?"

But the major was out of sorts, on account of the old captain's
behavior to him at first; and now he evidently retired into himself,
and took refuge in his own greatness. He began to hum some song, and
again looked at his watch.

"Well, I shall never go there again," continued Trosenko, paying no
heed to the peevish major. "I have got out of the habit of going about
and speaking Russian. They'd ask, 'What is this wonderful creature?'
and the answer'd be, 'Asia.' Isn't that so, Nikoláï Feódoruitch? And so
what is there for me in Russia? It's all the same, you'll get shot here
sooner or later. They ask, 'Where is Trosenko?' And down you go! What
will you do then in the eighth company--heh?" he added, continuing to
address the major.

"Send the officer of the day to the battalion," shouted Kirsánof, not
answering the captain, though I was again compelled to believe that
there was no necessity upon him of giving any orders.

"But, young man, I think that you are glad now that you are having
double pay?" said the major after a few moments' silence, addressing
the adjutant of the battalion.

"Why, yes, very."

"I think that our salary is now very large, Nikoláï Feódoruitch," he
went on to say. "A young man can live very comfortably, and even allow
himself some little luxury."

"No, truly, Abram Ilyitch," said the adjutant timidly: "even though we
get double pay, it's only so much; and you see, one must keep a horse."
...

"What is that you say, young man? I myself have been an ensign, and
I know. Believe me, with care, one can live very well. But you must
calculate," he added, tapping his left palm with his little finger.

"We pledge all our salary before it's due: this is the way you
economize," said Trosenko, drinking down a glass of vodka.

"Well, now, you see that's the very thing.... What?"

At this instant at the door of the wigwam appeared a white head with a
flattened nose; and a sharp voice with a German accent said,--

"You there, Abram Ilyitch? The officer of the day is hunting for you."

"Come in, Kraft," said Bolkhof.

A tall form in the coat of the general's staff entered the door, and
with remarkable zeal endeavored to shake hands with every one.

"Ah, my dear captain, you here too?" said he, addressing Trosenko.

The new guest, notwithstanding the darkness, rushed up to the
captain and kissed him on the lips, to his extreme astonishment, and
displeasure as it seemed to me.

"This is a German who wishes to be a hail fellow well met," I said to
myself.


[Footnote 16: _Kavkázets._]

[Footnote 17: _nu chto?_]

[Footnote 18: _da voi._]

[Footnote 19: _gubernátorsha._]

[Footnote 20: _da s._]

[Footnote 21: _da chto vui._]



XII.


My presumption was immediately confirmed. Captain Kraft called for some
vodka, which he called corn-brandy,[22] and threw back his head, and
made a terrible noise like a duck, in draining the glass.

"Well, gentlemen, we rolled about well to-day on the plains of the
Chetchen," he began; but, catching sight of the officer of the day, he
immediately stopped, to allow the major to give his directions.

"Well, you have made the tour of the lines?"

"I have."

"Are the pickets posted?"

"They are."

"Then you may order the captain of the guard to be as alert as
possible."

"I will."

The major blinked his eyes, and went into a brown study.

"Well, tell the boys to get their supper."

"That's what they're doing now."

"Good! then you may go. Well,"[23] continued the major with a
conciliating smile, and taking up the thread of the conversation that
we had dropped, "we were reckoning what an officer needed: let us
finish the calculation."

"We need one uniform and trousers, don't we?"[24]

"Yes. That, let us suppose would amount to fifty rubles every two
years; say, twenty-five rubles a year for dress. Then for eating we
need every day at least forty kopeks, don't we?[25]"

"Yes, certainly as much as that."

"Well, I'll call it so. Now, for a horse and saddle for remount,
thirty rubles; that's all. Twenty-five and a hundred and twenty and
thirty make a hundred and seventy-five rubles. All the rest stands for
luxuries,--for tea and for sugar and for tobacco,--twenty rubles. Will
you look it over?... It's right, isn't it, Nikoláï Feódoruitch?"

"Not quite. Excuse me, Abram Ilyitch," said the adjutant timidly,
"nothing is left for tea and sugar. You reckon one suit for every two
years, but here in field-service you can't get along with one pair of
pantaloons and boots. Why, I wear out a new pair almost every month.
And then linen, shirts, handkerchiefs, and leg-wrappers: all that sort
of thing one has to buy. And when you have accounted for it, there
isn't any thing left at all. That's true, by God![26] Abram Ilyitch."

"Yes, it's splendid to wear leg-wrappers," said Kraft suddenly,
after a moment's silence, with a loving emphasis on the word
"leg-wrappers;"[27] "you know it's simply Russian fashion."

"I will tell you," remarked Trosenko, "it all amounts to this, that our
brother imagines that we have nothing to eat; but the fact is, that we
all live, and have tea to drink, and tobacco to smoke, and our vodka
to drink. If _you_ served with me," he added, turning to the ensign,
"you would soon learn how to live. I suppose you gentlemen know how he
treated his _denshchik_."

And Trosenko, dying with laughter, told us the whole story of the
ensign and his man, though we had all heard it a thousand times.

"What makes you look so rosy, brother?" he continued, pointing to the
ensign, who turned red, broke into a perspiration, and smiled with such
constraint that it was painful to look at him.

"It's all right, brother. I used to be just like you; but now, you
see, I have become hardened. Just let any young fellow come here from
Russia,--we have seen 'em,--and here they would get all sorts of
rheumatism and spasms; but look at me sitting here: it's my home, and
bed, and all. You see" ... Here he drank still another glass of vodka.
"Hah?" he continued, looking straight into Kraft's eyes.

"That's what I like in you. He's a genuine old _Kavkázets._ Kive us
your hant."

And Kraft pushed through our midst, rushed up to Trosenko, and,
grasping his hand, shook it with remarkable feeling.

"Yes, we can say that we have had all sorts of experiences here," he
continued. "In '45 you must have been there, captain? Do you remember
the night of the 24th and 25th, when we camped in mud up to our knees,
and the next day went against the intrenchments? I was then with the
commander-in-chief, and in one day we captured fifteen intrenchments.
Do you remember, captain?"

Trosenko nodded assent, and, pushing out his lower lip, closed his eyes.

"You ought to have seen," Kraft began with extraordinary animation,
making awkward gestures with his arms, and addressing the major.

But the major, who must have more than once heard this tale, suddenly
threw such an expression of muddy stupidity into his eyes, as he
looked at his comrade, that Kraft turned from him, and addressed
Bolkhof and me, alternately looking at each of us. But he did not once
look at Trosenko, from one end of his story to the other.

"You ought to have seen how in the morning the commander-in-chief
came to me, and says, 'Kraft, take those intrenchments.' You know
our military duty,--no arguing, hand to visor. 'It shall be done,
your Excellency,'[28] and I started. As soon as we came to the first
intrenchment, I turn round, and shout to the soldiers, 'Poys, show your
mettle! Pe on your guard. The one who stops I shall cut down with my
own hand.' With Russian soldiers you know you have to be plain-spoken.
Then suddenly comes a shell--I look--one soldier, two soldiers, three
soldiers, then the bullets--vz-zhin! vz-zhin! vz-zhin! I shout,
'Forward, boys; follow me!' As soon as we reach it, you know, I look
and see--how it--you know: what do you call it?" and the narrator waved
his hands in his search for the word.

"Rampart," suggested Bolkhof.

"No.... _Ach!_ what is it? My God, now, what is it?... Yes, rampart,"
said he quickly. "Then clubbing their guns!... hurrah! ta-ra-ta-ta-ta!
The enemy--not a soul was left. Do you know, they were amazed. All
right. We rush on--the second intrenchment. This was quite a different
affair. Our hearts poiled within us, you know. As soon as we got there,
I look and I see the second intrenchment--impossible to mount it.
There--what was it--what was it we just called it? _Ach!_ what was it?"
...

"Rampart," again I suggested.

"Not at all," said he with some heat. "Not rampart. Ah, now, what is
it called?" and he made a sort of despairing gesture with his hand.
"_Ach!_ my God! what is it?" ...

He was evidently so cut up, that one could not help offering
suggestions.

"Moat, perhaps," said Bolkhof.

"No; simply rampart. As soon as we reached it, if you will believe me,
there was a fire poured in upon us--it was hell." ...

At the crisis, some one behind the wigwam inquired for me. It was
Maksímof. As there still remained thirteen of the intrenchments to be
taken in the same monotonous detail, I was glad to have an excuse to go
to my division. Trosenko went with me.

"It's all a pack of lies," he said to me when we had gone a few steps
from the wigwam. "He wasn't at the intrenchments at all;" and Trosenko
laughed so good-naturedly, that I could not help joining him.


[Footnote 22: _gorílka_ in the Malo-Russian dialect.]

[Footnote 23: _nu-s._]

[Footnote 24: _tak-s._]

[Footnote 25: _tak-s._]

[Footnote 26: _Yéï Bogu._]

[Footnote 27: _podviortki._]

[Footnote 28: _slusháïu, váshe Siyátelstvo._]



XIII.


It was already dark night, and the camp was lighted only by the
flickering bonfires, when I rejoined my soldiers, after giving my
orders. A great smouldering log was lying on the coals. Around it
were sitting only three of the men,--Antónof, who had set his kettle
on the fire to boil his _ryábko,_ or hard-tack and tallow; Zhdánof,
thoughtfully poking the ashes with a stick; and Chikin, with his pipe,
which was forever in his mouth. The rest had already turned in, some
under gun carriages, others in the hay, some around the fires. By the
faint light of the coals I recognized the backs, the legs, and the
heads of those whom I knew. Among the latter was the recruit, who,
curling up close to the fire, was already fast asleep. Antónof made
room for me. I sat down by him, and began to smoke a cigarette. The
odor of the mist and of the smoke from the wet branches spreading
through the air made one's eyes smart, and the same penetrating drizzle
fell from the gloomy sky.

Behind us could be heard regular snoring, the crackling of wood in
the fire, muffled conversation, and occasionally the clank of muskets
among the infantry. Everywhere about us the watch-fires were glowing,
throwing their red reflections within narrow circles on the dark forms
of the soldiers. Around the nearer fires I distinguished, in places
where it was light, the figures of naked soldiers waving their shirts
in the very flames. Many of the men had not yet gone to bed, but were
wandering round, and talking over a space of fifteen square _sazhens;_
but the thick, gloomy night imparted a peculiarly mysterious tone to
all this movement, as though each felt this gloomy silence, and feared
to disturb its peaceful harmony. When I spoke, it seemed to me that my
voice sounded strange. On the faces of all the soldiers sitting by the
fire I read the same mood. I thought, that, when I joined them, they
were talking about their wounded comrade; but it was nothing of the
sort. Chikin was telling about the condition of things at Tiflis, and
about school-children there.

Always and everywhere, especially in the Caucasus, I have remarked
in our soldiery at the time of danger peculiar tact in ignoring
or avoiding those things that might have a depressing effect upon
their comrades' spirits. The spirit of the Russian soldier is not
constituted, like the courage of the Southern nations, for quickly
kindled and quickly cooling enthusiasm; it is as hard to set him on
fire as it is to cause him to lose courage. For him it is not necessary
to have accessories, speeches, martial shouts, songs, and drums; on
the contrary, he wants calmness, order, and avoidance of every thing
unnatural. In the Russian, the genuine Russian soldier, you never find
braggadocio, bravado, or the tendency to get demoralized or excited
in time of danger; on the contrary, discretion, simplicity, and the
faculty of seeing in peril something quite distinct from the peril,
constitute the chief traits of his character. I have seen a soldier
wounded in the leg, at the first moment mourning only over the hole in
his new jacket; a messenger thrown from his horse, which was killed
under him, unbuckling the girth so as to save the saddle. Who does
not recollect the incident at the siege of Hergebel when the fuse of a
loaded bomb was on fire in the powder-room, and the artillerist ordered
two soldiers to take the bomb and fling it over the wall, and how the
soldiers did not take it to the most convenient place, which was near
the colonel's tent on the rampart, but carried it farther, lest it
should wake the gentlemen who were asleep in the tent, and both of them
were blown to pieces?

I remember, that, during this same expedition of 1852, one of the young
soldiers, during action, said to some one that it was not proper for
the division to go into danger, and how the whole division in scorn
went for him for saying such shameful words that they would not even
repeat them. And here now the thought of Velenchúk must have been in
the mind of each; and when any second might bring upon us the broadside
of the stealthy Tatars, all were listening to Chikin's lively story,
and no one mentioned the events of the day, nor the present danger, nor
their wounded friend, as though it had happened God knows how long ago,
or had never been at all. But still, it seemed to me that their faces
were more serious than usual; they listened with too little attention
to Chikin's tale, and even Chikin himself felt that they were not
listening to him, but let him talk to himself.

Maksímof came to the bonfire, and sat down by me. Chikin made room for
him, stopped talking, and again began to suck at his pipe.

"The infantry have sent to camp for some vodka," said Maksímof after a
considerably long silence. "They'll be back with it very soon." He spat
into the fire. "A subaltern was saying that he had seen our comrade."

"Was he still alive?" asked Antónof, turning his kettle round.

"No, he is dead."

The recruit suddenly raised above the fire his graceful head within his
red cap, for an instant gazed intently at Maksímof and me, then quickly
dropped it, and rolled himself up in his cloak.

"You see, it was death that was coming upon him this morning when I
woke him in the gun-park," said Antónof.

"Nonsense!" said Zhdánof, turning over the smouldering log; and all
were silent.

Amid the general silence a shot was heard behind us in the camp. Our
drummers took it up immediately, and beat the tattoo. When the last
roll had ceased, Zhdánof was already up, and the first to take off his
cap. The rest of us followed his example.

Amid the deep silence of the night a choir of harmonious male voices
resounded:--

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come;
thy will be done, as on earth, so in heaven. Give us this day our daily
bread, and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. And lead us
not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one."

"It was just so with us in '45: one man was contused in this place,"
said Antónof when we had put on our hats and were sitting around the
fire, "and so we carried him two days on the gun. Do you remember
Shevchenko, Zhdánof?... We left him there under a tree."

At this time a foot-soldier with tremendous whiskers and mustaches,
carrying a gun and a knapsack, came to our fire.

"Please give a fellow-countryman a coal for his pipe," said he.

"Of course,[29] smoke away; there is plenty of fire," remarked Chikin.

"You were talking about Dargi, weren't you, friend?" asked the soldier,
addressing Antónof.

The soldier shook his head, frowned, and squatted down near us on his
heels.

"There were all sorts of things there," he remarked.

"Why did you leave him?" I asked of Antónof.

"He had awful cramps in his belly. When we stood still, he did not feel
it; but when we moved, he screeched and screeched. He besought us by
all that was holy to leave him: it was pitiful. Well, and when _he_
began to vex us solely, and had killed three of our men at the guns and
one officer, then our batteries opened on him, and did some execution
too. We weren't able to drag out the guns, there was such mud."

"It was muddier under the Indian mountains than anywhere else,"
remarked the strange soldier.

"Well, but indeed it kept growing worse and worse for him; and we
decided, Anóshenka--he was an old artillerist--and the rest of us,
that indeed there was no chance for him but to say a prayer, and so we
left him there. And so we decided. A tree grew there, welcome enough.
We left some hard-tack for him,--Zhdánof had some,--we put him against
the tree, put a clean shirt on him, said good-by to him, and so we left
him."

"Was he a man of importance?"

"Not at all: he was a soldier," remarked Zhdánof.

"And what became of him, God knows," added Antónof. "Many of our
brothers were left there."

"At Dargi?" asked the infantry man, standing up and picking up his
pipe, and again frowning and shaking his head.... "There were all sorts
of things there."

And he left us.

"Say, are there many of the soldiers in our battery who were at Dargi?"
I asked.

"Let us see;[30] here is Zhdánof, myself, Patsan,--who is now on
furlough,--and some six men more. There wouldn't be any others."

"Why has our Patsan gone off on leave of absence?" asked Chikin,
shaking out his legs, and laying his head on a log. "It's almost a year
since he went."

"Well, are you going to take your furlough?" I asked of Zhdánof.

"No, I'm not," he replied reluctantly.

"I tell you it's a good thing to go," said Antónof, "when you come from
a rich home, or when you are able to work; and it's rather flattering
to go and have the folks glad to see you."

"But how about going when you have a brother,", asked Zhdánof, "and
would have to be supported by him? They have enough for themselves, but
there's nothing for a brother who's a soldier. Poor kind of help after
serving twenty-five years. Besides, whether they are alive or no, who
knows?"

"But why haven't you written?" I asked.

"Written? I did send two letters, but they don't reply. Either they are
dead, or they don't reply because, of course, they are poor. It's so
everywhere."

"Have you written lately?"

"When we left Dargi I wrote my last letter."

"You had better sing that song about the birch," said Zhdánof to
Antónof, who at this moment was on his knees, and was purring some song.

Antónof sang his "Song of the White Birch."

"That's Uncle Zhdánof's very most favorite song," said Chikin to me in
a whisper, as he helped me on with my cloak. "The other day, as Filipp
Antónuitch was singing it, he actually cried."

Zhdánof at first sat absolutely motionless, with his eyes fastened on
the smouldering embers, and his face, shining in the ruddy glow, seemed
extraordinarily gloomy; then his cheek under his mustaches began to
move quicker and quicker; and at last he got up, and, spreading out
his cloak, he lay down in the shadow behind the fire. Either he tossed
about and groaned as he got ready for bed, or the death of Velenchúk
and this wretched weather had completely upset me; but it certainly
seemed to me that he was weeping.

The bottom of the log which had been rolled on the fire, occasionally
blazing up, threw its light on Antónof's form, with his gray moustache,
his red face, and the ribbons on the cloak flung over his shoulders,
and brought into relief the boots, heads, or backs of other sleeping
soldiers.

From above the same wretched drizzle was falling; in the atmosphere
was the same odor of dampness and smoke; around us could be seen the
same bright dots of the dying fires, and amid the general silence the
melancholy notes of Antónof's song rang out. And when this ceased for a
moment, the faint nocturnal sounds of the camp, the snoring, the clank
of a sentinel's musket, and quiet conversation, chimed in with it.

"Second watch! Makatiuk and Zhdánof," shouted Maksímof.

Antónof ceased to sing; Zhdánof arose, drew a deep sigh, stepped across
the log, and went off quietly to the guns.


[Footnote 29: _chïo-sh._]

[Footnote 30: _da chïo._]


JULY 27, 1855.




AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.


_PRINCE NEKHILUDOF RELATES HOW, DURING AN EXPEDITION IN THE CAUCASUS,
HE MET AN ACQUAINTANCE FROM MOSCOW. _


Our division had been out in the field.

The work in hand was accomplished: we had cut a way through the forest,
and each day we were expecting from headquarters orders for our return
to the fort. Our division of field-pieces was stationed at the top of a
steep mountain-crest which was terminated by the swift mountain river
Mechik, and had to command the plain that stretched before us. Here
and there on this picturesque plain, out of the reach of gunshot, now
and then, especially at evening, groups of mounted mountaineers showed
themselves, attracted by curiosity to ride up and view the Russian camp.

The evening was clear, mild, and fresh, as it is apt to be in December
in the Caucasus; the sun was setting behind the steep chain of the
mountains at the left, and threw rosy rays upon the tents scattered
over the <DW72>, upon the soldiers moving about, and upon our two guns,
which seemed to crane their necks as they rested motionless on the
earthwork two paces from us. The infantry picket, stationed on the
knoll at the left, stood in perfect silhouette against the light of
the sunset; no less distinct were the stacks of muskets, the form of
the sentry, the groups of soldiers, and the smoke of the smouldering
camp-fire.

At the right and left of the <DW72>, on the black, sodden earth, the
tents gleamed white; and behind the tents, black stood the bare trunks
of the platane forest, which rang with the incessant sound of axes, the
crackling of the bonfires, and the crashing of the trees as they fell
under the axes. The bluish smoke arose from tobacco-pipes on all sides,
and vanished in the transparent blue of the frosty sky. By the tents
and on the lower ground around the arms rushed the Cossacks, dragoons,
and artillerists, with great galloping and snorting of horses as they
returned from getting water. It began to freeze; all sounds were
heard with extraordinary distinctness, and one could see an immense
distance across the plain through the clear, rare atmosphere. The
groups of the enemy, their curiosity at seeing the soldiers satisfied,
quietly galloped off across the fields, still yellow with the golden
coru-stubble, toward their _auls_ or villages, which were visible,
beyond the forest, with the tall posts of the cemeteries and the smoke
rising in the air.

Our tent was pitched not far from the guns on a place high and dry,
from which we had a remarkably extended view. Near the tent, on a
cleared space, around the battery itself, we had our games of skittles,
or _chushki._ The obliging soldiers had made for us rustic benches and
tables. On account of all these amusements, the artillery officers, our
comrades, and a few infantry men liked to gather of an evening around
our battery, and the place came to be called the club.

As the evening was fine, the best players had come, and we were
amusing ourselves with skittles.[1] Ensign D., Lieutenant O.,
and myself had played two games in succession; and to the common
satisfaction and amusement of all the spectators, officers, soldiers,
and servants[2] who were watching us from their tents, we had twice
carried the winning party on our backs from one end of the ground to
the other. Especially droll was the situation of the huge fat Captain
S., who, puffing and smiling good-naturedly, with legs dragging on the
ground, rode pickapack on the feeble little Lieutenant O.

When it grew somewhat later, the servants brought three glasses of tea
for the six men of us, and not a spoon; and we who had finished our
game came to the plaited settees.

There was standing near them a small bow-legged man, a stranger to
us, in a sheepskin jacket, and a _papákha,_ or Circassian cap, with
long overhanging white crown. As soon as we came near where he stood,
he took a few irresolute steps, and put on his cap; and several times
he seemed to make up his mind to come to meet us, and then stopped
again. But after deciding, probably, that it was impossible to remain
irresolute, the stranger took off his cap, and, going in a circuit
around us, approached Captain S.

"Ah, Guskantini, how is it, old man?"[3] said S., still smiling
good-naturedly, under the influence of his ride.

Guskantini, as S. called him, instantly replaced his cap, and made a
motion as though to thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket;[4]
but on the side toward me there was no pocket in the jacket, and his
small red hand fell into an awkward position. I felt a strong desire
to make out who this man was (was he a yunker, or a degraded officer?)
and, not realizing that my gaze (that is, the gaze of a strange
officer) disconcerted him, I continued to stare at his dress and
appearance.

I judged that he was about thirty. His small, round, gray eyes had a
sleepy expression, and at the same time gazed calmly out from under the
dirty white lambskin of his cap, which hung down over his face. His
thick, irregular nose, standing out between his sunken cheeks, gave
evidence of emaciation that was the result of illness, and not natural.
His restless lips, barely covered by a sparse, soft, whitish mustache,
were constantly changing their shape, as though they were trying to
assume now one expression, now another. But all these expressions
seemed to be endless, and his face retained one predominating
expression of timidity and fright. Around his thin neck, where, the
veins stood out, was tied a green woollen scarf tucked into his jacket.
His fur jacket, or _polushúbok,_ was worn bare, short, and had dog-fur
sewed on the collar and on the false pockets. The trousers were
checkered, of ash-gray color, and his _sapogi_ had short, unblacked
military bootlegs.

"I beg of you, do not disturb yourself," said I when he for the second
time, timidly glancing at me, had taken off his cap.

He bowed to me with an expression of gratitude, replaced his hat, and,
drawing from his pocket a dirty chintz tobacco-pouch with lacings,
began to roll a cigarette.

I myself had not been long a yunker, an elderly yunker; and as I was
incapable, as yet, of being good-naturedly serviceable to my younger
comrades, and without means, I well knew all the moral difficulties of
this situation for a proud man no longer young, and I sympathized with
all men who found themselves in such a situation, and I endeavored to
make clear to myself their character and rank, and the tendencies of
their intellectual peculiarities, in order to judge of the degree of
their moral sufferings. This yunker or degraded officer, judging by his
restless eyes and that intentionally constant variation of expression
which I noticed in him, was a man very far from stupid, and extremely
egotistical, and therefore much to be pitied.

Captain S. invited us to play another game of skittles, with the stakes
to consist, not only of the usual pickapack ride of the winning party,
but also of a few bottles of red wine, rum, sugar, cinnamon, and cloves
for the mulled wine which that winter, on account of the cold, was
greatly popular in our division.

Guskantini, as S. again called him, was also invited to take part;
but before the game began, the man, struggling between gratification
because he had been invited and a certain timidity, drew Captain S.
aside, and began to say something in a whisper. The good-natured
captain punched him in the ribs with his big, fat hand, and replied,
loud enough to be heard,--

"Not at all, old fellow,[5] I assure you."

When the game was over, and that side in which the stranger whose rank
was so low had taken part, had come out winners, and it fell to his lot
to ride on one of our officers, Ensign D., the ensign grew red in the
face: he went to the little divan and offered the stranger a cigarette
by way of a compromise.

While they were ordering the mulled wine, and in the steward's tent
were heard assiduous preparations on the part of Nikíta, who had sent
an orderly for cinnamon and cloves, and the shadow of his back was
alternately lengthening and shortening on the dingy sides of the tent,
we men, seven in all, sat around on the benches; and while we took
turns in drinking tea from the three glasses, and gazed out over the
plain, which was now beginning to glow in the twilight, we talked and
laughed over the various incidents of the game.

The stranger in the fur jacket took no share in the conversation,
obstinately refused to drink the tea which I several times offered him,
and as he sat there on the ground in Tatar fashion, occupied himself
in making cigarettes of fine-cut tobacco, and smoking them one after
another, evidently not so much for his own satisfaction as to give
himself the appearance of a man with something to do. When it was
remarked that the summons to return was expected on the morrow, and
that there might be an engagement, he lifted himself on his knees, and,
addressing Captain B. only, said that he had been at the adjutant's,
and had himself written the order for the return on the next day. We
all said nothing while he was speaking; and notwithstanding the fact
that he was so bashful, we begged him to repeat this most interesting
piece of news. He repeated what he had said, adding only that he had
been staying at the adjutant's (since he made it his home there) when
the order came.

"Look here, old fellow, if you are not telling us false, I shall have
to go to my company and give some orders for to-morrow," said Captain S.

"No ... why ... it may be, I am sure" ... stammered the stranger, but
suddenly stopped, and, apparently feeling himself affronted, contracted
Ins brows, and, muttering something between his teeth, again began to
roll a cigarette. But the fine-cut tobacco in his chintz pouch began
to show signs of giving out, and he asked S. to lend him a little
cigarette.[6]

We kept on for a considerable time with that monotonous military
chatter which every one who has ever been on an expedition will
appreciate; all of us, with one and the same expression, complaining of
the dulness and length of the expedition, in one and the same fashion
sitting in judgment on our superiors, and all of us likewise, as we
had done many times before, praising one comrade, pitying another,
wondering how much this one had gained, how much that one had lost, and
so on, and so on.

"Here, fellows, this adjutant of ours is completely broken up," said
Captain S. "At headquarters he was everlastingly on the winning side;
no matter whom he sat down with, he'd rake in every thing: but now for
two months past he has been losing all the time. The present expedition
hasn't been lucky for him. I think he has got away with two thousand
silver rubles and five hundred rubles' worth of articles,--the carpet
that he won at Mukhin's, Nikitin's pistols, Sada's gold watch which
Vorontsof gave him. He has lost it all."

"The truth of the matter in his case," said Lieutenant O., "was that he
used to cheat everybody; it was impossible to play with him."

"He cheated every one, but now it's all gone up in his pipe;" and
here Captain S. laughed good-naturedly. "Our friend Guskof here lives
with him. He hasn't quite lost _him_ yet: that's so, isn't it, old
fellow?"[7] he asked, addressing Guskof.

Guskof tried to laugh. It was a melancholy, sickly laugh, which
completely changed the expression of his countenance. Till this moment
it had seemed to me that I had seen and known this man before; and,
besides, the name Guskof, by which Captain S. called him, was familiar
to me; but how and when I had seen and known him, I actually could not
remember.

"Yes," said Guskof, incessantly putting his hand to his mustaches,
but instantly dropping it again without touching them. "Pavel
Dmitriévitch's luck has been against him in this expedition, such
a _veine de malheur,_" he added in a careful but pure French
pronunciation, again giving me to think that I had seen him, and
seen him often, somewhere. "I know Pavel Dmitriévitch very well. He
has great confidence in me," he proceeded to say; "he and I are old
friends; that is, he is fond of me," he explained, evidently fearing
that it might be taken as presumption for him to claim old friendship
with the adjutant. "Pavel Dmitriévitch plays admirably; but now,
strange as it may seem, it's all up with him, he is just, about
perfectly ruined; _la chance a tourné,_" he added, addressing himself
particularly to me.

At first we had listened to Guskof with condescending attention; but as
soon as he made use of that second French phrase, we all involuntarily
turned from him.

"I have played with him a thousand times, and we agreed then that it
was strange," said Lieutenant O., with peculiar emphasis on the word
_strange._[8] "I never once won a ruble from him. Why was it, when I
used to win of others?"

"Pavel Dmitriévitch plays admirably: I have known him for a long
time," said I. In fact, I had known the adjutant for several years;
more than once I had seen him in the full swing of a game, surrounded
by officers, and I had remarked his handsome, rather gloomy and always
passionless calm face, his deliberate Malo-Russian pronunciation, his
handsome belongings and horses, his bold, manly figure, and above all
his skill and self-restraint in carrying on the game accurately and
agreeably. More than once, I am sorry to say, as I looked at his plump
white hands with a diamond ring--on the index-finger, passing out one
card after another, I grew angry with that ring, with his white hands,
with the whole of the adjutant's person, and evil thoughts on his
account arose in my mind. But as I afterwards reconsidered the matter
coolly, I persuaded myself that he played more skilfully than all with
whom he happened to play: the more so, because as I heard his general
observations concerning the game,--how one ought not to back out when
one had laid the smallest stake, how one ought not to leave off in
certain cases as the first rule for honest men, and so forth, and so
forth,--it was evident that he was always on the winning side merely
from the fact that he played more sagaciously and coolly than the rest
of us. And now it seemed that this self-reliant, careful player had
been stripped not only of his money but of his effects, which marks the
lowest depths of loss for an officer.

"He always had devilish good luck with me," said Lieutenant O. "I made
a vow never to play with him again."

"What a marvel you are, old fellow!" said S., nodding at me, and
addressing O. "You lost three hundred silver rubles, that's what you
lost to him."

"More than that," said the lieutenant savagely. "And now you have come
to your senses; it is rather late in the day, old man, for the rest of
us have known for a long time that he was the cheat of the regiment,"
said S., with difficulty restraining his laughter, and feeling very
well satisfied with his fabrication. 'Here is Guskof right here,--he
_fixes_ his cards for him. That's the reason of the friendship between
them, old man"[9] ... and Captain S., shaking all over, burst out into
such a hearty "ha, ha, ha!" that he spilt the glass of mulled wine
which he was holding in his hand. On Guskof's pale emaciated face there
showed something like a color; he opened his mouth several times,
raised his hands to his mustaches and once more dropped them to his
side where the pockets should have been, stood up, and then sat down
again, and finally in an unnatural voice said to S.,--

"It's no joke, Nikolai Ivánovitch, for you to say such things before
people who don't know me and who see me in this unlined jacket
... because"--His voice failed him, and again his small red hands
with their dirty nails went from his jacket to his face, touching
his mustache, his hair, his nose, rubbing his eyes, or needlessly
scratching his cheek.

"As to saying that, everybody knows it, old fellow," continued S.,
thoroughly satisfied with his jest, and not heeding Guskof's complaint.
Guskof was still trying to say something; and placing the palm of his
right hand on his left knee in a most unnatural position, and gazing at
S., he had an appearance of smiling contemptuously.

"No," said I to myself, as I noticed that smile of his, "I have not
only seen him, but have spoken with him somewhere."

"You and I have met somewhere," said I to him when, under the influence
of the common silence, S.'s laughter began to calm down. Guskof's
mobile face suddenly lighted up, and his eyes, for the first time with
a truly joyous expression, rested upon me.

"Why, I recognized you immediately," he replied in French. "In '48
I had the pleasure of meeting you quite frequently in Moscow at my
sister's."

I had to apologize for not recognizing him at first iii that costume
and in that new garb. He arose, came to me, and with his moist hand
irresolutely and weakly seized my hand, and sat down by me. Instead of
looking at me, though he apparently seemed so glad to see me, he gazed
with an expression of unfriendly bravado at the officers.

Either because I recognized in him a man whom I had met a few years
before in a dress-coat in a parlor, or because he was suddenly raised
in his own opinion by the fact of being recognized,--at all events it
seemed to me that his face and even his motions completely changed:
they now expressed lively intelligence, a childish self-satisfaction
in the consciousness of such intelligence, and a certain contemptuous
indifference; so that I confess, notwithstanding the pitiable position
in which he found himself, my old acquaintance did not so much excite
sympathy in me as it did a sort of unfavorable sentiment.

I now vividly remembered our first meeting. In 1848, while I was
staying at Moscow, I frequently went to the house of Iváshin, who from
childhood had been an old friend of mine. His wife was an agreeable
hostess, a charming woman, as everybody said; but she never pleased
me.... The winter that I knew her, she often spoke with hardly
concealed pride of her brother, who had shortly before completed his
course, and promised to be one of the most fashionable and popular
young men in the best society of Petersburg. As I knew by reputation
the father of the Guskofs, who was very rich and had a distinguished
position, and as I knew also the sister's ways, I felt some prejudice
against meeting the young man. One evening when I was at Iváshin's, I
saw a short, thoroughly pleasant-looking young man, in a black coat,
white vest and necktie. My host hastened to make me acquainted with
him. The young man, evidently dressed for a bail, with his cap in his
hand, was standing before Iváshin, and was eagerly but politely arguing
with him about a common friend of ours, who had distinguished himself
at the time of the Hungarian campaign. He said that this acquaintance
was not at all a hero or a man born for war, as was said of him, but
was simply a clever and cultivated man. I recollect, I took part in the
argument against Guskof, and went to the extreme of declaring also that
intellect and cultivation always bore an inverse relation to bravery;
and I recollect how Guskof pleasantly and cleverly pointed out to me
that bravery was necessarily the result of intellect and a decided
degree of development,--a statement which I, who considered myself an
intellectual and cultivated man, could not in my heart of hearts agree
with.

I recollect that towards the close of our conversation Madame
Iváshina introduced me to her brother; and he, with a condescending
smile, offered me his little hand on which he had not yet had time
to draw his kid gloves, and weakly and irresolutely pressed my hand
as he did now. Though I had been prejudiced against Guskof, I could
not help granting that he was in the right, and agreeing with his
sister that he was really a clever and agreeable young man, who
ought to have great success in society. He was extraordinarily neat,
beautifully dressed, and fresh, and had affectedly modest manners,
and a thoroughly youthful, almost childish appearance, on account of
which, you could not help excusing his expression of self-sufficiency,
though it modified the impression of his high-mightiness caused by his
intellectual face and especially his smile. It was said that he had
great success that winter with the high-born ladies of Moscow. As I saw
him at his sister's I could only infer how far this was true by the
feeling of pleasure and contentment constantly excited in me by his
youthful appearance and by his sometimes indiscreet anecdotes. He and I
met half a dozen times, and talked a good deal; or, rather, he talked
a good deal, and I listened. He spoke for the most part in French,
always with a good accent, very fluently and ornately; and he had the
skill of drawing others gently and politely into the conversation. As
a general thing, he behaved toward all, and toward me, in a somewhat
supercilious manner, and I felt that he was perfectly right in this way
of treating people. I always feel that way in regard to men who are
firmly convinced that they ought to treat me superciliously, and who
are comparative strangers to me.

Now, as he sat with me, and gave me his hand, I keenly recalled in him
that same old haughtiness of expression; and it seemed to me that he
did not properly appreciate his position of official inferiority, as,
in the presence of the officers, he asked me what I had been doing in
all that time, and how I happened to be there. In spite of the fact
that I invariably made my replies in Russian, he kept putting his
questions in French, expressing himself as before in remarkably correct
language. About himself he said fluently that after his unhappy,
wretched story (what the story was, I did not know, and he had not yet
told me), he had been three months under arrest, and then had been sent
to the Caucasus to the N. regiment, and now had been serving three
years as a soldier in that regiment.

"You would not believe," said he to me in French, "how much I have to
suffer in these regiments from the society of the officers. Still it is
a pleasure to me, that I used to know the adjutant of whom we were just
speaking: he is a good man--it's a fact," he remarked condescendingly.
"I live with him, and that's something of a relief for me. Yes, my
dear, the days fly by, but they aren't all alike,"[10] he added; and
suddenly hesitated, reddened, and stood up, as he caught sight of the
adjutant himself coming toward us.

"It is such a pleasure to meet such a man as you," said Guskof to me in
a whisper as he turned from me. "I should like very, very much, to have
a long talk with you.".

I said that I should be very happy to talk with him, but in reality I
confess that Guskof excited in me a sort of dull pity that was not akin
to sympathy.

I had a presentiment that I should feel a constraint in a private
conversation with him; but still I was anxious to learn from him
several things, and, above all, why it was, when his father had been
so rich, that he was in poverty, as was evident by his dress and
appearance.

The adjutant greeted us all, including Guskof, and sat down by me
in the seat which the cashiered officer had just vacated. Pavel
Dmitriévitch, who had always been calm and leisurely, a genuine
gambler, and a man of means, was now very different from what he had
been in the flowery days of his success; he seemed to be in haste to go
somewhere, kept constantly glancing at everybody, and it was not five
minutes before he proposed to Lieutenant O., who had sworn off from
playing, to set up a small faro-bank. Lieutenant O. refused, under the
pretext of having to attend to his duties, but in reality because, as
he knew that the adjutant had few possessions and little money left,
he did not feel himself justified in risking his three hundred rubles
against a hundred or even less which the adjutant might stake.

"Well, Pavel Dmitriévitch," said the lieutenant, anxious to avoid a
repetition of the invitation, "is it true, what they tell us, that we
return to-morrow?"

"I don't know," replied the adjutant. "Orders came, to be in readiness;
but if it's true, then you'd better play a game. I would wager my
Kabarda cloak."

"No, to-day already" ...

"It's a gray one, never been worn; but if you prefer, play for money.
How is that?"

"Yes, but ... I should be willing--pray don't think that" ... said
Lieutenant O., answering the implied suspicion; "but as there may be a
raid or some movement, I must go to bed early."

The adjutant stood up, and, thrusting his hands into his pockets,
started to go across the grounds. His face assumed its ordinary
expression of coldness and pride, which I admired in him.

"Won't you have a glass of mulled wine?" I asked him.

"That might be acceptable," and he came back to me; but Guskof politely
took the glass from me, and handed it to the adjutant, striving at the
same time not to look at him. But as he did not notice the tent-rope,
he stumbled over it, and fell on his hand, dropping the glass.

"What a bungler!" exclaimed the adjutant, still holding out his hand
for the glass. Everybody burst out laughing, not excepting Guskof, who
was rubbing his hand on his sore knee, which he had somehow struck as
he fell. "That's the way the bear waited on the hermit," continued the
adjutant. "It's the way he waits on me every day. He has pulled up all
the tent-pins; he's always tripping up."

Guskof, not hearing him, apologized to us, and glanced toward me with
a smile of almost noticeable melancholy as though saying that I alone
could understand him. He was pitiable to see; but the adjutant, his
protector, seemed, on that very account, to be severe on his messmate,
and did not try to put him at his ease.

"Well, you're a graceful lad! Where did you think you were going?"

"Well, who can help tripping over these pins, Pavel Dmitriévitch?" said
Guskof. "You tripped over them yourself the other day."

"I, old man,[11]--I am not of the rank and file, and such gracefulness
is not expected of me."

"He can be lazy," said Captain S., keeping the ball rolling, "but
low-rank men have to make their legs fly."

"Ill-timed jest," said Guskof almost in a whisper, and casting down his
eyes. The adjutant was evidently vexed with his messmate; he listened
with inquisitive attention to every word that he said.

"He'll have to be sent out into ambuscade again," said he, addressing
S., and pointing to the cashiered officer.

"Well, there'll be some more tears," said S., laughing. Guskof no
longer looked at me, but acted as though he were going to take some
tobacco from his pouch, though there had been none there for some time.

"Get ready for the ambuscade, old man," said S., addressing him with
shouts of laughter. "To-day the scouts have brought the news, there'll
be an attack on the camp to-night, so it's necessary to designate the
trusty lads." Guskof's face showed a fleeting smile as though he were
preparing to make some reply, but several times he cast a supplicating
look at S.

"Well, you know I have been, and I'm ready to go again if I am sent,"
he said hastily.

"Then you'll be sent."

"Well, I'll go. Isn't that all right?"

"Yes, as at Arguna, you deserted the ambuscade and threw away your
gun," said the adjutant; and turning from him he began to tell us the
orders for the next day.

As a matter of fact, we expected from the enemy a Cannonade of the
camp that night, and the next day some sort of diversion. While we
were still chatting about various subjects of general interest, the
adjutant, as though from a sudden and unexpected impulse, proposed to
Lieutenant O. to have a little game. The lieutenant most unexpectedly
consented; and, together with S. and the ensign, they went off to
the adjutant's tent, where there was a folding green table with cards
on it. The captain, the commander of our division, went to our tent
to sleep; the other gentlemen also separated, and Guskof and I were
left alone. I was not mistaken, it was really very uncomfortable for
me to have a _tête-à-tête_ with him; I arose involuntarily, and began
to promenade up and down on the battery. Guskof walked in silence by
my side, hastily and awkwardly wheeling around so as not to delay or
incommode me.

"I do not annoy you?" he asked in a soft, mournful voice. So far as I
could see his face in the dim light, it seemed to me deeply thoughtful
and melancholy.

"Not at all," I replied; but as he did not immediately begin to speak,
and as I did not know what to say to him, we walked in silence a
considerably long time.

The twilight had now absolutely changed into dark night; over the black
profile of the mountains gleamed the bright evening heat-lightning;
over our heads in the light-blue frosty sky twinkled the little stars;
on all sides gleamed the ruddy flames of the smoking watch-fires; near
us, the white tents stood out in contrast to the frowning blackness of
our earth-works. The light from the nearest watch-fire, around which
our servants, engaged in quiet conversation, were warming themselves,
occasionally flashed on the brass of our heavy guns, and fell on the
form of the sentry, who, wrapped in his cloak, paced with measured
tread along the battery.

"You cannot imagine what a delight it is for me to talk with such a man
as you are," said Guskof, although as yet he had not spoken a word to
me. "Only one who had been in my position could appreciate it."

I did not know how to reply to him, and we again relapsed into silence,
although it was evident that he was anxious to talk, and have me listen
to him.

"Why were you ... why did you suffer this?" I inquired at last, not
being able to invent any better way of breaking the ice.

"Why, didn't you hear about this wretched business from Metenin?"

"Yes, a duel, I believe; I did not hear much about it," I replied. "You
see, I have been for some time in the Caucasus."

"No, it wasn't a duel, but it was a stupid and horrid story. I will
tell you all about it, if you don't know. It happened, that the same
year that I met you at my sister's, I was living at Petersburg. I must
tell you I had then what they call _une position dans le monde,--_ a
position good enough if it was not brilliant. _Mon père me donnait_
ten thousand _par an._ In '49 I was promised a place in the embassy
at Turin; my uncle on? my mother's side had influence, and was always
ready to do a great deal for me. That sort of thing is all past now.
_J'étais reçu dans la meilleure société de Petersburg;_ I might have
aspired to any girl in the city. I was well educated, as we all are who
come from the school, but was not especially cultivated; to be sure,
I read a good deal afterwards, _mais j'avais surtout,_ you know, _ce
jargon du monde,_ and, however it came about, I was looked upon as a
leading light among the young men of Petersburg. What raised me more
than all in common estimation, _c'est cette liaison avec Madame D.,_
about which a great deal was said in Petersburg; but I was frightfully
young at that time, and did not prize these advantages very highly.
I was simply young and stupid. What more did I need? Just then that
Metenin had some notoriety"--

And Guskof went on in the same fashion to relate to me the history
of his misfortunes, which I will omit, as it would not be at all
interesting.

"Two months I remained under arrest," he continued, "absolutely alone;
and what thoughts did I not have during that time? But, you know,
when it was all over, as though every tie had been broken with the
past, then it became easier for me. _Mon père,--_you have heard tell
of him, of course, a man of iron will and strong convictions,--_il
m'a désherité,_ and broken off all intercourse with me. According
to his convictions he had to do as he did, and I don't blame him
at all. He was consistent. Consequently I have not taken a step to
induce him to change his mind. _My_ sister was abroad. Madame D. is
the only one who wrote to me when I was released, and she sent me
assistance; but you understand that I could not accept it, so that I
had none of those little things which make one's position a little
easier, you know,--books, linen, food, nothing at all. At this time I
thought things over and over, and began to look at life with different
eyes. For instance, this noise, this society gossip about me in
Petersburg, did not interest me, did not flatter me: it all seemed to
me ridiculous. I felt that I myself had been to blame; I was young and
indiscreet; I had spoiled my career, and I only thought how I might get
into the right track again. And I felt that I had strength and energy
enough for it. After my arrest, as I told you, I was sent here to the
Caucasus to the N. regiment.

"I thought," he went on to say, all the time becoming more and more
animated,--"I thought that here in the Caucasus, _la vie de camp,_ the
simple, honest men with whom I should associate, and war and danger,
would all admirably agree with my mental state, so that I might begin a
new life. They will see me under fire.[12] I shall make myself liked;
I shall be respected for my real self,--the cross--non-commissioned
officer; they will relieve me of my fine; and I shall get up again, _et
vous savez avec ce prestige du malheur!_ But, _quel désenchantement!_
You can't imagine how I have been deceived! You know what sort of men
the officers of our regiment are."

He did not speak for some little time, waiting, as it appeared, for me
to tell him that I knew the society of our officers here was bad; but
I made him no reply. It went against my grain that he should expect
me, because I knew French, forsooth, to be obliged to take issue with
the society of the officers, which, during my long residence in the
Caucasus, I had had time enough to appreciate fully, and for which I
had far higher respect than for the society from which Mr. Guskof had
sprung. I wanted to tell him so, but his position constrained me.

"In the N. regiment the society of the officers is a thousand times
worse than it is here," he continued. "I hope that it is saying a good
deal; _j'espère que c'est beaucoup dire;_ that is, you cannot imagine
what it is. I am not speaking of the yunkers and the soldiers, That is
horrible, it is so bad. At first they received me very kindly, that is
absolutely the truth; but when they saw that I could not help despising
them, you know, in these inconceivably small circumstances, they saw
that I was a man absolutely different, standing far above them, they
got angry with me, and began to put various little humiliations on
me. You haven't an idea what I had to suffer.[13] Then this forced
relationship with the yunkers, and especially with the small means
that I had--I lacked every thing;[14] I had only what my sister used
to send me. And here's a proof for you! As much as it made me suffer,
I with my character, _avec ma fierté, j'ai écris à mon père,_ begged
him to send me something. I understand how living four years of such a
life may make a man like our cashiered Dromof who drinks with soldiers,
and writes notes to all the officers asking them to _loan_ him three
rubles, and signing it, _tout à vous, Dromof._ One must have such a
character as I have, not to be mired in the least by such a horrible
position."

For some time he walked in silence by my side.

"Have you a cigarette?"[15] he asked me.

"And so I staid right where I was? Yes. I could not endure it
physically, because, though we were wretched, cold, and ill-fed, I
lived like a common soldier, but still the officers had some sort of
consideration for me. I had still some _prestige_ that they regarded.
I wasn't sent out on guard nor for drill. I could not have stood that.
But morally my sufferings were frightful; and especially because I
didn't see any escape from my position. I wrote my uncle, begged him to
get me transferred to my present regiment, which, at least, sees some
service; and I thought that here Pavel Dmitriévitch, _qui est le fils
de l'intendant de mon père,_ might be of some use to me. My uncle did
this for me; I was transferred. After that regiment this one seemed to
me a collection of chamberlains. Then Pavel Dmitriévitch was here; he
knew who I was, and I was splendidly received. At my uncle's request--a
Guskof, _vous savez;_ but I forgot that with these men without
cultivation and undeveloped,--they can't appreciate a man, and show him
marks of esteem, unless he has that aureole of wealth, of friends; and
I noticed how, little by little, when they saw that I was poor, their
behavior to me showed more and more indifference until they have come
almost to dispise me. It is horrible, but it is absolutely the truth.

"Here I have been in action, I have fought, they have seen me under
fire,"[16] he continued; "but when will it all end? I think, never.
And my strength and energy have already begun to flag. Then I had
imagined _la guerre, la vie de camp;_ but it isn't at all what I see,
in a sheepskin jacket, dirty linen, soldier's boots, and you go out in
ambuscade, and the whole night long lie in the ditch with some Antónof
reduced to the ranks for drunkenness, and any minute from behind the
bush may come a rifle-shot and hit you or Antónof,--it's all the same
which. That is not bravery: it's horrible, _c'est affreux,_ it's
killing!"[17]

"Well, you can be promoted a non-commissioned officer for this
campaign, and next year an ensign," said I.

"Yes, it may be: they promised me that in two years, and it's not up
yet. What would those two years amount to, if I knew any one! You can
imagine this life with Pavel Dmitriévitch; cards, low jokes, drinking
all the time; if you wish to tell any thing that is weighing on your
mind, you would not be understood, or you would be laughed at; they
talk with you, not for the sake of sharing a thought, but to get
something funny out of you. Yes, and so it has gone--in a brutal,
beastly way, and you are always conscious that you belong to the rank
and file; they always make you feel that. Hence you can't realize what
an enjoyment it is to talk _à coeur ouvert_ to such a man as you are."

I had never imagined what kind of a man I was, and consequently I did
not know what answer to make him.

"Will you have your lunch now?" asked Nikíta at this juncture,
approaching me unseen in the darkness, and, as I could perceive, vexed
at the presence of a guest. "Nothing but curd dumplings, there's none
of the roast beef left."

"Has the captain had his lunch yet?"

"He went to bed long ago," replied Nikíta gruffly. "According to my
directions, I was to bring you lunch here and your brandy." He muttered
something else discontentedly, and sauntered off to his tent. After
loitering a while longer, he brought us, nevertheless, a lunch-case;
he placed a candle on the lunch-case, and shielded it from the wind
with a sheet of paper. He brought a saucepan, some mustard in a jar,
a tin dipper with a handle, and a bottle of absinthe. After arranging
these things, Nikíta lingered around us for some moments, and looked
on as Guskof and I were drinking the liquor, and it was evidently very
distasteful to him. By the feeble light shed by the candle through the
paper, amid the encircling darkness, could be seen the seal-skin cover
of the lunch-case, the supper arranged upon it, Guskof's sheepskin
jacket, his face, and his small red hands which he used in lifting the
patties from the pan. Every thing around us was black; and only by
straining the sight could be seen the dark battery, the dark form of
the sentry moving along the breastwork, on all sides the watch-fires,
and on high the ruddy stars.

Guskof wore a melancholy, almost guilty smile, as though it were
awkward for him to look into my face after his confession. He drank
still another glass of liquor, and ate ravenously, emptying the
saucepan.

"Yes; for you it must be a relief all the same," said I, for the sake
of saying something,--"your acquaintance with the adjutant. He is a
very good man, I have heard."

"Yes," replied the cashiered officer, "he is a kind man; but he can't
help being what he is, with his education, and it is useless to expect
it."

A flush seemed suddenly to cross his face. "You remarked his coarse
jest this evening about the ambuscade;" and Guskof, though I tried
several times to interrupt him, began to justify himself before me, and
to show that he had not run away from the ambuscade, and that he was
not a coward as the adjutant and Capt. S. tried to make him out.

"As I was telling you," he went on to say, wiping his hands on his
jacket, "such people can't show any delicacy toward a man, a common
soldier, who hasn't much money either. That's beyond their strength.
And here recently, while I haven't received any thing at all from my
sister, I have been conscious that they have changed toward me. This
sheepskin jacket, which I bought of a soldier, and which hasn't any
warmth in it, because it's all worn off" (and here he showed me where
the wool was gone from the inside), "it doesn't arouse in him any
sympathy or consideration for my unhappiness, but scorn, which he does
not take pains to hide. Whatever my necessities may be, as now when I
have nothing to eat except soldiers' gruel, and nothing to wear," he
continued, casting down his eyes, and pouring out for himself still
another glass of liquor, "he does not even offer to lend me some money,
though he knows perfectly well that I would give it back to him; but
he waits till I am obliged to ask him for it. But you appreciate how
it is for me to go to _him._ In your case I should say, square and
fair, _Vous êtes au dessus de cela, mon cher, je n'ai pas le sou._ And
you know," said he, looking straight into my eyes with an expression
of desperation, "I am going to tell you, square and fair, I am in a
terrible situation: _pouvez-vous me prêter dix rubles argent?_ My
sister ought to send me some by the next mail, _et mon père_"--

"Why, most willingly," said I, although, on the contrary, it was trying
and unpleasant, especially because the evening before, having lost
at cards, I had left only about five rubles in Nikíta's care. "In a
moment," said I, arising, "I will go and get it at the tent."

"No, by and by: _ne vous dérangez pas._"

Nevertheless, not heeding him, I hastened to the closed tent, where
stood my bed, and where the captain was sleeping.

"Alekséi Ivánuitch, let me have ten rubles, please, for rations," said
I to the captain, shaking him.

"What! have you been losing again? But this very evening, you were not
going to play any more," murmured the captain, still half asleep.

"No, I have not been playing; but I want the money; let me have it,
please."

"Makatiuk!" shouted the captain to his servant,[18] "hand me my bag
with the money."

"Hush, hush!" said I, hearing Guskof's measured steps near the tent.

"What? Why hush?"

"Because that cashiered fellow has asked to borrow it of me. He's right
there."

"Well, if you knew him, you wouldn't let him have it," remarked the
captain. "I have heard about him. He's a dirty, low-lived fellow."

Nevertheless, the captain gave me the money, ordered his man to put
away the bag, pulled the flap of the tent neatly to, and, again saying,
"If you only knew him, you wouldn't let him have it," drew his head
down under the coverlet. "Now you owe me thirty-two, remember," he
shouted after me.

When I came out of the tent, Guskof was walking near the settees; and
his slight figure, with his crooked legs, his shapeless cap, his long
white hair, kept appearing and disappearing in the darkness, as he
passed in and out of the light of the candles. He made believe not to
see me.

I handed him the money. He said "_Merci_" and, crumpling the bank-bill,
thrust it into his trousers pocket.

"Now I suppose the game is in full swing at the adjutant's," he began
immediately after this.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"He's a wonderful player, always bold, and never backs out. When he's
in luck, it's fine; but when it does not go well with him, he can lose
frightfully. He has given proof of that. During this expedition, if you
reckon his valuables, he has lost more than fifteen hundred rubles.
But, as he played discreetly before, that officer of yours seemed to
have some doubts about his honor."

"Well, that's because he ... Nikíta, haven't we any of that red Kavkas
wine[19] left?" I asked, very much enlivened by Guskof's conversational
talent. Nikíta still kept muttering; but he brought us the red wine,
and again looked on angrily as Guskof drained his glass. In Guskof's
behavior was noticeable his old freedom from constraint. I wished that
he would go as soon as possible; it seemed as if his only reason for
not going was because he did not wish to go immediately after receiving
the money. I said nothing.

"How could you, who have means, and were under no necessity, simply _de
gaieté de coeur,_ make up your mind to come and serve in the Caucasus?
That's what I don't understand," said he to me.

I endeavored to explain this act of renunciation, which seemed so
strange to him.

"I can imagine how disagreeable the society of these officers--men
without any comprehension of culture--must be for you. You could not
understand each other. You see, you might live ten years, and not see
any thing, and not hear about anything, except cards, wine, and gossip
about rewards and campaigns."

It was unpleasant for me, that he wished me to put myself on a par with
him in his position; and, with absolute honesty I assured him that I
was very fond of cards and wine, and gossip about campaigns, and that
I did not care to have any better comrades than those with whom I was
associated. But he would not believe me.

"Well, you may say so," he continued; "but the lack of women's
society,--I mean, of course, _femmes comme il faut,--_is that not a
terrible deprivation? I don't know what I would give now to go into a
parlor, if only for a moment, and to have a look at a pretty woman,
even though it were through a crack."

He said nothing for a little, and drank still another glass of the red
wine.

"Oh, my God, my God![20] If it only might be our fate to meet again,
somewhere in Petersburg, to live and move among men, among ladies!"

He drank up the dregs of the wine still left in the bottle, and when he
had finished it he said, _"Akh! pardon,_ maybe _you_ wanted some more.
It was horribly careless of me. However, I suppose I must have taken
too much, and my head isn't very strong.[21] There was a time when I
lived on Morskaia Street, _au rez-de-chaussée,_ and had marvellous
apartments, furniture, you know, and I was able to arrange it all
beautifully, not so very expensively though; my father, to be sure,
gave me porcelains, flowers, and silver,--a wonderful lot. _Le matin
je sortais,_ visits, _à 5 heures régulièrement._ I used to go and dine
with _her;_ often she was alone. _Il faut avouer que c'était une femme
ravissante!_ You didn't know her at all, did you?"

"No."

"You see, there was such a high degree of womanliness in her, and such
tenderness, and what love! Lord! I did not know how to appreciate my
happiness then. We would return after the theatre, and have a little
supper together. It was never dull where she was, _toujours gaie,
toujours aimante._ Yes, and I had never imagined what rare happiness it
was. _Et j'ai beaucoup à me reprocher_ in regard to her. _Je l'ai fait
souffrir et souvent._ I was outrageous. _Akh!_ What a marvellous time
that was! Do I bore you?"

"No, not at all."

"Then I will tell you about our evenings. I used to go--that stairway,
every flower-pot I knew,--the door-handle, all was so lovely, so
familiar; then the vestibule, her room ... No, it will never, never
come back to me again! Even now she writes to me: if you will let me, I
will show you her letters. But I am not what I was; I am ruined; I am
no longer worthy of her.... Yes, I am ruined forever. _Je suis cassé._
There's no energy in me, no pride, nothing--nor even any rank.[22] ...
Yes, I am ruined; and no one will ever appreciate my sufferings. Every
one is indifferent. I am a lost man. Never any chance for me to rise,
because I have fallen morally ... into the mire--I have fallen." ...

At this moment there was evident in his words a genuine, deep despair:
he did not look at me, but sat motionless.

"Why are you in such despair?" I asked.

"Because I am abominable. This life has degraded me, all that was in
me, all is crushed out. It is not by pride that I hold out, but by
abjectness: there's no _dignité dans le malheur._ I am humiliated every
moment; I endure it all; I got myself into this abasement. This mire
has soiled me. I myself have become coarse; I have forgotten what I
used to know; I can't speak French any more; I am conscious that I am
base and low. I cannot tear myself away from these surroundings, indeed
I cannot. I might have been a hero: give me a regiment, gold epaulets,
a trumpeter, but to march in the ranks with some wild Anton Bondarenko
or the like, and feel that between me and him there was no difference
at all--that he might be killed or I might be killed--all the same,
that thought is maddening. You understand how horrible it is to think
that some ragamuffin may kill me, a man who has thoughts and feelings,
and that it would make no difference if alongside of me some Antónof
were killed,--a being not different from an animal--and that it might
easily happen that I and not this Antónof were killed, which is always
_une fatalité_ for every lofty and good man. I know that they call me a
coward: grant that I am a coward, I certainly am a coward, and can't be
any thing else. Not _only_ am I a coward, but I am in my way a low and
despicable man. Here I have just been borrowing money of you, and you
have the right to despise me. No, take back your money." And he held
out to me the crumpled bank-bill. "I want you to have a good opinion of
me." He covered his face with his hands, and burst into tears. I really
did not know what to say or do.

"Calm yourself," I said to him. "You are too sensitive; don't take
every thing so to heart; don't indulge in self-analysis, look at
things more simply. You yourself say that you have character. Keep up
good heart, you won't have long to wait," I said to him, but not very
consistently, because I was much stirred both by a feeling of sympathy
and a feeling of repentance, because I had allowed myself mentally to
sin in my judgment of a man truly and deeply unhappy.

"Yes," he began, "if I had heard even once, at the time when I was in
that hell, one single word of sympathy, of advice, of friendship--one
humane word such as you have just spoken, perhaps I might have calmly
endured all; perhaps I might have struggled, and been a soldier. But
now this is horrible.... When I think soberly, I long for death. Why
should I love my despicable life and my own self, now that I am ruined
for all that is worth while in the world? And at the least danger, I
suddenly, in spite of myself, begin to pray for my miserable life, and
to watch over it as though it were precious, and I cannot, _je ne puis
pas,_ control myself.--That is, I could," he continued again after a
minute's silence, "but this is too hard work for me, a monstrous work,
when I am alone. With others, under special circumstances, when you
are going into action, I am brave, _j'ai fait mes épreuves,_ because I
am vain and proud: that is my fading, and in presence of others.... Do
you know, let me spend the night with you: with us, they will play all
night long; it makes no difference, anywhere, on the ground."

While Nikíta was making the bed, we got up, and once more began to walk
up and down in the darkness on the battery. Certainly Guskof's head
must have been very weak, because two glasses of liquor and two of
wine made him dizzy. As we got up and moved away from the candles, I
noticed that he again thrust the ten-ruble bill into his pocket, trying
to do so without my seeing it. During all the foregoing conversation,
he had held it in his hand. He continued to reiterate how he felt that
he might regain his old station if he had a man such as I were to take
some interest in him.

We were just going into the tent to go to bed when suddenly a
cannon-ball whistled over us, and buried itself in the ground not
far from us. So strange it was,--that peacefully sleeping camp, our
conversation, and suddenly the hostile cannon-ball which flew from
God knows where, into the midst of our tents,--so strange that it was
some time before I could realize what it was. Our sentinel, Andréief,
walking up and down on the battery, moved toward me.

"Ha! he's crept up to us. It was the fire here that he aimed at," said
he.

"We must rouse the captain," said I, and gazed at Guskof.

He stood cowering close to the ground, and stammered, trying to say,
"Th-that's th-the ene-my's ... f-f-fire--th-that's--hidi--." Further he
could not say a word, and I did not see how and where he disappeared so
instantaneously.

In the captain's tent a candle gleamed; his cough, which always
troubled him when he was awake, was heard; and he himself soon
appeared, asking for a linstock to light his little pipe.

"What does this mean, old man?"[23] he asked with a smile. "Aren't they
willing to give me a little sleep to-night? First it's you with your
cashiered friend, and then it's Shamyl. What shall we do, answer him or
not? There was nothing about this in the instructions, was there?"

"Nothing at all. There he goes again," said I. "Two of them!"

Indeed, in the darkness, directly in front of us, flashed two fires,
like two eyes; and quickly over our heads flew one cannon-ball and one
heavy shell. It must have been meant for us, coming with a loud and
penetrating hum. From the neighboring tents the soldiers hastened. You
could hear them hawking and talking and stretching themselves.

"Hist! the fuse sings like a nightingale," was the remark of the
artillerist.

"Send for Nikíta," said the captain with his perpetually benevolent
smile. "Nikíta, don't hide yourself, but listen to the mountain
nightingales."

"Well, your honor,"[26] said Nikíta, who was standing near the captain,
"I have seen them--these nightingales. I am not afraid of 'em; but here
was that stranger who was here, he was drinking up your red wine. When
he heard how that shot dashed by our tents, and the shell rolled by, he
cowered down like some wild beast."

"However, we must send to the commander of the artillery," said the
captain to me in a serious tone of authority, "and ask whether we shall
reply to the fire or not. It will probably be nothing at all, but still
it may. Have the goodness to go and ask him. Have a horse saddled. Do
it as quickly as possible, even if you take my Polkan."

In five minutes they brought me a horse, and I galloped off to the
commander of the artillery. "Look you, return on foot," whispered the
punctilious captain, "else they won't let you through the lines."

It was half a verst to the artillery commander's, the whole road
ran between the tents. As soon as I rode away from our fire, it
became so black that I could not see even the horse's ears, but only
the watch-fires, now seeming very near, now very far off, as they
gleamed into my eyes. After I had ridden some distance, trusting to
the intelligence of the horse whom I allowed free rein, I began to
distinguish the white four-cornered tents and then the black tracks
of the road. After a half-hour, having asked my way three times,
and twice stumbled over the tent-stakes, causing each time a volley
of curses from the tents, and twice been detained by the sentinels,
I reached the artillery commander's. While I was on the way, I heard
two more cannon shot in the direction of our camp; but the projectiles
did not reach to the place where the headquarters were. The artillery
commander ordered not to reply to the firing, the more as the enemy did
not remain in the same place; and I went back, leading the horse by the
bridle, making my way on foot between the infantry tents. More than
once I delayed my steps, as I went by some soldier's tent where a light
was shining, and some merry-andrew was telling a story; or I listened
to some educated soldier reading from some book while the whole
division overflowed the tent, or hung around it, sometimes interrupting
the reading with various remarks; or I simply listened to the talk
about the expedition, about the fatherland, or about their chiefs.

As I came around one of the tents of the third battalion, I heard
Guskof's rough voice: he was speaking hilariously and rapidly. Young
voices replied to him, not those of soldiers, but of gay gentlemen.
It was evidently the tent of some yunker or sergeant-major. I stopped
short.

"I've known him a long time," Guskof was saying. "When I lived in
Petersburg, he used to come to my house often; and I went to his. He
moved in the best society."

"Whom are you talking about?" asked a drunken voice.

"About the prince," said Guskof. "We were relatives, you see, but, more
than all, we were old friends. It's a mighty good thing, you know,
gentlemen, to have such an acquaintance. You see, he's fearfully rich.
To him a hundred silver rubles is a mere bagatelle. Here, I just got a
little money out of him, enough to last me till my sister sends."

"Let's have some."

"Right away.--Savelitch, my dear," said Guskof, coming to the door
of the tent, "here's ten rubles for you: go to the sutler, get two
bottles of Kakhetinski. Any thing else, gentlemen? What do you say?"
and Guskof, with unsteady gait, with dishevelled hair, without his hat,
came out of the tent. Throwing open his jacket, and thrusting his hands
into the pockets of his trousers, he stood at the door of the tent.
Though he was in the light, and I in darkness, I trembled with fear
lest he should see me, and I went on, trying to make no noise.

"Who goes there?" shouted Guskof after me in a thoroughly drunken
voice. Apparently, the cold took hold of him. "Who the devil is going
off with that horse?"

I made no answer, and silently went on my way.


[Footnote 1: _gorodki._]

[Footnote 2: _denshchiki._]

[Footnote 3: _nu chto, bátenka._]

[Footnote 4: _polushúbok,_ little half _shuba,_ or fur cloak.]

[Footnote 5: _bátenka,_ Malo-Russian diminutive, little father.]

[Footnote 6: _papírósotchka,_ diminished diminutive of _papiróska,_
from _papiros_.]

[Footnote 7: _bátenka._]

[Footnote 8: _stranno._]

[Footnote 9: _bátenka moï._]

[Footnote 10: _Oui, mon cher, lea jours se suivent, mais ne se
ressemblent pas:_ in French in the original.]

[Footnote 11: _bátiushka._]

[Footnote 12: _On me verra au feu._]

[Footnote 13: _Ce que j'ai eu à souffrir vous ne vous faites pas une
idée._]

[Footnote 14: _Avec les petits moyens que j'avais, je manquais de
tout._]

[Footnote 15: "_Avez-vous un papiros?_"]

[Footnote 16: _On m'a vu au feu._]

[Footnote 17: _Ça tue._]

[Footnote 18: _denshchik._]

[Footnote 19: _chikír._]

[Footnote 20: _Akh, Bozhe moï, Bozhe moï!_]

[Footnote 21: _Et je n'ai pas la tête forte._]

[Footnote 22: _blagorodstva,_ noble birth, nobility.]

[Footnote 23: _bátiushka._]

[Footnote 24: _váshe vuisokoblagorodïe._ German, _hochwohlgeborener,_
high-well born; regulation title of officers from major to general.]




LOST ON THE STEPPE; OR, THE SNOWSTORM.

_A TALE._



I.


At seven o'clock in the evening, having taken my tea, I started from a
station, the name of which I have quite forgotten, though I remember
that it was somewhere in the region of the Don Cossacks, not far from
Novocherkask. It was already dark when I took my seat in the sledge
next to Alyoshka, and wrapped myself in my fur coat and the robes.
Back of the station-house it seemed warm and calm. Though it was not
snowing, not a single star was to be seen overhead, and the sky it
seemed remarkably low and black, in contrast with the clear snowy
expanse stretching out before us.

We had scarcely passed by the black forms of the windmills, one of
which was awkwardly waving its huge wings, and had left the station
behind us, when I perceived that the road was growing rougher and more
drifted; the wind began to blow more fiercely on the left, and to toss
the horses' manes and tails to one side, and obstinately to lift and
carry away the snow stirred up by the runners and hoofs. The little
bell rang with a muffled sound; a draught of cold air forced its way
through the opening in my sleeves, to my very back; and the inspector's
advice came into my head, that I had better not go farther, lest I
wander all night, and freeze to death on the road.

"Won't you get us lost?" said I to the driver,[1] but, as I got no
answer, I put the question more explicitly: "Say, shall we reach the
station, driver? We sha'n't lose our way?"

"God knows," was his reply; but he did not turn his head. "You see what
kind of going we have. No road to be seen. Great heavens!"[2]

"Be good enough to tell me, do you hope to reach the station, or not?"
I insisted. "Shall we get there?"

"Must get there," said the driver; and he muttered something else,
which I could not hear for the wind.

I did not wish to turn about, but the idea of wandering all night in
the cold and snow over the perfectly shelterless steppe, which made
up this part of the Don Cossack land, was very unpleasant. Moreover,
notwithstanding the fact that I could not, by reason of the darkness,
see him very well, _my_ driver, somehow, did not please me, "nor
inspire any confidence. He sat exactly in the middle, with his legs in,
and not on one, side; his stature was too great; his voice expressed
indolence; his cap, not like those usually worn by his class, was large
and loose on all sides. Besides, he did not manage his horses in the
proper way, but held the reins in both hands, just like the lackey who
sat on the box behind the coachman; and, chiefly, I did not believe in
him, because he had his ears wrapped up in a handkerchief. In a word,
he did not please me; and it seemed as if that crooked, sinister back
looming before me boded nothing good.

"In my opinion, it would be better to turn about," said Alyoshka to
me: "fine thing it would be to be lost!"

"Great heavens! see what a snowstorm's coming! No road in sight. It
blinds one's eyes. Great heavens!" repeated the driver.

We had not been gone a quarter of an hour when the driver stopped the
horses, handed the reins to Alyoshka, awkwardly liberated his legs from
the seat, and went to search for the road, crunching over the snow in
his great boots.

"What is it? Where are you going? Are we lost?" I asked, but the driver
made no reply, but, turning his face away from the wind, which cut his
eyes, marched off from the sledge.

"Well, how is it?" I repeated, when he returned.

"Nothing at all," said he to me impatiently and with vexation, as
though I were to blame for his missing the road; and again slowly
wrapping up his big legs in the robe, he gathered the reins in his
stiffened mittens.

"What's to be done?" I asked as we started off again.

"What's to be done? We shall go as God leads."

And we drove along in the same dog-trot over what was evidently an
untrodden waste, sometimes sinking in deep, mealy snow, sometimes
gliding over crisp, unbroken crust.

Although it was cold, the snow kept melting quickly on my collar. The
low-flying snow-clouds increased, and occasionally the dry snowflakes
began to fall.

It was clear that we were going out of our way, because, after keeping
on for a quarter of an hour more, we saw no sign of a verst-post.

"Well, what do you think about it now?" I asked of the driver once
more. "Shall we get to the station?"

"Which one? We should go back if we let the horses have their way: they
will take us. But, as for the next one, that's a problem.... Only we
might perish."

"Well, then, let us go back," said I. "And indeed"--

"How is it? Shall we turn about?" repeated the driver.

"Yes, yes: turn back."

The driver shook the reins. The horses started off more rapidly; and,
though I did not notice that we had turned around, the wind changed,
and soon through the snow appeared the windmills. The driver's good
spirits returned, and he began to be communicative.

"Lately," said he, "in just such a snowstorm some people coming from
that same station lost their way. Yes: they spent the night in the
hayricks, and barely managed to get here in the morning. Thanks to the
hayricks, they were rescued. If it had not been for them, they would
have frozen to death, it was so cold. And one froze his foot, and died
three weeks afterwards."

"But now, you see, it's not cold; and it's growing less windy," I said.
"Couldn't we go on?"

"It's warm enough, but it's snowing. Now going back, it seems easier.
But it's snowing hard. Might go on, if you were a courier or something;
but this is for your own sake. What kind of a joke would that be if
a passenger froze to death? How, then, could I be answerable to your
grace?"


[Footnote 1: _yamshchík_.]

[Footnote 2: _gospodi-bátiushka!_ Literally, Lord, little father.]



II.


At this moment we heard behind us the bells of a troïka which was
rapidly overtaking us.

"A courier's bell," said my driver. "There's one such for every
station."

And, in fact, the bell of the courier's troïka, the sound of which
now came clearly to me on the wind, was peculiarly beautiful,--clear,
sonorous, deep, and jangling a little. As I then knew, this was a
huntsman's team; three bells,--one large one in the centre, with the
_crimson_ tone, as it is called, and two small ones tuned in thirds.
The sound of this triad and the tinkling fifth, ringing through the
air, was extraordinarily effective and strangely pleasant in this dark
desert steppe.

"The posht is coming," said my driver when the foremost of the three
troikas drew up in line with ours. "Well, how is the road? is it
possible to go on?" he cried to the last of the drivers. But the
yamshchík only shouted to his horses, and made no reply.

The sound of the bells quickly died away on the wind, almost as soon as
the post-team passed us.

Of course my driver felt ashamed.

"Well, you shall go, bárin," he said to me. "People have made their way
through, now their tracks will be fresh."

I agreed; and once more we faced the wind, and began to crawl along
on the deep snow. I kept my eyes on one side on the road, so that we
should not get off the track that had been made by the other sledges.
For two versts the tracks were clearly visible, then there began to
be only a slight irregularity where the runners had gone; and soon
I really could no longer distinguish whether it was the track, or
merely a layer of snow heaped up. My eyes grew weary of gazing at the
monotonous stretch of snow under the runners, and I began to look
ahead. The third verst-post we had already seen, but the fourth we
could not find at all. As before, we went in the teeth of the wind, and
with the wind, and to the right and to the left; and finally we reached
such a state that the driver declared that we must have turned off to
the right. I declared that we must have turned off to the left, and
Alyoshka was sure that we ought to go back. Again we stopped a number
of times, the driver uncoiled his long legs, and crawled along trying
to find the road. But all in vain. I also got out once to see whether
it were the road or something else that attracted my attention. But
I had scarcely taken six steps with difficulty against the wind, and
convinced myself that we were surrounded by the same monotonous white
heaps of snow, and that the road existed only in my imagination, when
I lost sight of the sledge. I shouted, "Yamshchík! Alyoshka!" but my
voice,--I felt how the wind tore it right out of my mouth, and carried
it in a twinkling far from me. I went in the direction where the sledge
had been--the sledge was not there. I went to the right--not there
either. I am ashamed to recollect what a loud, penetrating, and even
rather despairing voice, I summoned to shout once more, "Yamshchík!"
and there he was two steps away. His black figure, with his whip, and
his huge cap hanging down on one side, suddenly loomed up before me.
He led me to the sledge.

"Thank the Lord, it's still warm!" said he. "To perish with the
cold--awful! Great heavens!"[3]

"Let the horses find their own way, let us turn back," said I, as I
took my place in the sledge. "Won't they take us back? hey, driver?"

"They ought to."

He gave the horses the reins, cracked his whip three times over the
saddle of the shaft-horse, and again we started off at hap-hazard. We
went for half an hour. Suddenly before us again I heard the well-known
bell of the hunting establishment, and the other two. But now they were
coming toward us. It was the same three troikas, which had already
deposited the mail, and, with a change of horses attached behind, were
returning to the station. The courier's troïka, with powerful horses
with the hunting-bell, quickly dashed ahead. A single driver sat in it
on the driver's seat, and was shouting vigorously. Behind him, in the
middle one of the empty troikas, were two other drivers; and their loud
and hilarious talk could be heard. One of them was smoking a pipe; and
the spark, brightened by the wind, lighted up a part of his face.

As I looked at them, I felt ashamed that I was afraid to go on; and my
driver doubtless had the same feeling, because we both said with one
voice, "Let us follow them."


[Footnote 3: _gospodi-bátiushka._]



III.


My driver, without waiting for the last troïka to pass, began awkwardly
to turn around; and the thills hit the horses attached behind. One of
the troïka teams shied, tore away the reins, and galloped off.

"Hey there, you squint-eyed devil! Don't you see where you are turning?
Running people down, you devil!" in a hoarse, discordant voice scolded
one of the drivers, a short, little old man, as I judged by his voice
and expression. He sprang hastily out of the hindmost sledge where he
had been sitting, and started to run after the horses, still continuing
roughly and violently to vilify my yamshchík.

But the horses did not come back. The driver ran after them, and in one
instant both horses and driver were lost from sight in the white mist
of the storm.

"Vasi-i-i-li! bring the _bay_ horse here. Can't ketch him, so-o-o,"
echoed his voice in the distance.

One of the drivers, a very tall fellow, got out of his sledge, silently
unhitched his troïka, mounted one of the horses by the breeching, and
crunching over the snow in a clumsy gallop, disappeared in the same
direction.

Our own troïka, with the two others, followed on over the steppe,
behind the courier's which dashed ahead in full trot, jingling its bell.

"How is it? He'll get 'em?" said my driver, referring to the one who
had gone to catch the horses. "If that mare didn't find the horses she
wouldn't be good for much, you know: she'd wander off, so that--she'd
get lost."

From the moment that my driver had the company of other teams he became
more hilarious and talkative; and, as I had no desire to sleep, I did
not fail, as a matter of course, to make the most of it. I took pains
to ask him about his home and his family, and soon learned that he was
a fellow-countryman of mine from Tula,--a peasant, belonging to a noble
family from the village of Kirpitchnoé; that they had very little land,
and the grain had entirely ceased to grow, owing to the cholera; that
he and one of his brothers had staid at home, and a third had gone as
a soldier; that since Christmas they had lacked bread, and had been
obliged to work out; that his younger brother had kept the farm because
he was married, but that he himself was a widower; that his villagers
every year came here to exercise the trade of yamshchík, or driver;
that, though he had not come as a regular driver, yet he was in the
postal-service, so as to help his brother; that he earned there, thanks
to God, a hundred and twenty paper rubles a year, of which he sent
a hundred to his family; and that it would be good living, "but the
cou_l_iers were very wild beasts, and the people here were impudent."

"Now, what was that driver scolding about? Great heavens![4] did I mean
to lose his horses for him? Did I treat him in a mean way? And why did
he go galloping off after 'em? They'd have come in of their own accord.
Anyway, 'twould be better for the horses to freeze to death than for
him to get lost," said the pious muzhík.

"What is that black thing I see coming?" I asked, pointing to some dark
object in front of us.

"That's a baggage-train. Splendid wheeling!" he added, as he came up
with the huge mat-covered vans on wheels, following one after the
other. "See, not a soul to be seen--all asleep. The wise horse knows:
you won't drive her from the road, never.... We've driven in that same
way--so we know," he added.

It was indeed strange to see the huge vans covered with snow from the
matted tops to the wheels, moving along, absolutely alone. Only the
front corner of the snow-covered mat would be lifted by two fingers;
and, for a moment, a cap would peer out as our bells jingled past the
train. A great piebald horse, stretching out his neck, and straining
his back, walked with measured pace over the drifted road, monotonously
shaking his shaggy head under the whitened bell-bow,[5] and pricking up
one snow-covered ear as we went by.

After we had gone still another, half-hour, the driver once more turned
to me,--

"Well, what do you think, bárin? Are we getting along well?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Before, the wind blew in our faces, but now we go right along with it.
No, we sha'n't get there: we are off the track," he said in conclusion,
with perfect equanimity.

It was evident, that, though he was very timid, yet, as "death in
company with others is pleasant," he was perfectly content to die now
that there were a number of us, and he was not obliged to take the
lead, and be responsible. He coolly made observations on the mistakes
of the head driver, as though it were not of the least consequence
to himself. In fact, I had noticed that sometimes the front troïka
appeared on my right, and again on my left. It seemed to me, too, that
we were making a circle in very small space. However, it might be that
it was an ocular deception, just as sometimes it seemed as if the front
troïka were climbing up a mountain or were going along a <DW72> or down
a mountain, even when the steppe was everywhere perfectly level.

After we had gone on a little while longer, I saw, as it seemed to me,
at a distance, on the very horizon, a long black, moving line; but it
quickly became plain to me that it was the same baggage-train which
we had passed. In exactly the same way, the snow covered the creaking
wheels, several of which did not turn; in exactly the same way, the men
were sleeping under the matted tops; and likewise the piebald leader,
swelling out his nostrils, snuffed out the road, and pricked back his
ears.

"See, we've gone round in a circle; we've gone round in a circle!
Here's the same baggage-train again!" exclaimed my driver in a
discontented tone. "The cou_l_ier's horses are good ones, so it makes
no difference to him, even if he does go on a wild-goose chase. But
ours will get tired out if we have to spend the whole night here."

He had an attack of coughing.

"Should we go back, bárin, owing to the mistake?"

"No! Why? We shall come out somewhere."

"Come out where? We shall have to spend the night in the steppe. How
it's snowing!... Great heavens!"[6]

Although it was clear to me that the head driver had lost both the
road and the direction, and yet was not hunting for the road, but was
singing at the top of his voice, and letting his horses take their own
speed; and so I did not like to part company from them.

"Follow them," said I.

The yamshchík drove on, but followed them less willingly than before,
and no longer had any thing to say to me.


[Footnote 4: _gospodi-bátiushka._]

[Footnote 5: _dugá,_ the distinctive part of the Russian harness,
rising high above the horse, and carrying the bells.]

[Footnote 6: _gospodi-bátiushka._]



IV.


The storm became more and more violent, and the snow fell dry and fine;
it seemed as if we were in danger of freezing. My nose and cheeks began
to tingle; more frequently the draught of cold air insinuated itself
under my furs, and it became necessary to bundle up warmer. Sometimes
the sledges bumped on the bare, icy crust from which the snow had been
blown away. As I had already gone six hundred versts without sleeping
under roof, and though I felt great interest in the outcome of our
wanderings, my eyes closed in spite of me, and I drowsed. Once when I
opened my eyes, I was struck, as it seemed to me at the first moment,
by a bright light, gleaming over the white plain: the horizon widened
considerably, the lowering black sky suddenly lifted up on all sides,
the white slanting lines of the falling snow became visible, the shapes
of the head troikas stood out clearly; and when I looked up, it seemed
to me at the first moment that the clouds had scattered, and that only
the falling snow veiled the stars. At the moment that I awoke from
my drowse, the moon came out, and cast through the tenuous clouds
and the falling snow her cold bright beams. I saw clearly my sledge,
horses, driver, and the three troikas, ploughing on in front: the
first, the courier's, in which still sat on the box the one yamshchík
driving at a hard trot; the second, in which rode the two drivers,
who let the horses go at their own pace, and had made a shelter out
of a camel's-hair coat[7] behind which they still smoked their pipes
as could be seen by the sparks glowing in their direction; and the
third, in which no one was visible, for the yamshchík was comfortably
sleeping in the middle. The leading driver, however, while I was
napping had several times halted his horses, and attempted to find
the road. Then while we stopped the howling of the wind became more
audible, and the monstrous heaps of snow piling through the atmosphere
seemed more tremendous. By the aid of the moonlight which made its
way through the storm, I could see the driver's short figure, whip in
hand, examining the snow before him, moving back and forth in the misty
light, again coming back to the sledge, and springing sidewise on the
seat; and then again I heard above the monotonous whistling of the
wind, the comfortable, clear jingling and melody of the bells. When the
head driver crept out to find the marks of the road or the hayricks,
each time was heard the lively, self-confident voice of one of the
yamshchíks in the second sledge shouting, "Hey, Ignashka![8] you turned
off too much to the left. Strike off to the right into the storm." Or,
"Why are you going round in a circle? keep straight ahead as the snow
flies. Follow the snow, then you'll hit it." Or, "Take the right, take
the right, old man.[9] There's something black, it must be a post." Or,
"What are you getting lost for? why are you getting lost? Unhitch the
piebald horse, and let him find the road for you. He'll do it every
time. That would be the best way."

The man who was so free with his advice not only did not offer to
unhitch his off-horse, or go himself across the snow to hunt for the
road, but did not even put his nose outside of his shelter-coat; and
when Ignashka the leader, in reply to one of his proffers of advice,
shouted to him to come and take the forward place since he knew the
road so well, the mentor replied that when he came to drive a courier's
sledge, then he would take the lead, and never once miss the road. "But
our horses wouldn't go straight through a snowdrift," he shouted: "they
ain't the right kind."

"Then don't you worry yourselves," replied Ignashka, gayly whistling to
his horses.

The yamshchík who sat in the same sledge with the mentor said nothing
at all to Ignashka, and paid no attention to the difficulty, though he
was not yet asleep, as I concluded by his pipe which still glowed, and
because, when we halted, I heard his measured voice in uninterrupted
flow. He was telling a story. Once only, when Ignashka for the sixth or
seventh time came to a stop, it seemed to vex him because his comfort
in travelling was disturbed, and he shouted,--

"Stopping again? He's missing the road on purpose. Call this a
snowstorm! The surveyor himself could not find the road! he would let
the horses find it. We shall freeze to death here; just let him go on
regardless!"

"What! Don't you know a poshtellion froze to death last winter?"
shouted my driver.

All this time the driver of the third troïka had not been heard from.
But once while we were stopping, the mentor shouted, "Filipp! ha!
Filipp!" and not getting any response remarked,--

"Can he have frozen to death? Ignashka, you go and look."

Ignashka, who was responsible for all, went to his sledge, and began to
shake the sleeper.

"See what drink has done for him! Tell us if you are frozen to death!"
said he, shaking him.

The sleeper grunted a little, and then began to scold.

"Live enough, fellows!" said Ignashka, and again started ahead, and
once more we drove on; and with such rapidity that the little brown
off-horse, in my three-span, which was constantly whipping himself with
his tail, did not once interrupt his awkward gallop.


[Footnote 7: _armyák._]

[Footnote 8: diminished diminutive of Ignat.]

[Footnote 9: _bratets tui moï_; literally, "thou brother mine."]



V.


It was already about midnight, I judge, when the little old man and
Vasíli, who had gone in search of the runaway horses, rejoined us. They
had caught the horses, and had now overtaken us; but how in the world
they had accomplished this in the thick, blinding snowstorm, in the
midst of the bare steppe, was more than I could comprehend. The little
old man, with his elbows and legs flying, came trotting up on the
shaft-horse (the two other horses he had caught by the collars; it was
impossible to lead them in the snowstorm). When they had caught up with
me, he began to scold at my driver.

"You see, you cross-eyed devil! you"--

"O Uncle Mitritch,"[10] cried the talkative fellow in the second
sledge, "you alive? Come along where we are!"

The old man did not answer him, but continued to scold. When he had
satisfied himself, he rejoined the second sledge.

"Get em all?" was asked him.

"Why, of course we did."

And his small figure leaped up and down on the horse's back as he
went off at full trot; then he sprang down into the snow, and without
stopping caught up with the sledge, and sat in it with his legs
hanging over the side. The tall Vasíli, just as before, took his place
in perfect silence in the front sledge with Ignashka; and then the two
began to look for the road together.

"What a spitfire! Great heavens!" muttered my driver.

For a long time after this we drove on without stopping, over the white
waste, in the cold, pellucid, and wavering light of the snowstorm. When
I opened my eyes, there before me rose the same clumsy, snow-covered
cap; the same low _dugá_ or bell-bow, under which, between the leathern
reins tightly stretched, there moved always at the same distance the
head of the shaft-horse with the black mane blown to one side by the
wind. And I could see, above his back, the brown off-horse on the
right, with his short braided tail, and the whiffletree sometimes
knocking against the dasher of the sleigh. If I looked below, then I
saw the scurrying snow stirred up by the runners, and constantly tossed
and borne by the wind to one side. In front of me, always at the same
distance, glided the other troïkas. To left and right, all was white
and bewildering. Vainly the eye sought for any new object: neither
verst-post, nor hayrick, nor fence was to be seen; nothing at all.
Everywhere, all was white, white and fluctuating. Now the horizon seems
to be indistinguishably distant, then it comes down within two steps
on every side; now suddenly a high white wall grows up on the right,
and accompanies the course of the sledges, then it suddenly vanishes,
and grows up in front, only to glide on in advance, farther and farther
away, and disappear again.

As I look up, it seems light. At the first moment, I imagine that
through the mist I see the stars; but the stars, as I gaze, flee into
deeper and deeper depths, and I see only the snow falling into face
and eyes, and the collar of my fur coat;[11] the sky has everywhere
one tone of light, one tone of white,--colorless, monotonous, and
constantly shifting. The wind seems to vary: at one moment it blows
into my face, and flings the snow into my eyes; the next it goes to one
side, and peevishly tosses the collar of my shuba over my head, and
insultingly slaps me in the face with it; then it finds some crevice
behind, and plays a tune upon it. I hear the soft, unceasing crunching
of the hoofs and the runners on the snow, and the muffled tinkling of
the bells, as we speed over the deep snow. Only occasionally when we
drive against the wind, and glide over the bare frozen crust, I can
clearly distinguish Ignat's energetic whistling, and the full chords
of the chime, with the resounding jarring fifth; and these sounds
break suddenly and comfortingly upon the melancholy character of the
desert; and then again rings monotonously, with unendurable fidelity of
execution, the whole of that motive which involuntarily coincides with
my thoughts.

One of my feet began to feel cold, and when I turned round so as to
protect it better, the snow which covered my collar and my cap sifted
down my neck, and made me shiver; but still I was, for the most,
comfortable in my warm shuba, and drowsiness overcame me.


[Footnote 10: Condensed form for Dmitriyévitch, "son of Dmitri." The
peasants often call each other by the patronymic.]

[Footnote 11: _shuba._]



VI.


Things remembered and things conceived mixed and mingled with wonderful
quickness in my imagination.

"The mentor who is always shouting from the second sledge, what kind of
a man must he be? Probably red-haired, thick-set, with short legs, a
man somewhat like Feódor Filíppuitch our old butler," is what I say to
myself.

And here I see the staircase of our great house, and five of the
house-servants who with towels, with heavy steps, carry the pianoforte
from the L; I see Feódor Filíppuitch with the sleeves of his nankeen
coat tucked up, carrying one of the pedals, and going in advance,
unbolting the door, taking hold of the door-knob here, there pushing a
little, now crawling under the legs; he is here, there, and everywhere,
crying with an anxious voice continually, "Look out, take more
weight, you there in front! Be careful, you there at the tail-end!
Up--up--up--don't hit the door. There, there!"

"Excuse me, Feódor Filíppuitch! There ain't enough of us," says the
gardener timidly, crushed up against the balustrade, and all red with
exertion, lifting one end of the grand with all his remaining strength.
But Feódor Filíppuitch does not hold his peace.

"And what does it mean?" I ask myself. "Does he think that he is of any
use, that he is indispensable for the work in hand? or is he simply
glad that God has given him this self-confident persuasive eloquence,
and takes enjoyment in squandering it?"

And I somehow see the pond, the weary servants, who, up to their
knees in the water, drag the heavy net; and again Feódor Filíppuitch,
shouting to everybody, walking up and down on the bank, and only now
and then venturing to the brink, taking with his hand the golden carp,
and letting the dirty water run out from his watering-pot, so as to
fill it up with fresh.

But here it is midday, in the month of July. Across the newly mown turf
of the lawn, under the burning perpendicular rays of the sun, I seem to
be going somewhere. I am still very young; I am free from yearnings,
free from desires. I am going to the pond, to my own favorite spot
between the rose-bushes and the birch-tree alley; and I shall lie down
and nap. Keen is the sensation that I have, as I lie down, and look
across the red thorny stems of the rose-bushes upon the dark ground
with its dry grass and on the gleaming bright-blue mirror of the
pond. It is a sensation of a peculiarly simple self-contentment and
melancholy. All around me is so lovely, and this loveliness has such a
powerful effect upon me, that it seems to me as if I myself were good;
and the one thing that vexes me is, that no one is there to admire me.

It is hot. I try to go to sleep for comfort's sake; but the flies,
the unendurable flies, even here, give me no rest. They begin to
swarm around me, and obstinately, insolently as it were, heavy as
cherry-stones, jump from my forehead to my hands. A bee buzzes near me
in the sunbeam. Yellow-winged butterflies fly wearily from flower to
flower.

I gaze up. It pains my eyes. The sun shines too bright through the
light foliage of the bushy birch-tree, gracefully waving its branches
high above my head, and it grows hotter still. I cover my face with my
handkerchief. It becomes stifling; and the flies seem to stick to my
hands, on which the perspiration stands. In the rose-bush the sparrows
twitter under the thick leaves. One hops to the ground almost within my
reach, makes two or three feints to peck energetically at the ground,
and after making the little twigs crackle, and chirping gayly, flies
away from the bushes; another also hops to the ground, wags his little
tail, looks around, and, like an arrow, flies off twittering after
the first. At the pond are heard the blows of the pounder on the wet
clothes; and the noise re-echoes, and is carried far away, down along
the shore. I hear laughter and talking, and the splashing of bathers.
The breath of the wind sweeps the tops of the birches far above my
head, and bends them down again. I hear it moving the grass, and now
the leaves of the rose-bushes toss and rustle on their stems. And now,
lifting the corner of my handkerchief, it tickles my sweaty face, and
pours in upon me in a cooling current. Through the opening where the
handkerchief is lifted a fly finds his way, and timidly buzzes around
my moist mouth. A dry twig begins to make itself felt under my back.
No: it becomes unendurable; I must get it out. But now, around the
clump of bushes, I hear the sound of footsteps, and the frightened
voice of a woman:--

"Mercy on me![12] what's to be done? And no man anywhere!"

"What's the matter?" I ask, running out into the sun, as a
serving-woman, screaming, hurries past me. She merely glances at
me, wrings her hands, and hurries along faster. And here comes also
the seventy-year-old Matryóna, holding her handkerchief to her head,
with her hair all in disorder, and hopping along with her lame leg
in woollen stockings. Two girls come running, hand in hand; and a
ten-year-old boy in his father's jacket runs behind, clinging to the
linen petticoat of one of them.

"What has happened?" I ask of them.

"A muzhík drowned!"

"Where?"

"In the pond."

"Who is he? one of ours?"

"No, a tramp."

The coachman Iván, bustling about in his big boots over the mown grass,
and the fat overseer[13] Yakof, all out of breath, come hurrying to the
pond; and I follow after them.

I experience the feeling which says to me, "Now jump in, and pull the
muzhík out, and save him; and all will admire you," which was exactly
what I wanted.

"Where is he? where?" I asked of the throng of domestics gathered on
the shore.

"Over there in the deepest part, on the other shore, almost at the
baths," says the laundress, stowing away the wet linen on her yoke....
"I see him dive; there he comes up again, then he sinks a second time,
and comes up again, and then he cries, 'I'm drowning, help!' And then
he goes down again--and then a lot of bubbles. And while I am looking
on, the muzhík gets drowned. And so I give the alarm: 'Help! a muzhík
is drowning!'"

And the laundress, lifting the yoke upon her shoulder, turning to one
side, goes along the narrow footpath away from the pond.

"See! what a shame," says Yakof Ivánof the overseer, in a despairing
voice; "now there'll be a rumpus with the police court[14]--we'll have
enough of it."

One muzhík with a scythe makes his way through the throng of peasant
women, children, and old men gathered round the shore, and, hanging the
scythe on the limb of a willow, leisurely takes off his clothes.

"Where was it? where was he drowned?" I keep asking, having still the
desire to jump in, and do something extraordinary.

They point out to me the smooth surface of the pond, which is now and
then just ruffled by the puffs of the breeze. It is incomprehensible
how he came to drown; for the water lies so smooth, beautiful and calm
above him, shining golden in the midday sun, and it seems to me that
I could not do any thing or surprise any one, the more as I am a very
poor swimmer; but the muzhík is now pulling his shirt over his head,
and instantly throws himself into the water. All look at him with hope
and anxiety. After going into the water up to his neck, the muzhík
turns back, and puts on his shirt again: he knows not how to swim.

People keep coming down to the shore; the throng grows larger and
larger; the women cling to each other: but no one brings any help.
Those who have just come, offer advice, and groan; fear and despair are
stamped on all faces. Of those who had come first, some have sat down,
or stand wearily on the grass, others have gone back to their work. The
old Matryóna asks her daughter whether she shut the oven-door. The
small boy in his father's jacket industriously flings stones into the
water.

And now from the house down the hill comes Trezorka, the butler's dog,
barking, and looking at the stupid people. And lo! there is Feódor's
tall figure hurrying from the hill-top, and shouting something as he
comes out from behind the rose-bushes.

"What are you standing there for?" he shouts, taking off his coat as
he runs. "A man drowning, and there you are standing around! Give us a
rope."

All look at Feódor with hope and fear while he, leaning his hand on the
shoulder of one of the men-servants, pries off his left boot with the
toe of the right.

"There it was, where the people are standing, there at the right of the
willows, Feódor Filíppuitch, right there," says some one to him.

"I know it," he replies; and knitting his brows; probably as a rebuke
to the manifestations of modesty visible among the women, he takes off
his shirt and baptismal cross, handing them to the gardener-boy who
stands officiously near him, and then stepping energetically across the
mown grass comes to the pond.

Trezorka, unable to explain the reason for his master's rapid motions,
stands irresolute near the crowd, and noisily eats a few grass-blades
on the shore, then looks questioningly at his master, and suddenly with
a joyous bark plunges after him into the water. At first nothing can be
seen except foam, and splashing water, which reached even to us. But
soon the butler, gracefully spreading his arms in long strokes, and
with regular motion lifting and sinking his back, swims across to the
other shore. Trezorka, however, gurgling in the water, hastily returns,
shakes himself near the crowd, and rolls over on his back upon the
shore.

While the butler is swimming to the other side, two coachmen hasten to
the willows with a net fastened to a stake. The butler for some reason
lifts up his hands, dives once, twice, three times, each time spewing
from his mouth a stream of water, gracefully shaking his long hair,
and paying no heed to the questions which are showered upon him from
all sides. At last he comes to the shore, and, so far as I can see,
arranges for the disposition of the net.

They haul out the net, but it contains nothing except slime and a few
small carp flopping in it. They have just cast the net once more as I
reach that side.

The voice of the butler giving directions, the water dripping from the
wet rope, and the sighs of dismay, alone break the silence. The wet
rope stretches to the right wing, covers up more and more of the grass,
slowly emerges farther and farther out of the water.

"Now pull all together, friends, once more!" cries the butler's voice.
The net appears, dripping with water.

"There's something! it comes heavy, fellows," says some one's voice.

And here the wings with two or three carp flapping in them, wetting and
crushing down the grass, are drawn to shore. And through the delicate
strata of the agitated depths of the waters, something white gleams in
the tightly stretched net. Not loud, but plainly audible amid the dead
silence, a sigh of horror passes over the throng.

"Pull it up on the dry land! pull it up, friends!" says the butler's
resolute voice; and the drowned man is pulled up across the mown
burdocks and other weeds, to the shelter of the willows.

And here I see my good old auntie in her silk dress. I see her lilac
sunshade with its fringe,--which somehow is incongruous with this
picture of death terrible in its very simplicity,--and her face ready
this moment to be convulsed with sobs. I realize the disappointment
expressed on her face, because it is impossible to use the arnica; and
I recall the sickening melancholy feeling that I have when she says
with the simple egoism of love, "Come, my dear. Ah! how terrible this
is! And here you always go in swimming by yourself."

I remember how bright and hot the sun shines on the dry ground,
crumpling under the feet; how it gleams on the mirror of the pond;
how the plump carp flap on the bank; how the schools of fish stir
the smooth surface in the middle of the pond; how high in the air a
hawk hangs, watching the ducklings which, quacking and spattering,
swim through the reeds toward the centre; how the white tumulous
thunder-clouds gather on the horizon; how the mud, brought up by the
net, is scattered over the bank; and how, as I come to the dike, I
again hear the blows of the clothes-pounders at work along the pond.

But the clothes-pounder has a ringing sound; two clothes-pounders, as
it were, ring together, making a chord; and this sound torments, pains
me, the more as I know that this clothes-pounder is a bell, and Feódor
Filíppuitch does not cease to ring it. And this clothes-pounder, like
an instrument of torture, squeezes my leg, which is freezing.--I fall
into deep sleep.

I was waked by what seemed to me our very rapid progress, and by two
voices speaking close to me.

"Say, Ignat, Ignat," says the voice of my driver. "You take my
passenger; you've got to go anyway; it's only wasted labor for me: you
take him."

Ignat's voice near me replies, "What fun would it be for me to answer
for a passenger?... Will you treat me to a half-pint of brandy?"

"Now! a half-pint! Call it a glass."

"The idea, a glass!" cries the other voice; "bother my horses for a
glass of vodka!"

I open my eyes. Still the same unendurable whirling snowflakes dazzling
me, the same drivers and horses, but next me I see some sledge or
other. My driver has caught up with Ignat, and for some time we have
been going side by side.

Notwithstanding the fact that the voice from the other sledge advises
not to take less than the half-pint, Ignat suddenly reins, up his
troïka.

"Change the things; just your good luck! You'll give me the brandy when
we meet to-morrow. Have you got much luggage?"

My driver, with unwonted liveliness, leaps into the snow, makes me a
bow, and begs me to change into Ignat's sledge. I am perfectly willing.
But evidently the pious little muzhík is so delighted that he must
needs express to every one his gratefulness and pleasure. He bows to
me, to Alyoshka, to Ignashka, and thanks us.

"Well, now, thank the Lord! What a scheme this is! Heavens and
earth![15] we have been going half the night. Don't know ourselves
where we are. He will take you, sir;[16] but my horses are all beat
out."

And he transfers the luggage with vigorous activity.

When it was moved, I got into the other sledge in spite of the wind
which almost carried me away. The sledge, especially on that side
toward which was spread the coat as a protection against the wind, for
the two yamshchíks, was quarter buried in the snow; but behind the
coat, it was warm and cosey. The little old man was lying with his
legs hanging over, and the story-teller was still spinning his yarn:
"At that very same time when the general in the king's name, you know,
comes to Marya, you know, in the darkness, at this same time, Marya
says to him, 'General, I do not need you, and I cannot love you; and,
you know, you are not my lover, but my lover is the prince himself'--At
this very time," he was going on to say; but, catching sight of me, he
kept silence for a time, and began to puff at his pipe.

"Well, bárin, you missed the story, didn't you?" said the other, whom I
have called the mentor.

"Yes; but you are finely provided for behind here," said I.

"Out of sheer dulness,--have to keep ourselves from thinking."'

"But, say, don't you know where we are now?"

This question, as it seemed to me, did not please the yamshchíks.

"Who can tell where we are? Maybe we are going to the Kalmucks,"
replied the mentor.

"But what are we going to do?" I asked.

"What are we going to do? Well, we are going, and will keep on going,"
he said in a fretful tone.

"Well, what will keep us from getting lost? Besides, the horses will
get tired in the snow. What then?"

"Well, nothing."

"But we may freeze to death."

"Of course we may, because we don't see any hayricks just now; but we
may come, you know, to the Kalmucks. First thing, we must look at the
snow."

"But you aren't afraid of freezing to death, are you, bárin?" asked the
little old man with quavering voice.

Notwithstanding that he was making sport of me, as it were, it was
plain that he was trembling all over.

"Yes: it is growing very cold," I replied.

"Ekh! bárin! You ought to do like me. No, no: stamp up and down,--that
will warm you up."

"Do it the first thing when you get to the sledge," said the mentor.


[Footnote 12: _akh, bátiushki!_]

[Footnote 13: _prikáshchik._]

[Footnote 14: _zemski sūt._]

[Footnote 15: _gospodi-bátiushka.._]

[Footnote 16: _bátiushka-bárin._]



VII.


"If you please: all ready!" shouted Alyoshka from the front sledge.

The storm was so violent that only by violent exertion, leaning far
forward and holding down the folds of my cloak with both hands, was I
able to make my way through the whirling snow, drifting before the wind
under my very feet, over the short distance between me and the sledge.
_My_ former driver was still on his knees in the middle of the empty
sledge; but when he saw me going he took off his big cap, the wind
angrily tossing up his hair, and asked me for a fee. Apparently he did
not expect me to give it to him, because my refusal did not affront him
in the least. He even thanked me, waved his cap, and said, "Well, good
luck to you, sir!"[17] and picking up the reins, and clucking to the
horses, turned from us.

Immediately Ignashka straightened his back, and shouted to his horses.
Again the sound of crunching hoofs, voices, bells, took the place of
the howling wind which was chiefly audible when we stood still. For a
quarter of an hour after my transfer I did not sleep, and I diverted my
mind by contemplating the form of my new driver and horses. Ignashka
was youthful in appearance, was constantly jumping up, cracking his
whip over the horses, shouting out, changing from one leg to the other,
and leaning forward to fix the breeching for the shaft-horse, which
was always slipping to one side. The man was not tall in stature, but
well built as it seemed. Over his unlined sheepskin coat[18] he wore
an ungirdled cloak, the collar of which was turned back, leaving his
neck perfectly bare; his boots were of leather, not felt; and he wore
a small cap which he constantly took off and straightened. In all his
motions was manifest not only energy, but much more, as it seemed to
me, the desire to keep his energy alive. Moreover, the farther we
went, the more frequently he settled himself on his seat, changed
the position of his legs, and addressed himself to Alyoshka and me:
it seemed to me that he was afraid of losing his spirits. And there
was good reason: though the horses were excellent, the road at each
step grew heavier and heavier, and it was noticeable that the horses'
strength was flagging. It was already necessary to use the whip; and
the shaft-horse, a good big, shaggy animal, stumbled once or twice,
though immediately, as if frightened, it sprang forward and tossed
up its shaggy head almost to the bell itself. The right off-horse,
which I could not help watching, had a long leather breeching adorned
with tassels, slipping and sliding to the left, and kept dropping the
traces, and required the whip; but, being naturally a good and even
zealous horse, seemed to be vexed at his own weakness, and angrily
tossed his head, as if asking to be driven. Indeed, it was terrible to
see how, as the storm and cold increased, the horses grew weak, the
road became worse; and we really did not know where we were, or where
we were going, whether to a station or to any shelter whatsoever. And
strange and ridiculous it was to hear the bells jingling so merrily
and carelessly, and Ignatka shouting so energetically and delightfully
as though it were a sunny Christmas noon, and we were hurrying to a
festival along the village street; and stranger than all it was to
think that we were always riding and riding rapidly away from the place
where we had been.

Ignat began to sing some song in a horrible falsetto, but so loud and
with such stops, during which he whistled, that it was weird to listen
to, and made one melancholy.

"Hey-y-y! Why are you splitting your throat, Ignat? Hold on a bit!"
said the voice of the mentor.

"What?"

"Hold o-o-o-o-n!"

Ignat reined up. Again silence only broken by the wailing and whistling
of the wind, while the snow began to pile up, rustling on the sledge.
The mentor drove up to us.

"Well, what is it?"

"Say![19] where are you going?"

"Who knows?"

"Are your feet frozen, that you stamp so?"

"They're frozen off."

"Well, you ought to go this way. The way you were going means
starvation,--not even a Kalmuck there. Get out, and it will warm your
legs."

"All right. Hold the horses--there."

And Ignat stumped off in the direction indicated.

"Have to keep looking all the time, have to get out and hunt; then you
find the way. But this way's a crazy way to go," said the mentor. "See
how tired the horses are."

All the time that Ignat was gone, and it was so long that I actually
began to be afraid that he had lost his way, the mentor kept talking
to me in a self-confident, easy tone, telling me how it was necessary
to behave in a snowstorm; how much better it was to unhitch one of the
horses, and let her go as God Almighty should direct; how sometimes
you can see the stars occasionally; and how, if he had taken the front
place, we should have been at the station long before.

"Well, how is it?" he asked, as Ignat came back, ploughing with
difficulty knee-deep in snow.

"Not so bad. I found a Kalmuck camp," replied the driver, out of
breath. "Still I don't know where we are. It must be that we have been
going toward Prolgovsky forest. We must turn to the left."

"Why worry? It must be the camp just behind our station," replied the
mentor.

"I tell you it isn't."

"Well, I've seen it, and so I know. If it isn't that, then it's
Tamuishevskoé. You must turn to the right; and soon we'll be on the big
bridge,--eight versts."

"Say what you will, 'tain't so. I have seen it," said Ignat angrily.

"Eh! what's that? I am a yamshchík as much as you are."

"Fine yamshchík! you go ahead, then."

"Why should I go ahead? But I know."

Ignat was evidently angry. Without replying, he climbed to his seat,
and drove on.

"You see how cold one's feet get. No way to warm them," said he to
Alyoshka, pounding his feet more and more frequently, and brushing and
shaking off the snow which had got into his boot-legs.

I felt an uncontrollable desire to sleep.


[Footnote 17: _Nu, daï Bog vam, bárin._]

[Footnote 18: _polushubka;_ a garment of tanned sheepskin, the wool
inwards, and reaching to the knees or even the ankles.]

[Footnote 19: _da chïo!_]



VIII.


"Can it be that I am going to freeze to death?" I asked myself, as I
dropped off. "Death, they say, always begins with drowsiness. It's much
better to drown than freeze to death, then they would pull me out of
the net. However, it makes no difference whether one drowns or freezes
to death. If only this stake did not stick into my back so, I might
forget myself."

For a second I lost consciousness.

"How will all this end?" I suddenly ask myself in thought, for a moment
opening my eyes, and gazing at the white expanse,--"how will it end?
If we don't find some hayricks, and the horses get winded, as it seems
likely they will be very soon, we shall all freeze to death."

I confess, that, though I was afraid, I had a desire for something
extraordinarily tragic to happen to us; and this was stronger than
the small fear. It seemed to me that it would not be unpleasant if at
morning the horses themselves should bring us, half-frozen, to some
far-off, unknown village, where some of us might even perish of the
cold.

And while I have this thought, my imagination works with extraordinary
clearness and rapidity. The horses become weary, the snow grows deeper
and deeper, and now only the ears and the bell-bow are visible; but
suddenly Ignashka appears on horseback, driving his troïka past us. We
beseech him, we shout to him to take us: but the wind carries away our
voices; we have no voices left. Ignashka laughs at us, shouts to his
horses, whistles, and passes out of our sight in some deep snow-covered
ravine. A little old man climbs upon a horse, flaps his elbows, and
tries to gallop after him; but he cannot stir from the place. My old
driver, with his great cap, throws himself upon him, drags him to the
ground, and tramples him into the snow. "You're a wizard!" he cries.
"You're a spitfire. We are all lost on your account." But the little
old man flings a snowball at his head. He is no longer a little old
man, but only a hare, and bounds away from us. All the dogs bound after
him. The mentor, who is now the butler, tells us to sit around in a
circle, that nothing will happen to us if we protect ourselves with
snow: it will be warm.

In fact, it is warm and cosey: our only trouble is thirst. I get out my
travelling-case; I offer every one rum and sugar, and drink myself with
great satisfaction. The story-teller spins some yarn about the rainbow,
and over our heads is a roof of snow and a rainbow.

"Now each of you," I say, "make a chamber in the snow, and go to
sleep." The snow is soft and warm like wool. I make myself a room, and
am just going into it; but Feódor Filíppuitch, who has caught a glimpse
of my money in my travelling-case, says, "Hold! give me your money,
you won't need it when you're dead," and seizes me by the leg. I hand
him the money, asking him only to let me go; but they will not believe
that it is all my money, and they are going to kill me. I seize the old
man's hand, and with indescribable pleasure kiss it: the old man's hand
is tender and soft. At first he takes it away from me, but afterwards
he lets me have it, and even caresses me with his other hand.
Nevertheless, Feódor Filíppuitch comes near and threatens me. I hasten
to my chamber; it is not a chamber, but a long white corridor, and some
one pulls back on my leg. I tear myself away. In the hand of the man
who holds me back, remain my trousers and a part of my skin; but I feel
only cold and ashamed,--all the more ashamed because my auntie with her
sunshade, and homœopathic pellets, comes arm in arm with the drowned
man to meet me. They smile, but do not understand the signs that I
make to them. I fling myself after the sledge; my feet glide over the
snow, but the little old man follows after me, flapping his elbows. He
comes close to me. But I hear just in front of me two church-bells, and
I know that I shall be safe when I reach them. The church-bells ring
nearer and nearer; but the little old man has caught up with me, and
falls with his body across my face, so that I can scarcely hear the
bells. Once more I seize his hand, and begin to kiss it; but the little
old man is no longer the little old man, but the drowned man, and he
cries,--

"Ignashka, hold on! here are Akhmet's hayricks! just look!"

That is strange to hear! no, I would rather wake up.

I open my eyes. The wind is flapping the tails of Alyoshka's cloak into
my face; my knees are uncovered. We are going over the bare crust,
and the triad of the bells rings pleasantly through the air with its
dominant fifth.

I look, expecting to see the hayricks; but instead of hayricks, now
that my eyes are wide open, I see something like a house with a
balcony, and the crenellated walls of a fortress. I feel very little
interest in seeing this house and fortress; my desire is much stronger
to see the white corridor where I had been walking, to hear the sound
of the church-bells, and to kiss the little old man's hand. Again I
close my eyes and sleep.



IX.


I sleep sound. But all the time I can hear the chords of the bells,
and in my dream I can see a dog barking and jumping after me; then the
organ, one stop of which I seem to draw out; then the French poem which
I am composing. Then it seems to me that this triad is some instrument
of torture with which my right foot is constantly compressed. This was
so severe that I woke up, and opening my eyes I rubbed my leg. It was
beginning to grow numb with cold.

The night was, as before, light, melancholy, white. The sledge and its
passengers were still shaken by the same motion; there was Ignashka
sitting on one side and stamping his feet. There was the off-horse as
before, straining her neck, lifting her feet, as she trotted over the
deep snow; the tassel slipping along the reins, and whipping against
the horse's belly; the head of the shaft-horse, with the waving mane,
alternately pulling and loosening the reins attached to the bell-bow
as it nodded up and down. But all this was covered and hidden with
snow far more than before. The snow was whirled about in front of us,
and covered up our runners, and reached above the horses' knees, and
fell thick and fast on our collars and caps. The wind blew now from
the right, now from the left, and played with the collar and tails of
Ignashka's cloak, the mane of the horses, and howled above the bell-bow
and the shafts.

It had become fearfully cold; and I had scarcely lifted my head out
of my collar ere the frosty dry snow made its way, rustling, into my
eyelids, nose, and mouth, and ran down my neck. Looking around, all was
white, light, and snowy; nothing anywhere except a melancholy light
and the snow. I felt a sensation of real terror. Alyoshka was sitting
cross-legged in the very depths of the sledge; his whole back was
covered with a thick deposit of snow.

Ignashka still kept up his spirits; he kept constantly pulling at the
reins, stamping and pounding his feet. The bell also sounded strange.
The horses sometimes snorted, but plunged along more quietly, though
they stumbled more and more often. Ignashka again sprang up, swung his
mittens, and began to sing in his clear, strong voice. Not ceasing to
sing, he stopped the troïka, tossed the reins on the dasher, and got
out. The wind howled madly; the snow, as though shovelled down, was
dashed upon the folds of my furs.

I looked around. The third troïka was nowhere to be seen (it had
stopped somewhere). Next the second troïka, in a mist of snow, could be
seen the little old man making his way with long strides. Ignashka went
three steps from the sledge, sat down in the snow, took off his girdle,
and began to remove his boots.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Must change my boots: this leg is frozen solid," he replied, and went
on with his work.

It was cold for me to keep my neck out of my collar to watch what he
was doing. I sat straight, looking at the off-horse, which, with legs
spread, stood feebly switching its snow-covered tail. The thump which
Ignat gave the sledge as he clambered to his place startled me.

"Well, where are we now?" I asked. "Are we getting anywhere in the
world?"

"Don't you worry. We shall get there," he replied. "Now my feet are
thoroughly warm, since I changed them."

And he drove on; the bells jingled, the sledge again began to rock, and
the wind whistled under the runners, and once more we struggled to swim
through the limitless ocean of snow.



X.


I sunk into a sound sleep. When Alyoshka awoke me by punching me in
the leg, and I opened my eyes, it was morning. It seemed even colder
than it had been during the night. There was nothing to be seen but
snow; but a strong dry wind still swept the powdery snow across the
field, and especially under the hoofs of the horses, and the runners of
the sledge. The sky on the right toward the east was of a deep purple
color, but the bright reddish-orange rays of the sunrise kept growing
more and more clearly defined in it; above our heads, between the
hurrying white clouds, scarcely tinged as yet, gleamed the sickly blue
of the sky; in the west the clouds were bright, light, and fluctuating.
Everywhere around, as far as the eye could see, lay the snow, white and
deep, in sharply defined strata. Everywhere could be seen gray hillocks
where lay the fine, dry, powdery snow. Nothing was to be seen,--not
even the shadow of a sledge, nor of a human being, nor of a beast.
The outline and color of the driver's back, and of the horses, began
to stand out clear and sharp against the white background. The rim of
Ignashka's dark-blue cap, his collar, his hair, and even his boots,
were white. The sledge was perfectly covered. The whole right side and
the mane of the brown shaft-horse were plastered with snow. The legs of
my off-horse were thick with it up to the knee, and the whole of the
shaggy right flank had the same sticky covering. The tassel leaped up
and down in some sort of rhythm, the structure of which it would not be
easy to represent; and the off-horse also kept to it in her gait: only
by the gaunt belly rising and sinking, and by the hanging ears, could
it be seen how tired she was.

Only one new object attracted the attention: this was a verst-post,
from which the snow had been blown away, leaving it clear to the
ground, and making a perfect mountain on one side; while the wind was
still sweeping it across, and drifting it from one side to the other.

It was odd to me to think that we had gone the whole night without
change of horses, not knowing for twelve hours where we were, and not
coming to our destination, and yet not really missing the road. Our
bells seemed to sound more cheerful than ever. Ignat buttoned his coat
up, and began to shout again. Behind us snorted the horses, and jingled
the bells, of the troïka that carried the little old man and the
mentor; but the one who was asleep had wandered away from us somewhere
on the steppe.

After going half a verst farther, we came upon the fresh, and as yet
unobliterated, traces of a sledge and troïka; and occasionally drops of
blood, caused by the whip on the horses' side, could be seen.

"That was Filipp. See, he's got in ahead of us," said Ignashka.

And here appears a little house with a sign, alone by itself, near the
road, standing in the midst of the snow which covers it almost to the
roof. Near the inn stands a troïka of gray horses, their hair rough
with sweat, with wide-spread legs and drooping heads. At the door, the
snow is shovelled away, and the shovel is standing in it; but it still
falls from the roof, and the roaring wind whirls the snow around.

Out from the door at the sound of our bells comes a big ruddy,
red-headed driver, with a glass of wine in his hand, and shouts
something. Ignashka turns to me, and asks permission to stop. Then for
the first time I fairly see his face.



XI.


His features were not dark, dry, and regular, as I had reason to expect
from his hair and build. His face was round, jolly, with a snub nose
and a big mouth, and clear-shining eyes, blue and round. His cheeks and
neck were like well-worn cloth. His eyebrows, his long eyelashes, and
the beard which evenly covered the lower part of his face, were crusted
thick with snow, and perfectly white.

The distance to the station was all of a half-verst, and we stopped.

"Only be quick about it," I said.

"Just a minute," replied Ignashka, springing down from his seat, and
going up to Filipp.

"Let us have it, brother," said he, taking the glass in his right hand;
and throwing his mitten and whip down on the snow, tipping back his
head, he drank down at a gulp the glass of vodka.

The inn-keeper, who must have been a discharged Cossack, came, with a
bottle in his hand, out of the door.

"Who have you got there?" he asked.

The tall Vasíli, a lean, blond muzhík with a goatee, and the fat
mentor, with white eyebrows, and a thick white beard framing his ruddy
face, came up and also drank a glass. The little old man joined the
group of drinkers; but no one offered him any thing, and he went off
again to his horses, fastened behind, and began to stroke one of them
on the back and side.

The little old man was pretty much what I had imagined him to be;
small, ugly, with wrinkled, strongly marked features, a thin little
beard, a sharp nose, and worn yellow teeth. He wore a driver's cap,
perfectly new; but his sheepskin jacket[20] was old, soiled with oil,
and torn on the shoulders and flaps, and did not cover his knees or his
hempen trousers tucked into his huge felt boots. He himself was bent,
and frowned all the time, and, with trembling lips and limbs, tramped
around his sledge in his efforts to keep warm.

"Well, Mitritch, you ought to have a drink; it would warm you up," said
the mentor to him.

Mitritch gave a start. He arranged the horses' harness, straightened
the bell-bow, and then came to me.

"Say, bárin," said he, taking his cap off from his white hair and
bowing very low, "all night long we have been wandering together; we
have found the road. We would seem to deserve a bit of a drink. Isn't
that so, sir, your eminence?[21] just enough to get warmed," he added
with an obsequious smile.

I gave him a quarter-ruble. The inn-keeper brought out a glass of
vodka, and handed it to the old man. He laid aside his mitten and whip,
and took the glass in his small, dark hand, bony and somewhat bluish;
but strangely enough he could not control his thumb. Before he had
lifted the glass to his lips, he dropped it in the snow, spilling the
wine.

All the drivers burst out laughing.

"See, Mitritch-to is half-frozen like; he can't hold his wine."

But Mitritch was greatly vexed because he had spilt the wine.

They brought him, however, another glass, and poured it into his mouth.
He immediately became jolly, went into the inn, lighted his pipe, began
to show his yellow worn teeth, and to scold at every word. After they
had taken their last drinks, the drivers came back to their troikas,
and we set off.

The snow kept growing whiter and brighter, till it made one's eyes ache
to look at it. The orange- reddish streaks stretched brighter
and brighter, higher and higher, across the heavens; now the red circle
of the sun appeared on the horizon through the bluish clouds; the blue
sky came out in constantly increasing brilliancy and depth. On the road
around the station the tracks were clear, distinct, and yellow; in some
places were cradle-holes. In the frosty, bracing atmosphere, there was
a pleasant exhilaration and freshness.

My troïka glided along very swiftly. The head of the shaft-horse,
and the neck with the mane tossing up to the bell-bow, constantly
made the same quick, swinging motions under the hunting-bell, the
tongue of which no longer struck, but scraped around the rim. The
good side-horses, in friendly rivalry tugging at the frozen twisted
traces, energetically galloped on, the tassels striking against their
ribs and necks. Occasionally the off-horse would plunge into some
drift, and kick up the snow, filling the eyes with the fine powder.
Ignashka kept shouting in his gay tenor. The runners creaked over the
dry, frosty snow. Behind us, with a loud festival sound, rang the two
sledge-chimes; and the voices of the drivers, made jolly by wine, could
be heard.

I looked back: the gray shaggy side-horses arching their necks,
regularly puffing out the breath, with their curved bits, galloped over
the snow. Filipp was flourishing his whip and adjusting his cap. The
little old man, with his legs hanging out, was reclining as before in
the middle of his sledge.

At the end of two minutes the sledge scraped against the boards of the
well-cleared entrance of the station-house; and Ignashka turned to me,
his jolly face covered with snow, where his breath had turned to ice,
and said,--

"Here we are, bárin!"


[Footnote 20: _polushúbchishka._]

[Footnote 21: _bátiushka, váshe siátelstvo._]




POLIKUSHKA.


_A STORY._



I.


"As you may please to order, madame. But it would be too bad to send
any of the Dutlofs. They are all, without exception, good boys; but if
you don't take one of the house-servants[1] you will have to send one
of them without fail," said the overseer; "and now all point to them.
However, as you wish."

And he placed his right hand on his left, holding them both over his
stomach, tipped his head on one side, sucked in his thin lips, almost
smacking them, turned away his eyes, and held his peace, with the
evident intention of holding it long, and of listening without reply
to all the nonsense which the mistress might say to him in this regard.

The overseer had formerly been one of the household servants, and now,
this autumn evening, he was holding conference with his mistress, and
was standing before her, clean-shaven, in his long coat, the special
dress of the overseer. The conference as the mistress understood it was
to be devoted to reckoning the profits and losses of the past season,
and in making arrangements for the one to come. As Yégor Mikhaïlovitch
the overseer understood it, the conference consisted of the rite of
standing in a corner firmly on his two feet, set wide apart, with his
face turned to the sofa, listening to all the good lady's unending and
aimless babble, and leading her by various expedients to the point of
saying hastily and impatiently, "Very good, very good," to all his
suggestions.

The point at issue just at present was the conscription. Three soldiers
had to be sent from Pokrovskoé. Two were unquestionably named by
Providence itself, with a due regard for family, moral, and economical
conditions. Concerning them there could be neither hesitation nor
quarrel on the part of the Commune,[2] or the lady of the manor, or the
people in general.

The third was harder to decide upon. The overseer wanted to avoid
sending any of the three Dutlofs, and proposed Polikushka, a servant
who had a family and a very bad reputation, having more than once
been convicted of stealing corn, reins, and hay; but the mistress,
who had often caressed Polikushka's ragged children, and by means of
evangelical teachings had improved his morals, did not wish to let him
go. At the same time she had no ill-will against the Dutlofs, whom
she did not know and had never seen. And so she could not come to any
decision at all, and the overseer hadn't the courage to explain to her
explicitly that if Polikushka did not go Dutlof would have to go.

"Well, I don't wish to cause the Dutlofs any unhappiness," she said
with feeling.

"If you don't want them to go, then pay three hundred rubles for a
substitute," was the reply that he should have made her; but his
diplomacy was not equal to such an emergency.

And so Yégor Mikhaïlovitch straightened himself up calmly, even leaned
slightly on the door-post, and with a certain obsequiousness in his
face watched how his mistress moved her lips, and how the shadow of
the ruching on her head-dress moved up and down on the wall under the
picture. But he did not find it necessary to penetrate the meaning
of her words. She spoke long and rapidly. His ears were moved by the
convulsion of a yawn, but he adroitly changed it into a cough, which he
hid with his hand, making a hypocritical noise.

Not long ago I saw Lord Palmerston sitting with his hat on at the time
when he was a member of the opposition, and destroyed the ministry,
and, suddenly rising, replied in a three-hours' speech to all the
points of his opponent. I saw that, and was not filled with amazement,
because something not unlike it I had seen a thousand times in the
dealings of Yégor Mikhaïlovitch with his mistress. Either because he
was afraid of going to sleep, or because it seemed to him that she had
already gone to great lengths, he shifted the weight of his body from
his left leg to his right, and began with the sacramental introduction
as he always began:--

"As you please, my lady--only--only--the Commune is to meet at my
office, and it must be decided. In the requisition it says that
Pokrovskoé must send a recruit to the city. And out of all the serfs,
they point to the Dutlofs, and to no one else. But the Commune doesn't
care for your interests; it's all the same to them if we ruin the
Dutlofs.... You see, I know how they have been struggling to get along.
Since I have had charge, they have been in the depths of poverty. Now
that the old man is just about to have his young nephew's help, we've
got to ruin them. But I, you will please take notice, am working as
much for your interest as my own. 'Tis too bad, my lady, that you
should set your mind on it so. They are no kith or kin of mine, and I
have had nothing from them." ...

"Oh, I didn't think, Yégor," interrupted the lady, and immediately she
felt convinced that he had been bribed by the Dutlofs.

"And they've got the best farm in all Pokrovskoé; God-fearing,
work-loving muzhíks. The old man has been an elder in the church[3] for
thirty years. He doesn't drink wine, nor use bad language, and he's a
church-goer. [The overseer knew how to be plausible.] And chief of all,
I will tell you, he has only two sons, and the other one's a nephew.
The Commune make the decree; but, according to the existing rule, it
would be necessary for a man with two to have a special vote. Others
who have had three sons have given them farms of their own, and come to
wretchedness; but these people are acting right, and this is the way
their virtue is rewarded."

The lady did not understand this at all,--did not understand what he
meant by "special vote," and "virtue." She heard only sounds, and she
looked at the nankeen buttons on the overseer's coat: the upper button
he rarely fastened, so that it was on tight; but the strain had come
upon the middle one, and it hung by a thread, so that it would soon
need to be sewed on again. But, as everybody knows, it is absolutely
unnecessary in a business conversation for you to understand what is
said, but it is necessary only to bear in mind what you yourself wish
to say. And the lady acted on this principle.

"Why aren't you willing to understand, Yégor Mikhailovïtch?" said she.
"I am sure I don't wish any of the Dutlofs to go as a soldier. I should
think, that, as well as you know me, you might feel assured that I
would do every thing to help my people, and that I do not wish them to
be unhappy. You know that I am ready to sacrifice every thing to avoid
this wretched necessity, and keep both of the men from going. [I know
not whether it came into the overseer's head, that the avoidance of
the wretched necessity did not require the sacrifice of every thing,
but merely three hundred rubles; but this thought might have easily
occurred to him.] One thing I assure you, and that is, we will not let
Polikéï go. When, after that affair of the clock, he confessed to me,
and wept, and vowed that he would reform, I had a long talk with him;
and I saw that he was touched, and that he really repented. ["Well,
she's in for it," thought Yégor Mikhaïlovitch, and began to gaze at
the jam which stood in a glass of water by her side. "Is it orange, or
lemon? I think it must taste bitter," he said to himself.] Since that
time seven months have passed, and he has not been once drunk, and he
has behaved admirably. His wife told me that he had become another man.
And now, why do you wish me to punish him, when he has reformed? Yes;
and wouldn't it be inhumane, to send a man who has five children, and
no one to help him? No, you had better not speak about that, Yégor."...
And the lady took a sip from the glass.

Yégor Mikhaïlovitch watched the water disappearing down her throat, and
consequently his answer was short and dry:--

"Then you order one of the Dutlofs to be sent?"

The lady clasped her hands.

"Why can't you understand me? Do I wish to make Dutlof unhappy? Have
I any thing against him? God is my witness how ready I am to do
every thing for them. [She glanced at the picture in the corner, but
remembered that it was not a holy picture. "Well, it's all the same,
that's not the point at all," she thought. Again it was strange that it
did not occur to her to offer the three hundred rubles!] But what can
I do about it? Do I know the ways and means? I have no way of knowing.
Well, I depend upon you; you know my wishes. Do what you can to satisfy
everybody; but have it legal. What's to be done? They are not the only
ones. Troublous times come to all. Only, Polikéï must not be sent. You
must know that that would be terrible for me."

She would have gone on speaking,--she was so excited,--but just then a
chambermaid came into the room.

"Is that you, Duniasha?"

"A muzhík is here, and asks for Yégor Mikhaïluitch; they are waiting
for him at the meeting," said Duniasha, and looked angrily at Yégor
Mikhaïlovitch.

"What an overseer he is!" she said to herself, "stirring up my
mistress. Now she won't get to sleep till two o'clock again."

"Now go, Yégor," said the lady. "Do the best you can."

"I obey. [He now said nothing at all about Dutlof.] But shall I send to
the gardener for the money?"

"Hasn't Petrushka got back from town."

"Not yet."

"But can't Nikolaï go?"

"Papa has the lumbago," said Duniasha.

"Won't you have me go to-morrow?" asked the overseer.

"No, you are needed here, Yégor." The lady paused to consider. "How
much money?"

"Four hundred and sixty-two rubles."

"Send Polikéï to me," said the lady, looking resolutely into Yégor's
face.

The overseer not opening his teeth stretched his lips into a sort of
smile, but did not alter his expression.

"Very well."

"Send him to me."

"Very well." And Yégor Mikhaïlovitch went to his office.


[Footnote 1: Most of the serfs in Russia were attached to the land, and
could not be sold apart from It. Others, called _dvoróvui,_ constituted
the class of domestic servants, and plied various trades. Their owners
gave them monthly rations or a small allowance for rations. Often they
were allowed to go to the large cities on _obrok,_ a sort of leave of
absence, for which they paid their masters out of their earnings. The
_bárin_ or _báruin'ya--_that is, the lord or lady of the estate--had
the right to excuse any one from the conscription; but unless a
substitute were sent, a sum of money was required. Other things being
equal, the draft was made first on families where there were three
or more grown-up men besides the head of the house, the _troïniki;_
next, on the _dvoïniki,_ families where there were two grown-up sons
or nephews; and last of all, where there was only one. Families where
several generations, and even with collateral branches, lived under one
roof, were apt to be more prosperous than when the sous scattered, and
took separate farms.]

[Footnote 2: _mir_]

[Footnote 3: _stárosta tserkovnui,_ a small office, giving the man the
privilege of selling candles, etc.]



II.


Polikéï, as a man of no consequence, and inclined to be disreputable,
and moreover as being from another village, had no one to look out for
his interests, neither the housekeeper nor the butler, neither the
overseer nor the housemaid. And his _corner,_ where he lived with his
wife and five children, was as wretched as it could be. The _corners_
had been arranged by the late lamented bárin as follows: The hut was
about twenty feet long, and built of stone; in the middle stood the
great Russian stove; around it ran a corridor, as the servants called
it; and in each corner a room was partitioned off by boards. Of course
there was not much room, especially in Polikéï's _corner_ which was
next the door. The nuptial couch, with quilted counterpane and chintz
pillows; a cradle with a baby in it; a three-legged table which served
for cooking, washing, piling up all the household utensils, and as a
work-table for Polikéï, who was a horse-doctor; tubs, clothes, hens,
a calf, and the seven members of the household,--occupied the corner;
and there would mot have been room to move, had it not been that the
common stove offered its share of room (though even this was covered
with things and human beings), and that it was possible to get out upon
the door-steps. It was not always possible, if you stop to think: in
October it begins to grow cold, and there was only one warm sheep-skin
garment for the whole family. And so the young children were obliged
to get warm by running about, and the older ones by working and taking
turns in climbing upon the big stove, where the temperature was as
high as ninety degrees. It must have been terrible to live in such
circumstances, but they did not find it so: they were able to get along.

Akulína did the washing and mending for her husband and children;
she spun and wove and bleached her linen; she cooked and baked at
the common stove, and scolded and quarrelled with her neighbors. The
monthly rations sufficed not only for the children, but also for the
feed of the cow. The firewood was plentiful, also fodder for the
cattle; and hay from the stable fell to their share. They had an
occasional bunch of vegetables. The cow would give them a calf; then
they had their hens. Polikéï had charge of the stable: he took care of
the young colts, and bled horses and cattle; he cleaned their hoofs, he
tapped varicose veins, and made a salve of peculiar virtue, and this
brought him in some money and provisions. Some of the oats belonging
to the estate also made their way into his possession: in the village
there was a man who regularly once a month, for two small measures,
gave twenty pounds of mutton.

It would have been easy for them to get along, had there not been moral
suffering. But this suffering was severe for the whole family. Polikéï
had been from childhood in a stable, in another village. The groom who
had charge of him was the worst thief in the neighborhood; the Commune
banished him to Siberia. Polikéï soon began to follow this groom's
example, and thus became from early youth accustomed to these _little
tricks,_ so that afterward, when he would have been glad to break loose
from the habit, he could not.

He was young and weak; his father and mother were dead, and his
education had been neglected. He liked to get drunk, but he did not
like to see things lying round loose: whether it were ropes or saddle,
lock or coupling-bolt, or any thing even more costly, no matter, it
found its way into Polikéï's possession. Everywhere were men who
would take these things, and pay for them in wine or money according
to agreement. Money gained this way comes easy, the people say: no
learning is needed, no hard work, nothing; and if you try it once, you
won't like other work. One thing is, however, not good in such labors:
however cheaply and easily things are acquired in this way, and however
pleasant life becomes, still there is danger that disaffected people
may suddenly object to your profession, and cause you tears, and make
your life unhappy.

This was what happened in Polikéï's case. He got married, and God gave
him great happiness: his wife, the daughter of a herder, proved to be
a healthy, bright, industrious woman. Their children came in quick
succession. Polikéï had not entirely abandoned his trade, and all went
well. Suddenly temptation came to him, and he fell; and it was a mere
trifle that caused his fall. He secreted a pair of leather reins that
belonged to a muzhík. He was detected, thrashed, taken to the mistress,
and afterwards watched. A second time, a third time, he fell. The
people began to make complaints. The overseer threatened to send him
to the army; the lady of the house expostulated; his wife wept, and
began to pine away: in fact, every thing went entirely wrong. As a man,
he was kindly, and not naturally bad, but weak; he loved to drink,
and he had such a strong taste for it, that he could not resist. His
wife would scold him and even beat him when he came in drunk, but he
would weep. "Wretched man that I am," he would say, "what shall I do?
Tear out my eyes. I will swear off, I won't do it again." But lo! in a
month's time he goes out, gets drunk, and is not seen for two days.

"Where on earth does he get the money to go on sprees?" the people
asked themselves. His latest escapade was in the matter of the
office-clock. In the office there was an old clock hanging on the wall.
It had not gone for years. Polikéï got into the office alone when it
happened to be unlocked. He took a fancy to the clock, carried it off,
and disposed of it in town. Not long afterward it happened that the
shop-keeper, to whom he sold it, came out on some holiday to visit his
daughter, who was married to one of the house-servants; and he happened
to mention the clock. An investigation was made, though it was hardly
necessary. The overseer especially disliked Polikéï. The theft was
traced to him. They laid the matter before the lady of the house. The
lady of the house summoned Polikéï. He fell at her feet, and, with
touching contrition, confessed every thing as his wife had counselled
him to do. He accomplished it admirably. The lady began to reason with
him. She talked and she talked, she lectured and she lectured, about
God and duty and the future life, and about his wife, and about his
children; and she affected him to tears. The lady said,--

"I will forgive you, only promise me that you will never do it again."

"Never in the world. May the earth swallow me, may I be torn in
pieces!" said Polikéï; and he wept in a touching manner.

Polikéï went home, and at home wept all day like a calf, and lay on
the stove. From that time forth Polikéï had conducted himself in a way
above reproach. But his life ceased to be happy. The people regarded
him as a thief; and now that the hour of conscription had come, all
felt that it was a good way to get rid of him.

Polikéï was a horse-doctor, as we have already said. How he so suddenly
developed into a horse-doctor, was a mystery to every one, and to
himself most of all. In the stable where he had been with the groom who
had been exiled to Siberia, he had fulfilled no other duty than that of
clearing manure out of the stalls, or occasionally currying the horses,
and carrying water. It was not there that he could have learned it.
Then he became a weaver; then he worked in a garden, cleared paths;
then he got leave of absence, and became a porter[4] for a merchant.
But he could not have got any practice there. But when he was last
at home, somehow or other, little by little, his reputation began to
spread for having an extraordinary, if not even supernatural, knowledge
of the ailments of horses.

He let blood two or three times; then he tripped up a horse, and made
an incision in its fetlock; then he asked to have the horse brought
to a stall, and began to cut her with a needle until the blood came,
although she kicked, and even squealed: and he said that this was
meant "to let the blood out from under the hoof." Then he explained to
a muzhík that it was necessary to bleed the veins in both frogs "for
greater comfort," and he began to strike his wooden mallet upon the
blunt lancet. Then under the side of the dvornik's horse he twisted a
bandage made of a woman's kerchief. Finally he began to scatter oil
of vitriol over the whole wound, wet it from a bottle, and to give
occasionally something to take internally, as it occurred to him. And
the more he tormented and killed the poor horses, the more people
believed in him, and brought him their horses to cure.

I think that it is pot quite seemly of us gentlemen to make sport of
Polikéï. The remedies which he employed to stimulate belief in him
were the very same which were efficacious for our fathers, and will
be efficacious for us and our children. The muzhík, as he held down
the head of his one mare, which not only constituted his wealth, but
was almost a part of his family, and watched, with both confidence and
terror, Polikéï's face marked by a consequential frown, and his slender
hands, with the sleeves rolled up, with which he managed always to
pinch the very places that were most tender, and boldly to hack the
living body with the secret thought, "Now here's to luck," and making
believe that he knew where the blood was, and where the matter, where
was the dry and where was the fluid vein, and holding the handkerchief
of healing or the phial of sulphuric acid,--this muzhík could not
imagine such a thing as Polikéï raising his hand to cut without the
requisite knowledge. He himself could not have done such a thing. And,
as soon as the incision was made, he did not reproach himself because
he had hacked unnecessarily.

I don't know how it is with you; but I have had experience with a
doctor who, at my own request, treated people who were very dear to
my heart in almost exactly the same way. The veterinary lancet and
the mysterious white phial with corrosive sublimate, and the words,
"_apoplexy, hemorrhoids, blood-letting, pus,_" and so forth, are
they so different from "_nerves, rheumatism, organism,_" and the
others? _Wage du zu irren und zu träumen,--_"dare to be in error and
to dream,"--was said not only to poets, but to doctors and veterinary
surgeons.


[Footnote 4: _dvornik._]



III.


On that very evening, while the elders had come together at the office
to settle upon a recruit, and while their voices were heard amid the
chill darkness of the October night, Polikéï was sitting upon the
edge of his bed at the table, and was triturating in a bottle some
veterinary medicament, the nature of which he himself knew not. It was
a mixture of corrosive sublimate, sulphur, Glauber's salts, and grass,
which he was compounding, under some impression that this grass was
good for broken wind and other ailments.

The children were already abed; two on the stove, two on the couch,
one in the cradle, beside which sat Akulína with her spinning. The
candle-end, which remained from some of his mistress's that had not
been properly put away, and Polikéï had taken care of, stood in a
wooden candlestick on the window; and in order that her husband might
not be disturbed in his important task, Akulína got up to snuff the
candle with her fingers. There were conceited fellows who considered
Polikéï as a worthless horse-doctor, and a worthless man. Others--and
they were in the majority--considered him worthless as a man, but a
great master of his calling. Akulína, notwithstanding the fact that
she often berated and even beat her husband, considered him beyond a
peradventure the first horse-doctor and the first man in the world.

Polikéï poured into the hollow of his hand some spice. (He did not use
scales, and he spoke ironically of the Germans who used scales. "This,"
he would say, "is not an apothecary-shop.") Polikéï hefted the spice in
his hand, and shook it up; but it seemed to him too little in quantity,
and, for the tenth time, he added more. "I will put it all in, it will
have a better effect," he said to himself. Akulína quickly looked
up as she heard the voice of her lord and master, expecting orders;
but seeing that it was nothing that concerned her, she shrugged her
shoulders. "Ho! great chemist! Where did he learn it all?" she thought
to herself, and again took up her work. The paper from which the spice
was taken fell under the table. Akulína did not let this pass.

"Aniutka!"[5] she cried, "here, your father has dropped something: come
and pick it up."

Aniutka stuck out her slender bare legs from under the dress that
covered her, and, like a kitten, crept under the table, and picked up
the paper.

"Here it is, papa," said she, and again plunged into the bed with her
cold feet.

"Stop pushing me," whimpered her younger sister, in a sleepy voice,
hissing her _s_'s.

"I'll give it to you," said Akulína, and both heads disappeared under
the wrapper.

"If he will pay three silver rubles," muttered Polikéï, shaking the
bottle, "I will cure his horse. Cheap enough," he added. "I've racked
my brains for it. Come now, Akulína, go and borrow some tobacco of
Nikíta. We will pay it back to-morrow."

And Polikéï drew from his trousers a linden-wood pipe, that had once
been painted, and that had sealing-wax for a mouthpiece, and began to
put it in order.

Akulína pushed aside her flax-wheel, and went out without a word of
reply, though it was a struggle for her. Polikéï opened the cupboard,
put away his bottle, and applied to his mouth an empty jug. But the
vodka was all gone. He scowled; but when his wife brought him the
tobacco, and he had lighted his pipe, and began to smoke, sitting on
the couch, his face gleamed with complacency and the pride that a man
feels when he has ended his day's work.

He was even thinking how, on the morrow, he would seize the tongue of
a horse, and pour into her mouth that marvellous mixture, or he was
ruminating on the fact of how a man of importance met with no refusals,
as was proved by Nikíta sending him the tobacco; and the thought was
pleasant to him. Suddenly the door, which swung upon one hinge, was
flung open; and into the room came a girl from the _upper_ house,--not
the second girl, but a small damsel employed to run of errands.
(Everybody calls the manor-house _upper,_ even though it may be built
on a lower level.) Aksintka, as the damsel was called, always flew like
lightning; and on this account her arms were not folded, but swung
like pendulums, in proportion to the swiftness of her motions, not by
her side, but in front of her body. Her cheeks were always redder than
her pink dress; her tongue always ran as swiftly as her legs. She flew
into the room, and holding by the stove, for some reason or other, she
began to wave her arms; and as though she wished to utter not less than
two or three words at once, and scarcely stopping to get breath, she
suddenly broke out as follows, addressing Akulína:--

"Our lady bids Polikéï Ilyitch to come up to the house this
minute,--she does. [Here she stopped, and drew a long breath.]
Yégor Mikháltch was at the house, and talked with our lady about the
_n_ecruits; and they've took Polikéï Ilyitch.... Avdót'ya Mikolávna
bids you come up this very minute.... Avdót'ya Mikolávna bids you
[again a long breath] come up this minute."

For thirty seconds Aksiutka stared at Polikéï, at Akulína, at the
children, who were asleep under the wrapper; then she seized a
hazel-nut shell that was rolling around on the stove, and threw it at
Aniutka, and once more repeating, "Come up this minute," flew like
a whirlwind out of the room; and the pendulums, with their wonted
quickness, outstripped the course of her feet.

Akulína got up again, and fetched her husband his boots. The boots were
soiled and ripped: they had been made for a soldier. She took down from
the stove a kaftan, and handed it to him without looking at him.

"Ilyitch, are you going to change your shirt?"

"Nay," said Polikéï.

Akulína did not look into his face once while he silently put on his
boots and coat, and she did well not to look at him. Polikéï's face was
pale, his chin trembled, and in his eyes there came that expression of
deep and submissive unhappiness, akin to tears, peculiar to weak and
kindly men who have fallen into sin. He brushed his hair, and was about
to go. His wife kept him back, and arranged his shirt-band, which hung
below his cloak, and straightened his cap.

"Say, Polikéï Ilyitch, what does the mistress want of you?" said the
voice of the joiner's wife on the other side of the partition.

The joiner's wife had, that very morning, been engaged in a warm
dispute with Akulína, in regard to a pot of lye which Polikéï's
children had spilt; and, at the first moment, she was glad to hear
that Polikéï was summoned to the mistress. It could not be for any
thing good. Moreover, she was a sharp, shrewd, and shrewish woman. No
one understood better than she how to use her tongue; at least, so she
herself thought.

"It must be that they are going to send you to the city to be a
merchant," she continued. "I suppose they want to get a trusty man, and
so will send you. You must sell me then some tea for a quarter, Polikéï
Ilyitch."

Akulína restrained her tears, and her lips took on an expression of
bitter anger, as though she would have wound her fingers in the untidy
hair of that slattern, the joiner's wife; but when she glanced at
her children, and thought that they might be left orphans, and she a
soldier's widow, she forgot the shrewish joiner's wife, covered her
face with her hands, sat down on the bed, and leaned her head on the
pillow.

"Mámuska, you are squeesing me," cried the little girl who hissed her
s's, and she pulled away her dress from under her mother's elbow.

"I wish you were all of you dead! You were born for misfortune," cried
Akulína; and she began to walk up and down the _corner,_ wailing, much
to the delight of the joiner's wife, who had not yet forgotten about
the lye.


[Footnote 5: Peasant diminutive for Anna.]



IV.


A half-hour passed by. The baby began to cry. Akulína took him, and
gave him the breast. She was no longer weeping; but resting her thin,
tear-stained face on her hand, she fixed her eyes on the flickering
candle, and asked herself why she had got married, and why so many
soldiers were needed, and, still more, how she might pay back the
joiner's wife.

Her husband's steps were heard; she wiped away the traces of the tears,
and got up to light his way. Polikéï came in with an air of triumph,
threw his hat on the bed, drew a long breath, and began to take off his
clothes.

"Well, what was it? why did she call you?"

"Hm! a good reason! Polikushka is the lowest of men; but, when there is
something needed, who is called on? Polikushka!"

"What is it?"

Polikéï did not make haste to reply: he smoked his pipe, and kept
spitting.

"She wants me to go to the merchant, and get her money."

"Get her money!" repeated Akulína.

Polikéï grinned and nodded.

"How well she knows how to talk! 'You had,' says she, 'the reputation
of being untrustworthy, but I have more faith in you than in any one
else. [Polikéï raised his voice so that his neighbors might hear.]
'You promised me to reform,' says she, 'and here is the first proof
that I believe in you: go,' says she, 'to the merchant, get some money
for me, and bring it back.' And says I, 'My lady,' says I, 'we be all
your slaves, and it be our duty to serve you as faithfully as we serve
God, and so I feel that I can do every thing for your well-being,
because I owe it to you, and I could not refuse no service; so,
whatever you order, that I will perform, because I be your slave.'
[He again smiled with that peculiar smile of a man who is weak, but
good-natured, and has been guilty of some sin.] 'And so,' says she,
'will you do this faithfully? Do you understand,' says she, 'that your
fate depends upon this?'--'How can I help comprehending that I can do
it? People may slander me, and any one may fall into sin; but it would
be a moral impossibility for me do any thing contrary to your interest,
nor even think of it.' So, you see, I talked to her till my lady was
just as soft as wax. 'You will be,' says she, 'my principal man.' [He
was quiet for a moment, and again the same smile played over his face.]
I know very well how to talk with her. When I used to go on leave of
absence, I got practice in talking. Only let me talk with 'em, I make
'em just like silk."

"Much money?" asked Akulína.

"Fifteen hundred rubles," replied Polikéï carelessly.

She shook her head.

"When do you go?"

"To-morrow, she said. 'Take a horse,' says she, 'any one you wish, come
to the office, and God be with you.'"

"Glory to thee, O Lord!" exclaimed Akulína, getting up and crossing
herself. "God be thy help, Ilyitch," she added in a whisper, so as not
to be heard beyond the partition, and holding him by the sleeve of his
shirt. "Ilyitch, heed what I say; I will pray Christ the Lord, that you
go in safety. Kiss the cross, that you will not take a drop into your
mouth."

"But of course I am not going to drink, when I have all that money
with me!" he said with a snort. "Some one was playing there on the
piano,--handsomely, my!" he added, after a silence breaking into a
laugh. "It must have been the young lady. I was standing right before
her, near the _shiffonere--_that is, before her ladyship; but the young
lady was there behind the door, pounding away. She bangs and she bangs
so harmoniously--like--She just makes it sing, I tell you! I should
like to play a little, that's a fact. I'd have liked to gone in just
for once. I am just right for such things. To-morrow give me a clean
shirt."

And they went to bed happy.



V.


Meantime the office was buzzing with the voices of the muzhíks. It was
no laughing matter. Almost all the muzhíks were in the meeting; and
while Yégor Mikháïlovitch was conferring with her ladyship, the men
put on their hats, more voices began to be heard above the general
conversation, and the voices became louder.

The murmur of many voices, occasionally interrupted by some eager,
heated discourse, filled the air; and this murmur, like the sound of
the roaring sea, came to the ears of the lady of the house, who felt at
hearing it a nervous unrest analogous to the feeling excited by a heavy
thunder-shower. It was neither terrible nor yet unpleasant to her. It
seemed to her that the voices kept growing louder and more turbulent,
and then some one person would make himself heard. "Why should it
be impossible to do every thing gently, peaceably, without quarrel,
without noise?" she said, "according to the sweet law of Christianity
and brotherly love?"

Many voices suddenly were heard together, but louder than all shouted
Feódor Rézun, the carpenter. He was a man who had two grown sons, and
he attacked the Dutlofs. The old man Dutlof spoke in his own defence;
he came out in front of the crowd, behind which he had been standing,
and spreading his arms wide and lifting up his beard spoke so rapidly,
in a choked voice, that it would have been hard for himself to know
what he was saying. His children and nephews, fine young fellows, stood
and pressed behind him; and the old man Dutlof reminded one of the one
who is the _old hen_ in the game of _Korshun,_[6] or "Hawk." Rézun was
the hawk; and not Rézun alone, but all those who had two sons, and all
the bachelors, almost all the meeting, in fact, united against Dutlof.
The trouble lay in this: Dutlofs brother had been sent as a soldier
thirty years before; and therefore he did not wish to be considered
as one of those who had three men in the family, but he desired his
brother's service to be taken into account, and that he should be
reckoned as one who had two grown assistants, and that the third
recruit should be taken from that set.

There were four families, besides Dutlofs, that had three able-bodied
men. But one was the village elder's, and his mistress had freed him
from service. From another family, a recruit had been taken at the last
conscription. From the other two families, two men had been already
nominated, and one of them had not come to the meeting; but his wife
stood, heavy at heart, in the very rear, anxiously hoping that somehow
the wheel would turn in favor of her happiness. The other of the two
nominees, the red-haired Román, in a torn cloak (though he was not
poor), stood leaning against the door-step, with downcast head; he said
nothing all the while, but occasionally looked up attentively when any
one spoke louder than usual, and then dropped his head again; and thus
his unhappiness was expressed in his whole appearance. The old man,
Sem'yón Dutlof, would have given the impression, even to these who knew
him slightly, that he had laid up hundreds and thousands of rubles. He
was dignified, God-fearing, substantial; he was, moreover, an elder of
the Church. So much the more striking was the chance in which he found
himself.

Rézun the carpenter was, on the contrary, a tall, dark, dissipated
man, quick to quarrel, and fond of speaking in meetings and in the
market-place, with workmen, merchants, muzhíks, or gentlemen. Now he
was calm and sarcastic, and with all the advantage of his stature, all
the force of his loud voice, and his oratorical talent, was nagging the
elder of the church, who was such a slip-shod speaker, and had been
driven far out of his path.

The others who took part in the discussion were as follows: The
round-faced, young-looking Garaska Kopilof, stocky, with a four-square
head, and curly beard; one of the speakers who imitated Rézun rather
than the younger generation, always distinguished for his bitter
speech, and already a man of weight in the meeting. Then Féodor
Melnitchnui, a tall, yellow, gaunt, round-shouldered muzhík, also
young, with thin hair and beard, and with small eyes; always prone to
anger, sour-tempered, ready to see every one's bad side, and frequently
embarrassing the meeting with his abrupt and unexpected questions and
remarks. Both of these speakers were on Rézun's side. Moreover, two
chatterers occasionally took part,--one who had a good-natured phiz,
and a large and bushy red beard; his name was Khrapkof, and he was
forever saying, "My dearly beloved friend:" and the other, Zhidkof, a
small man, with a bird-like face, who was also in the habit of saying,
"It follows, my brethren;" he kept turning to all sides, and his words
were without rhyme or reason. One of these two took one side, the
other the other; but no one heeded what they said. There were others
like them; but these two kept moving in and out in the crowd, shouted
more than anybody else, disturbing the mistress, were listened to less
than anybody else, and, being confused by the racket and shouting,
found full satisfaction in talking nonsense.

There were many different characters in this group of peasants: some
were morose, some courteous, some indifferent, some disputatious;
there were also a few women behind the muzhíks, with sticks. But
about all these I will tell some other time, as God shall give. The
throng consisted, for the most part, however, of muzhíks, who behaved
during the meeting as though it were church, and standing in the rear
talked in a whisper about their domestic affairs, exchanging views,
for instance, about the best time for beginning to cut their wood, or
quietly hoped that they soon adjourn the meeting. And then there were
some well-to-do men, whose comfort the meeting could not benefit or
curtail. To this number belonged Yermil, with his broad, shiny face,
whom the muzhíks called "big-belly" because he was rich. To this number
also belonged Starostin, on whose face a self-satisfied expression of
power was habitual: "Say whatever you please among yourselves, but I
am safe enough. I have four sons, but you won't take any of them."
Occasionally, the opinionated young orators, like Kopilof or Rézun,
would have a fling at them; and they would reply, but calmly and
decidedly in the consciousness of their unassailable position.

However much Dutlof was like the old hen in the game of "Hawk," it
could not be said that his lads were like the chickens. They did not
hop about nor scream, but stood calmly behind him. The oldest, Ignat,
was now thirty years old; the second, Vasíli, was already married, but
was not old enough to come under the conscription; the third, Ilyushka,
the nephew who had just been married, had a red and white complexion,
and was dressed in an elegant sheepskin coat (he was a driver[7] by
profession); he stood gazing at the people, occasionally scratching the
back of his head under the cap, as though the affair did not concern
him at all any more than if it were the game of "Hawk."

"Because my grandfather went as a soldier," Rézun was saying, "that's
no reason why I should refuse the lot. Friends, it is no kind of a law
at all. At the last conscription they took Mikhéichef, and his uncle is
still in the service."

"Neither your father nor your uncle ever served the Tsar both at once,"
said Dutlof, "and you never served gentlemen nor the Commune; but
you've always been a tippler, and your children take after you. It's
impossible to live with you, and yet you point out other men. But for
ten years I have been police-commissioner,[8] and I have been elder,
and twice I have been burnt out, and no one ever helped me; and is it
because we live peaceably at our place, ay and honorably, that I am to
be ruined? Give me back my brother. He died there, didn't he? Judge
right, judge according to God's law, O orthodox Commune! and do not
listen to the lies of that drunkard."

At this instant Gerásim said to Dutlof,--

"You refer to your brother. But he was not sent by the Commune, but the
master sent him because of his good-for-nothingness; so he's no excuse
for you."

Gerásim had no chance to say another word, for the tall, yellow Feódor
Melnitchnui leaning forward began to speak in a gloomy tone:--

"Well, masters send whomever they please; then let the Commune make the
best of it. The Commune tells your son to go; and if you don't like it,
ask the mistress: she has the right to command me or any of my children
to wear the uniform. A fine law!" said he bitterly; and, again waving
his hand, took his former place.

The red-haired Román, whose son had been drafted, lifted his head, and
said, "That's so, that's so," and sat down morosely on the step.

But there were many other voices that also joined suddenly in the
hubbub. Besides those who stood in the background and talked about
their affairs, there were the babblers, who did not forget their duty.

"Certainly, O orthodox Commune," said the little Zhidkof, slightly
varying Dutlofs words, "it is necessary to decide according to
Christianity; according to Christianity, my brethren, it is necessary
to decide."

"It is necessary to decide on our consciences, my dearly beloved
friend," said the good-natured Khrapkof, slightly varying Kopilof's
words, and taking hold of Dutlofs sheepskin coat; "it is according to
the will of our lady, and not the decision of the Commune."

"Indeed, how is that?" exclaimed several.

"What's that drunken fellow barking about?" retorted Rézun. "Did you
get me drunk, or was it your son whom they have found rolling round
in the road, and does he dare to fling at me about drink? I tell you,
brethren, we must act more wisely. If you want to let Dutlof off,
though he is not of those who have two grown men, then name some one
who has only one son; but he will laugh at us."

"Let Dutlof go. What's to be said?"

"Of course. We must cast lots for the men of large family[9] first,"
said several voices.

"Just as the mistress commands. Yégor Mikháiluitch said she wanted to
send one of the household servants," said some one's voice.

This observation raised a great hubbub; but it quickly subsided, and
single individuals again got the floor.

Ignat, who, according to Rerun's remark, had been found drunk in the
street, began to accuse Rézun of having stolen a saw of some passing
carpenter, and of having beaten his wife almost to death during a
drunken spree.

Rézun replied that he beat his wife when he was sober as well as when
he was drunk, and very little anyway; and this made every one laugh.
Referring to the saw he suddenly lost his temper, and pressing nearer
to Ignat began to question him:--

"Who was it stole the saw?"

"You did," replied the strong Ignat, boldly advancing still nearer to
him.

"Who stole it? Wasn't it yourself?"

"No, you!" screamed Ignat.

After the saw, they disputed about the stealing of a horse, then of
some bags of oats, then of some vegetables from the fields, then of
some dead body. And such strange things both muzhíks said of each
other, that if the hundredth part of their mutual charges had been
true, it would have been incumbent on the authorities according to law
to send both of them instanter to Siberia at the least.

Dutlof meantime sought another kind of protection. His son's outburst
had not been pleasing to him; in order to restrain him he said, "It's a
sin! it's no use, I tell you." And he himself went to work to show that
the men whose sons lived under the same roof with their fathers were no
more to be put in the category of those liable to the subscription than
those whose sons lived on separate farms: and he referred to Stárostin.

Stárostin smiled slightly, gave a snort, and, stroking his beard after
the manner of the well-to-do muzhík, he replied that it was as it
seemed fit to her ladyship; his son would go, of course, if she ordered
him to go.

As regarded divided families, Gerásim also demolished Dutlofs
arguments, remarking that it was far better not to allow families to
live apart, as it had been in the time of the old bárin; that "at the
end of summer it isn't the time to get strawberries" (that is, it was
too late to talk about it); that now it wasn't the time to send those
who were the sole protection of their families.

"Do we set up separate establishments just for the fun of it? Why
shouldn't we get some advantage for it?" asked some of those who had
left their fathers' houses; and the babblers took the same side.

"Well, hire a substitute if you don't like it. You can afford it," said
Rézun to Dutlof.

Dutlof in despair buttoned up his kaftan, and turned to the other
muzhíks.

"You seem to know a good deal about my affairs," he replied viciously.
"Here comes Yégor with word from the mistress."


[Footnote 6: A game somewhat like "snap the whip."]

[Footnote 7: _yamshchík._]

[Footnote 8: _sotsky,_ centurion; an officer chosen by the Commune.]

[Footnote 9: _troïniki:_ a peasant family with _three_ able-bodied
men.]



VI.


In fact, Yégor Mikhaïlovitch at this moment came out of the house. The
peasants one after another removed their hats, and, as the overseer
advanced, there were exposed one after another heads in various stages
of baldness, and shocks of white, _gray,_ black, red, or blond hair;
and little by little, little by little, the voices were hushed, and
finally there was perfect silence. The overseer stood on the step, and
made it evident that he had something to say.

Yégor Mikhaïlovitch, in his long frock coat, with his hands negligently
thrust into his pockets, with his factory-made uniform cap pushed well
forward, and standing firmly, with his legs set wide apart, on a height
looking down upon all these faces lifted and turned to him, faces for
the most part dignified with age, and for the most part handsome and
full-bearded, had an entirely different mien from that which he wore in
presence of his mistress. He was majestic.

"Well, boys, here's the mistress's message: she is not willing to let
any of the household servants go, and whoever among you you may see
fit to send will have to go. This time three are required. At present
accounts the matter is five-sixths settled; now there's only half a
choice left. But it makes no difference: put it off till another time
if you don't want to decide to-day."

"Now's the time! let's have it settled," cried several voices.

"In my opinion," continued Yégor Mikhaïlovitch, "if Khoriushkin and
Mitiukhin's Vaska go, it will be in accordance with the will of God."

"That's a fact, true enough," cried a number of voices.

"For the third we shall have to send either Dutlof, or from one of the
families where there are two grown sons."

"Dutlof, Dutlof," echoed the voices. "Dutlof has three."

And again, little by little, little by little, the din began, and
again recriminations flew about in regard to vegetables taken from the
fields, and things stolen from the manor-house. Yégor Mikhaïlovitch had
been manager of the estate now for twenty years, and was a man of sense
and experience. He stood in silence for fifteen minutes and listened;
then he suddenly commanded all to be silent, and bade Dutlof cast lots
as to which of his family should go. They cast the lots into a cap, and
when it had been well shaken Khrapkof drew from it. The lot fell to
Ilyushkin. All were silent.

"So it's mine, is it? Let me see," said the nephew in a broken voice.

All looked on in silence. Yégor Mikhaïlovitch commanded to bring on the
next day the conscription money, seven kopeks for each peasant farm,
and, explaining that all the business was now at an end, adjourned
the meeting. The crowd moved away, putting on their caps, as they
went around the house with a noise of voices and shuffling steps. The
overseer stood on the doorstep, gazing after the departing people. When
the young Dutlofs had gone out of sight, he called the old man who had
remained behind, and the two went into the office.

"I am sorry for you, old man," said the overseer, sitting down in an
arm-chair by the table. "It was your turn though. Will you hire a
substitute for your nephew, or not?"

The old man without replying looked earnestly at the overseer.

"You won't let him go?" queried the overseer in reply to his look.

"We'd gladly buy him off, but haven't any thing, Yégor Mikhaïlovitch.
Lost two horses this summer. I have just got my nephew married. You
see, it's our luck, just because we've lived decently. Fine for him to
talk as he did." (The old man referred to Rézun.)

The overseer rubbed his face with his hand, and yawned. It was getting
tiresome to him, and besides it was tea-time.

"Well, old man, don't be blue," said he; "but just dig in your cellar,
and perhaps you can find enough to make up four hundred silver rubles.
I will hire you a substitute. A few days ago a man offered himself."

"What! in the _government_?" asked Dutlof, meaning by "government" the
chief city.

"Well, will you hire him?"

"I'd be glad to, but, before God, I"--

The overseer looked at him sternly.

"Now, you just listen to me, old man: don't let Ilyushka do any harm to
himself; when I send to-night or to-morrow, have him come immediately.
You bring him, and you shall be answerable for him; and if any thing
happens to him, God be my witness, I will take your oldest son. Do you
hear?"

"But couldn't they have taken some one else, Yégor Mikháiluitch?" he
said in an aggrieved tone after a short silence; "because my brother
died in the army, must they take his son also? Why should such luck
come to me?" he added, almost weeping, and ready to get on his knees.

"Now, hold on, hold on!" said the overseer. "There's no need of
any trouble; it's my orders. You look out for your nephew; you're
responsible for him."

Dutlof went home, carefully helping himself with his cane over the
irregularities of the road.



VII.


On the next day, early in the morning, there was drawn up before the
door of the _wing_ a travelling carriage (the one which the overseer
generally used), with a wide-tailed brown gelding called, for some
inscrutable reason, Barabán, or the drum. At a safe distance from his
head stood Aniutka, Polikéï's oldest daughter, barefoot, in spite of
the rain and sleet, and the cold wind, holding the bridle in one hand
with evident terror, and protecting her own head with a yellow-green
jacket, which fulfilled in the family the manifold functions of dress,
sheepskin, head-dress, carpet, overcoat for Polikéï, and many other
uses besides.

In the _corner_ a tumult was let loose. It was still dark. The morning
light, ushering in a rainy day, fell through the window, the broken
panes of which were in places mended with pieces of paper.

Akulína, who was up betimes to get ready for breakfast, and her
children, the younger of whom were not yet up, were shivering with
cold, as their covering had been taken from them for Aniutka's use,
and they had only their mother's kerchief for protection. Akulína was
busily engaged in getting her husband started on his journey. His shirt
was clean. His boots, which, as they say, were asking _for gruel,_
caused her the greatest labor. In the first place, she took off her own
long woollen stockings, and gave them to her spouse; next, out of the
saddle-cloth which had been _lying round_ in the stable, and Ilyitch
had brought into the hut a few days before, she managed to make some
insoles and lining, so as to stop up the holes, and protect Ilyitch's
feet from the dampness. Ilyitch himself, sitting with his feet on
the bed, was busy in turning his belt so that it might not have the
appearance of a dirty rope. The cross little girl who hissed her s's,
wearing a sheepskin, which not only covered her head, but protected her
legs, had been sent to Nikíta to borrow a cap.

The hubbub was increased by the household servants, who came to ask
Ilyitch to do errands for them in the city: to buy a needle for one
woman, tea for another, olive-oil for another; tobacco for this muzhík,
and sugar for the joiner's wife, who had already made haste to set up
her samovar, and in order to bribe Ilyitch had asked him to share in
the concoction which she called tea.

Although Nikíta refused to loan his cap, and he was obliged to put his
own in order, that is to say, to fasten on the shreds of wool that were
falling off or hanging by a thread, and to sew up the holes with his
veterinary needle; though he could not get on his boots with the felt
insoles made out of the saddle-cloth; though Aniutka had got so chilled
that she let Barabán go, and Mashka, in her sheepskin, went in her
place; and then Mashka was obliged to give her father the sheepskin,
and Akulína herself went to hold Barabán,--still at last Ilyitch
managed to get dressed, making use of all the clothing that appertained
to his family, and leaving only the one jacket and some dirty rags,
and, now in spick and span order, took his seat in the telyéga, bundled
himself up, arranged the hay, once more bundled himself up, picked up
the reins, bundled himself up still more warmly, just as is done by
very dignified people, and drove off.

His small boy Mishka rushing down the steps asked to be taken on. The
sibilating Mashka began to ask for "a _l_ide," and would be "warm
enough, even if she hadn't any seepskin;"[10] and Polikéï reined in the
horse, smiled his ineffectual smile, and Akulína helped the children to
get in, and, bending close, whispered to him to remember his promise,
and not drink any thing on the road. Polikéï carried the children as
far as the blacksmith-shop, helped them out, again tucked himself in,
again settled his cap, and drove off alone in a slow, dignified trot,
his fat cheeks shaking, and his feet thumping on the floor of the wagon.

Mashka and Mishka, both barefooted, flew home down the little hill with
such fleetness, and with such a noise, that a dog running from the
village to the manor gazed after them, and, suddenly casting his tail
between his legs, fled home with a yelp; so that the noise made by the
Polikushka hopefuls was increased tenfold.

The weather was wretched, the wind was cutting; and something that was
neither snow nor rain, nor _yet_ sleet, began to lash Polikéï's face,
and his bare hand with which he grasped the reins, protected as well
as possible by the sleeve of his cloak; and it rattled on the leather
cover of the horse-collar, and on the head of old Barabán, who lay back
his ears, and blinked his eyes.

Then suddenly if stopped, and lighted up for an instant; the form of
the dark purple snow-clouds became clearly visible; and the sun, as it
were, prepared to glance forth, but irresolutely and gloomily, like
Polikéï's own smile.

Nevertheless, the son of Ilya was absorbed in pleasant thoughts.
He,--a man whom they thought of exiling, whom they threatened with
the conscription, whom no one except the lazy spared either abuse or
blows, whom they always saddled with the most unpleasant jobs,--he was
now going to collect a _sum o'_ money, and a big sum; and he had his
mistress's confidence; and he was driving in the overseer's wagon with
Barabán, his mistress's own horse; and he was driving like some rich
householder, with leather tugs and reins. And Polikéï straightened
himself up, smoothed the wool on his cap, and once more bundled him up.

However, if Polikéï thought that he was like a rich householder, he
was greatly mistaken. Everybody knows that merchants who do a business
of ten thousand rubles ride in carriages with leather trappings. Well,
sometimes it's one way, and sometimes it's another. There comes a man
with a beard, in a blue or it may be a black kaftan, sitting alone
on the box behind a plump steed: as soon as you look at him and see
whether his horse is plump, whether he himself is plump, how he sits,
how his horse is harnessed, how the carriage shines, how he himself
is girdled, you know instantly whether he is a muzhík, who makes a
thousand or a hundred rubles' worth of sales. Every experienced man,
as soon as he looked closely at Polikéï, at his hands, at his face, at
his short neglected beard, at his girdle, at the hay spread carelessly
over the box, at the lean Barabán, at the worn tire, would have known
instantly that the rig belonged to a slave, and not a merchant, or
a drover, or a householder with a thousand or a hundred or even ten
rubles.

But Ilyitch did not realize this: he deceived himself, and deceived
himself pleasantly. Fifteen hundred rubles he will carry in his bosom.
It comes into his mind, that he might drive Barabán to _Odesta_
instead of home, and then go where God might give. But he will not do
that, but will certainly carry the money to his mistress, and it will
be said that no amount of money tempted him.

As he came near a tavern, Barabán began to tug on the left rein, to
slacken his pace, and to turn in; but Polikéï, in spite of the fact
that he had money in his pocket given him for various commissions, cut
Barabán with the knout, and drove by. The same thing took place at the
next tavern; and at noon he dismounted from the telyéga, and opening
the gate of the merchant's house, where the people from the estate
always put up, drove the team in, unharnessed the horse, and gave him
some hay, and ate his own dinner with the merchant's hired help, not
failing to make the most of his important errand; and then, with his
letter in his cap, betook himself to the gardener.

The gardener, who knew Polikéï, read the letter, and found it evidently
difficult to believe that he was really to deliver the money to the
bearer. Polikéï did his best to be offended, but was not able to
accomplish it; he only smiled his peculiar smile. The gardener re-read
the letter, and delivered the money. Polikéï placed the money in his
bosom, and went back to his lodgings. Not a beer-saloon, not a tavern,
nothing seduced him. He experienced a pleasant exhilaration in all
his being; and not once did he loiter at the shops where all sorts of
tempting wares were displayed,--boots, cloaks, caps. But as he walked
along slowly, he had the pleasant consciousness: "I could buy all these
things, but I'm not going to."

He went to the bazaar to execute his commissions, made them into a
bundle, and then tried to beat down the price of a tanned sheepskin
shuba, which was set at twenty-five rubles. The vender, looking
critically at Polikéï, did not believe that he had the money to buy it
with; but Polikéï pointed to his breast, saying that he had enough to
buy out his whole establishment if he wanted. He asked to try it on,
hesitated, pulled on it, crumpled it, blew the fur, kept it on long
enough to smell of it, then took it off with a sigh. "Unconscionable
price! If you would only let it go for fifteen rubles," he said. The
dealer angrily pulled the garment over the counter, but Polikéï went
out with a gay heart, and directed his steps to his lodgings. After
eating his supper, and giving Barabán his water and oats, he climbed up
on the stove, took out the envelope, and gazed at it long, and asked
the lettered porter[11] to read the address to him, and the words,
"with an enclosure of sixteen hundred and seventy paper rubles." The
envelope was made of simple paper; the seals were of dark brown wax
with the impression of an anchor; one large seal in the centre, four on
the edge. On one side, a drop of wax had fallen. Ilyitch looked at all
this, and fixed it in his memory, and even moved the sharp ends of the
notes. He experienced a certain childish satisfaction in knowing that
he held so much money in his hands. He put the envelope in the lining
of his cap, made the cap into a pillow, and lay down; but several times
during the night he woke up, and felt after the money. And every time,
finding the envelope in its place, he experienced the same pleasurable
feeling in the consciousness that he, the proscribed and ridiculed, was
carrying so much money, and was going to deliver it faithfully,--as
faithfully as the overseer himself.


[Footnote 10: _suba_ for _shuba._]

[Footnote 11: _dvornik._]



VIII.


About midnight the merchant's people and Polikéï were aroused by a
knocking at the gate and the shouting of muzhíks. It was the contingent
of recruits, whom they were bringing in from Pokrovskoé. There were
ten men in all: Khoriushkin, Mitiushkin, and Ilya, Dutlofs nephew,
two substitutes, the stárosta or elder, the old man Dutlof, and three
drivers. The night-lamp was burning in the house, and the cook was
asleep on the bench under the holy images. She sprang up, and began to
light the lamps. Polikéï also woke up, and bending down from the stove
tried to see who the muzhíks were.

Some of them came in, crossed themselves, and sat down on the bench.
They were all extremely quiet, so that it was impossible to make out
who belonged to the detachment. They greeted each other, jested, and
asked for something to eat. To be sure, some were silent and glum; on
the other hand, others were extraordinarily gay, and apparently the
worse for liquor. In this number was Ilya, who had never been drunk
before.

"Well, boys, are you going to have something to eat, or are you going
to bed?" asked the village elder.

"Have something to eat," replied Ilya, throwing back his sheepskin, and
sprawling out on the bench. "Send for some vodka."

"You've had enough vodka!" rejoined the elder shortly, and turned to
the others.... "Better lunch on some bread, boys, and not keep the
people sitting up."

"Give us some vodka," repeated Ilya, not looking at any one, and in a
tone of voice that made it evident that he was not going to be put off.

The muzhíks listened to the elder's advice, brought from the cart a
great loaf of bread, ate it up, asked for kvas,[12] and lay down to
sleep; some on the floor, some on the stove.

Ilya kept saying occasionally, "Give me vodka, I say, give me vodka."
Suddenly he caught sight of Polikéï. "Ilyitch--there's Ilyitch! you
here, dear old fellow! Here I am going as a soldier; said good-by to
mamma, and my wife,--how bad she felt! They made me a soldier.--Set up
some vodka!"

"No money," said Polikéï. "However, it's as God gives: maybe they'll
find you disqualified," he added in a comforting tone.

"No, brother, I have always been as sound as a birch: how could they
find me disqualified? How many soldiers more does the Tsar need?"

Polikéï began to relate a story of how a muzhík gave a bribe to a
_dokhter,_ and so escaped.

Ilya came up to the stove, and continued the conversation.

"No, Ilyitch, now it's done, and I myself don't want to get off. My
uncle didn't buy me off. Wouldn't they have bought themselves off? No,
he didn't want to spare his son, and he didn't want to spare his money;
and they sent me instead.... And now I don't want to get off. [He
spoke quietly, confidentially, under the influence of deep dejection.]
However, I'm sorry for mamma. And how the sweetheart took on! Yes, and
my wife--that's the way they kill the women. Now it's all over; I am a
soldier. Better not to have got married. Why did they make me marry?
To-morrow we go."

"Why did they take you away with short notice?" asked Polikéï "Nothing
had been said about it, and then suddenly" ...

"You see, they were afraid I should do something to myself," replied
Ilyushka smiling. "I wouldn't have done any thing, of course. I sha'n't
be ruined by going as a soldier; but I'm sorry for the old woman. Why
did they make me marry?" he repeated in a soft and melancholy tone.

The door opened, squeaking loudly, and the old man Dutlof, shaking the
wet from his hat, came into the room in his huge sabots, which fitted
his feet almost like canoes.

"Afanási," said he, crossing himself and addressing the porter,[13]
"isn't there some one to hold a lantern while I give the horses their
oats?"

Dutlof did not look at his nephew, but quietly busied himself with
making a candle-end burn. His glove and whip were thrust into his belt,
and his cloak was closely buttoned; he had just come with the baggage.
His ordinarily calm, peaceful, and thoughtful face was full of care.

Ilya, when he saw his uncle, stopped talking, again turned his eyes
gloomily toward the bench, and then addressing the stárosta said,--

"Give me some vodka, Yermil; I want something to drink."

His voice was angry and stern.

"This is no time for wine now," replied the stárosta, sipping his cup
of kvas.--"Don't you see the folks have gone to bed? What do you want
to make a disturbance for?"

The words "make a disturbance" apparently suggested to him the idea of
making a disturbance.

"Stárosta, I'll do myself some harm, if you don't give me some vodka."

"You'd better bring him to reason," said the stárosta to Dutlof, who
had now lighted the lantern, but stood listening to what was coming,
and looking askance with deep commiseration at his nephew, as though
wondering at his childishness.

Ilya, in a tone of desperation, repeated his threat,--

"Give me wine, or I'll do myself some harm."

"Don't, Ilya," said the stárosta gently, "please don't. It's better
not."

But these words had scarcely passed his lips ere Ilya leaped up,
smashed the window-pane with his fist, and screamed with all his might.

"You won't listen, here's for you," and darted for the other window to
smash that also.

Polikéï, in the twinkling of an eye, rolled over twice, and hid himself
in an angle of the stove, raising a panic among all the cockroaches.
The elder threw aside his cup, and hastened after Ilya. Dutlof slowly
put down the lantern, took off his girdle, clucked with his tongue,
shook his head, and went to Ilya, who was already struggling with the
elder and the porter, who tried to keep him from the window. They had
his hands behind his back, and held him tight apparently; but as soon
as he saw his uncle with the belt in his hand, tenfold strength was
given to him. He tore himself away, and, rolling his eyes in frenzy,
flung himself upon Dutlof with doubled fist.

"I'll kill you, don't you dare--You have ruined me! Why did you make me
marry? Don't you dare--I will kill you!"

Ilyushka was frantic. His face was purple, his eyes were wild, his
whole healthy young body trembled as in an ague. It seemed as if he
could and would kill all three of the muzhíks who were trying to subdue
him.

"You will shed your kinsman's blood, you blood-hound!"

Something passed over Dutlofs ever-calm face. He made a step forward.

"You'd better not do it," he said; and then, however he got his energy,
he threw himself with a quick motion on his nephew, rolled over with
him on the floor, and with the help of the elder, began to bind his
hands. Within five minutes they had him fast. At last Dutlof, with the
aid of the muzhíks, got up, tearing Ilya's hands from his sheepskin, in
which they were convulsively clutched, got up himself, and then carried
the young man, with his hands behind his back, to a bench in one corner
of the room.

"I said it would be worse," he remarked, getting his breath after the
struggle, and adjusting his shirt-band. "Why should he sin? We must
all die. Let him have a cloak for a pillow," he added, turning to the
dvornik; "the blood will run to his head" and, after girding himself
with a rope, he took his lantern, and went out to his horses.

Ilya with dishevelled locks, pale face, and disordered linen, glared
about the room as though he were trying to remember where he was. The
porter picked up the broken glass, and put a jacket in the window so
as to keep out the cold. The elder again sat down with his cup of kvas.

"Ay, Ilyúkha, Ilyúkha, I'm sorry for you, indeed I am. What's to be
done? Here's Khoriushkin, he's married too. No way of avoiding it."

"My uncle is my enemy, and he wants to kill me," reiterated Ilya with
tearless wrath. "Much he pities his own!... Mátushka said the overseer
told him to hire a substitute. He wouldn't do it. He says he wouldn't
borrow. Did I and my brother bring nothing into the house?... He is our
enemy."

Dutlof came into the house, said a prayer before the holy images, took
off his coat and hat, and sat down by the elder. The maid brought him
also a cup of kvas and a spoon. Ilya said nothing, shut his eyes, and
lay still on the cloak. The stárosta silently pointed to him, and shook
his head. Dutlof waved his hand.

"Am I not sorry to have him go? He's my own brother's son. And though
I pity him so, they make it out that I'm his enemy. His wife[14] put
it into his head; a crafty woman, but quite too young. The idea of her
thinking that we had money enough to hire a substitute! And so she
blamed me. And yet I'm sorry for him."

"Akh, he's a fine young fellow," said the stárosta.

"With my little means I couldn't do any thing for him. To-morrow I am
going to send Ignat in, and his wife will want to go."

"Send her along, first-rate," said the stárosta, and he got up and
mounted the stove. "What's money? Money's dust."

"Who would begrudge money if he had it?" asked one of the merchant's
people, lifting his head.

"Ekh! money, money! it causes many a sin," replied Dutlof. "Nothing
in the world causes so much sin as money, and it says so in the
Scriptures."

"It says every thing," said the porter. "A man told me the other day:
there was a merchant, he had made a lot of money, and he did not want
any of it to remain behind him. He loved his money so that he took it
with him into his tomb. He came to die, and ordered every penny that
he had to be put into a pillow in the grave with him. And so they did.
By and by his sons began to seek for his money. None anywhere. One of
them suspected that it was in the cushion. They go to the Tsar, and get
permission to dig it up. And what do you think? They discovered that
there was nothing there, but the grave was full of mould and worms; and
then they dig again, and there they find the money."

"Truly, much sin!" said Dutlof, and, standing up, he began to say his
prayers.

After he had prayed, he looked at his nephew. He was asleep. Dutlof
went to him, took off his belt, and then lay down. Another muzhík went
out to sleep with the horses.


[Footnote 12: A sort of beer made of rye-bread soaked in water and
fermented.]

[Footnote 13: _dvornik._]

[Footnote 14: _khozyáïka._]



IX.


As soon as all was quiet, Polikéï, like one engaged in some guilty
deed, quietly slipped down from the stove, and began to make ready to
depart. It somehow seemed to him a trying task to spend the night here
with the recruits. The cocks were already calling to each other.

Barabán had eaten all his oats, and was stretching after water. Ilyitch
harnessed him, and led him out past the teams of the muzhíks. His cap
with its precious contents was safe, and his carriage-wheels were soon
rolling anew over the frosty Pokrovskí road. Polikéï began to breathe
more easily as soon as he got out of the city. At first, somehow,
it seemed to him that he heard some one right behind him, following
him; it was as though they stopped him, and bound his hands behind
him instead of Ilya, and to-morrow he would have to go to camp. It
was neither from the cold nor from terror that a chill struck down
his back, and he urged and urged Barabán to his utmost endeavor. The
first man whom he met was a priest in a high winter cap, walking with
a one-eyed workman. Polikéï grew even more troubled. But as he left
the city behind, this terror gradually diminished. Barabán proceeded
in a slow walk. It grew lighter, so that it was possible to see the
road before him. Ilyitch took his cap, felt to see that the money was
all right. "Shall I put it in my bosom?" he queried. "I should have
to untie my girdle. Now I am coming to the hill. I'll get out of the
telyéga when I get there. I'll be careful. My cap fits tight, and it
can't slip out from under the lining, and I won't take off my cap till
I get home."

When he came to the hill, Barabán, in his peculiar trot, dashed up the
<DW72>; and Polikéï, who, like the horse, felt a strong desire to get
home, did not hinder him in his endeavor.

Every thing was in order, or, at least, seemed to him so; and he gave
free course to his imagination in respect to his mistress's delight,
and the five-silver-ruble piece which she would give him, and the joy
of his family. He took off his cap, once more felt of the letter,
crushed his cap down closer to his head, and smiled. The wool on his
cap was rotten; and for the very reason that Akulína, the day before,
had carefully sewed the torn place, he tore the other end; and the very
motion that Polikéï made when he thought that he was pulling down the
envelope with the money closer under the wool,--that same motion tore
away the cap, and, gave the envelope a chance to escape from one corner
under the pelt.

It began to grow light, and Polikéï, who had not slept all night, grew
drowsy. Adjusting his cap again, and still more loosening the envelope,
Polikéï leaned his head on the side of the wagon, and drowsed.

He woke up just as he reached home. His first impulse was to feel
for his cap: it was firm on his head. He did not take it off, being
convinced that the envelope was there. He whipped up Barabán, adjusted
the hay, again assumed the dignity of a householder, and, looking
around him with an air of importance, rattled up toward his home.

There was the cook-house, there the wing, there the joiner's wife
hanging out her wash, there the office; there the manor-house, where,
in a moment, Polikéï would give proof that he was a faithful and honest
man, "for any man can be slandered," and the mistress would say,
"Well, thank you, Polikéï, here's three--or maybe five, or maybe even
ten--silver rubles for you;" and would have some tea brought to him,
and perhaps some spirits besides. It would not come amiss after the
chilly ride. "And with the ten rubles we'll have a holiday, and buy
some boots, and pay back Nikíta the four rubles and a half, since he's
begun to dun me for them."

Not driving the two hundred steps that remained, Polikéï straightened
himself up, tightened his belt, adjusted his collar, took off his
cap, smoothed his hair, and with confidence thrust his hand under the
lining. His hand moved more and more nervously; he inserted the other
also. His face grew paler and paler. One hand came out on the other
side.... Polikéï fell on his knees, stopped the horse, and began to
search all over the telyéga, the hay, the bundle of purchases, to feel
in his bosom, in his overalls. The money was nowhere to be found.

"Mercy on me![15] What does this mean? What will be done to me?" he
roared, tearing his hair.

But just then, remembering that he might be seen, he turned Barabán
around, put on his cap, and drove the astonished and reluctant animal
up the road again.

"I can't bear to have Polikéï drive me," Barabán must have said to
himself. "Once in my life he has fed me and watered me in time, and
just for the sake of deceiving me in the most unpleasant manner. How I
put myself out to get home! He stopped me, and just as I smelled our
hay, he drives me back again."

"You devilish good-for-nothing beast!" cried Polikéï through his tears,
standing up in the telyéga, and sawing on Barabán's mouth, and plying
the whip.


[Footnote 15: _bátiushki._]



X.


That whole day no one at Pokrovskoé saw Polikéï. The mistress several
times after dinner made inquiries, and Aksiutka flew down to Akulína:
but Akulína said that he had not come; that the merchant must have
detained him, or something had happened to the horse. "Can't he have
gone lame?" she suggested. "The last time Maksim was gone four and
twenty hours,--walked the whole way." And Aksiutka's pendulums brought
back the message to the house; and Akulína thought over all the reasons
for her husband's delay, and tried hard to calm her fears, but she did
not succeed. Her heart was heavy, and her preparations for the next
day's festival made little progress in her hands. She tormented herself
all the more because the joiner's wife was convinced that she had seen
him.

"A man just like Ilyitch had driven up the _proshpect,_ and then turned
back again."

The children also waited restlessly and impatiently for their papa; but
for other reasons. Aniutka and Mashka were without any sheepskin or
cloak; and so they were deprived of the possibility of taking turns in
going into the street, and were therefore obliged to content themselves
in their single garments, and to make circuits around the house with
strenuous swiftness so as to be troubled as little as possible by the
inhabitants of the _wing_ coming and going. Once Mashka tripped over
the feet of the joiner's wife, who was lugging water; and though she
was crying lustily from the knock that she received on her knee,
yet her hair was pulled violently, and she began to cry still more
grievously. When she did not meet any one, she flew straight into the
door, and mounted the stove by means of the tub.

The mistress and Akulína began to be really worried about Polikéï
himself; the children, about what he wore. But Yégor Mikhailovitch, in
reply to her ladyship's question, "Hasn't Polikéï come yet, and where
can he be?" smiled, and said, "I cannot tell;" and it was evident that
he was satisfied to have his pre-supposition confirmed. "He would have
to come to dinner," he said significantly.

All that day no one at Pokrovskoé had any tidings of Polikéï: except it
was noised abroad that some neighboring muzhíks had seen him without
his cap, and asking every one "if they seen a letter."

Another man had seen him asleep by the side of the road, near a horse
hitched into a telyéga. "I thought he was drunk," said this man, "and
that the horse had not been fed or watered for a couple of days, his
belly was so drawn up."

Akulína did not sleep all night, but sat up waiting for him; but not
even in the night did he put in an appearance. If she had lived alone,
and had a cook and second girl, she would have been still more unhappy;
but as soon as the cocks began to crow for the third time, and the
joiner's wife got up, Akulína was obliged to rise and betake herself
to the stove. It was a holiday; so it was necessary before daylight to
take out her bread, to make kvas, to bake cookies, to milk the cow, to
iron the dresses and shirts, to wash the children, to bring water, and
keep her neighbor from occupying the whole oven. Akulína ceased not
to keep her ears open while she was fulfilling these duties. It was
already broad daylight: already the bells had begun to peal, already
the children were up, and still no Polikéï. Yesterday, winter had
really set in; the fields, roads, and roofs were covered with patches
of snow; but to-day, as though in honor of a festival, it was clear,
sunny, and cool, so that one could see and hear a long distance. But
Akulína standing by the oven, and with her head thrust into the door
so as to watch the baking of her cookies, did not hear Polikéï as
he came in, and only by the cries of the children did she know that
her husband had come. Aniutka, as the eldest, had oiled her hair and
dressed herself. She had on a new calico dress, somewhat rumpled, the
gift of the gracious lady, and it fitted her like the bark on a tree,
and dazzled the neighbors' eyes; her hair was shiny, having been rubbed
with a candle-end; her shoos were not exactly new, but were elegant.

Mashka was still in jacket and rags, so Aniutka would not let her come
near to her lest she should soil her clean things. Mashka was in the
yard when her father came along with a bag.

"Papa's come!" she shouted, beginning to cry, and threw herself
head-first into the door past Aniutka, leaving a great smutch on her
dress. Aniutka, no longer afraid of getting soiled, immediately struck
Mashka. Akulína could not leave her work, and had to shout to the
children, "There now, stop! I'll give you both a good thrashing!" and
she glanced toward the door. Ilyitch, with his sack in his hand, came
through the entry, and instantly threw himself into his corner. Akulína
noticed that he was pale, and that his face had an expression as though
he had been neither weeping nor laughing: she could not understand it.

"Well, Ilyitch," she asked, not leaving the oven, "what luck?"

Ilyitch muttered something which she did not hear.

"How?" she screamed, "have you been to our lady's?"

Ilyitch sat down on the bed, looked wildly around, and smiled his
guilty and deeply unhappy smile. For a long time he said nothing.

"Well, Ilyitch? why so long?" rang Akulína's voice.

"I, Akulína,--I gave the money to our lady; how thankful she was!"
said he suddenly, and looked around even more restlessly than ever,
still smiling. Two objects especially attracted his restless,
feverishly-staring eyes,--the rope fastened to the cradle, and the
baby. He went to the cradle, and with his slender fingers began rapidly
to untie a knot in the rope. Then his eyes rested on the babe; but here
Akulína, with the cookies on a platter, came into the _corner._ Ilyitch
quickly hid the rope in his bosom, and sat down on the bed.

"What's the matter, Ilyitch? you don't seem like yourself," said Akulna.

"I haven't had any sleep," was his reply.

Suddenly something flashed by the window; and in an instant Aksiutka,
the maid from the upper house, darted into the room.

"The gracious lady[16] commands Polikéï Ilyitch to come to her this
minute," said she. "Avdót'ya Mikolávna commands you to come this
minute,--this minute."

Polikéï gazed at Akulína, at the maid-servant.

"Right away! what more is wanted?" he asked so simply that Akulína's
apprehensions were quieted: maybe he is going to be rewarded. "Say I
will come right away."

He got up and went out. Akulína took a trough, placed it on the bench,
poured in water from the buckets which stood by the door, filled it up
with boiling water from the kettle, began to roll up her sleeves, and
try the temperature of the water.

"Come, Mashka, I want to wash you."

The cross sibilating little girl began to cry.

"Come, you scabby wench! I want to put you on a clean shirt. Now, make
up faces, will you? Come, I've got to wash your sister yet."

Polikéï meantime was going, not in the direction taken by the maid
from the house, but exactly opposite. In the entry next the wall was a
straight staircase leading to the loft. When Polikéï reached the entry
he looked around, and, seeing no one, he bent down, and almost running
climbed up this stairs quickly and with agility.

"What in the world does it mean that Polikéï doesn't come?" asked the
lady impatiently, turning to Duniasha, who was combing her hair. "Where
is Polikéï? Why doesn't he come?"

Aksiutka again flew down to the servants' wing, and again flew into the
entry, and summoned Ilyitch to the mistress. "But he went long ago,"
said Akulína, who, having washed Mashka, was at this time in the act
of putting her contumacious little boy in the trough, and silently,
in spite of his cries, was washing his red head. The boy screamed,
wrinkled up his face, and tried to clutch something with his helpless
hands. Akulína with one big hand supported his weak, soft little back,
all dimples, and soaped it.

"See if he isn't asleep somewhere," she said, glancing around nervously.

The joiner's wife at this time with her hair unkempt, with her bosom
open, and holding up her dress, was climbing up to the loft to get her
clothes which were drying there. Suddenly a cry of horror was heard
from the loft, and the joiner's wife, like one crazy, with wide-open
eyes, came down on her hands and feet backwards, quicker than a cat,
and fled from the stairs.

"Ilyitch," she cried.

Akulína dropped the child which she was holding.

"He has hung himself!" roared the joiner's wife.

Akulína--not noticing that the child, like a ball, rolled over and over
on his face, and, kicking his little legs, fell head first into the
water--ran to the entry.

"From the beam--he is hanging," repeated the joiner's wife, but stopped
when she saw Akulína.

Akulína flew to the stairs, and before any one could prevent her
climbed up, and with a terrible cry fell back like a dead body on the
steps; and she would have killed herself if the people, coming from all
parts, had not been in time to seize her.


[Footnote 16: _bárinya._]



XI.


For some minutes it was impossible to bring any order out of the
general chaos. The people ran about in crowds, all screaming, all
talking; children and old people weeping. Akulína lay in a dead faint.
At last some peasants, the joiner, and the overseer, who came running
up, mounted the stairs; and the joiner's wife for the twentieth time
related how she, without any thought of any thing, went after her
clothes, looked in this way: "I see a man; I look more close: there's a
cap lying on one side. I see his legs twitching. Then a cold chill ran
down my back. At last I make out a man hanging there, and ... that I
should have to see that! How ever I got down is more than I can tell.
And it is a miracle that God saved me. Truly the Lord had mercy. It was
so steep, and--such a height! I might have got my death."

The men who went into the loft told the same story. Ilyitch was hanging
from the beam, in his shirt and stockings alone, with the very rope
that he had taken off from the cradle. His cap which had fallen off lay
beside him. He had taken off his jacket and sheepskin shuba, and folded
them neatly. His feet just touched the floor, and there was not a sign
of life. Akulína came to herself, and tried to climb to the loft again;
but they would not let her.

"Mamma,[17] little brother has fallen into the water," suddenly
screamed the sibilating girl from the _corner._ Akulína tore herself
away, and darted back to the house. The babe, not stirring, lay head
downwards in the tub, and his legs were motionless. Akulína seized him,
but the child did not breathe, and gave no signs of life. Akulína threw
him on the bed, put her arms akimbo, and burst into a fit of laughter
so loud, discordant, and terrible, that Mashka, who at first began to
laugh too, put her fingers in her ears, and ran weeping into the entry.

The people also poured into the _corner,_ and filled it with their
lamentations. They picked up the child, and tried to bring him to;
but it was in vain. Akulína jumped about on the bed, and laughed and
laughed so uncannily, that it threw a terror over those who heard it.

And now to see this heterogeneous throng of lusty peasants and women,
of old men and children, pressing into the entry, one could get some
idea of the number of people who lived in the servants' quarters.[18]
All were running about this way and that, all talking at once; many
were weeping, and no one did any thing useful. The joiner's wife kept
finding new-comers who had not heard her story; and again and again she
repeated how her deepest feelings had been stirred up by the unexpected
sight, and how God had saved her from falling down the stairs. The old
butler, in a woman's jacket, told how a woman in the time of the late
bárin had drowned herself in the pond. The overseer sent messengers
after the police inspector[19] and a priest, and stationed guards. The
maid-servant Aksiutka, her eyes red with weeping, peeped through a
hole in the loft; and though she could not see any thing there, yet she
could not tear herself away and go to her mistress.

Agáfya Mikhaïlovna, who had been the dowager's lady's-maid, made some
tea to calm her nerves, and wept. The experienced old grandmother,
Anna, with her swollen hands smeared with olive-oil, was laying out
upon the table the dead body of the little babe. The women stood
around Akulína, and looked at her in silence. The children who lived
in the _corners_ looked at the mother, and began to cry, then choked
down their sobs, and then again, looking at her, began to weep louder
than ever. The boys and men collected around the steps, and with
terror-stricken faces peered into the door and into the windows, unable
to see any thing, and not understanding it all, and asking each other
questions about what had happened. One said that the joiner had cut his
wife's leg off with an axe. Another said that the laundress had had
triplets. A third said that the cook's cat had had a fit, and bitten
the people. But the truth gradually became generally known, and at last
reached the mistress's ears. And it seems that they hadn't the wit to
break the news gently to her: the rough Yégor told her point-blank, and
so shattered her nerves that for a long time afterwards she could not
get over it.

The crowd now began to grow calmer! The joiner's wife set up her
samovar, and made some warm tea; and so those from outside, not
receiving an invitation, took the hint that it was incumbent upon them
to go home. The boys began to tear themselves away from the steps.
Everybody now knew what the trouble was, and crossing themselves were
beginning to scatter in different directions, when suddenly the cry
was raised, "bárinya, bárinya."[20] and all came rushing back again,
and crowding together so as to give her room to pass. Nevertheless, all
wanted to see what the lady would do.

The bárinya, pale, and with tears in her eyes, passed through the
entry, and crossed the threshold into Akulína's _corner._ A dozen heads
crowded together and peered through the door. They pressed so violently
against one woman who was heavy with child, that she screamed, but
nevertheless, taking advantage of the situation, this same woman
managed to get the foremost place. And how could they help wishing to
see the mistress in Akulína's _corner!_ For the domestics it was much
the same as a Bengal fire at the end of an exhibition. Of course it's
a fine thing to burn the Bengal fire; and of course it's a fine thing
when the mistress, in her silk and laces, goes into Akulína's _corner._
The lady went up to Akulína, and took her by the hand. But Akulína
snatched it away. The old domestics shook their heads disapprovingly.

"Akulína," said the lady, "for your children's sake calm yourself."

Akulína gave a loud laugh and drew herself up.

"My children are solid silver, solid silver! I don't deal in paper
notes," she muttered rapidly. "I told Ilyitch, 'Don't keep the
bank-notes,' and now they've smeared him with tar, smeared him--with
tar and soap, lady. So if he's got the barn-itch, it'll cure him right
away;" and again she went into a fit of laughter, louder than before.

The mistress turned around, and asked for the doctor's boy with some
mustard. "Give me some cold water," and she herself began to look about
for water. But when she saw the dead child, and the old grandmother
Anna standing by him, the mistress turned away, and all saw that she
covered her face with a handkerchief and wept. But the grandmother
Anna (it was a pity that the mistress did not see it: she would have
appreciated it, and it was all done for her too) covered the child with
a piece of linen, folded the little arms with her soft, skilful hand,
and arranged the little head, composed the lips, and feelingly closed
the eyes, and sighed, so that every one could see what a beautiful
heart she had. But the mistress did not see it, and she could not have
seen it. She began to sob, and when the first attack of hysterics was
over they led her out into the entry, and they led her home.

"That's all she could do," was what many thought, and they began to
separate. Akulína was still laughing, and talking nonsense. They led
her into another room, cupped her, put on mustard-plasters, applied
ice to her forehead; but all the time she did not understand it in the
least, did not weep, but laughed, and said and did such things that the
kind people who were waiting on her could not restrain themselves, but
even laughed.


[Footnote 17: _mámuska._]

[Footnote 18: _fliger,_ peasant corruption of _flügel,_ the wing; the
collection of izbás occupied by the _dvoróvui_ or domestic servants.]

[Footnote 19: _stanovóï._]

[Footnote 20: "The mistress, the mistress," or, "the gracious lady."
_Bárin_ and _báruinya_ or _bárinya_ are the terms used by the domestics
for the master and mistress.]



XII.


The festival was not gay at Pokrovskoé. Notwithstanding the fact that
the day was beautiful, the people did not go out to enjoy themselves:
the girls did not collect to sing songs: the factory-boys who came out
from the city did not play the harmonica or on the _balaláïka;_[21]
they did not jest with the girls. All sat around in the _corners;_ and
if they talked, they talked quietly, as though some ill-disposed person
were there, and might overhear them.

All day nothing happened. But in the evening, as it grew dusk, the
dogs began to howl: and, as though signifying some misfortune, a wind
sprang up and howled in the chimneys; and such fear fell upon all the
inhabitants of the _dvor,_ that those who had candles lighted them
before, it was necessary; those who were alone in any _corner_ went to
ask their neighbors to give them a night's lodging where there were
more people; and whoever had to go to the stables did not go, and did
not hesitate to leave the cattle without fodder that night. And the
holy water, which every one keeps in a vial, was all that night in
constant requisition. Many were sure that they heard, during the night,
some one walking up and down with a heavy tread over the loft; and the
blacksmith saw how a serpent flew straight to the loft.

None of the family staid in Polikéï's _corner._ The children and
the crazy woman had been carried to other quarters. The dead little
baby lay there, however. And there were two old grandmothers and a
pilgrim-woman[22] who diligently read the psalter, not for the sake of
the child so much as for the solace of all this unhappiness. This was
the mistress's desire. These old grandmothers and the pilgrim-woman
themselves heard, while one portion of the psalter was read, how the
beam above creaked, and some one groaned. When they read the words,
"Let God rise up," the sounds ceased.

The joiner's wife asked in one of her cronies; and that night they did
not sleep, but drank up enough tea to last her a week. They also heard
how the beam creaked, and something sounded like the falling of heavy
bags. The muzhíks on guard imparted some courage to the domestics,
otherwise they would all have perished with fear. The muzhíks lay in
the entry on the hay, and afterwards they also became convinced that
they heard marvels in the loft; although that same night they calmly
talked about the _n_ecruits, munched their bread, combed their hair,
and, most of all, filled the entry with that odor peculiar to the
muzhíks, so that the joiner's wife, passing by them, spat, and scolded
them for foul peasants.

However it was, the suicide all the time was hanging in the loft; and
it seemed as if the evil spirit himself that night overshadowed the
premises with his monstrous pinions, showing his power, and coming
nearer to all these people than ever before. At least, all of them had
that impression.

I don't know whether they were right. I am inclined to think that they
were entirely wrong. I think that if some man, that terrible night,
had had courage enough to take a candle or a lantern, and blessing
himself, or even not blessing himself, with the sign of the cross,
had gone to the loft, slowly driving before him, by the flame of the
candle, the terror of the night, and lighting up the beams, the sand,
the cobweb-garlanded chimney, and the forgotten washing of the joiner's
wife,--had gone straight up to Ilyitch, and if, not giving way to the
feeling of fear, he had lifted the lantern to the level of his face,
then he would have seen the familiar, emaciated body, with the legs
touching the floor (the rope had stretched), lifelessly falling to one
side, the unbuttoned shirt, under the opening of which his baptismal
cross could not be seen, and with the head bent over on the breast,
and the good-natured face, with the sightless eyes wide open, and the
sweet, guilty smile, and a stern calmness, and silence over all.

Truly the joiner's wife, huddling up in the corner of her bed, with
dishevelled hair and frightened eyes, telling how she heard what seemed
like bags falling, was a far more terrible and fear-inspiring object
than Ilyitch, though he had taken off his cross and laid it on a bench.

_Above--_that is, at the great house--there was the same fear that
reigned in the _wing._ In the lady's room there was an odor of _eau
de cologne_ and medicine. Duniasha was melting beeswax, and making a
cerate. Why a cerate especialty, is more than I can tell; but I know
that a beeswax plaster was always made when the mistress was ill. And
now she was so disturbed that she was really ill. Duniasha's aunt had
come to spend the night with her, so as to keep her courage up. Four of
them were sitting in the girls' sitting-room,--among them the little
maid,--and were quietly conversing.

"Who is going after the oil?" asked Duniasha.

"I wouldn't go, not for any thing, Avdót'ya Mikolávna," said the second
girl in atone of determination.

"Come now, go with Aksiutka."

"I will run alone. I ain't afraid of nothing," said Aksiutka, "but
she's afraid of every thing."

"Well, then, go ahead, dear; borrow it of the old granny Anna, and
don't spill it," said Duniasha.

Aksiutka lifted her skirt with one hand, and though on account of this
she could not swing both arms, she swung one twice as violently across
the line of her direction, and flew off. It was terrible to her; and
she felt that if she should see or hear any thing whatsoever, even
though it were her own mother, she should fall with fright. She flew,
with her eyes shut, over the well-known path.


[Footnote 21: A sort of primitive guitar, with long neck, and short
three-cornered sounding-board, strung with two or three strings, and
thrummed with the fingers.]

[Footnote 22: stránnitsa.]



XIII.


"Is our lady asleep, or not?" asked a muzhík's hoarse voice suddenly
near Aksiutka. She opened her eyes, which had been tightly shut, and
saw a form which it seemed to her was higher than the _wing._ She
wheeled round, and sped back so fast that her petticoat did not have
time to catch up with her. With one bound she was on the steps, with
another in the sitting-room, and giving a wild shriek flung herself on
the lounge.

Duniasha, her aunt, and the second girl almost died of fright; but they
had no time to open their eyes, ere heavy, deliberate, and irresolute
steps were heard in the entry and at the door. Duniasha ran into her
mistress's room, dropping the cerate. The second girl hid behind a
skirt that was hanging on the wall. The aunt, who had more resolution,
was about to hold the door; but the door opened, and a muzhík strode
into the room.

It was Dutlof in his huge boots. Not paying any heed to the affrighted
women, his eyes sought the ikons; and, not finding the small holy image
that hung in a corner, he crossed himself toward the cupboard, laid his
cap down on the window, and thrusting his thick hand into his sheepskin
coat, as though he were trying to scratch himself under the arm, he
drew out a letter with five brown seals, imprinted with an anchor.
Duniasha's aunt put her hand to her breast; she was scarcely able to
articulate,--

"How you frightened me, Naumuitch![23] I ca-n-n't sa-y a wo-r-d. I
thought that the end ... had ... come."

"What do you want?" asked the second girl, emerging from behind the
skirt.

"And they have stirred up our lady so," said Duniasha coming from
the other room. "What made you come up to the sitting-room without
knocking? You stupid muzhík!"

Dutlof, without making any excuse, said that he must see the mistress.

"She is ill," said Duniasha.

By this time Aksiutka was snorting with such unbecomingly loud
laughter, that she was again obliged to hide her head under the
pillows, from which, for a whole hour, notwithstanding Duniasha's and
her aunt's threats, she was unable to lift it without falling into
renewed fits of laughter, as though something were loose in her rosy
bosom and red cheeks. It seemed to her so ridiculous that they were all
so frightened--and she again would hide her head, and, as it were in
convulsions, shuffle her shoes, and shake with her whole body.

Dutlof straightened himself up, looked at her attentively as though
wishing to account for this peculiar manifestation; but, not finding
any solution, he turned away and continued to explain his errand.

"Of course, as this is a very important business," he said, "just tell
her that a muzhík has brought her the letter with the money."

"What money?"

Duniasha, before referring the matter to the mistress, read the
address, and asked Dutlof when and how he had got this money which
Ilyitch should have brought back from the city. Having learned all the
particulars, and sent the errand-girl, who still continued to laugh,
out into the entry, Duniasha went to the mistress; but to Dutlof's
surprise the lady would not receive him at all, and sent no message to
him through Duniasha.

"I know nothing about it, and wish to know nothing," said the mistress,
"about any muzhík or any money. I can not and I will not see any one.
Let him leave me in peace."

"But what shall I do?" asked Dutlof, turning the envelope around and
around; "it's no small amount of money. It's written on there, isn't
it?" he inquired of Duniasha, who again read to him the superscription.

It seemed hard for Dutlof to believe Duniasha. He seemed to hope that
the money did not belong to the gracious lady, and that the address
read otherwise. But Duniasha repeated it a second time. He sighed,
placed the envelope in his breast, and prepared to go out.

"I must give it to the police inspector," he said.

"Simpleton, I will ask her again; I will tell her," said Duniasha,
detaining him when she saw the envelope disappearing under his coat.
"Give me the letter."

Dutlof took it out again, but did not immediately put it into
Duniasha's outstretched hand.

"Tell her that Dutlof Sem'yón found it on the road."

"Well, give it here."

"I was thinking--well, take it. A soldier read the address for me--that
it had money."

"Well, let me have it."

"I didn't dare to go home on account of this," said Dutlof again, not
letting go the precious envelope. "Well, let her see it."

Duniasha took the envelope, and once more went to her ladyship.

"Duniasha,"[24] said the mistress in a reproachful tone, "don't speak
to me about that money. I can't think of any thing else except that
poor little babe."

"The muzhík, my lady,[25] knows not who you want him to give it to,"
insisted Duniasha.

The lady broke the seals, shuddered as soon as she saw the money, and
pondered for a moment.

"Horrible money! it has brought nothing but woe," she mused.

"It is Dutlof, my lady. Do you wish him to go, or will you come and see
him? Is all the money there?" asked Duniasha.

"I do not wish this money. This is horrible money. What harm it has
done! Tell him that he may have it if he wants it," suddenly exclaimed
the lady, seizing Duniasha's hand.

"Fifteen hundred rubles," remarked Duniasha, smiling gently as to a
child.

"Let him have it all," repeated the lady impatiently. "Why, don't you
understand me? This is misfortune's money: don't ever speak about it to
me again. Let this muzhík have it, if he brought it. Go, go right away!"

Duniasha returned into the sitting-room.

"Was it all there?" asked Dutlof.

"Count for yourself," said Duniasha, handing him the envelope: "she
told me to give it to you."

Dutlof stuffed his cap under his arm, and bending over tried to count.

"Haven't you got a counting-machine?"

Dutlof understood that it was a whim of the mistress's not to count,
and that she had bidden him to do it.

"Take it home, and count it. It's yours,--your money," said Duniasha
severely. "Says she, 'I don't want it; let the man have it who found
it.'"

Dutlof, not straightening himself up, fixed his eyes on Duniasha.

Duniasha's aunt also clapped her hands. "Goodness gracious![26] God has
given you such luck! Goodness gracious!"

The second girl could not believe it. "You're joking! Did really
Avdót'ya Nikolóvna say that?"

"What do you mean--joking! She told me to give it to the muzhík. Now
take your money, and be off," said Duniasha, not hiding her vexation.
"One has sorrow, another joy."

"It must be a joke,--fifteen hundred rubles!" said the aunt.

"More than that," said Duniasha sharply. "Now you will place a great
big candle for Mikola,"[27] she continued maliciously. "What! have you
lost your wits? It would be good for some poor fellow. And you have so
much of your own."

Dutlof finally arrived at a comprehension that it was meant in earnest;
and he began to fold together and smooth down the envelope with the
money, which in the counting he had burst open: but his hands trembled,
and he kept looking at the women, to persuade himself that it was not
a jest.

"You see you haven't come to your senses with joy," said Duniasha,
making it evident that she despised both the muzhík and money. "Give it
to me, I'll fix it for you."

And she offered to take it, but Dutlof did not trust it in her hands.
He doubled the money up, thrust it in still farther, and took his cap.

"Glad?"

"I don't know; what's to be said? Here it's"--He did not finish his
sentence, but waved his hand, grinned, almost burst into tears, and
went out.

The bell tinkled in the mistress's room.

"Well, did you give it to him?"

"I did."

"Well, was he very glad?"

"He was like one gone crazy."

"Oh, bring him back! I want to ask him how he found it. Bring him in
here. I can't go out to him."

Duniasha flew out, and overtook the muzhík in the hall. He had not put
on his hat, but had taken out his purse, and bending over was opening
it; but the money he held between his teeth. Maybe it seemed to him
that it was not his until he had put it in his purse. When Duniasha
called him back, he was startled.

"What ... Avdót'ya?... Avdót'ya Mikolavna? Is she going to take it
away from me? If you would only take my part, I would bring you some
honey,--before God I would."

"All right, bring it,'"

Again the door opened, and the muzhík was led into the mistress's
presence. It was not a happy moment for him. "Akh! she's going to take
it back!" he said to himself, as he went through the rooms, lifting
his feet very high, as though walking through tall grass, so as not to
make a noise with his big wooden shoes. He did not comprehend, and he
scarcely noticed what was around him. He passed by the mirror; he saw
some flowers, some muzhík or other lifting up his feet shod in sabots,
the bárin painted with one eye and something that seemed to him like
a green tub, and a white object.... Suddenly, from the white object
issued a voice. It was the mistress. He could not distinguish any one
clearly, but he rolled his eyes around. He knew not where he was, and
every thing seemed to be in a mist.

"Is it you, Dutlof?"

"It's me, your ladyship.[28] It's just as it was. I didn't touch it,"
he said. "I wasn't glad,--before God, I wasn't. I almost killed my
horse."

"It's your good luck," she said with a perfectly sweet smile. "Keep it,
keep it. It's yours."

He only opened wide his eyes.

"I am glad that you have it. God grant that it prove useful to you. Are
you glad to have it?"

"How could I help being glad? Glad as I can be, mátushka! I will always
pray to God for you. I am as glad as I can be, that, glory to God, our
mistress is alive. Only it was my fault."

"How did you find it?"

"You know that we can always work for our lady for honor's sake, and,
if not that" ...

"He's getting all mixed up, my lady said," Duniasha.

"I carried my nephew, who's gone as a _n_ecruit, and on my way back I
found it on the road. Polikéï must have dropped it accidentally."

"Well, now go, now go! I am glad."

"So am I glad, mátushka," said the muzhík.

Then he recollected that he had not thanked her, but he did not know
how to go about it in the proper manner. The lady and Duniasha both
smiled, as he again started to walk, as though through tall grass, and
by main force conquered his impulse to break into a run. But all the
time it seemed to him that they were going to hold him, and take it
from him.


[Footnote 23: The son of Nahum. It is customary among the peasantry to
call each other by the patronymic. Thus Polikéï is generally called
Ilyitch, son of Ilya, instead of the more formal Polikéï Ilyitch.]

[Footnote 24: _Akh Bozhe moï._]

[Footnote 25: _sudárinya._]

[Footnote 26: _mátushki rodimuïa!_]

[Footnote 27: St. Nicholas.]

[Footnote 28: _Ya-s sudárinya._]



XIV.


Making his way out into the fresh air, Dutlof turned off from the road
to the lindens, unloosed his belt so the more conveniently to get at
his purse, and then began to put away the money. He moved his lips,
sucking them in and pushing them out again, though he made no sound.
After he had stowed away the money, and buckled his girdle again, he
crossed himself, and went roiling along the path as though he were
drunk; so absorbed was he by the thoughts rushing through his brain.
Suddenly he saw before him the form of a muzhík, coming to meet him.
He screamed. It was Yefím, who with a club was acting as guard on the
outside of the wing.

"Ah, uncle Sem'yón," said Yefímka joyfully as he came nearer. [It
was rather gloomy for him to be all alone.] "Well, have you got the
recruits off?"

"Yes. What are you doing?"

"They stationed me here to guard Ilyitch, who hung himself."

"But where is Ilyitch?"

"Here in the loft: they say he's hanging there," replied Yefímka,
pointing with his stick through the darkness, to the roof of the _wing._

Dutlof looked in the direction indicated; and though he saw nothing, he
blinked his eyes and shook his head.

"The police inspector has come," said Yefímka. "The coachman told
me. They are going to take him right down. Kind of a fearful night,
uncle.[29] I wouldn't go in there to-night, not even if orders had come
from the _upper_ house. Not if Yégor Mikhaluitch beat me to death would
I go in there."

"What a terrible misfortune!" said Dutlof, evidently from a sense of
propriety; for in reality he was not thinking of what he was saying,
and was anxious to go his way. But the overseer's voice chained him to
the spot.

"Hey, guard, come here!" cried Yégor Mikháilovitch, from the steps.

Yefímka responded to the call.

"What muzhík was standing there with you?"

"Dutlof."

"You too, Sem'yón, come here."

As Dutlof drew near, he saw, by the light of the lantern carried by the
coachman, not only the overseer, but a strange man in a uniform cap
with a cockade, and wearing a cloak: this was the police inspector.

"Here is an old man will go with us," said the overseer, pointing to
him.

The old man winced, but there was nothing to be done.

"And you, Yefímka, you're only a young man; just run on ahead to the
loft where he's hanging, and clear away the stairs so that his honor
can get up."

Yefímka, although he would not for any thing go into the _wing,_
started off, tramping with his feet as though they were beams.

The police inspector struck a light, and began to smoke his pipe. He
lived two versts away; and he had just been engaged in receiving from
the captain of police[30] a sharp dressing for drunkenness, and was,
consequently, still suffering from an attack of ill humor. The overseer
asked Dutlof why he was there. Dutlof told him in a straightforward way
about the finding of the money, and what the bárinya had done. Dutlof
said that he was going to ask the overseer's permission. The overseer,
to Dutlof's horror, asked for the envelope, and looked at it. The
police inspector also took the envelope, and asked, in a few dry words,
about the particulars.

"Now, good-by to my money," thought Dutlof, and began already to excuse
himself. But the police inspector gave him the money.

"That's luck for the rascal!" he said.

"Comes in good time," said the overseer. "He's just taken his nephew to
camp. Now he can buy him off."

"Ah!" said the police inspector, and started on.

"Are you going to get Ilyushka a substitute?" inquired the overseer.

"How get him a substitute? Is there money enough? And, besides, it's
too late."

"You know best," said the overseer, and both followed the police
inspector.

They went into the wing, at the entry of which the ill-smelling guards
were waiting with a lantern. Dutlof followed them. The guards had a
guilty look, which was to be attributed only to the odor arising from
them, because they had been doing nothing wrong. All were silent.

"Where?" asked the police inspector.

"Here," whispered the overseer. "Yefímka," he added, "you're a fine
young man, go ahead with the lantern."

Yefímka straightened his forelock; it seemed as if he had lost all
his fear. Going up two or three steps, he kept turning round, with a
glad countenance, and throwing the light on the police inspector's
way. Behind the inspector followed the overseer. When they were out of
sight, Dutlof, resting one foot on the step, sighed and stopped. In the
course of two minutes, the sound of the steps ceased; evidently they
were approaching the body.

"Uncle! you're wanted," cried Yefímka, in the skylight.

Dutlof went up. The police inspector and the overseer could be seen in
the light of the lantern, but the beam partly hid them from sight. Near
them stood some one with back toward them. It was Polikéï. Dutlof went
beyond the beam, and, crossing himself, halted.

"Turn him round, boys," commanded the coroner. No one stirred.

"Yefímka, you're a fine young man," said the overseer.

The "fine young man" walked up to the beam, and turning Ilyitch's body
round stood by him, looking with the same pleased expression, now at
Ilyitch, now at the officer, just as a showman exhibiting an albino, or
some monstrosity,[31] looks now at the public, now at the object of his
exhibition, and is ready to fulfil all the desires of his spectators.

"Turn him round again."

The body turned around once more, waved its hands slightly, and the leg
made a circle on the sanded floor.

"Come now, take him down."

"Do you order him cut down, Vasíli Borisovitch?" demanded the overseer.
"Bring an axe, friends!"

Twice the order had to be given to Dutlof and the guards to lift him
up. But the "fine young man" handled Ilyitch as he would the carcass
of a sheep. Finally they cut the rope, took down the body, and threw a
cloth over it. The police inspector said that the doctor would come on
the next day, and sent the people away.


[Footnote 29: _d'yadiushka,_ diminutive of _d'yád'ya._]

[Footnote 30: _ispravnik._]

[Footnote 31: Tulia Pastrana: a girl like a monkey, with hairy arms and
face, exhibited all over Europe, some years ago.]



XV.


Dutlof, still moving his lips, went home. At first, it was hard for
him; but in proportion as he drew near the village, this feeling passed
away, and a feeling of pleasure more and more penetrated his heart.
Songs and drunken voices were heard in the village. Dutlof never drank,
and now he went straight home. It was already late when he reached
his cottage.[32] His old woman was asleep. His oldest son and the
grand-children were asleep on the oven, the other son in the closet.
The nephew's wife[33] was the only person awake; and she, in a dirty,
every-day shirt, with her hair unkempt, was sitting on the bench and
weeping. She did not get up to open the door for the uncle, but began
to weep more bitterly, and to reproach him, as soon as he came into the
cottage. By the old woman's advice she talked very clearly and well,
though, being still young, she could not have had any practice.

The old woman got up, and began to get her husband something to eat.
Dutlof drove his nephew's wife away from the table. "That'll do!
that'll do!" said he. Aksínya got up, and then throwing herself down
on the bench still continued to weep. The old woman silently set the
things on the table, and then put them in order. The old man also
refrained from saying a single word. After performing his devotions, he
belched once or twice, washed his hands, and, taking the abacus down
from the nail, went to his closet. There he began to whisper with his
old wife: then the old woman left him alone, and he began to rattle the
abacus; finally he lifted the lid of a chest, and climbed down into a
sort of cellar. He rummaged round long in the closet and in the cellar.
When he came out, it was dark in the cottage; the pitch-pine knot had
burnt out.

The old woman, who by day was ordinarily mild and quiet, had retired to
her room, and was snoring so as to be heard all over the cottage. The
noisy niece,[34] on the other hand, was also asleep, and her breathing
could not be heard. She was asleep on the bench just as she was, not
having undressed, and without any thing under her head. Dutlof said his
prayers, then glanced at his niece, raised her head a little, slipped a
stick under it, and, after belching again, climbed upon the oven, and
lay down next his grandson. In the darkness he took off his shoes, and
lay on his back, and tried to make out the objects on the stove, barely
visible above his head; and listened to the cockroaches rustling over
the wall, to the breathing, and the restless moving of feet, and to the
noises of the cattle in the yard.

It was long before he went to sleep. The moon came up, and it grew
lighter in the cottage. He could see Aksínya in the corner, and
something which he could not make out. Was it a cloak that his son
had forgotten? or had the women left a tub there? or was it some one
standing? Whether he drowsed or not, who can say? but now he began to
look again.... Evidently that dark spirit which led Ilyitch to commit
the terrible deed, and which impressed the domestics that night with
its presence,--evidently that spirit spread its pinions over the whole
estate, and over Dutlof's cottage, where was concealed that money which
_he_ enjoyed at the cost of Ilyitch's ruin. At all events, Dutlof
felt _it_ there. And Dutlof was not in his usual spirits,--could not
sleep, nor sit up. When he saw something that he could not explain, he
remembered his nephew with his pinioned arms, he remembered Aksínya's
face and her flowing discourse, he remembered Ilyitch with his dangling
hands.

Suddenly it seemed to the old man that some one passed by the window.
"What is that? Can it be the elder[35] has come to ask the news?"
he said to himself. "How did he unlock the door?" the old man asked
himself in surprise, hearing steps in the entry; "or did the old woman
leave it open when she went to the door?" The dog howled in the back
yard, but IT passed along the entry, and, as the old man afterwards
related the story, seemed to hunt for the door, passed by, once more
tried to feel along the wall, stumbled across the tub, and it rang.
And once more IT tried to feel along the wall, actually found the
latch-string. Then IT took hold of it. A chill ran over the old man's
body. Here the latch was lifted, and the form of a man came in. Dutlof
already knew that it was IT. He tried to get hold of his cross, but
could not. IT came to the table, on which lay a cloth, threw it on the
floor, and came to the oven. The old man knew that IT was in Ilyitch's
form. He trembled; his hands shook. IT came to the oven, threw itself
on the old man, and began to choke him.

"My money," said _Ilyitch._

Sem'yón tried, but could not say, "Let me go, I will not."

Ilyitch pressed down upon him with all the weight of a mountain of
stone resting upon his breast. Dutlof knew that if he could say a
prayer, IT would leave him; and he knew what kind of a prayer he ought
to say, but this prayer would not form itself on his lips.

His grandson was sleeping next him. The boy uttered a piercing scream,
and began to weep. The grandfather had crowded him against the wall.
The child's cry unsealed the old man's lips. "Let God arise up," he
repeated. IT loosed its hold a little. "And scatter our enemies,"
whispered Dutlof. IT got down from the stove. Dutlof listened as IT
touched both feet to the floor. Dutlof kept repeating all the prayers
that he knew; said them all in order. IT went to the door, passed the
table, and struck the door such a rap that the cottage trembled. Every
one was asleep except the old man and his grandson. The grandfather
repeated the prayers, and trembled all over: the grandson wept as he
fell asleep, and cuddled up to his grandfather.

All became quiet again. The old man lay motionless. The cock crowed
behind the wall at Dutlof's ear. He heard how the hens began to stir
themselves; how the young cockerel endeavored to imitate the old cock,
and did not succeed. Something moved on the old man's legs. It was the
cat. She jumped down on her soft paws from the oven to the ground, and
began to miaw at the door.

The grandfather got up, opened the window. In the street it was dark,
muddy. The corpse stood there under the very window. He went in his
stocking-feet to the yard,[36] crossing himself as he went. And here
it was evident that the _master_[37] was coming. The mare, standing
under the shed by the wall, with her leg caught in the bridle, was
lying in the husks, and raised her head, waiting for the master. The
foal was stretched out on the manure. The old man lifted him on his
legs, freed the mare, gave her some fodder, and went back to the
cottage. The old woman got up, and kindled the fire.

"Wake the boys; I am going to town."

And lighting one of the wax candles that stood before the sacred
images, he took it, and went with it down into the cellar. When he came
up, not only was his own fire burning, but those in the neighboring
cottages were lighted. The children were up, and all ready. Women were
coming and going with pails and tubs of milk. Ignat was harnessing a
telyéga. The other son was oiling another. The niece[38] was not to be
seen, but, dressed in her best, and with a shawl on, was sitting on the
bench in the cottage, and waiting for the time to go to town and say
good-by to her husband.

The old man had an appearance of peculiar sternness. He said not a word
to any one: put on his new kaftan, girdled himself tightly, and with
all of Polikéï's money under his coat, went to the overseer.

"You wait for me," he shouted to Ignat, who was whirling the wheel
round on the raised axle, and oiling it. "I'll be back in a moment. Be
all ready."

The overseer, who was just up, was drinking his tea, and had made his
preparations to go to the city to deliver the recruits over to the
authorities.

"What do you wish?" he asked.

"Yégor Mikháluitch, I want to buy the young fellow off. Be so good. You
told me a day or two ago that you knew a substitute in the city. Tell
me how. I am ignorant."

"What! have you reconsidered it?"

"I have, Yégor Mikháluitch. It's too bad,--my brother's son. Whatever
he did, I'm sorry for him. Much sin comes from it, from this money. So
please tell me," said he, making a low bow.

The overseer, as always in such circumstances, drew in his lips
silently, and went into a brown study; then having made up his mind,
wrote two letters, and told him what and how he must do in town.

When Dutlof reached home, the niece was just coming out with Ignat; and
the gray, pot-bellied mare, completely harnessed, was standing at the
gate. He broke off a switch from the hedge. Wrapping himself up, he
took his seat on the box, and started up the horse.

Dutlof drove the mare so fast that her belly seemed to shrink away, and
he did not dare to look at her lest he should feel compunction. He was
tormented by the thought that he might be late in reaching camp, that
Ilyúkha would have already gone as a soldier, and that the _devilish_
money would still be in his hands.

I am not going to give a detailed description of all Dutlof's
adventures that morning. I will only say that he was remarkably
successful. At the house of the man to whom the overseer gave him
a letter, there was a substitute ready and waiting, who had spent
twenty-three silver rubles of his bounty-money, and had already passed
muster. His master[39] wanted to get for him four hundred rubles; but
another man,[40] who had already been after him for three weeks, was
anxious to beat him down to three hundred.

Dutlof concluded the business with few words. "Will you take three
hundred and twenty-five?" said he, offering his hand, but with an
expression that made it evident that he was ready to give even more.
The master held out his hand, and continued to demand four hundred.

"Won't you take three hundred and twenty-five?" repeated Dutlof,
seizing the master's right hand with his left, and making the motion
to clap it with the other. "You won't take it? Well, God be with you,"
he exclaimed, suddenly striking hands with the master, and, with
the violence of the motion, swinging his whole body round from him.
"Then, make it this way! Take three hundred and fifty. Make out the
_fitanets._[41] Bring the young man. And now for the earnest-money.
Will two ten-ruble pieces do?"

And Dutlof unbuckled his belt, and drew out the money.

Though the master did not withdraw his hand, yet apparently he was not
wholly satisfied, and before accepting the earnest-money, he demanded a
fee, and entertainment money for the substitute.

"Don't commit a sin," said Dutlof, pressing the money upon him. "We
must all die," he went on in such a short, didactic, and confident
voice that the master said, "There's nothing to be done," once more
shook hands, and began to say a prayer. "With God's blessing," he said.

They awoke the substitute, who was still sleeping off his yesterday's
spree; they inspected him, and then all went to the authorities. The
substitute was hilarious, asked to be refreshed with some rum, for
which Dutlof gave him money, and began to feel scared only at the
moment when they first entered the vestibule of the court-house. They
stood long in the vestibule: the old master[42] in a blue overcoat,
and the substitute in a short sheepskin, with lifted eyebrows and
wide-staring eyes; long they stood there whispering together, asked
questions of this man and that, were sent from pillar to post, took off
their hats and bowed before every petty clerk, and solemnly listened to
the speech made by a clerk whom the master knew. All hope of finishing
the business that day was vanishing, and the substitute was already
beginning to feel more cheerful and easy, when Dutlof caught sight of
Yégor Mikhailovitch, immediately went to him, and began to beseech him,
and make low bows. The overseer's influence was so powerful, that by
three o'clock the substitute, much to his disgust and surprise, was
conducted into the audience-chamber, enrolled on the army list, and
to the satisfaction of every one, from door-tender to president, was
stripped, shaved, dressed in uniform, and sent out to camp. And at
the end of five minutes Dutlof had paid the money over, and taken his
receipt; and after saying good-by to the recruit and his master, he
went to the merchant's lodging-house where the recruits from Pokrovskoé
were stopping.

His nephew and the wife were sitting in one corner of the merchant's
kitchen; and when the old man came in, they ceased talking, and behaved
toward him in a humble and yet hostile manner.

"Don't be vexed, Ilyúkha," he said, approaching his nephew. "Day before
yesterday you said a harsh word to me. Am I not sorry for you? I
remember how my brother commended you to my care. If it had been in my
power, would I have let you go? God granted me a piece of good fortune:
you see I have not been mean. Here is this paper," said he, laying the
receipt on the table, and carefully smoothing it out with his crooked,
stiffened fingers.

All of the Prokrovski muzhíks, and the merchant's people, and also some
of the neighbors, came into the inn.[43] All watched inquisitively what
was going on. No one interrupted the old man's triumphal words.

"Here's the paper. I paid nearly four hundred silver rubles for it.
Don't blame your uncle!"

Ilyúkha stood up; but said nothing, not knowing what to say. His lips
trembled with emotion. His old mother came to him sobbing, and wanted
to throw herself on his neck; but the old man slowly and imperiously
pushed her away with his hand, and proceeded to speak:--

"You said a harsh word to me," repeated the old man. "With that word
you stabbed me to the heart, as with a knife. Your dying father
commended you to my care. You have taken the place of my own son; but
if I have done you any harm, I am sorry. We are all sinners. Is that
not so, Orthodox believers?" he asked, turning to the muzhíks standing
around. "Here is your own mother, and your young wife;[44] here is
the _fitanets_ for you. God bless it,--the money. But forgive me, for
Christ's sake!"

And spreading his cloak out on the floor, he slowly got down upon his
knees, and bent low before the feet of Ilyushka and his wife. The young
people tried in vain to raise him: not until he had touched his head to
the ground, did he rise, and shaking himself sit down upon the bench.
Ilyushka's mother and the young wife wept for joy. In the crowd were
heard voices expressing approbation.

"That's right, that's God's way," said one.

"What money? It must have taken a lot."

"What a joy!" said a third. "A righteous man, that's the word for it."

But the muzhíks, who had been named as recruits, said nothing, and went
noiselessly out into the court-yard.

In two hours' time, the two Dutlofs' telyégas drove through the suburbs
of the city. In the first, drawn by the pot-bellied gray mare with
sweaty neck, sat the old man and Ignat. Behind rattled a number of
pretzels and crackers. In the second telyéga, which no one drove,
dignified and happy, sat the young wife and her mother-in-law wrapped
up in shawls. The young woman held a jug under her apron. Ilyúshka,
bending over with his back to the horse, with ruddy face, shaking on
the dasher, was munching a cracker[45] and talking in a steady stream.
And the voices, and the rumble of the wheels on the bridge, and the
occasional snorting of the horses, all united into one merry sound. The
horses, switching their tails, trotted along steadily, feeling that
they were on the home stretch. Those whom they passed and those whom
they met looked upon a happy family.

Just as they were leaving the city the Dutlofs overtook a detachment
of recruits. A group of the soldiers stood in a circle in front of a
drinking-saloon. One recruit, with that peculiarly unnatural expression
which a shorn brow gives a man, with his gray uniform cap pushed on the
back of his head, was skilfully picking on a three-stringed balaláïka;
another, without any thing on his head, and holding a jug of vodka
in one hand, was dancing in the midst of the circle. Ignat halted his
horse, and got out to gather up the reins. All the Dutlofs looked on
with curiosity, satisfaction, and joy, at the man who was dancing.

The recruit did not seem to notice any one, but had the consciousness
that an admiring public was attracted by his antics, and this gave him
strength and ability. He danced dexterously. His forehead was wrinkled,
his ruddy face was motionless, his mouth was parted in a smile which
had long lost all expression. It seemed as though all the energies of
his soul were directed to making one leg follow the other with all
possible swiftness, now on the heel and now on the toe. Sometimes he
would suddenly stop, and signal to the accompanist, who would instantly
begin to thrum on all the strings, and even to rap on the back of
the instrument with his knuckles. The recruit stopped, but even when
he stopped still, he seemed, as it were, to be all the time dancing.
Suddenly he began to slacken his pace, shrugging his shoulders, and,
leaping into the air, landed on his heels, and with a wild shriek set
up the Russian national dance.

The lads laughed, the women shook their heads, the lusty peasants
smiled with satisfaction. An old non-commissioned officer stood calmly
near the dancer with a look that said, "To you this is wonderful, but
to _us_ it's an old story." The balaláïka-player stood up in plain
sight, surveyed the crowd with a cool stare, struck a false chord, and
suddenly rapped his fingers on the back, and the dance was done.

"Hey! Alyókha," cried the accompanist to the dancer, and pointed to
Dutlof. "Isn't that your sponsor?"

"Where? O my dearly beloved friend!" screamed the recruit,--the same
one whom Dutlof had bought,--and stumbling out on his weary feet, and
lifting his jug of vodka above his head, he made for the team. "Mishka!
waiter! a glass," he shouted. "Master! O my dear old friend! How glad
I am! fact!" he went on, jerking his tipsy head towards the telyéga,
and began to treat the muzhíks and the women to vodka. The muzhíks
accepted, the women declined. "You are darlings, why shouldn't I treat
you?" cried the recruit, throwing his arms around the old women.

A woman peddling eatables was standing in the throng. The recruit saw
her, grabbed her tray, and flung its contents into the telyéga.

"D-don't worry, I'll p-pay--the d-deuce," he began to scream in a
drunken voice; and here he drew out of his stocking a purse with money
in it, and flung it to the waiter.

He stood leaning with his elbows on the wagon, and stared, with moist
eyes, at those who sat in it.

"Which is my mátushka?" he asked. "Be you her? I've got something for
her too."

He pondered a moment, and diving into his pocket brought out a new
handkerchief folded, untied another which he had put on as a girdle
under his coat, hastily took the red scarf from his neck, bundled them
together, and thrust them into the old woman's lap.

"Na! I give 'em to you," he said, in a voice that grew weaker and
weaker.

"Why? thank you, friend!--What a simple lad he is!" said she,
addressing the old man Dutlof, who came up to their telyéga.

The recruit was now entirely quiet and dumb, and kept dropping his head
lower and lower, as though he were going to sleep then and there.

"I'm going for you, I'm going to destruction for you," he repeated.
"And so I make you a present."

"I s'pose he's really got a mother," cried some one in the crowd. "Fine
young fellow! Too bad!"

The recruit lifted his head. "I've got a mother," he said. "I've got a
father[46] too. They've all given me up, though. Listen, old woman!" he
added, seizing Ilyushkin's mother by the hand. "I made you a present.
Listen to me, for Christ's sake. Go to my village of Vodnoe, ask there
for Nikonof's old woman,--she's my own mother, you understand,--and
tell this same old woman, Nikonof's old woman--third hut at the
end--new pump--tell her that Alyókha--your son--you know--Come!
musician, strike up!" he screamed.

And once more he began to dance, talking all the time, and spilling the
vodka that was left in the jug all over the ground.

Ignat climbed into his wagon, and started to drive on.

"Good-by, good luck to you," cried the old woman, as she wrapped
herself up in her sheepskin.

The recruit suddenly stopped.

"Go to the devil!" he shouted, threatening the teams with his doubled
fist.

"Oh, good Lord!"[47] ejaculated Ilyushkin's mother, crossing herself.

Ignat started up the mare, and the teams drove away. Alekséi the
recruit still stood in the middle of the road, and doubling up his
fists, with an expression of wrath on his face, berated the mushíks to
the best of his ability.

"What are you standing here for? She's gone. The devil, cannibals!" he
screamed. "You won't escape from me! You devils! You dotards!"

With these words his voice failed him; he fell at full length, just
where he stood in the middle of the road.

Swiftly the Dutlofs drove across the country, and as they looked
around, the crowd of recruits were already lost from sight. When they
had gone five versts, and were slowing up a little, Ignat got out of
his father's wagon, when the old man was drowsing, and got in with his
cousin.

The two young men drank up the jug of vodka which they had brought
from the city. Then after a little, Ilya struck up a song; the women
joined in with him; Ignat gayly shouted in harmony. A jolly party,
in a post-wagon, dashed swiftly by. The driver shouted to the horses
harnessed to the two jolly telyégas. The postilion glanced at the
handsome faces of the muzhíks and the women in the telyéga as they
dashed by, singing their merry songs, and waved his hand.


[Footnote 32: _izbá._]

[Footnote 33: _Ilyushkin's baba._]

[Footnote 34: _Ilyushkina baba._]

[Footnote 35: _stárosta._]

[Footnote 36: _dvor_.]

[Footnote 37: _khozyáïn_.]

[Footnote 38: _molodáïka_.]

[Footnote 39: _khozhyáïn._]

[Footnote 40: a _meshchánin._]

[Footnote 41: Mispronunciation of _quittance._]

[Footnote 42: _starik-khozhyáïn._]

[Footnote 43: _izbá_.]

[Footnote 44: _khozyáïka_.]

[Footnote 45: _kalátch._]

[Footnote 46: _bátiushka._]

[Footnote 47: _okh Gospodi._]




KHOLSTOMÍR.


_THE HISTORY OF A HORSE._[1]


(1861.)



I.


Constantly higher and higher the sky lifted itself, wider and wider
spread the dawn, whiter and whiter grew the unpolished silver of the
dew, more and more lifeless the sickle of the moon, more vocal the
forest. The men began to arise; and at the stables belonging to the
bárin were heard with increasing frequency the whinnying of the horses,
the stamping of hoofs on the straw, and also the angry, shrill neighing
of the animals collecting together, and even disputing with each other
over something.

"Noo! you got time enough; mighty hungry, ain't you?" said the old
drover, quickly opening the creaking gates. "Where you going?" he
shouted, waving his hands at a mare which tried to run through the gate.

Nester, the drover, was dressed in a Cossack coat,[2] with a decorated
leather belt around his waist; his knout was slung over his shoulder,
and a handkerchief, containing some bread, was tied into his belt. In
his arms he carried a saddle and halter.

The horses were not in the least startled, nor did they show any
resentment, at the drover's sarcastic tone: they made believe that it
was all the same to them, and leisurely moved back from the gate,--all
except one old dark-bay mare, with a long flowing mane, who laid back
her ears and quickly turned around. At this opportunity a young mare,
who was standing behind, and had nothing at all to do with this,
whinnied, and began to kick at the first horse that she fell in with.

"No!" shouted the drover still more loudly and angrily, and turned to
the corner of the yard.[3]

Out of all the horses,--there must have been nearly a hundred--that
were moving off toward their breakfast, none manifested so little
impatience as a piebald gelding, which stood alone in one corner under
the shed, and gazed with half-shut eyes, and bit on the oaken lining of
the shed.

It is hard to say what enjoyment the piebald gelding got from this, but
his expression while doing so was solemn and thoughtful.

"Nonsense!" again cried the drover in the same tone, turning to him;
and going up to him he laid the saddle and shiny blanket on a pile of
manure near him.

The piebald gelding ceased biting, and looked long at Nester without
moving. He did not manifest any sign of mirth or anger or sullenness,
but only drew in his whole belly and sighed heavily, heavily, and
then turned away. The drover took him by the neck, and gave him his
breakfast.

"What are you sighing for?" asked Nester.

The horse switched his tail as though to say, "Well, it's nothing,
Nester." Nester put on the blanket and saddle, whereupon the horse
pricked up his ears, expressing as plainly as could be his disgust;
but he received nothing but execrations for this "rot," and then the
saddle-girth was pulled tight.

At this the gelding tried to swell out; but his mouth was thrust open,
and a knee was pressed into his side, so that he was forced to let out
his breath. Notwithstanding this, when they got the bit between his
teeth, he still pricked back his ears, and even turned round. Though he
knew that this was of no avail, yet he seemed to reckon it essential
to express his displeasure, and always showed it. When he was saddled,
he pawed with his swollen right leg, and began to champ the bit,--here
also for some special reason, because it was full time for him to know
that there could be no taste in bits.

Nester mounted the gelding by the short stirrups, unwound his knout,
freed his Cossack coat from under his knee, settled down in the
saddle in that position peculiar to coachmen, hunters, and drivers,
and twitched on the reins. The gelding lifted his head, showing a
disposition to go where he should be directed, but he stirred not from
the spot. He knew that before he went there would be much shouting on
the part of him who sat on his back, and many orders to be given to
Vaska, the other drover, and to the horses. In fact Nester began to
shout, "Vaska! ha, Vaska! have you let out any of the mares,--hey?
Where are you, you old devil? No-o! Are you asleep? Open the gate. Let
the mares go first," and so on.

The gates creaked. Vaska, morose, and still full of sleep, holding a
horse by the bridle, stood at the gate-post and let the horses out.
The horses, one after the other, gingerly stepping over the straw and
sniffing it, began to pass out,--the young fillies, the yearlings, the
little colts; while the mares with young stepped along needfully, one
at a time, avoiding all contact. The young fillies sometimes crowded in
two at once, three at once, throwing their heads across each other's
backs, and hitting their hoofs against the gates, each time receiving a
volley of abuse from the drovers. The colts sometimes kicked the mares
whom they did not know, and whinnied loudly in answer to the short
neighing of their mothers.

A young filly, full of wantonness, as soon as she got outside the
gate, tossed her head up and around, began to back, and whinnied,
but nevertheless did not venture to dash ahead of the old gray,
grain-bestrewed Zhuldiba, who, with a gentle but solid step, swinging
her belly from side to side, was always the dignified leader of the
other horses.

After a few moments the lively yard was left in melancholy loneliness;
the posts stood out in sadness under the empty sheds, and only the
sodden straw, soiled with dung, was to be seen.

Familiar as this picture of emptiness was to the piebald gelding, it
seemed to have a melancholy effect upon him. He slowly, as though
making a bow, lowered and lifted his head, sighed as deeply as the
tightly drawn girth permitted, and dragging his somewhat bent and
decrepit legs, he started off after the herd, carrying the old Nester
on his bony back.

"I know now. As soon as we get out on the road, he will go to work to
make a light, and smoke his wooden pipe with its copper mounting and
chain," thought the gelding. "I am glad of this, because it is early in
the morning and the dew is on the grass, and this odor is agreeable
to me, and brings up many pleasant recollections. I am sorry only that
when the old man has his pipe in his mouth he always becomes excited,
gets to imagining things, and sits on one side, far over on one side,
and on that side it always hurts. However, God be with him. It's no new
thing for me to suffer for the sake of others. I have even come to find
some equine satisfaction in this. Let him play that he's cock of the
walk, poor fellow; but it's for his own pleasure that he looks so big,
since no one sees him at all. Let him ride sidewise," said the horse to
himself; and, stepping gingerly on his crooked legs, he walked along
the middle of the road.


[Footnote 1: Dedicated to the memory of M. A. Stakhovitch, the
originator of the subject, which was given by his brother to Count
Tolstoi.]

[Footnote 2: _kasakín._]

[Footnote 3: _dvor_.]



II.


After driving the herd down to the river, near which the horses were
to graze, Nester dismounted and took off the saddle. Meantime the herd
began slowly to scatter over the as yet untrodden field, covered with
dew and with vapor rising alike from the damp meadow and the river that
encircled it.

Taking off the blanket from the piebald gelding, Nester scratched
him on his neck; and the horse in reply expressed his happiness and
satisfaction by shutting his eyes.

"The old dog likes it," said Nester.

The gelding really did not like this scratching very much, and only
out of delicacy intimated that it was agreeable to him. He shook his
head as a sign of assent. But suddenly, unexpectedly, and without any
reason, Nester, imagining perhaps that too great familiarity might
give the horse false ideas about what he meant,--Nester, without any
warning, pushed away his head, and, lifting up the bridle, struck the
horse very severely with the buckle on his bare leg, and, without
saying any thing, went up the hillock to a stump, near which he sat
down as though nothing had happened.

Though this proceeding incensed the gelding, he did not manifest it;
and leisurely switching his thin tail, and sniffing at something, and
merely for recreation cropping at the grass, he wandered down toward
the river.

Not paying any heed to the antics played around him by the young
fillies, the colts, and the yearlings, and knowing that the health of
everybody, and especially one who had attained his years, was subserved
by getting a good drink of water on an empty stomach, and then eating,
he turned his steps to where the bank was less steep and slippery; and
wetting his hoofs and gambrels, he thrust his snout into the river,
and began to suck the water through his lips drawn back, to puff with
his distending sides, and out of pure satisfaction to switch his thin,
piebald tail with its leathery stump.

A chestnut filly, always mischievous, always nagging the old horse, and
causing him manifold unpleasantnesses, came down to the water as though
for her own necessities, but really merely for the sake of roiling the
water in front of his nose.

But the gelding had already drunk enough, and apparently giving no
thought to the impudent mare, calmly put one miry leg before the other,
shook his head, and, turning aside from the wanton youngster, began
to eat. Dragging his legs in a peculiar manner, and not tramping down
the abundant grass, the horse grazed for nearly three hours, scarcely
stirring from the spot. Having eaten so much that his belly hung down
like a bag from his thin, sharp ribs, he stood solidly on his four weak
legs, so that as little strain as possible might come on any one of
them,--at least on the right foreleg, which was weaker than all,--and
went to sleep.

There is an honorable old age, there is a miserable old age, there is a
pitiable old age; there is also an old age that is both honorable and
miserable. The old age which the piebald gelding had reached was of
this latter sort.

The old horse was of a great size,--more than seventeen hands high.[4]
His color was white, spotted with black; at least, it used to be so,
but now the black spots had changed to a dirty brown. The regions of
black spots were three in number: one on the head, including the mane,
and side of the nose, the star on the forehead, and half of the neck;
the long mane, tangled with burrs, was striped white and brownish; the
second spotted place ran along the right side, and covered half the
belly; the third was on the flank, including the upper part of the tail
and half of the loins; the rest of the tail was whitish, variegated.

The huge, corrugated head, with deep hollows under the eyes, and with
pendent black lips, somewhat lacerated, sat heavily and draggingly
on the neck, which bent under its leanness, and seemed to be made of
wood. From under the pendent lip could be seen the dark-red tongue
protruding on one side, and the yellow, worn tusks of his lower
teeth. His ears, one of which was slit, fell over sidewise, and only
occasionally he twitched them a little to scare away the sticky flies.
One long tuft still remaining of the forelock hung behind the ears;
the broad forehead was hollowed and rough; the skin hung loose on the
big cheek-bones. On the neck and head the veins stood out in knots,
trembling and twitching whenever a fly touched them. The expression of
his face was sternly patient, deeply thoughtful, and expressive of pain.

His forelegs were crooked at the knees. On both hoofs were swellings;
and on the one which was half covered by the marking, there was
near the knee at the back a sore boil. The hind legs were in better
condition, but there had been severe bruises long before on the
haunches, and the hair did not grow on those places. His legs seemed
disproportionately long, because his body was so emaciated. His ribs,
though also thick, were so exposed and drawn that the hide seemed dried
in the hollows between them.

The back and withers were variated with old scars, and behind was still
a freshly galled and purulent slough. The black stump of the tail,
where the vertebræ could be counted, stood out long and almost bare. On
the brown flank near the tail, where it was overgrown with white hairs,
was a scar as big as one's hand, that must have been from a bite.
Another cicatrice was to be seen on the off shoulder. The houghs of the
hind legs and the tail were foul with excrement. The hair all over the
body, though short, stood out straight.

But in spite of the filthy old age to which this horse had come,
any one looking at him would have involuntarily thought, and a
_connoisseur_ would have said immediately, that he must have been in
his day a remarkably fine horse. The _connoisseur_ would have said also
that there was only one breed in Russia[5] that could give such broad
bones, such huge joints, such hoofs, such slender leg-bones, such an
arched neck, and, most of all, such a skull,--eyes large, black, and
brilliant, and such a thoroughbred network of nerves over his head and
neck, and such delicate skin and hair.

In reality there was something noble in the form of this horse, and
in the terrible union in him of the repulsive signs of decrepitude,
the increased variegatedness of his hide, and his actions, and the
expression of self-dependence, and the calm consciousness of beauty
and strength.

Like a living ruin he stood in the middle of the dewy field, alone;
while not far away from him were heard the galloping, the neighing, the
lively whinnying, the snorting, of the scattered herd.


[Footnote 4: Two _arshin,_ three _vershoks,_= 6.65 feet.]



III.


The sun was now risen above the forest, and shone brightly on the grass
and the winding river. The dew dried away and fell off in drops. Like
smoke the last of the morning mist rolled up. Curly clouds made their
appearance, but as yet there was no wind. On the other side of the
gleaming river stood the rye, bending on its stalks, and the air was
fragrant with bright verdure and the flowers. The cuckoo cooed from
the forest with echoing voice; and Nester, lying flat on his back, was
reckoning up how many years of life lay before him. The larks arose
from the rye and the field. The belated hare stood up among the horses
and leaped without restraint, and sat down by the copse and pricked up
his ears to listen.

Vaska went to sleep, burying his head in the grass; the mares, making
wide circuits around him, scattered themselves on the field below.
The older ones, neighing, picked out a shining track across the dewy
grass, and constantly tried to find some place where they might be
undisturbed. They no longer grazed, but only nibbled on the sweet
grass-blades. The whole herd was imperceptibly moving in one direction.

And again the old Zhuldiba, stately stepping before the others, showed
how far it was possible to go. The young Mushka, who had cast her
first foal, constantly hinnying, and lifting her tail, was scolding
her violet- colt. The young Atlásnaya, with smooth and shining
skin, dropping her head so that her black and silken forelock hid her
forehead and eyes, was gambolling in the grass, nipping and tossing
and stamping her leg, with its hairy fetlock. One of the older little
colts,--he must have been imagining, some kind of game,--lifting, for
the twenty-sixth time, his rather short and tangled tail, like a plume,
gambolled around his dam, who calmly picked at the herbage, having
evidently had time to sum up her son's character, and only occasionally
stopping to look askance at him out of her big black eye.

One of these same young colts,--black as a coal, with a large head
with a marvellous top-knot rising above his ears, and his tail
still inclining to the side on which he had laid in his mother's
belly--pricking up his ears, and opening his stupid eyes, as he
stood motionless in his place, looked steadily at the colt jumping
and dancing, not at all understanding why he did it, whether out of
jealousy or indignation.

Some suckle, butting with their noses; others, for some unknown reason,
notwithstanding their mothers' invitation, move along in a short,
awkward trot, in a diametrically opposite direction, as though seeking
something, and then, no one knows why, stop short and hinny in a
desperately penetrating voice. Some lie on their sides in a row; some
take lessons in grazing; some try to scratch themselves with their hind
legs behind the ear.

Two mares, still with young, go off by themselves, and slowly moving
their legs continue to graze. Evidently their condition is respected by
the others, and none of the young colts ventures to go near or disturb
them. If any saucy young steed takes it into his head to approach too
near to them, then merely a motion of an ear or tail is sufficient to
show him all the impropriety of his behavior.

The yearlings and the young fillies pretend to be full-grown and
dignified, and rarely indulge in pranks, or join their gay companions.
They ceremoniously nibble at the blades of grass, bending their
swan-like, short-shorn necks, and, as though they also were blessed
with tails, switch their little brushes. Just like the big horses, some
of them lie down, roll over, and scratch each others' backs.

A very jolly band consists of the two-year-old and the three-year-old
mares who have never foaled. They almost all wander off by themselves,
and make a specially jolly virgin throng. Among them is heard a
great tramping and stamping, hinnying and whinnying. They gather
together, lay their heads over each others' shoulders, snuff the air,
leap; and sometimes, lifting the tail like an oriflamme, proudly and
coquettishly, in a half-trot, half-gallop, caracole in front of their
companions.

Conspicuous for beauty and sprightly dashing ways, among all this young
throng, was the wanton bay mare. Whatever she set on foot, the others
also did; wherever she went, there in her track followed also the whole
throng of beauties.

The wanton was in a specially playful frame of mind this morning. The
spirit of mischief was in her, just as it sometimes comes upon men.
Even at the river-side, playing her pranks upon the old gelding, she
had galloped along in the water, pretending that something had scared
her, snorting, and then dashed off at full speed across the field;
so that Vaska was constrained to gallop after her, and after the
others who were at her heels. Then, after grazing a little while, she
began to roll, then to tease the old mares, by dashing in front of
them. Then she separated a suckling colt from its dam, and began to
chase after it, pretending that she wanted to bite it. The mother was
frightened, and ceased to graze; the little colt squealed in piteous
tones. But the wanton young mare did not touch it, but only scared it,
and made a spectacle for her comrades, who looked with sympathy on her
antics.

Then she set out to turn the head of the roan horse, which a muzhík,
far away on the other side of the river, was driving with a plough in
the rye-field. She stood proudly, somewhat on one side, lifting her
head high, shook herself, and neighed in a sweet, significant, and
alluring voice.

'Tis the time when the rail-bird, running from place to place among the
thick reeds, passionately calls his mate; when also the cuckoo and the
quail sing of love; and the flowers send to each other, on the breeze,
their aromatic dust.

"And I am young and kind and strong," said the jolly wanton's neighing,
"and till now it has not been given to me to experience the sweetness
of this feeling, never yet to feel it; and no lover, no, not one, has
yet come to woo me."

And the significant neighing rang with youthful melancholy over lowland
and field, and it came to the ears of the roan horse far away. He
pricked up his ears, and stopped. The muzhík kicked him with his wooden
shoe; but the roan was bewitched by the silver sound of the distant
neighing, and whinnied in reply. The muzhík grew angry, twitched him
with the reins, and again kicked him in the belly with his bast shoe,
so that he did not have a chance to complete all that he had to say
in his neighing, but was forced to go on his way. And the roan horse
felt a sweet sadness in his heart; and the sounds from the far-off
rye-field, of that unfinished and passionate neigh, and the angry voice
of the muzhík, long echoed in the ears of the herd.

If through one sound of her voice the roan horse could become so
captivated as to forget his duty, what would have become of him if he
had had full view of the beautiful wanton, as she stood pricking up her
ears, inflating her nostrils, breathing in the air, and filled with
longing, while her young and beauteous body trembled as she called to
him?

But the wanton did not long ponder over her novel sensations. When the
voice of the roan was still, she whinnied scornfully, and, sinking her
head, began to paw the ground; and then she trotted off to wake up and
tease the piebald gelding. The piebald gelding was a long-suffering
butt for the amusement of this happy young wanton. She made him suffer
more than men did. But in neither case did he give way to wrath. He was
indispensable to men, but why should these young horses torment him?



IV.


He was old, they were young; he was lean, they were fat; he was sad,
they were happy. So he was thoroughly strange, alien, an absolutely
different creature; and it was impossible for them to have compassion
on him. Horses have pity only on themselves, and rarely on those whose
places they may easily come themselves to fill. But, indeed, was not
the piebald gelding himself to blame, that he was old and gaunt and
crippled?...

One would think that he was not to blame. But in equine ethics he was,
and only those were right who were strong, young, and happy; those
who had all life before them; those whose every muscle was tense with
superfluous energy, and curled their tails into a wheel.

Maybe the piebald gelding himself understood this, and in tranquil
moments was agreed that he was to blame because he had lived out all
his life, that he must pay for his life; but he was after all only
a horse, and he could not restrain himself often from feeling hurt,
melancholy, and discontented, when he looked on all these young horses
who tormented him for the very thing to which they would be subjected
when they came to the end of their lives.

The reason for the heartlessness of these horses was a peculiarly
aristocratic feeling. Every one of them was related, either on the side
of father or mother, to the celebrated Smetanka; but it was not known
from what stock the piebald gelding sprang. The gelding was a chance
comer, bought at market three years before for eighty paper rubles.

The young chestnut mare, as though accidentally wandering about, came
up to the piebald gelding's very nose, and brushed against him. He knew
before-hand what it meant, and did not open his eyes, but laid back his
ears and showed his teeth. The mare wheeled around, and made believe
that she was going to let fly at him with her heels. He opened his
eyes, and wandered off to another part. He had no desire to sleep, and
began to crop the grass. Again the wanton young mare, accompanied by
her confederates, went to the gelding. A two-year-old mare with a star
on her forehead, very stupid, always in mischief, and always ready to
imitate the chestnut mare, trotted along with her, and, as imitators
always do, began to: play the same trick that the instigator had done.

The brown mare marched along at an ordinary gait, as though bent on her
own affairs, and passed by the gelding's very nose, not looking at him,
so that he really did not know whether to be angry or not; and this was
the very fun of the thing.

This was what she did; but the starred mare following in her steps, and
feeling very gay, hit the gelding on the chest. He showed his teeth
once more, whinnied, and, with a quickness of motion unexpected on his
part, sprang at the mare, and bit her on the flank. The young mare with
the star flew out with her bind legs, and kicked the old horse heavily
on his thin bare ribs. The old horse uttered a hoarse noise, and was
about to make another lunge, but thought better of it, and sighing
deeply turned away.

It must have been that all the young horses of the drove regarded as
a personal insult the boldness which the piebald gelding permitted
himself to show toward the starred mare; for all the rest of the day
they gave him no chance to graze, and left him not a moment of peace,
so that the drover several times rebuked them, and could not comprehend
what they were doing.

The gelding was so abused that he himself walked up to Nester when it
was time for the old man to drive back the drove, and he showed greater
happiness and content when Nester saddled him and mounted him.

God knows what the old gelding's thoughts were as he bore on his back
the old man Nester. Did he think with bitterness of these importunate
and merciless youngsters? or, with a scornful and silent pride peculiar
to old age, did he pardon his persecutors? At all events, he did not
make manifest any of his thoughts till he reached home.

That evening some cronies had come to see Nester; and as the horses
were driven by the huts of the domestics, he noticed a horse and
telyéga standing at his doorstep. After he had driven in the horses, he
was in such a hurry that he did not take the saddle off: he left the
gelding at the yard,[5] and shouted to Vaska to unsaddle the animal,
then shut the gate, and hurried to his friends.

Perhaps owing to the affront put upon the starred mare, the descendant
of Smetanka, by that "low trash" bought for a horse, and not knowing
father or mother, and therefore offending the aristocratic sentiment
of the whole community; or because the gelding with the high saddle
without a rider presented a strangely fantastic spectacle for the
horses,--at all events, that night something extraordinary took place
in the paddock. All the horses, young and old, showing their teeth,
tagged after the gelding, and drove him from one part of the yard to
the other; the trampling of their hoofs echoed around him as he sighed
and drew in his thin sides.

The gelding could not longer endure this, could not longer avoid their
kicks. He halted in the middle of the field: his face expressed the
repulsive, weak anger of helpless old age, and despair besides. He laid
back his ears, and suddenly[6] something happened that caused all the
horses suddenly to become quiet. A very old mare, Viazopúrikha, came up
and sniffed the gelding, and sighed. The gelding also sighed.

.. .. .. .. .. .


[Footnote 5: _dvor_.]

[Footnote 6: So in the original.]



V.


In the middle of the yard, flooded with the moonlight, stood the
tall, gaunt figure of the gelding, still wearing the high saddle with
its prominent pommel. The horses, motionless and in deep silence,
stood around him, as though they were learning something new and
extraordinary from him. And, indeed, something new and extraordinary
they learned from him.

This is what they learned from him:--

.. .. .. .. .. .

.. .. .. .. .. .


FIRST NIGHT.

"Yes, I was sired by Liubeznuï I. Baba was my dam. According to
the genealogy my name is Muzhík I. Muzhík I., I am according to my
pedigree; but generally I am known as Kholstomír, on account of a long
and glorious gallop, the like of which never took place in Russia. In
lineage no horse in the world stands higher than I, for good blood.
I would never have told you this. Why should I? You would never have
known me as Viazopúrikha knew me when we used to be together at
Khrénova, and who only just now recognized me. You would not have
believed me had it not been for Viazopúrikha's witness, and I would
never have told you this. I do not need the pity of my kind. But you
insisted upon it. Well, I am that Kholstomír whom the amateurs are
seeking for and cannot find, that Kholstomír whom the count himself
named, and whom he let go from his stud because I outran his favorite
'Lebedi.'

.. .. .. .. .. .

.. .. .. .. .. .

"When I was born I did not know what they meant when they called me a
piebald;[7] I thought that I was a horse. The first remark made about
my hide, I remember, deeply surprised me and my dam.

"I must have been foaled in the night. In the morning, licked clean by
my dam's tongue, I stood on my legs. I remember all my sensations, and
that every thing seemed to me perfectly wonderful, and, at the same
time, perfectly simple. Our stalls were in a long, warm corridor, with
latticed gates, through which nothing could be seen.

"My dam tempted me to suckle; but I was so innocent as yet that I
bunted her with my nose, now under her fore-legs, now in other places.
Suddenly my dam gazed at the latticed gate, and, throwing her leg over
me, stepped to one side. One of the grooms was looking in at us through
the lattice.

"'See, Baba has foaled!' he exclaimed, and began to draw the bolt. He
came in over the straw bed, and took me up in his arms. 'Come and look,
Taras!' he cried; 'see what a piebald colt, a perfect magpie!'

"I tore myself away from him, and fell on my knees.

"'See, a perfect little devil!' he said.

"My dam became disquieted; but she did not take my part, and merely
drew a long, long breath, and stepped to one side. The grooms came, and
began to look at me. One ran to tell the equerry.

"All laughed as they looked at my spotting, and gave me various odd
names. I did not understand these names, nor did my dam either. Up to
that time in all my family there had never been a single piebald known.
We had no idea that there was any thing disgraceful in it. And then all
examined my structure and strength.

"See what a lively one!" said the hostler. 'You can't hold him.'

"In a little while came the equerry, and began to marvel at my
coloring. He also seemed disgusted.

"'What a nasty beast!' he cried. 'The general will not keep him in the
stud. Ekh! Baba, you have caused me much trouble,' he said, turning
to my dam. 'You ought to have foaled a colt with a star, but this is
completely piebald.'

"My dam vouchsafed no answer, and, as always in such circumstances,
merely sighed again.

"'What kind of a devil was his sire? A regular muzhík!' he went on to
say. 'It is impossible to keep him in the stud; it's a shame! But we'll
see, we'll see,' said he; and all said the same as they looked at me.

"After a few days the general himself came. He took a look at me, and
again all seemed horror-struck, and scolded me and my mother also on
account of my hide. 'But we'll see, we'll see,' said every one, as soon
as they caught sight of me.

"Until spring we young colts lived in separate cells with our dams;
only occasionally, when the snow on the roof of the sheds began to
melt in the sun, they would let us out into the wide yard, spread with
fresh straw. There for the first time I became acquainted with all my
kin, near and remote. There I saw how from different doors issued all
the famous mares of that time with their colts. There was the old
Holland mare, Mushka, sired by Smetankin, Krasnukha, the saddle-horse
Dobrokhotíkha, all celebrities at that time. All gathered together
there with their colts, walked up and down in the sunshine, rolled over
on the fresh straw, and sniffed of each other like ordinary horses.

"I cannot even now forget the sight of that paddock, full of the
beauties of that day. It may seem strange to you to think of me as
ever having been young and frisky, but I used to be. This very same
Viazopúrikha was there then, a yearling, whose mane had just been
cut,[8]--a kind, jolly, frolicsome little horse. But let it not be
taken as unkindly meant when I say, that, though she is now considered
a rarity among you on account of her pedigree, then she was only one of
the meanest horses of that stud. She herself will corroborate this.

"Though my coat of many colors had been displeasing to the men, it
was exceedingly attractive to all the horses. They all stood round
me, expressing their delight, and frisking with me. I even began to
forget the words of the men about my hide, and felt happy. But I soon
experienced the first sorrow of my life, and the cause of it was my
dam. As soon as it began to thaw, and the swallows chirped on the roof,
and the spring made itself felt more and more in the air, my dam began
to change in her behavior toward me.

"Her whole character was transformed. Suddenly, without any reason,
she began to frisk, galloping around the yard, which certainly did not
accord with her dignified growth; then she would pause and consider,
and begin to whinny; then she would bite and kick her sister mares;
then she began to smell of me, and neigh with dissatisfaction; then
trotting out into the sun she would lay her head across the shoulder
of my two-year-old sister Kúpchika, and long and earnestly scratch her
back, and push me away from nursing her. One time the equerry came,
commanded the halter to be put on her, and they led her out of the
paddock. She whinnied; I replied to her, and darted after her, but she
would not even look at me. The groom Taras seized me in both arms, just
as they shut the door on my mother's retreating form.

"I struggled, threw the groom on the straw; but the door was closed,
and I only heard my mother's whinnying growing fainter and fainter.
And in this whinnying I perceived that she called not for me, but I
perceived a very different expression. In reply to her voice, there was
heard in the distance a mighty voice.

"I don't remember how Taras got out of my stall; it was too grievous
for me. I felt that I had forever lost my mother's love; and wholly
because I was a piebald, I said to myself, remembering what the people
said of my hide; and such passionate anger came over me, that I began
to pound the sides of the stall with my head and feet, and I pounded
them until the sweat poured from me, and I could not stand up from
exhaustion.

"After some time my dam returned to me. I heard her as she came along
the corridor in a prancing trot, wholly unusual to her, and entered our
stall. The door was opened for her. I did not recognize her, so much
younger and handsomer had she grown. She snuffed at me, neighed, and
began to snort. But in her whole expression I could see that she did
not love me.

"Soon they led us to pasture. I now began to experience new pleasures
which consoled me for the loss of my mother's love. I had friends and
companions. We learned together to eat grass, to neigh like the old
horses, and to lift our tails and gallop in wide circles around our
dams. This was a happy time. Every thing was forgiven to me; all loved
me, and were loved by me, and looked indulgently on all that I did.
This did not last long.

"Here something terrible happened to me."

The gelding sighed deeply, deeply, and moved aside from the horses.

The dawn was already far advanced. The gates creaked. Nester came. The
horses scattered. The drover straightened the saddle on the gelding's
back, and drove away the horses.


[Footnote 7: _pyégi._]

[Footnote 8: All expressed in the word _strigúnchik._]



VI.


SECOND NIGHT.


As soon as the horses were driven in, they once more gathered around
the piebald.

"In the month of August," continued the horse, u I was separated from
my mother, and I did not experience any unusual grief. I saw that she
was already suckling a small brother,--the famous Usan,--and I was not
what I had been before. I was not jealous, but I felt that I had become
more than ever cool toward her. Besides, I knew that in leaving my
mother I should be transferred to the general division of young horses,
where we were stalled in twos and threes, and every day all went out to
exercise.

I was in one stall with Milui. Milui was a saddle-horse, and afterwards
belonged to the emperor himself, and was put into pictures and
statuary. At that time he was a mere colt, with a shiny soft coat,
a swan-like neck, and slender straight legs. He was always lively,
good-natured, and lovable; was always ready to frisk, and be caressed,
and sport with either horse or man. He and I could not help being good
friends, living together as we did; and our friendship lasted till we
grew up. He was gay, and inclined to be wanton. Even then he began to
feel the tender passion to disport with the fillies, and he used to
make sport of my guilelessness. To my unhappiness I myself, out of
egotism, tried to follow his example, and very soon was in love. And
this early inclination of mine was the cause, in great measure, of my
fate.

"But I am not going to relate all the story of my unhappy first love;
she herself remembers my stupid passion, which ended for me in the most
important change in my life.

"The drovers came along, drove her away, and pounded me. In the evening
they led me into a special stall. I whinnied the whole night long, as
though with a presentiment of what was coming on the morrow.

"In the morning the general, the equerry, the under grooms, and the
hostlers came into the corridor where my stall was, and set up a
terrible screaming. The general screamed to the head groom; the groom
justified himself, saying that he had not given orders to send me
away, but that the under grooms had done it of their own free will.
The general said that it had spoiled every thing, but that it was
impossible to keep young stallions. The head groom replied that he
would have it attended to. They calmed down and went out, I did not
understand it at all,--except that something concerning me was under
consideration.

.. .. .. .. .. .

.. .. .. .. .. .

"On the next day I had ceased forever to whinny; I became what I am
now. All the light of my eyes was quenched. Nothing seemed sweet to
me; I became self-absorbed, and began to be pensive. At first I felt
indifferent to every thing. I ceased even to eat, to drink, and to run;
and all thought of sprightly sport was gone. Then it nevermore came
into my mind to kick up my heels, to roll over, to whinny, without
bringing up the terrible question,--Why? for what purpose?' And my
vigor died away.

"Once they led me out at eventide, at the time when they were driving
the stud home from the field. From afar I saw already the cloud of dust
in which could be barely distinguished the familiar lineaments of all
of our mothers. I heard the cheerful snorting, and the trampling of
hoofs. I stopped short, though the halter-rope by which the groom held
me cut my neck; and I gazed at the approaching drove as one gazes at
happiness that is lost forever and will ne'er return again. They drew
near, and my eyes fell upon forms so well known to me,--beautiful,
grand, plump, full of life every one. Who among them all deigned to
glance at me? I did not feel the pain that the groom in pulling the
rope inflicted. I forgot myself, and involuntarily tried to whinny
as of yore, and to gallop off; but my whinnying sounded melancholy,
ridiculous, and unbecoming. There was no ribaldry among the stud, but I
noticed that many of them from politeness turned away from me.

"It was evident that in their eyes I was despicable and pitiable, and
worst of all ridiculous. My slender, weakly neck, my big head (I had
become thin), my long, thick legs, and the awkward gait that I struck
up, in my old fashion, around the groom, all must have seemed absurd to
them. No one heeded my whinnying, all turned away from me.

"Suddenly I comprehended it all, comprehended how I was forever
sundered from them, every one; and I know not how I stumbled home
behind the groom.

"I had already shown a tendency toward gravity and thoughtfulness;
but now a decided change came over me. My variegated coat, which
occasioned such a strange prejudice in men, my terrible and unexpected
unhappiness, and, moreover, my peculiarly isolated position in the
stud--which I felt, but could never explain to myself--compelled me to
turn my thoughts inward upon myself. I pondered on the disgust that
people showed when they berated me for being a piebald; I pondered on
the inconstancy of maternal and especially of female affection, and its
dependence upon physical conditions; and, above all, I pondered on the
characteristics of that strange race of mortals with whom we are so
closely bound, and whom we call men,--those characteristics which were
the source of the peculiarity of my position in the stud, felt by me
but incomprehensible.

"The significance of this, peculiarity, and of the human
characteristics on which it was based, was discovered to me by the
following incident:--

"It was winter, at Christmas-tide. All day long no fodder had been
given to me, nor had I been led out to water. I afterwards learned that
this arose from our groom being drunk. On this day the equerry came to
me, saw that I had no food, and began to use hard language about the
missing groom, and went %way.

"On the next day, the groom with his mates came out to our stalls to
give us some hay. I noticed that he was especially pale and glum, and
in the expression of his long back there was a something significant
and demanding sympathy.

"He austerely flung the hay behind the grating. I laid my head over his
shoulder; but he struck me such a hard blow with his fist on the nose,
that I started back. Then he kicked me in the belly with his boot.

"'If it hadn't been for this scurvy beast,' said he, 'there wouldn't
have been any trouble.'

"'Why?' asked another groom.

"'He doesn't come to inquire about the count's you bet! But twice a day
he comes out to look after his own.'

"'Have they given him the piebald?' inquired another.

"'Whether they've given it to him or sold it to him, the dog only
knows! The count's might die o' starvation--it wouldn't make any
difference; but see how it upset him when I didn't give _his_ horse
his fodder! 'Go to bed,' says he, 'and then you'll get a basting.' No
Christianity in it. More pity on the cattle than on a man. I don't
believe he's ever been christened, he himself counted the blows, the
barbarian! The general did not use the whip so. He made my back all
welts. There's no soul of a Christian in him!'

"Now, what they said about whips and Christianity, I understood well
enough; but it was perfectly dark to me as to the meaning of the words,
_my horse, his horse,_ by which I perceived that men understood some
sort of bond between me and the groom. Wherein consisted this bond, I
could not then understand at all. Only long after, when I was separated
from the other horses, I came to learn what it meant. At that time I
could not understand at all that it meant that they considered _me_ the
property of a man. To say _my horse_ in reference to me, a live horse,
seemed to me as strange as to say, _my earth, my atmosphere, my water._

"But these words had a monstrous influence upon me. I pondered upon
them ceaselessly; and only after long and varied relations with men
did I come at last to comprehend the meaning that men find in these
strange words.

"The meaning is this: Men rule in life, not by deeds, but by words.
They love not so much the possibility of doing or not doing any thing,
as the possibility of talking about different objects in words agreed
upon between them. Such words, considered very important among them,
are the words, _my, mine, ours,_ which they employ for various things,
beings, and objects; even for the earth, people, and horses. In regard
to any particular thing, they agree that only one person shall say 'It
is _mine._' And he who in this play, which they engage in, can say
_mine_ in regard to the greatest number of things, is considered the
most fortunate among them. Why this is so, I know not; but it is so.
Long before, I had tried to explain this to my satisfaction, by some
direct advantage; but it seemed that I was wrong.

"Many of the men who, for instance, called me their horse, did not ride
on me, but entirely different men rode on me. They themselves did not
feed me, but entirely different people fed me. Again, it was not those
who called me their horse who treated me kindly, but the coachman, the
veterinary, and, as a general thing, outside men.

"Afterwards, as I widened the sphere of my experiences, I became
convinced that the concept _my,_ as applied not only to us horses,
but to other things, has no other foundation than a low and animal, a
human instinct, which they call the sentiment or right of property.
Man says, _my house,_ and never lives in it, but is only cumbered with
the building and maintenance of it. The merchant says, _my shop_,--my
clothing-shop, for example,--and he does not even wear clothes made of
the best cloth in the shop.

"There are people who call land theirs, and have never seen their land,
and have never been on it. There are men who call other people theirs,
but have never seen these people; and the whole relationship of these
owners, to these people, consists in doing them harm.

"There are men who call women theirs,--their wives or mistresses; but
these women live with other men. And men struggle in life not to do
what they consider good, but to be possessors of what they call their
own.

"I am convinced now that herein lies the substantial difference between
men and us. And, therefore, not speaking of other things, where we are
superior to men, we are able boldly to say that in this one respect at
least, we stand, in the scale of living beings, higher than men. The
activity of men--at all events, of those with whom I have had to do--is
guided by words; ours, by deeds.

"And here the head groom obtained this right to say about me, _my
horse;_ and hence he lashed the hostler. This discovery deeply
disturbed me; and those thoughts and opinions which my variegated coat
aroused in men, and the thoughtfulness aroused in me by the change
in my mother, together subserved to make me into that solemn and
contemplative gelding that I am.

"I was threefold unhappy: I was piebald; I was a gelding; and men
imagined that I did not belong to God and myself, as is the prerogative
of every living thing, but that I belonged to the equerry.

"The consequences of their imagining this about me were many. The first
was, that they kept me apart from the others, fed me better, led me
more often, and harnessed me up earlier. They harnessed me first when
I was in my third year. I remember the first time, the equerry himself,
who imagined that I was his, began, with a crowd of grooms, to harness
me, expecting from me some ebullition of temper or contrariness. They
put leather straps on me, and conducted me into the stalls. They laid
on my back a wide leather cross, and attached it to the thills, so that
I should not kick; but I was only waiting an opportunity to show my
gait, and my love for work.

"They marvelled because I went like an old horse. They began to drive
me, and I began to practise trotting. Every day I made greater and
greater improvement, so that in three months the general himself,
and many others, praised my gait. But this was a strange thing: for
the very reason that they imagined that I was the equerry's, and not
theirs, my gait had for them an entirely different significance.

"The stallions, my brothers, were put through their paces; their time
was reckoned; people came to see them; they were driven in gilded
drozhkies. Costly saddles were put upon them. But I was driven in the
equerry's simple drozhkies, when he had business at Chesmenka and other
manor-houses. All this resulted from the fact that I was piebald, but
more than all from the fact that I was, according to their idea, not
the property of the count, but of the equerry.

"To-morrow, if we are alive, I will tell you what a serious influence
upon me was exercised by this right of proprietorship which the equerry
arrogated to himself."

All that day the horses treated Kholstomír with great consideration;
but Nester, from old custom, rode him into the field. But Nester's
ways were so rough! The muzhík's gray stallion, coming toward the
drove, whinnied: and again the chestnut filly coquettishly replied to
him.



VII.


THIRD NIGHT.


The moon had quartered; and her narrow band poured a mild light on
Kholstomír, standing in the middle of the yard, with the horses
clustered around him.

"The principal and most surprising consequence to me of the fact
that I was not the property of the count nor of God, but of the
equerry," continued the piebald, "was that what constitutes our chief
activity--the eager race--was made the cause of my banishment. They
were driving Lebedi around the ring; and a jockey from Chesmenka was
riding me, and entered the course. Lebedi dashed past us. He trotted
well, but he seemed to want to show off. He had not that skill which I
had cultivated in myself; that is, of compelling one leg instantly to
follow on the motion of the other, and not to waste the least degree
of energy, but use it all in pressing forward. Lebedi dashed by us. I
entered the ring: the jockey did not hold me back.

"'Say, will you time my piebald?' he cried; and when Lebedi came
abreast of us a second time, he let me out. He had the advantage of his
momentum, and so I was left behind in the first heat; but in the second
I began to gain on him; came up to him in the drozhsky, caught up
with him, passed beyond him, and won the race. They tried it a second
time--the same thing. I was the swifter. And this filled them all with
dismay. The general begged them to send me away as soon as possible,
so that I might not be heard of again. 'Otherwise the count will know
about it, and there will be trouble,' said he. And they sent me to the
horse-dealer. I did not remain there long. A hussar, who came along to
get a remount, bought me. All this had been so disagreeable, so cruel,
that I was glad when they took me from Khrénova, and forever separated
me from all that had been near and dear to me. It was too hard for me
among them. Before _them_ stood love, honor, freedom; before me labor,
humiliation,--humiliation, labor, to the end of my days. Why? Because I
was piebald, and because I was compelled to be somebody's horse."



VIII.


FOURTH NIGHT.


The next evening when the gates were closed, and all was still, the
piebald continued thus:--

"I had many experiences, both among men and among my own kind, while
changing about from hand to hand. I staid with two masters the longest:
with the prince, the officer of the hussars, and then with an old man
who lived at Nikola Yavleonoï Church.

"I spent the happiest days of my life with the hussar.

"Though he was the cause of my destruction, though he loved nothing and
nobody, yet I loved him, and still love him, for this very reason.

"He pleased me precisely, because he was handsome, fortunate, rich, and
therefore loved no one.

"You are familiar with this lofty equine sentiment of ours. His
coldness, and my dependence upon him, added greatly to the strength
of my affection for him. Because he beat me, and drove me to death, I
used to think in those happy days, for that very reason I was all the
happier.

"He bought me of the horse-dealer to whom the equerry had sold me, for
eight hundred rubles. He bought me because there was no demand for
piebald horses. Those were my happiest days.

"He had a mistress. I knew it because every day I took him to her; and
I took her out driving, and sometimes took them together.

"His mistress was a handsome woman, and he was handsome, and his
coachman was handsome; and I loved them all because they were. And life
was worth living then.

"This is the way that my life was spent: In the morning the man came
to groom me,--not the coachman, but the groom. The groom was a young
lad, taken from among the muzhíks. He would open the door, let the wind
drive out the steam from the horses, shovel out the manure, take off
the blanket, begin to flourish the brush over my body, and with the
curry-comb to brush out the scruff on the floor of the stall, marked
by the stamping of hoofs. I would make believe bite his sleeves, would
push him with my leg.

"Then we were led out, one after the other, to drink from a tub of
cold water; and the youngster admired my sleek spotted coat, my legs
straight as an arrow, my broad hoofs, my polished flank, and back
wide enough to sleep on. Then he would throw the hay behind the broad
rack, and pour the oats into the oaken cribs. Then Feofán and the old
coachman would come.

"The master and the coachman were alike. Neither the one nor the other
feared any one or loved any one except themselves, and therefore
everybody loved them. Feofán came in a red shirt, plush breeches, and
coat. I used to like to hear him when, all pomaded for a holiday, he
would come to the stable in his coat, and cry,--

"'Well, cattle, are you asleep?' and poke me in the loin with the
handle of his fork; but never so as to hurt, only in fun. I could
instantly take a joke, and I would lay back my ears and show my teeth.

"We had a chestnut stallion that belonged to a pair. Sometimes they
would harness us together. This Polkan could not understand a joke, and
was simply ugly as the devil. I used to stand in the next stall to him,
and feel seriously pained. Feofán was not afraid of him. He used to go
straight up to him, shout to him,--it seemed as though he were going
to kick him,--but no, straight by, and put on the halter.

"Once we ran away together, in a pair, over the Kuznetskoë. Neither the
master nor the coachman was frightened; they laughed, they shouted to
the people, and they sawed on the reins and pulled up, and so I did not
run over anybody.

"In their service I expended my best qualities, and half of my life.
Then I was given too much water to drink, and my legs gave out.... But
in spite of every thing, that was the best part of my life. At twelve
they would come, harness us, oil my hoofs, moisten my forelock and
mane, and put us between the thills.

"The sledge was of cane, plaited, upholstered in velvet. The harness
had little silver buckles, the reins of silk, and once I wore a
fly-net. The whole harness was such, that, when all the straps and
belts were put on and drawn, it was impossible to make out where the
harness ended and the horse began. They would finish harnessing in
the shed. Feofán would come out, his middle wider than his shoulders,
with his red girdle under his arms. He would inspect the harness, take
his seat, straighten his kaftan, put his foot in the stirrup, get off
some joke, always crack his whip, though he scarcely ever touched me
with it,--merely for form's sake,--and cry, 'Now off with you!'[9]
And frisking at every step, I would prance out of the gate; and the
cook, coming out to empty her slops, would pause in the road; and
the muzhík, bringing in his firewood, would open his eyes. We would
drive up and down, occasionally stopping. The lackeys come out, the
coachmen drive up. There is constant conversation. Always kept waiting.
Sometimes for three hours we were kept at the door; occasionally we
take a turn around, and talk a while, and again we halt.

"At last there would be a tumult in the hallway; the gray-haired
Tikhon, fat in paunch, comes out in his dress-coat. 'Drive on;' then
there was none of that use of superfluous words that obtains now.
Feofán clucks as if I did not know what 'forward' meant; comes up to
the door, and drives away quickly, unconcernedly, as though there
was nothing wonderful either in the sledge or the horses, or Feofán
himself, as he bends his back and holds out his hands in such a way
that it would seem impossible to keep it up long.

"The prince comes out in his shako and cloak, with a gray beaver collar
concealing his handsome, ruddy, black-browed face, which ought never to
be covered. He would come out with clanking sabre, jingling spurs, and
copper-heeled boots; stepping over the carpet as though in a hurry, and
not paying any heed to me or to Feofán, whom everybody except himself
looked at and admired.

"Feofán clucks. I pull at the reins, and with a respectable rapid
trot we are off and away. I glance round at the prince, and toss my
aristocratic head and delicate topknot. The prince is in good spirits;
he sometimes jests with Feofán. Feofán replies, half turning round to
the prince his handsome face, and, not dropping his hands, makes some
ridiculous motion with the reins which I understand; and on, on, on,
with ever wider and wider strides, straining every muscle, and sending
the muddy snow over the dasher, off I go! Then there was none of the
absurd way that obtains to-day of crying, O! as though the coachman
were in pain, and couldn't speak. 'G'long! Look out there![10] G'long!
Look out there,' shouts Feofán; and the people clear the way, and stand
craning their necks to see the handsome gelding, the handsome coachman,
and the handsome harm....

"I loved especially to outstrip some racer. When Feofán and I would
see in the distance some team worthy of our mettle, flying like a
whirlwind, we would gradually come nearer and nearer to him. And soon
tossing the mud over the dasher, I would be even with the passenger,
and would snort over his head, then even with the saddle, with the
bell-bow;[11] then I would already see him and hear him behind me,
gradually getting farther and farther away. But the prince and Feofán
and I, we all kept silent, and made believe that we were merely out
for a drive, and by our actions that we did not notice those with slow
horses whom we overtook on our way. I loved to race, but I loved also
to meet a good racer. One wink, sound, glance, and we would be off, and
would fly along, each on his own side of the road." ...

Here the gates creaked, and the voices of Nester and Vaska were heard.


[Footnote 9: _pushchaï._]

[Footnote 10: _podi! belegis._]

[Footnote 11: _dugá._]



IX.


FIFTH NIGHT.


The weather began to change. The sky was over-cast; and in the morning
there was no dew, but it was warm, and the flies were sticky. As soon
as the herd was driven in, the horses gathered around the piebald, and
thus he finished his story:--

"The happy days of my life were soon over. I lived so only two years.
At the end of the second winter, there happened an event which was most
delightful to me, and immediately after came my deepest sorrow. It was
at Shrove-tide. I took the prince to the races. Atlásnui and Buichók
also ran in the race.

"I don't know what they were doing in the summer-house; but I know that
he came, and ordered Feofán to enter the ring. I remember they drove
me into the ring, stationed me and stationed Atlásnui. Atlásnui was in
racing gear, but I was harnessed in a city sleigh. At the turning stake
I left him behind. A laugh and a cry of victory greeted my achievement.
When they began to lead me round, a crowd followed after, and a man
offered the prince five thousand. He only laughed, showing his white
teeth.

"'No,' said he, 'this isn't a horse, it's a friend. I wouldn't sell him
for a mountain of gold. Good-day, gentlemen!'[12]

"He threw open the fur robes, and got in.

"'To Ostozhenka.'

"That was where his mistress lived. And we flew....

"It was our last happy day. We reached her home. He called her _his._
But she loved some one else, and had gone off with him. The prince
ascertained this at her room. It was five o'clock; and, not letting
me be unharnessed, he started in pursuit of her, though she had never
really been his. They applied the knout to me, and made me gallop. For
the first time, I began to flag, and I am ashamed to say, I wanted to
rest.

"But suddenly I heard the prince himself shouting in an unnatural
voice, 'Hurry up!'[13] and the knout whistled and cut me; and I dashed
ahead again, my leg hitting against the iron of the dasher. We overtook
her, after going twenty-five versts. I got him there; but I trembled
all night, and could not eat any thing. In the morning they gave me
water. I drank it, and forever ceased to be the horse that I was. I was
sick. They tortured me and maimed me,--treated me as men are accustomed
to do. My hoofs came off. I had abscesses, and my legs grew bent. I
had no strength in my chest. Laziness and weakness were everywhere
apparent. I was sent to the horse-dealer. He fed me on carrots and
other things, and made me something quite unlike my old self, but yet
capable of deceiving one who did not know. But there was no strength
and no swiftness in me.

"Moreover, the horse-dealer tormented me, by coming to my stall when
customers were on hand, and beginning to stir me up, and torture me
with the knout, so that it drove me to madness. Then he would wipe the
bloody foam off the whip, and lead me out.

"An old lady bought me of the dealer. She used to keep coming to Nikola
Yavlennoï, and she used to whip the coachman. The coachman would come
and weep in my stall. And I knew that his tears had an agreeable salt
taste. Then the old woman chid her overseer,[14] took me into the
country, and sold me to a peddler; then I was fed on wheat, and grew
sicker still. I was sold to a muzhík. There I had to plough, had almost
nothing to eat, and I cut my leg with a ploughshare. I became sick
again. A gypsy got possession of me. He tortured me horribly, and at
last I was sold to the overseer here. And here I am." ... All were
silent. The rain began to fall.


[Footnote 12: _do svidánya = au revoir._]

[Footnote 13: _valyaï._]

[Footnote 14: _priskashchik._]



X.


As the herd returned home the following evening, they met the
master[15] and a guest. Zhulduiba, leading the way, cast her eyes on
two men's figures: one was the young master in a straw hat; the other,
a tall, stout, military man, with wrinkled face. The old mare gazed at
the man, and swerving went near to him; the rest, the younger ones,
were thrown into some confusion, huddled together, especially when the
master and his guest came directly into the midst of the horses, making
gestures to each other, and talking.

"Here's this one. I bought it of Voyéïkof,--the dapple-gray horse,"
said the master.

"And that young black mare, with the white legs,--where did you get
her? Fine one," said the guest. They examined many of the horses as
they walked around, or stood on the field. They remarked also the
chestnut mare.

"That's one of the saddle-horses,--the breed of Khrenovsky."

They quietly gazed at all the horses as they went by. The master
shouted to Nester; and the old man, hastily digging his heels into the
sides of the piebald, trotted out. The piebald horse hobbled along,
limping on one leg; but his gait was such that it was evident that in
other circumstances he would not have complained, even if he had been
compelled to go in this way, as long as his strength held out, to the
world's end. He was ready even to go at full gallop, and at first even
broke into one.

"I have no hesitation in saying that there isn't a better horse in
Russia than that one," said the master, pointing to one of the mares.
The guest corroborated this praise. The master, full of satisfaction,
walked up and down, made observations, and told the story and pedigree
of each of the horses.

It was apparently somewhat of a bore to the guest to listen to the
master; but he devised questions, to make it seem as if he were
interested in it.

"Yes, yes," said he in some confusion.

"Look," said the host, not replying to the questions, "look at
those legs, look at the ... She cost me dear, but I shall have a
three-year-old from her that'll go!"

"Does she trot well?" asked the guest.

Thus they scrutinized almost all the horses, and there was nothing more
to show. And they were silent.

"Well, shall we go?"

"Yes, let us go."

They went out through the gate. The guest was glad that the exhibition
was over, and that he was going home where he would eat, drink, smoke,
and have a good time. As they went by Nester, who was sitting on the
piebald and waiting for further orders, the guest struck his big fat
hand on the horse's side.

"Here's good blood," said he. "He's like the piebald horse, if you
remember, that I told you about."

The master perceived that it was not of his horses that the guest was
speaking; and he did not listen, but, looking around, continued to gaze
at his stud.

Suddenly, at his very ear, was heard a dull, weak, senile neigh. It
was the piebald horse that began to neigh, but could not finish it.
Becoming, as it were, confused, he broke short off.

Neither the guest nor the master paid any attention to this neigh,
but went home. Kholstomír had recognized in the wrinkled old man his
beloved former master, the once brilliant, handsome, and wealthy
Sierpukhovskoï.


[Footnote 15: _khozhyáïn_.]



XI.


The rain continued to fall. In the paddock it was gloomy, but at the
manor-house[16] it was quite the reverse. The luxurious evening meal
was spread in the luxurious dining-room. At the table sat master,
mistress, and the guest who had just arrived.

The master held in his hand a box of specially fine ten-year-old
cigars, such as no one else had, according to his story, and proceeded
to offer them to the guest. The master was a handsome young man of
twenty-five, fresh, neatly dressed, smoothly brushed. He was dressed
in a fresh, loosely-fitting suit of clothes, made in London. On his
watch-chain were big expensive charms. His cuff-buttons were of gold,
large, even massive, set with turquoises. His beard was _à la Napoleon
III._; and his moustaches were waxed, and stood out as though he had
got them nowhere else than in Paris.

The lady wore a silk-muslin dress, brocaded with large variegated
flowers; on her head, large gold hair-pins in her thick auburn hair,
which was beautiful, though not entirely her own. Her hands were
adorned with bracelets and rings, all expensive.

The samovar was silver, the service exquisite. The lackey, magnificent
in his dress-coat and white vest and necktie, stood like a statue at
the door, awaiting orders. The furniture was of bent wood, and bright;
the wall-papers dark, with large flowers. Around the table tinkled a
cunning little dog, with a silver collar bearing an extremely hard
English name, which neither of them could pronounce because they knew
not English.

In the corner, among the flowers, stood the pianoforte, inlaid with
mother-of-pearl.[17] Every thing breathed of newness, luxury, and
rareness. Every thing was extremely good; but it all bore a peculiar
impress of profusion, wealth, and an absence of intellectual interests.

The master was a great lover of racing, strong and hot-headed; one of
those whom one meets everywhere, who drive out in sable furs, send
costly bouquets to actresses, drink the most expensive wine, of the
very latest brand, at the most expensive restaurant, offer prizes in
their own names, and entertain the most expensive....

The new-comer, Nikíta Sierpukhovskoï, was a man of forty years, tall,
stout, bald, with huge mustaches and side-whiskers. He ought to
have been very handsome; but it was evident that he had wasted his
forces--physical and moral and pecuniary.

He was so deeply in debt that he was obliged to go into the service so
as to escape the sponging-house. He had now come to the government city
as chief of the imperial stud. His influential relations had obtained
this for him.

He was dressed in an army kittel and blue trousers. His kittel and
trousers were such as only those who are rich can afford to wear; so
with his linen also. His watch was English. His boots had peculiar
soles, as thick as a finger.

Nikíta Sierpukhovskoï had squandered a fortune of two millions, and was
still in debt to the amount of one hundred and twenty thousand rubles.
From such a course there always remains a certain momentum of life,
giving credit, and the possibility of living almost luxuriously for
another ten years.

The ten years had already passed, and the momentum was finished; and
it had become hard for him to live. He had already begun to drink too
much; that is, to get fuddled with wine, which had never been the
case with him before. Properly speaking, he had never begun and never
finished drinking.

More noticeable in him than all else was the restlessness of his eyes
(they had begun to wander), and the uncertainty of his intonations and
motions. This restlessness was surprising, from the fact that it was
evidently a new thing in him, because it could be seen that he had been
accustomed, all his life long, to fear nothing and nobody, and that now
he endured severe sufferings from some dread that was thoroughly alien
to his nature.

The host and hostess[18] remarked this, exchanged glances, showing that
they understood each other, postponed until they should get to bed the
consideration of this subject; and, evidently, merely endured poor
Sierpukhovskoï.

The sight of the young master's happiness humiliated Nikíta, and
compelled him to painful envy, as he remembered his own irrevocable
past.

"You don't object to cigars, Marie?" he asked, addressing the lady
in that peculiar tone, acquired only by practice, full of urbanity
and friendliness, but not wholly satisfactory,--such as men use who
are familiar with the society of women not enjoying the dignity of
wifehood. Not that he could have wished to insult her: on the contrary,
he was much more anxious to gain her good-will and that of the host,
though he would not for any thing have acknowledged it to himself. But
he was already used to talking thus with such women. He knew that she
would have been astonished, even affronted, if he had behaved to her
as toward a lady. Moreover, it was necessary for him to preserve that
peculiar shade of deference for the acknowledged wife of his friend.
He treated such women always with consideration, not because he shared
those so-called convictions that are promulgated in newspapers (he
never read such trash), about esteem as the prerogative of every man,
about the absurdity of marriage, etc., because all well-bred men act
thus, and he was a well-bred man, though inclined to drink.

He took a cigar. But his host awkwardly seized a handful of cigars, and
placed them before the guest.

"No, just see how good these are! try them."

Nikíta pushed away the cigars with his hand, and in his eyes flashed
something like injury and shame.

"Thanks,"--he took out his cigar-case,--"try mine."

The lady was on the watch. She perceived how it affected him. She began
hastily to talk with him.

"I am very fond of cigars. I should smoke myself if everybody about did
not smoke."

And she gave him one of her bright, kindly smiles. He half-smiled in
reply. Two of his teeth were gone.

"No, take this," continued the host, not heeding. "Those others are
not so strong. _Fritz, bringen Sie noch eine Kasten,_" he said, "_dort
zwei._"

The German lackey brought another box.

"Do you like these larger ones? They are stronger. This is a very good
kind. Take them all," he added, continuing to force them upon his guest.

He was evidently glad that there was some one on whom he could lavish
his rarities, and he saw nothing out of the way in it. Sierpukhovskoï
began to smoke, and hastened to take up the subject that had been
dropped.

"How much did you have to go on Atlásnui?" he asked.

"He cost me dear,--not less than five thousand, but at all events I am
secured. Plenty of colts, I tell you!"

"Do they trot?" inquired Sierpukhovskoï.

"First-rate. To-day Atlásnui's colt took three prizes: one at Tula, one
at Moscow, and one at Petersburg. He raced with Voyéïkof's Vorónui. The
rascally jockey made four abatements, and almost put him out of the
race."

"He was rather raw; too much Dutch stock in him, I should say," said
Sierpukhovskoï.

"Well, but the mares are finer ones. I will show you to-morrow. I paid
three thousand for Dobruina, two thousand for Laskovaya."

And again the host began to enumerate his wealth. The mistress saw that
this was hard for Sierpukhovskoï, and that he only pretended to listen.

"Won't you have some more tea?" asked the hostess.

"I don't care for any more," said the host, and he went on with his
story. She got up; the host detained her, took her in his arms, and
kissed her.

Sierpukhovskoï smiled at first, as he looked at them; but his smile
seemed to them unnatural. When his host got up, and took her in his
arms, and went out with her as far as the _portière,_ his face
suddenly changed; he sighed deeply, and an expression of despair took
possession of his wrinkled face. There was also wrath in it.

"Yes, you said that you bought him of Voyéïkof," said Sierpukhovskoï,
with assumed indifference.


[Footnote 16: _barski dom._]

[Footnote 17: _incrusté._]

[Footnote 18: _khozyáïn_ and _khozyáïka._]



XII.


The host returned, and smiled as he sat down opposite his guest.
Neither of them spoke.

"Oh, yes! I was speaking of Atlásnui. I had a great mind to buy the
mares of Dubovitsky. Nothing but rubbish was left."

"He was _burned_ out," said Sierpukhovskoï, and suddenly stood up
and looked around. He remembered that he owed this ruined man twenty
thousand rubles; and that, if _burned_ out were said of any one, it
might by good rights be said about himself. He began to laugh.

Both kept silence long. The master was revolving in his mind how he
might boast a little before his guest. Sierpukhovskoï was cogitating
how he might show that he did not consider himself burned out. But the
thoughts of both moved with difficulty, in spite of the fact that they
tried to enliven themselves with cigars.

"Well, when shall we have something to drink?" asked the guest of
himself.

"At all events, we must have something to drink, else we shall die of
the blues," said the host to himself.

"How is it? are you going to stay here long?" asked Sierpukhovskoï.

"About a month yet. Shall we have a little lunch? What say you? Fritz,
is every thing ready?"

They went back to the dining-room. There, under a hanging lamp, stood
the table loaded with candles and very extraordinary things: siphons,
and bottles with fancy stoppers, extraordinary wine in decanters,
extraordinary liqueurs and vodka. They drank, sat down, drank again,
sat down, and tried to talk. Sierpukhovskoï grew flushed, and began to
speak unreservedly.

They talked about women: who kept such and such an one; the gypsy, the
ballet-girl, the _soubrette._[19]

"Why, you left Mathieu, didn't you?" asked the host.

This was the mistress who had caused Sierpukhovskoï such pain.

"No, she left me. O my friend,[20] how one remembers what one has
squandered in life! Now I am glad, fact, when I get a thousand rubles;
glad, fact, when I get out of everybody's way. I cannot in Moscow. Ah!
what's to be said!"

The host was bored to listen to Sierpukhovskoï. He wanted to talk
about himself,--to brag. But Sierpukhovskoï also wanted to talk about
himself,--about his glittering past. The host poured out some more
wine, and waited till he had finished, so as to tell him about his
affairs,--how he was going to arrange his stud as no one ever had
before; and how Marie loved him, not for his money, but for himself.

"I was going to tell you that in my stud" ... he began. But
Sierpukhovskoï interrupted him.

"There was a time, I may say," he began, "when I loved, and knew how to
live. You were talking just now about racing; please tell me what is
your best racer."

The host was glad of the chance to tell some more about his stud, but
Sierpukhovskoï again interrupted him.

"Yes, yes," said he. "But the trouble with you breeders is, that you do
it only for ostentation, and not for pleasure, for life. It wasn't so
with me. I was telling you this very day that I used to have a piebald
racer, with just such spots as I saw among your colts. _Okh!_ what a
horse he was! You can't imagine it: this was in '42. I had just come
to Moscow. I went to a dealer, and saw a piebald gelding. All in best
form. He pleased me. Price? Thousand rubles. He pleased me. I took him,
and began to ride him. I never had, and you never had and never will
have, such a horse. I never knew a better horse, either for gait, or
strength, or beauty. You were a lad then. You could not have known, but
you may have heard, I suppose. All Moscow knew him."

"Yes, I heard about him," said the host reluctantly; "but I was going
to tell you about my" ...

So you heard about him. I bought him just as he was, without pedigree,
without proof; but then I knew Voyéïkof, and I traced him. He was sired
by Liubeznuï I. He was called Kholstomír.[21] He'd measure linen for
you! On account of his spotting, he was given to the equerry at the
Khrenovski stud; and he had him gelded, and sold him to the dealer.
Aren't any horses like him anymore, friend! _Akh!_ "What a time that
was! _Akh!_ vanished youth!" he said, quoting the words of a gypsy
song. He began to get wild. "_Ekh!_ that was a golden time! I was
twenty-five. I had eighty thousand a year income; then I hadn't a gray
hair; all my teeth like pearls.... Whatever I undertook prospered. And
yet all came to an end." ...

"Well, you didn't have such lively times then," said the host, taking
advantage of the interruption. "I tell you that my first horses began
to run without" ...

"Your horses! Horses were more mettlesome then" ...

"How more mettlesome?"

"Yes, more mettlesome. I remember how one time I was at Moscow at the
races. None of my horses were in it. I did not care for racing; but I
had blooded horses, General Chaulet, Mahomet. I had my piebald with
me. My coachman was a splendid young fellow. I liked him. But he was
rather given to drink, so I drove.--'Sierpukhovskoï,' said they, 'when
are you going to get some trotters?'--'I don't care for your low-bred
beasts,[22] the devil take 'em! I have a hackdriver's piebald that's
worth all of yours.'--Yes, but he doesn't race.'--'Bet you a thousand
rubles.' They took me up. He went round in five seconds, won the wager
of a thousand rubles. But that was nothing. With my blooded horses I
went in a troïka a hundred versts in three hours. All Moscow knew about
it."

And Sierpukhovskoï began to brag so fluently and steadily that the host
could not get in a word, and sat facing him with dejected countenance.
Only, by way of diversion, he would fill up his glass and that of his
companion.

It began already to grow light, but still they sat there. It became
painfully tiresome to the host. He got up.

"Sleep,--let's go to sleep, then," said Sierpukhovskoï, as he got up,
and went staggering and puffing to the room that had been assigned to
him.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

.. .. .. .. .. ..

.. .. .. .. .. ..

The master of the house rejoined his mistress.

"Oh, he's unendurable. He got drunk, and lied faster than he could
talk."

"And he made love to me too."

"I fear that he's going to borrow of me."

Sierpukhovskoï threw himself on the bed without undressing, and drew a
long breath.

"I must have talked a good deal of nonsense," he thought. "Well, it's
all the same. Good wine, but he's a big hog. Something cheap about
him.[23] And I am a hog myself," he remarked, and laughed aloud. "Well,
I used to support others: now it's my turn. I guess the Winkler girl
will help me. I'll borrow some money of her. He may come to it. Suppose
I've got to undress. Can't get my boot off. Hey, hey!" he cried; but
the man who had been ordered to wait on him had long before gone to bed.

He sat up, took off his kittel and his vest, and somehow managed to
crawl out of his trousers; but it was long before his boots would stir:
with his stout belly it was hard work to stoop over. He got one off; he
struggled and struggled with the other, got out of breath, and gave it
up. And so with one leg in the boot he threw himself down, and began to
snore, filling the whole room with the odor of wine, tobacco, and vile
old age.


[Footnote 19: _Frantsuzhenka._]

[Footnote 20: _akh, brat_ brother.]

[Footnote 21: _Kholstomír_ means a cloth measurer: suggesting the
greatest distance from linger to linger of the outstretched arms, and
rapidity in accomplishing the motion.]

[Footnote 22: literally, _muzhíks._]

[Footnote 23: _kupésheskoe_, merchant-like.]



XIII.


If Kholstomír remembered any thing that night, it was the frolic that
Vaska gave him. He threw over him a blanket, and galloped off. He was
left till morning at the door of a tavern, with a muzhík's horse. They
licked each other. When it became light he went back to the herd, and
itched all over.

"Something makes me itch fearfully," he thought.

Five days passed. They brought a veterinary. He said cheerfully,--

"The mange. You'll have to dispose of him to the gypsies."

"Better have his throat cut; only have it done to-day."


The morning was calm and clear. The herd had gone to pasture.
Kholstomír remained behind. A strange man came along; thin, dark,
dirty, in a kaftan spotted with something black. This was the
scavenger. He took Kholstomír by the halter, and without looking at him
started off. The horse followed quietly, not looking round, and, as
always, dragging his legs and kicking up the straw with his hind-legs.

As he went out of the gate, he turned his head toward the well; but the
scavenger twitched the halter, and said,--

"It's not worth while."

The scavenger, and Vaska who followed, proceeded to a depression behind
the brick barn, and stopped, as though there were something peculiar
in this most ordinary place; and the scavenger, handing the halter to
Vaska, took off his kaftan, rolled up his sleeves, and produced a knife
and whetstone from his boot-leg.

The piebald pulled at the halter, and out of sheer _ennui_ tried to
bite it, but it was too far off. He sighed, and closed his eyes. He
hung down his lip, showing his worn yellow teeth, and began to drowse,
lulled by the sound of the knife on the stone. Only his sick and
swollen leg trembled a little.

Suddenly he perceived that he was grasped by the lower jaw, and that
his head was lifted up. He opened his eyes. Two dogs were in front of
him. One was snuffing in the direction of the scavenger, the other sat
looking at the gelding as though expecting something especially from
him. The gelding looked at them, and began to rub his jaw against the
hand that held him.

"Of course they want to cure me," he said: "let it come!"

And the thought had hardly passed through his mind, before they did
something to his throat. It hurt him; he started back, stamped his
foot, but restrained himself, and waited for what was to follow....
What followed, was some liquid pouring in a stream down his neck and
breast. He drew a deep breath, lifting his sides. And it seemed easier,
much easier, to him.

The whole burden of his life was taken from him.

He closed his eyes, and began to droop his head,--no one held it. Then
his legs quivered, his whole body swayed. He was not so much terrified
as he was astonished....

Every thing was so new. He was astonished; he tried to run ahead, up
the hill, ... but instead of this, his legs, moving where he stood,
interfered. He began to roll over on his side, and while expecting to
make a step he fell forward, and on his left side.

The scavenger waited till the death-struggle was over, drove away the
dogs that were creeping nearer, and then seized the horse by the legs,
turned him over on the back, and, telling Vaska to hold his leg, began
to take off the hide.

"That was a horse indeed!" said Vaska.

"If he'd been fatter, it would have been a fine hide," said the
scavenger.


That evening the herd passed by the hill; and those who were on the
left wing saw a red object below them, and around it some dogs busily
romping, and crows and hawks flying over it. One dog, with his paws
on the carcass, and shaking his head, was growling over what he was
tearing with his teeth. The brown filly stopped, lifted her head and
neck, and long sniffed the air. It took force to drive her away.

At sunrise, in a ravine of the ancient forest, in the bottom of an
overgrown glade, some wolf-whelps were beside themselves with joy.
There were five of them,--four about of a size, and one little one with
a head bigger than his body. A lean, hairless she-wolf, her belly with
hanging dugs almost touching the ground, crept out of the bushes, and
sat down in front of the wolves. The wolves sat in a semi-circle in
front of her. She went to the smallest, and lowering her stumpy tail,
and bending her nose to the ground, made a few convulsive motions, and
opening her jaws filled with teeth she struggled, and disgorged a
great piece of horse-flesh.

The larger whelps made a movement to seize it; but she restrained them
with a threatening growl, and let the little one have it all. The
little one, as though in anger, seized the morsel, hiding it under him,
and began to devour it. Then the she-wolf disgorged for the second, and
the third, and in the same way for all five, and finally lay down in
front of them to rest.

At the end of a week there lay behind the brick barn only the great
skull, and two shoulder-blades; all the rest had disappeared. In the
summer a muzhík who gathered up the bones carried off also the skull
and shoulder-blades, and put them to use.

The dead body of Sierpukhovskoï who had been about in the world, and
had eaten and drunken, was buried long after. Neither his skin nor his
flesh nor his bones were of any use.

And just as his dead body, which had been about in the world, had been
a great burden to others for twenty years, so the disposal of this body
became only an additional charge upon men. Long it had been useless
to every one, long it had been only a burden. But still the dead who
bury their dead found it expedient to dress this soon-to-be-decaying,
swollen body, in a fine uniform, in fine boots; to place it in a fine
new coffin, with new tassels on the four corners; then to place this
new coffin in another, made of lead, and carry it to Moscow; and there
to dig up the bones of people long buried, and then to lay away this
mal-odorous body devoured by worms, in its new uniform and polished
boots, and to cover the whole with earth.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Invaders and other Stories, by Leo Tolstoy

*** 