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diff --git a/19614-h/19614-h.htm b/19614-h/19614-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2ad877 --- /dev/null +++ b/19614-h/19614-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10419 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Dark Forest, by Hugh Walpole + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + a[name] { position:absolute; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:hover { color:#ff0000; background-color:#FFFFFF; } + + table { width:80%; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tocch { text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + .tocpg {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + .f1 {font-size:smaller;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style:normal; + } /* page numbers */ + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: text-bottom; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem1 {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left; font-style:italic;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dark Forest, by Hugh Walpole + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dark Forest + +Author: Hugh Walpole + +Release Date: October 24, 2006 [EBook #19614] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DARK FOREST *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h4>The</h4> + +<h1>DARK FOREST</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>by</h3> + + +<h2>HUGH WALPOLE</h2> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Seal" width="150" height="187" /></p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:larger">GROSSET & DUNLAP </span><i>Publishers</i>, <i>New York</i></p> +<p class="center"><i>by arrangement with</i> <span style="font-size:larger">GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + +<p class="center f1">COPYRIGHT, 1916<br /> + +BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h4>TO</h4> +<h2>KONSTANTINE SAMOFF</h2> + +<h4>THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED</h4> +<h4>BY HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR</h4> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + + + + +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr><td colspan="4" class="center"><a href="#PART_ONE">PART ONE</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch f1">CHAPTER</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td><td class="tocpg f1">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">I.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#PART_ONE">Spring in the Train</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">II.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap">T<a href="#CHAPTER_II">he School-House</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">III.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">The Invisible Battle</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">IV.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Nikitin</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">V.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">First Move to the Enemy</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">VI.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">The Retreat</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">VII.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">One Night</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="4" class="center"><a href="#PART_TWO">PART TWO</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">I.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#PART_TWO">The Lovers</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">II.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIII">Marie Ivanovna</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">III.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIII">The Forest</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">IV.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIV">Four?</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">V.</td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIV">The Door Closes Behind Them</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_ONE" id="PART_ONE"></a>PART ONE</h2> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>SPRING IN THE TRAIN</h3> + + +<p>His was the first figure to catch my eye that evening in Petrograd; he +stood under the dusky lamp in the vast gloomy Warsaw station, with +exactly the expression that I was afterwards to know so well, +impressed not only upon his face but also upon the awkwardness of his +arms that hung stiffly at his side, upon the baggy looseness of his +trousers at the knees, the unfastened straps of his long black +military boots. His face, with its mild blue eyes, straggly fair +moustache, expressed anxiety and pride, timidity and happiness, +apprehension and confidence. He was in that first moment of my sight +of him as helpless, as unpractical, and as anxious to please as any +lost dog in the world—and he was also as proud as Lucifer. I knew him +at once for an Englishman; his Russian uniform only accented the +cathedral-town, small public-school atmosphere of his appearance. He +was exactly what I had expected. He was not, however, alone, and that +surprised me. By his side stood a girl, obviously Russian, wearing her +Sister's uniform with excitement and eager anticipation, her eyes +turning restlessly from one part of the platform to another, listening +with an impatient smile to the remarks of her companion.</p> + +<p>From where I stood I could hear his clumsy, hesitating<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> Russian and +her swift, preoccupied replies. I came up to them.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Trenchard?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He blushed, stammered, held out his hand, missed mine, blushed the +more, laughed nervously.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad ... I knew ... I hope...."</p> + +<p>I could feel that the girl's eyes were upon me with all the excited +interest of one who is expecting that every moment of her new +wonderful experience will be of a stupendous, even immortal quality.</p> + +<p>"I am Sister Marie Ivanovna, and you are, of course, Mr. Durward," she +said. "They are all waiting for you—expecting you—you're late, you +know!" She laughed and moved forward as though she would accompany me +to the group by the train. We went to the train together.</p> + +<p>"I should tell you," she said quickly and suddenly with nervousness, +"that we are engaged, Mr. Trenchard and I—only last night. We have +been working at the same hospital.... I don't know any one," she +continued in the same intimate, confiding whisper. "I would be +frightened terribly if I were not so excited. Ah! there's Anna +Mihailovna.... I know <i>her</i>, of course. It was through, her aunt—the +one who's on Princess Soboleff's train—that I had the chance of going +with you. Oh! I'm so happy that I had the chance—if I hadn't had +it...."</p> + +<p>We were soon engulfed now. I drew a deep breath and surrendered +myself. The tall, energetic figure of Anna Mihailovna, the lady to +whose practical business gifts and unlimited capacity for compelling +her friends to surrender their last bow and button in her service we +owed the existence of our Red Cross unit, was to be seen like a +splendid flag waving its followers on to glory and devotion. We <i>were</i> +devoted, all of us. Even I, whose second departure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> to the war this +was, had after the feeblest resistance surrendered myself to the drama +of the occasion. I should have been no gentleman had I done otherwise.</p> + +<p>After the waters had closed above my head for, perhaps, five minutes +of strangled, half-protesting, half-willing surrender I was suddenly +compelled, by what agency I know not, to struggle to the surface, to +look around me, and then quite instantly to forget my immersion. The +figure of Trenchard, standing exactly as I had left him, his hands +uneasily at his sides, a half-anxious, half-confident smile on his +lips, his eyes staring straight in front of him, absolutely compelled +my attention. I had forgotten him, we had all forgotten him, his own +lady had forgotten him. I withdrew from the struggling, noisy group +and stepped back to his side. It was then that, as I now most clearly +remember, I was conscious of something else, was aware that there was +a strange faint blue light in the dark clumsy station, a faint +throbbing glow, that, like the reflection of blue water on a sunlit +ceiling, hovered and hung above the ugly shabbiness of the engines and +trucks, the rails with scattered pieces of paper here and there, the +iron arms that supported the vast glass roof, the hideous funnel that +hung with its gaping mouth above the water-tank. The faint blue light +was the spring evening—the spring evening that, encouraged by God +knows what brave illusion, had penetrated even these desperate +fastnesses. A little breeze accompanied it and the dirty pieces of +paper blew to and fro; then suddenly a shaft of light quivered upon +the blackness, quivered and spread like a golden fan, then flooded the +huge cave with trembling ripples of light. There was even, I dare +swear, at this safe distance, a smell of flowers in the air.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's a most lovely ..." Trenchard said, smiling at me, "spring here ... I +find...."</p> + +<p>I was compelled by some unexpected sense of fatherly duty to be +practical.</p> + +<p>"You've got your things?" I said. "You've found your seat?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't know ..." he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Where are they?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>He was not quite sure where they were. He stood, waving his hands, +whilst the golden sunlight rippled over his face. I was suddenly +irritated.</p> + +<p>"But please," I said, "there isn't much time. Four of us men have a +compartment together. Just show me where your things are and then I'll +introduce you." He seemed reluctant to move, as though the spot that +he had chosen was the only safe one in the whole station; but I forced +him forward, found his bags, had them placed in their carriage, then +turned to introduce him to his companions.</p> + +<p>Anna Mihailovna had said to me: "This detachment will be older than +the last. Doctor Nikitin—he'll take that other doctor's place, the +one who had typhus—and Andrey Vassilievitch—you've known him for +years. He talks a great deal but he's sympathetic and such a good +business man. He'll be useful. Then there's an Englishman; I don't +know much about him, except that he's been working for three months at +the English Hospital. He's not a correspondent, never written a line +in his life. I only saw him for a moment, but he seemed +sympathetic...."</p> + +<p>Anna Mihailovna, as is well known to all of us, finds every one +sympathetic simply because she has so much to do and so many people to +see that she has no time to go deeply into things. If you have no time +for judging character you must have some good common rule to go by. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +had known little Andrey Vassilievitch for some years and had found him +tiresome. Finally, I did not care about the possibility of an +Englishman. Perhaps I had wished (through pride) to remain the only +Englishman in our "Otriad." I had made friends with them all, I was at +home with them. Another Englishman might transplant me in their +affections. Russians transfer, with the greatest ease, their emotions +from one place to another; or he might be a failure and so damage my +country's reputation. Some such vain and stupid prejudice I had. I +know that I looked upon our new additions with disfavour.</p> + +<p>There, at any rate, Dr. Nikitin and little Andrey Vassilievitch were, +and a strange contrast they made. Nikitin's size would have compelled +attention anywhere, even in Russia, which is, of course, a country of +big men. It was not only that he was tall and broad; the carriage of +his head, the deep blackness of his beard, his eyebrows, his eyes, the +sure independence with which he held himself, as though he were +indifferent to the whole world (and that I know that he was), must +anywhere have made him remarked and remembered. He looked now +immensely fine in his uniform, which admirably suited him. He stood, +without his greatcoat, his hand on his sword, his eyes half-closed as +though he were almost asleep, and a faint half-smile on his face as +though he were amused at his thoughts. I remember that my first +impression of him was that he was so completely beneath the domination +of some idea or remembrance that, at that moment, no human being could +touch him. When I took Trenchard up to him I was so conscious of his +remoteness that I was embarrassed and apologetic.</p> + +<p>And if I was aware of Nikitin's remoteness I was equally conscious of +Andrey Vassilievitch's proximity. He was a little man of a round plump +figure; he wore a little im<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>perial and sharp, inquisitive moustaches; +his hair was light brown and he was immensely proud of it. In +Petrograd he was always very smartly dressed. He bought his clothes in +London and his plump hands had a movement familiar to all his friends, +a flicker of his hands to his coat, his waistcoat, his trousers, to +brush off some imaginary speck of dust. It was obvious now that he had +given very much thought to his uniform. It fitted him perfectly, his +epaulettes glittered, his boots shone, his sword was magnificent, but +he looked, in spite of all his efforts, exactly what he was, a rich +successful merchant; never was there any one less military. He had +dressed up, one might suppose, for some fancy-dress ball.</p> + +<p>I could see at once that he was ill at ease, anxious as ever to please +every one, to like every one, to be liked in return, but unable, +because of some thought that troubled him, to give his whole attention +to this business of pleasing.</p> + +<p>He greeted me with a warmth that was really genuine although he +bestowed it upon his merest acquaintances. His great dream in life was +a universal popularity—that every one should love him. At any rate at +that time I thought that to be his dream—I know now that there was +something else.</p> + +<p>"But Ivan Petrovitch!... This is delightful! Here we all are! What +pleasure! Thank God, we're all here, no delays, nothing unfortunate. +An Englishman?... Indeed, I am very glad! Your friend speaks Russian? +Not very much, but enough?... You know Vladimir Stepanovitch? Dr. +Nikitin ... my friend Meester Durward. Also Meester?... ah, I beg your +pardon, Tronsart. Two Englishmen in our Otriad ... the alliance, yes, +delightful!"</p> + +<p>Nikitin slowly opened his eyes, shook hands with me and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> with +Trenchard, said that he was glad to see us and was silent again. +Trenchard stammered and blushed, said something in very bad Russian, +then glanced anxiously, with an eager light in his mild blue eyes, in +the direction of the excited crowd that chattered and stirred about +the train. There was something, in that look of his, that both touched +and irritated me. "What does he come for?" I thought to myself. "With +his bad Russian and his English prejudices. Of course he'll be lonely +and then he'll be in every one's way."</p> + +<p>I could remember, readily enough, some of the loneliness of those +first months of my own, when both war and the Russians had differed so +from my expectations. This fellow looked just the figure for high +romantic pictures. He had, doubtless, seen Russia in the colours of +the pleasant superficial books of travel that have of late, in +England, been so popular, books that see in the Russian a blessed sort +of Idiot unable to read or write but vitally conscious of God, and in +Russia a land of snow, ikons, mushrooms and pilgrims. Yes, he would be +disappointed, unhappy, and tiresome. Upon myself would fall the chief +burden of his trouble—I should have enough upon my shoulders without +him.</p> + +<p>The golden fan had vanished from the station walls. A dim pale glow, +with sparkles as of gold dust shining here and there upon that grimy +world, faltered and trembled before the rattle and roar that +threatened it. Nevertheless, Spring was with us at our departure. As +the bells rang, as the ladies of our Committee screamed and laughed, +as Anna Mihailovna showered directions and advice upon us, as we +crowded backwards into our compartment before the first jolt of the +departing train, Spring was with us ... but of course we were all of +us too busy to be aware of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nikitin, I remember, reduced us very quickly, for all practical +purposes, to a company of three. He lowered one of the upper beds, +climbed into it, stretched himself out and lay in silence staring at +the carriage-roof. His body was a shadow in the half-light, touched +once and again by the gesture of the swinging lamp, that swept him out +of darkness and back into it again. The remaining three of us did not +during either that evening or the next day make much progress. At +times there would of course be tea, and then the two Sisters who were +in a compartment close at hand joined us.</p> + +<p>Marie Ivanovna, Trenchard's lady, was quieter than she had been +before. Her face, which now seemed younger than ever, wore a look of +important seriousness as though she were conscious of the indecency of +her earlier excitement. She spoke very little, but no one could be in +her presence without feeling the force of her vitality like some +hammer, silent but of immense power, beating relentlessly upon the +atmosphere. Its effect was the stronger in that one realised how +utterly at present she was unable to deal with it. Her very +helplessness was half of her power—half of her danger too. She was +most certainly not beautiful; her nose was too short, her mouth too +large, her forehead, from which her black hair was brushed straight +back, too high. Her complexion was pale and when she was confused, +excited, or pleased, the colour came into her face in a faint flush +that ebbed and flowed but never reached its full glow. Her hands were +thin and pale. It was her eyes that made her so young; they were so +large and round and credulous, scornful sometimes with the scorn of +the very young for all the things in the world that they have not +experienced—but young especially in all their urgent capacity for +life, in their confidence of carrying through all the demands that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +the High Gods might make upon them. I knew as I looked at her that at +present her eagerness for experience was stronger, by far, than her +eagerness for any single human being. I wondered whether Trenchard +knew that. He was, beyond discussion, most desperately in love; the +love of a shy man who has for so many years wondered and dreamed and +finds, when the reality comes to him, that it is more, far more, than +he had expected. When she came in to us he sat very quietly by her +side and talked, if he talked at all, to the other Sister, a stout +comfortable woman with no illusions, no expectations, immense capacity +and an intensely serious attitude to food and drink.</p> + +<p>Trenchard let his eyes rest upon his lady's face whenever she was +unaware, but I could see that he was desperately anxious not to offend +her. His attitude to all women, even to Anna Petrovna, the motherly +Sister, was that of a man who has always blundered in their company, +who has been mocked, perhaps, for his mistakes. I could see, however, +that his pride in his new possession, his pride and his happiness, +carried with it an absolute assurance of his security. He had no +doubts at all. He seemed, in this, even younger than she.</p> + +<p>Through all that long Spring day we wandered on—wandering it seemed +as the train picked its way through the fields under a sky of blue +thin and fine like glass; through a world so quiet and still that +birds and children sang and called as though to reassure themselves +that they were not alone. Nothing of the war in all this. At the +stations there were officers eating "Ztchee" soup and veal and +drinking glasses of weak tea, there were endless mountains of hot meat +pies; the ikons in the restaurants looked down with benignancy and +indifference upon the food and the soldiers and beyond the station the +light green trees blowing in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> little wind; the choruses of the +soldiers came from their trains as though it were the very voice of +Spring itself. It sounded in the distance like—</p> + +<div class="poem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Barinisha Barinisha—Pop.<br /> +</span> +<span class="i2">Barinisha—Pop.<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">So—la, la—la ...<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bar ... inisha la.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The bell rang, officers with meat pies in their hands came running +across the platform. We swung on again through the green golden day.</p> + +<p>Andrey Vassilievitch of course chattered to us all. It was his way, +and after a very brief experience of it one trained oneself to regard +it as an inevitable background, like the jerking and smoke of the +train, the dust, the shrill Russian voices in the next compartment, +the blowing of paper to and fro in the corridor. I very quickly +discovered that he was intensely conscious of Nikitin, who scarcely +throughout the day moved from his upper bunk. Andrey Vassilievitch +handed him his tea, brought his meat pies and sandwiches from the +station, and offered him newspapers. He did not, however, speak to him +and I was aware that throughout that long day he was never once +unconscious of him. His chatter, which was always the most +irrepressible thing in the world, had, perhaps, to-day some direction +behind it. For the first time in my long acquaintance with Andrey +Vassilievitch he interested me. The little man was distressed by the +heat and dirt; his fingers were always flickering about his clothes. +He was intensely polite to every one, especially to Trenchard, paying +him many compliments about England and the English. The English were +the only "sportsmen" in the world. He had been once in London for a +week; it had rained very much, but one afternoon it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> had been fine, +and then what clothes he had seen! But the City! He had been down into +the City and was lost in admiration; he had also been lost in +practical earnest and had appealed to one of the splendid policemen as +to the way to Holborn Viaduct, a name that he was quite unable to +pronounce. This incident he told us several times. Meanwhile ... he +hoped he might ask without offence ... what was our Navy doing? Why +weren't our submarines as active as the German submarines? And in +France ... how many soldiers had we now? He did hope that he was not +offending.... He spoke rapidly and indistinctly and much of his +conversation Trenchard did not understand; he made some rather stupid +replies and Marie Ivanovna laughed.</p> + +<p>She spoke English very well, with an accent that was charming. She had +had, she said, an English nurse, and then an English governess.</p> + +<p>Of course they asked me many questions about the future. Would we be +close to the Front? How many versts? Would there be plenty of work, +and would we <i>really</i> see things? We wanted to be useful, no use going +if we were not to be useful. How many Sisters were there then already? +Were they "sympathetic"? Was Molozov, the head of the Otriad, an +agreeable man? Was he kind, or would he be angry about simply nothing? +Who would bandage and who would feed the villagers and who would bathe +the soldiers? Were the officers of the Ninth Army pleasant to us? +Where? Who? When? The day slipped away, the colours were drawn from +the sky, the fields, the hills, the stars came out in their myriads, +thickly clustered in ropes, and lakes and coils of light; the air was +scented with flowers. The second night passed.</p> + +<p>The greater part of the next day was spent in H——, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> snug town with +a little park like a clean handkerchief, streets with coloured shops, +neat and fresh-painted like toys from a toy-shop, little blue trains, +statues of bewigged eighteenth-century kings and dukes, and a +restaurant, painted Watteau-fashion with bright green groves, ladies +in hoops and powder, and long-legged sheep. Here we wandered, five of +us. Nikitin told us that he would meet us at the station that evening. +He had his own business in the place. The little town was delivered +over to the Russian army but seemed happy enough in its deliverance. I +have never realised in any place more completely the spirit of bright +cheerfulness, and the soldiers who thronged the little streets were as +far from alarm and thunder as the painted sheep in the restaurant. +Marie Ivanovna was as excited as though she had never been in a town +before. She bought a number of things in the little expensive +shops—eau-de-Cologne, sweets, an electric lamp, a wrist-watch, and +some preserved fruit. Trenchard made her presents; she thanked him +with a gratitude that made him so happy that he stumbled over his +sword more than ever, blushing and pushing his cap back from his head. +There are some who might have laughed at him, carrying her parcels, +his face flushed, his legs knocking against one another, but it was +here, at H——, that, for the first time, I positively began to like +him. By the evening when we were assembled in the station again as I +looked at him standing, waiting for directions, smiling, hot, untidy +and awkward, I knew that I liked him very much indeed....</p> + +<p>Our new train overflowed: with the greatest difficulty we secured a +small wooden compartment with seats sharp and narrow and a smell of +cabbage, bad tobacco, and dirty clothes. The floor was littered with +sunflower seeds and the paper wrappings of cheap sweets. The air came +in hot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> stale gusts down the corridor, met the yet closer air of our +carriage, battled with it and retired defeated. We flung open the +windows and a cloud of dust rose gaily to meet us. The whole of the +Russian army seemed to be surging upon the platform; orderlies were +searching for their masters, officers shouting for their orderlies, +soldiers staggering along under bundles of clothes and rugs and +pillows; here a group standing patiently, each man with his +blue-painted kettle and on his face that expression of happy, +half-amused, half-inquisitive, wholly amiable tolerance which reveals +the Russian soldier's favourite attitude to the world. Two priests +with wide dirty black hats, long hair, and soiled grey gowns slowly +found their way through the crowd. A bunch of Austrian prisoners in +their blue-grey uniform made a strange splash of colour in a corner of +the platform, where, very contentedly, they were drinking their tea; +some one in the invisible distance was playing the balalaïka and every +now and then some church bell in the town rang clearly and sharply +above the tumult. The thin films of dust, yellow in the evening sun, +hovered like golden smoke under the station roof. At last with a +reluctant jerk and shiver the train was slowly persuaded to totter +into the evening air; the evening scents were again around us, the +balalaïka, now upon the train, hummed behind us, as we pushed out upon +her last night's journey.</p> + +<p>The two Sisters had the seats by the windows; Nikitin curled up his +great length in another corner and Andrey Vassilievitch settled +himself with much grunting and many exclamations beside him. I and +Trenchard sat stiffly on the other side.</p> + +<p>I had, long ago, accustomed myself to sleep in any position on any +occasion, however sudden it might be, and I fancied that I should now, +in a moment, be asleep, although<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> I had never, in my long travelling +experience, known greater discomfort. I looked at the dim lamp, at the +square patch beyond the windows, at Nikitin's long body, which seemed +nevertheless so perfectly comfortable, and at Andrey Vassilievitch's +short fat one, which was so obviously miserably uncomfortable; I smelt +the cabbage, the dust, the sunflower seeds; first one bone then +another ached, in the centre of my back there was an intolerable +irritation; above all, there was in my brain some strange insistent +compulsion, as though some one were forcing me to remember something +that I had forgotten, or as though again some one were fore-warning me +of some peril or complication. I had, very distinctly, that +impression, so familiar to all of us, of passing through some +experience already known: I had seen already the dim lamp, the square +patch of evening sky, Nikitin, Andrey Vassilievitch.... I knew that in +a moment Trenchard.... He did.... He touched my arm.</p> + +<p>"Can you sleep?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered.</p> + +<p>"It's terribly hot, close—smell.... Are you going to sleep?"</p> + +<p>"No," I whispered back again.</p> + +<p>"Let us move into the corridor. It will be cooler there."</p> + +<p>There seemed to me quite a new sound of determination and resolve in +his voice. His nervousness had left him with the daylight. He led the +way out of the carriage, turned down the little seats in the corridor, +provided cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"It isn't much better here, but we'll have the window open. It'll get +better. This is really war, isn't it, being so uncomfortable as this? +I feel as though things were really beginning."</p> + +<p>"Well, we shall be there to-morrow night," I answered him. "I hope +you're not going to be disappointed." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Disappointed in what?" His voice was quite sharp as he spoke to me, +"You don't know what I want."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're like the rest of us. You want to see what war really +is. You want to do some good if you can. You want to be seriously +occupied in it to prevent your thinking too much about it. Then, +because you're English, you want to see what the Russians are really +like. You're curious and sympathetic, inquisitive and, perhaps, a +little sentimental about it.... Am I right?"</p> + +<p>"No, not quite—there are other things. I'd like to tell you. Do you +mind," he said suddenly looking up straight into my face with a +confiding smile that was especially his own, "if I talk, if I tell you +why I've come? I've no right, I don't know you—but I'm so happy +to-night that I <i>must</i> talk—I'm so happy that I feel as though I +shall never get through the night alive."</p> + +<p>Of our conversation after this, or rather of <i>his</i> talk, excited, +eager, intimate and shy, old and wise and very, very young, I remember +now, I think, every word with especial vividness. After events were to +fix it all in my brain with peculiar accuracy, but his narration had +that night of itself its own individual quality. His was no ordinary +personality, or, at any rate, the especial circumstances of the time +drove it into no ordinary shape, and I believe that never before in +all his days had he spoken freely and eagerly to any one. It was +simply to-night his exultation and happiness that impelled him, +perhaps also some sense of high adventure that his romantic character +would, most inevitably, extract from our expedition and its purposes.</p> + +<p>At any rate, I listened, saying a word now and then, whilst the hour +grew dark, lit only by the stars, then trembled into a pale dawn +overladen with grey dense clouds,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> which again broke, rolled away, +before another shining, glittering morning. I remember that it was +broad daylight when we, at last, left the corridor.</p> + +<p>"I'm thirty-three," he said. "I don't feel it, of course; I seem to be +now only just beginning life. I'm a very unpractical person and in +that way, perhaps, I'm younger than my age."</p> + +<p>I remember that I said something to him about his, most certainly, +appearing younger.</p> + +<p>"Most certainly I do. I'm just the same as when I went up to Cambridge +and I was then as when I first went to Rugby. Nothing seems to have +had any effect upon me—except, perhaps, these last two days. Do you +know Glebeshire?" he asked me abruptly.</p> + +<p>I said that I had spent one summer there with a reading party.</p> + +<p>"Ah," he answered, smiling, "I can tell, by the way you say that, that +you don't really know it at all. To us Glebeshire people it's +impossible to speak of it so easily. There are Trenchards all over +Glebeshire, you know, lots of them. In Polchester, our cathedral town, +where I was born, there are at least four Trenchard families. Then in +Truxe, at Garth, at Rasselas, at Clinton—but why should I bother you +with all this? It's only to tell you that the Trenchards are simply +Glebeshire for ever and ever. To a Trenchard, anywhere in the world, +Glebeshire is hearth and home."</p> + +<p>"I believe I've met," I said, "your Trenchards of Garth. George +Trenchard.... She was a Faunder. They have a house in Westminster. +There's a charming Miss Trenchard with whom I danced."</p> + +<p>"Yes, those are the George Trenchards," he answered with eagerness and +delight, as though I had formed a new link with him. "Fancy your +knowing them! How small<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> the world is! My father was a cousin, a first +cousin, of George Trenchard's. The girl—you must mean Millie—is +delightful. Katherine, the elder sister, is married now. She too is +charming, but in a different, graver way."</p> + +<p>He spoke of them all with a serious lingering pleasure, as though he +were summoning them all into the dusty, stuffy corridor, carrying them +with him into these strange countries and perilous adventures.</p> + +<p>"They always laughed at me—Millie especially; I've stayed sometimes +with them at Garth. But I didn't mean really to talk about <i>them</i>—I +only wanted to show you how deeply Glebeshire matters to the +Trenchards, and whatever happens, wherever a Trenchard goes, he always +really takes Glebeshire with him. I was born in Polchester, as I said. +My father had a little property there, but we always lived in a little +round bow-windowed house in the Cathedral Close. I was simply brought +up on the Cathedral. From my bedroom windows I looked on the whole of +it. In our drawing-room you could hear the booming of the organ. I was +always watching the canons crossing the cathedral green, counting the +strokes of the cathedral bell, listening to the cawing of the +cathedral rooks, smelling the cathedral smell of cold stone, wet +umbrellas and dusty hassocks, looking up at the high tower and +wondering whether anywhere in the world there was anything so grand +and fine. My moral world, too, was built on the cathedral—on the +cathedral 'don'ts' and 'musts,' on the cathedral hours and the +cathedral prayers, and the cathedral ambitions and disappointments. My +father's great passion was golf. He was not a religious man. But my +mother believed in the cathedral with a passion that was almost a +disease. She died looking at it. Her spirit is somewhere round it now, +I do believe."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>He paused, then went on:</p> + +<p>"It was the cathedral that made me so unpractical, I suppose. I who am +an only child—I believed implicitly in what I was told and it always +was my mother who told me everything."</p> + +<p>He was, I thought, the very simplest person to whom I had ever +listened. The irritation that I had already felt on several occasions +in his company again returned. "My father's great passion was golf" +would surely in the mouth of another have had some tinge of irony.</p> + +<p>In Trenchard's mild blue eyes irony was an incredible element. I could +fancy what he would have to say to the very gentlest of cynics; some +of the sympathy I had felt for him during the afternoon had left me.</p> + +<p>"He's very little short of an idiot," I thought. "He's going to be +dreadfully in the way."</p> + +<p>"I was the only child, you see," he continued. "Of course I was a +great deal to my mother and she to me. We were always together. I +don't think that even when I was very young I believed all that she +told me. She seemed to me always to take everything for granted. +Heaven to me was so mysterious and she had such definite knowledge. I +always liked things to be indefinite ... I do still." He laughed, +paused for a moment, but was plainly now off on his fine white horse, +charging the air, to be stopped by no mortal challenge. I had for a +moment the thought that I would slip from my seat and leave him; I +didn't believe that he would have noticed my absence; but the thought +of that small stuffy carriage held me.</p> + +<p>But he <i>was</i> conscious of me; like the Ancient Mariner he fixed upon +my arm his hand and stared into my eyes:</p> + +<p>"There were other things that puzzled me. There was, for instance, the +chief doctor in our town. He was a large,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> fat, jolly red-faced man, +clean-shaven, with white hair. He was considered the best doctor in +the place—all the old maids went to him. He was immensely jolly, you +could hear his laugh from one end of the street to the other. He was +married, had a delightful little house, where his wife gave charming +dinners. He was stupid and self-satisfied. Even at his own work he was +stupid, reading nothing, careless and forgetful, thinking about golf +and food only all his days. He was a snob too and would give up any +one for the people at the Castle. Even when I was a small boy I +somehow knew all this about him. My father thought the world of him +and loved to play golf with him.... He was completely happy and +successful and popular. Then there was another man, an old canon who +taught me Latin before I went to Rugby, an old, untidy, dirty man, +whose sermons were dull and his manners bad. He was a failure in +life—and he was a failure to himself; dissatisfied with what he used +to call his 'bundle of rotten twigs,' his life and habits and +thoughts. But he thought that somewhere there was something he would +find that would save him—somewhere, sometime ... not God +merely—'like a key that will open all the doors in the house.' To me +he was fascinating. He knew so much, he was so humble, so kind, so +amusing. Nobody liked him, of course. They tried to turn him out of +the place, gave him a little living at last, and he married his cook. +Was she his key? She may have been ... I never saw him again. But I +used to wonder. Why was the doctor so happy and the little canon so +unhappy, the doctor so successful, the canon so unsuccessful? I +decided that the great thing was to be satisfied with oneself. I +determined that I would be satisfied with myself. Well, of course I +never was—never have been. Something wouldn't let me alone. The key +to the door, perhaps ... everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> was shut up inside me, and at +last I began to wonder whether there was anything there at all. When +at nineteen I went to Cambridge I was very unhappy. Whilst I was there +my mother died. I came back to the little bow-windowed house and lived +with my father. I was quite alone in the world."</p> + +<p>In spite of myself I had a little movement of impatience.</p> + +<p>"How self-centred the man is! As though his case were at all peculiar! +Wants shaking up and knocking about."</p> + +<p>He seemed to know my thought.</p> + +<p>"You must think me self-centred! I was. For thirteen whole years I +thought of nothing but myself, my miserable self, all shut up in that +little town. I talked to no one. I did not even read—I used to sit in +the dark of the cathedral nave and listen to the organ. I'd walk in +the orchards and the woods. I would wonder, wonder, wonder about +people and I grew more and more frightened of talking, of meeting +people, of little local dinner-parties. It was as though I were on one +side of the river and they were all on the other. I would think +sometimes how splendid it would be if I could cross—but I couldn't +cross. Every year it became more impossible!"</p> + +<p>"You wanted some one to take you out of yourself," I said, and then +shuddered at my own banality. But he took me very seriously.</p> + +<p>"I did. Of course," he answered. "But who would bother? They all +thought me impossible. The girls all laughed at me—my own cousins. +Sometimes people tried to help me. They never went far enough. They +gave me up too soon."</p> + +<p>"He evidently thinks he was worth a lot of trouble," I thought +irritably. But suddenly he laughed.</p> + +<p>"That same doctor one day spoke of me, not knowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> that I was near +him; or perhaps he knew and thought it would be good for me. 'Oh, +Trenchard,' he said. 'He ought to be in a nunnery ... and he'd be +quite safe, too. <i>He'd</i> never cause a scandal!' They thought of me as +something not quite human. My father was very old now. Just before he +died, he said: 'I'd like to have had a son!' He never noticed me at +his bedside when he died. I was a great disappointment to him."</p> + +<p>"Well," I said at last to break a long pause that followed his last +words, "what did you think about all that time you were alone?"</p> + +<p>"I used to think always about two things," he said very solemnly. "One +was love. I used to think how splendid it would be if only there would +be some one to whom I could dedicate my devotion. I didn't care if I +got much in return or no, but they must be willing to have it ready +for me to devote myself altogether. I used to watch the ladies in our +town and select them, one after another. Of course they never knew and +they would only have laughed had they known. But I felt quite +desperate sometimes. I had so much in me to give to some one and the +years were all slipping by and it became, every day, more difficult. +There <i>was</i> a girl ... something seemed to begin between us. She was +the daughter of one of the canons, dark-haired, and she used to wear a +lilac-coloured dress. She was very kind; once when we were walking +through the town I began to talk to her. I believe she understood, +because she was very, very young—only about eighteen—and hadn't +begun to laugh at me yet. She had a dimple in one cheek, very +charming—but some man from London came to stay at the Castle and she +was engaged to him. Then there were Katherine and Millie Trenchard, of +whom we were talking. Katherine never laughed at me; she was serious +and helped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> her mother about all the household things and the village +where they lived. Afterwards she ran away with a young man and was +married in London—very strange because she was so serious. There was +a great deal of talk about it at the time. Millie too was charming. +She laughed at me, of course, but she laughed at every one. At any +rate she was only cousinly to me; she would not have cared for my +devotion."</p> + +<p>As he spoke I had a picture in my mind of poor Trenchard searching the +countryside for some one to whom he might be devoted, tongue-tied, +clumsy, stumbling and stuttering, a village Don Quixote with a stammer +and without a Dulcinea.</p> + +<p>"They must have been difficult years," I said, and again cursed myself +for my banality.</p> + +<p>"They were," he answered very gravely, "Very difficult."</p> + +<p>"And your other thoughts?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>"They were about death," he replied. "I had, from my very earliest +years, a great terror of death. You might think that my life was not +so pleasant that I should mind, very greatly, leaving it. But I was +always thinking—hoping that I should live to be very old, even though +I lost all my limbs and faculties. I believed that there was life of +some sort after death, but just as I would hesitate outside a house a +quarter of an hour from terror of meeting new faces so I felt about +another life—I couldn't bear all the introductions and the clumsy +mistakes that I should be sure to make. But it was more personal than +that. I had a horrible old uncle who died when I was a boy. He was a +very ugly old man, bent and whitened and gnarled, a face and hands +twisted with rheumatism. I used to call him Quilp to myself. He always +wore, I remember, an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> old-fashioned dress. Velvet knee-breeches, a +white stock, black shoes with buckles. I remember that his hands were +damp and hair grew in bushes out of his ears. Well, I saw him once or +twice and he filled me with terror like a figure out of the tapestry +up at the Castle. Then he died.</p> + +<p>"Our house was small and badly shaped, full of dark corners, and after +his death he seemed to me to haunt the place. He figured Death to me +and until I was quite old, until I went to Rugby, I fancied that he +was sitting in a dark corner, on a chair, waiting, with his hands on +his lap, until the time came for him to take me. Sometimes I would +fancy that I heard him moving from one room to another, bringing his +chair with him. Then I began to have a dream, a dream that frequently +recurred all the time that I was growing up. It was a dream about a +huge dark house in a huge dark forest. It was early morning, the light +just glimmering between the thick damp trees. A large party of people +gathered together in a high empty room prepared for an expedition. I +was one of them and I was filled with sharp agonising terror. +Sometimes in my dream I drank to give myself courage and the glass +clattered against my lips. Sometimes I talked with one of the company; +the room was very dark and I could see no faces. Then we would start +trooping out into the bitterly cold morning air. There would be many +horses and dogs. We would lead off into the forest and soon (it always +happened) I would find myself alone—alone with the dripping trees +high around me and the light that seemed to grow no lighter and the +intense cold. Then suddenly it would be that I was the hunted, not the +hunter. It was Death whom we were hunting—Death, for me my uncle—and +I would fancy him waiting in the darkness, watching me, smiling, +hearing his hunters draw off the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> scent, knowing that they would not +find him, but that <i>he</i> had found <i>me</i>. Then my knees would fail me, I +would sink down in a sweat of terror, and—wake!... Brrr!... I can see +it now!"</p> + +<p>He shook himself, turning round to me as though he were suddenly +ashamed of himself, with a laugh half-shy, half-retrospective.</p> + +<p>"We all have our dreams," he continued. "But this came too +often—again and again. The question of death became my constant +preoccupation as I grew to think I would never see it, nor hear men +speak of it, nor—"</p> + +<p>"And you have come," I could not but interrupt him, "here, to the very +fortress—Why, man!—"</p> + +<p>"I know," he answered, smiling at me. "It must seem to you ridiculous. +But I am a different person now—very different. Now I am ready, eager +for anything. Death can be nothing to me now, or if that is too bold, +at least I may say that I am prepared to meet him—anywhere—at any +time. I want to meet him—I want to show—"</p> + +<p>"We have all," I said, "in our hearts, perhaps, come like that—come +to prove that our secret picture of ourselves, that picture so +different from our friends' opinion of us, is really the true one. We +can fancy them saying afterwards: 'Well, I never knew that so-and-so +had so much in him!' <i>We</i> always knew."</p> + +<p>"No, you see," Trenchard said eagerly, "there can be only one person +now about whose opinion I care. If <i>she</i> thinks well of me—"</p> + +<p>"You are very much in love," I said, and loosed, as I had expected, +the torrents of his happiness upon me.</p> + +<p>"I was in Polchester when the war broke out. The town received it +rather as though a first-class company had come from London to act in +the Assembly Rooms for a fortnight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> It was dramatic and picturesque +and pleasantly patriotic. They see it otherwise now, I fancy. I seemed +at once to think of Russia. For one thing I wanted desperately to +help, and I thought that in England they would only laugh at me as +they had always done. I am short-sighted. I knew that I should never +be a soldier. I fancied that in Russia they would not say: 'Oh, John +Trenchard of Polchester.... <i>He's</i> no good!' before they'd seen +whether I could do anything. Then of course I had read about the +country—Tolstoi and Turgeniev, and a little Dostoevsky and even Gorki +and Tchekov. I went quite suddenly, making up my mind one evening. I +seemed to begin to be a new man out of England. The journey delighted +me.... I was in Moscow before I knew. I was there three months trying +to learn Russian. Then I came to Petrograd and through the English +Embassy found a place in one of the hospitals, where I worked as a +sanitar for three months. I did not leave England until November, so +that I have been in Russia now just six months. It was in this +hospital that I met Miss Krassovsky—Marie Ivanovna. From the first +moment I loved her, of course. And she liked me. She was the first +woman, since my mother, who had really liked me. She quickly saw my +devotion and she laughed a little, but she was always kind. I could +talk to her and she liked to listen. She had—she has, great ideals, +great hopes and ambitions. We worked together there and then, +afterwards, in those beautiful spring evenings in Petrograd when the +canals shone all night and the houses were purple, we walked.... The +night before last night I begged her to marry me ... and she accepted. +She said that we would go together to the war, that I should be her +knight and she my lady and that we would care for the wounds of the +whole world. Ah! what a night that was—shall I ever forget it?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> After +she had left me, I walked all night and sang.... I was mad.... I am +mad now. That she should love <i>me</i>! She, so beautiful, so pure, so +wonderful. I at whom women have always laughed. Ah! God forgive me, my +heart will break—"</p> + +<p>As he spoke the heavy grey clouds of the first dawn were parting and a +faint very liquid blue, almost white and very cold, hovered above dim +shapeless trees and fields. I flung open the corridor window and a +sound of running water and the first notes of some sleepy bird met me.</p> + +<p>"And her family?" I said. "Who are they, and will they not mind her +marrying an Englishman?"</p> + +<p>"She has only a mother," he answered. "I fancy that Marie has always +had her own way."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I thought to myself. "I also fancy that that is so." A sense of +almost fatherly protection had developed in myself towards him. How +could he, who knew nothing at all of women, hope to manage that +self-willed, eager, independent girl? Why, why, why had she engaged +herself to him? I fancied that very possibly there were qualities in +him—his very childishness and helplessness—which, if they only +irritated an Englishman, would attract a Russian. Lame dogs find a +warm home in Russia. But did she know anything about him? Would she +not, in a week, be irritated by his incapacity? And he—he—bless his +innocence!—was so confident as though he had been married to her for +years!</p> + +<p>"Look here!" I said, moved by a sudden impulse. "Will you mind if, +sometimes, I tell you things? I've been to the war before. It's a +strange life, unlike anything you've ever known—and Russians too are +strange—especially at first. You won't take it badly, if—"</p> + +<p>He touched my arm with his hand while his whole face was lighted with +his smile. "Why, my dear fellow, I shall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> be proud. No one has ever +thought me worth the bother. I want to be—to be—at my best here. +Practical, you know—like others. I don't want her to think me—"</p> + +<p>"No, exactly," I said hurriedly, "I understand." Gold was creeping +into the sky. A lark rose, triumphant. A pool amongst the reeds blazed +like a brazen shield. The Spring day had flung back her doors. I saw +that suddenly fatigue had leapt upon my friend. He tottered on his +little seat, then his face, grey in the light, fell forward. I caught +him in my arms, half carried, half led him into our little carriage, +arranged him in the empty corner, and left him, fast, utterly fast, +asleep.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE SCHOOL-HOUSE</h3> + + +<p>The greater part of the next day was spent by us in the little town of +S——, a comfortable place very slightly disturbed by the fact that it +had been already the scene of four battles; there was just this +effect, as it seemed to me, that the affairs of the day were carried +on with a kind of somnolent indifference.... "You may order your +veal," the waiter seemed to say, "but whether you will get it or no is +entirely in the hands of God. It is, therefore, of no avail that I +should hurry or that you should show temper should the veal not +appear. At any moment your desire for veal and my ability to bring it +you may have ceased for ever."</p> + +<p>For the rest the town billowed with trees of the youngest green; also +birds of the tenderest age, if one may judge by their happiness at the +spring weather. There were many old men in white smocks and white +trousers and women in brightly-coloured kerchiefs. But, except for the +young birds, it was a silent place.</p> + +<p>I had much business to carry through and saw the rest of our company +only at luncheon time; it was after luncheon that I had a little +conversation with Marie Ivanovna. She chose me quite deliberately from +the others, moved our chairs to the quieter end of the little balcony +where we were, planted her elbows on the table and stared into my face +with her large round credulous eyes. (I find on looking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> back, that I +have already used exactly those adjectives. That may stand: I mean +that, emphatically, and beyond every other impression she made, her +gaze declared that she was ready to believe anything that she were +told, and the more in the telling the better.)</p> + +<p>She spoke, as always, with that sense of restrained, sharply +disciplined excitement, as though her eager vitality were some +splendid if ferocious animal struggling at its chain.</p> + +<p>"You talked to John—Mr. Trenchard—last night," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, smiling into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I know—all night—he told me. He's splendid, isn't he? Splendid!"</p> + +<p>"I like him very much," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you must! you must! You must all like him! You don't know—his +thoughts, his ideals—they are wonderful. He's like some knight of the +Middle Ages.... Ah, but you'll think that silly, Mr. Durward. You're a +practical Englishman. I hate practical Englishmen."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," I said, laughing.</p> + +<p>"No, but I do. You sneer at everything beautiful. Here in Russia we're +more simple. And John's very like a Russian in many ways. Don't you +think he is?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't known him long enough—" I began.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you don't like him! I see you don't.... No, it's no use your +saying anything. He isn't English enough for you, that's what it is. +You think him unpractical, unworldly. Well, so he is. Do you think I'd +ever be engaged to an ordinary Englishman? I'd die of ennui in a week. +Oh! yes, I would. But you like John, really, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you that I do," I answered, "but really, after only two +days—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah! that's so English! So cautious! How I hate your caution! Why +can't you say at once that you haven't made up your mind about +him—because that's the truth, isn't it? I wish he would not sit +there, looking at me, and not talking to the others. He ought to talk +to them, but he's afraid that they'll laugh at his Russian. It's not +very good, his Russian, is it? I can't help laughing myself +sometimes!"</p> + +<p><i>Her</i> English was extremely good. Sometimes she used a word in its +wrong sense; she had one or two charming little phrases of her own: +"What a purpose to?" instead of: "Why?" and sometimes a double +negative. She rolled her r's more than is our habit.</p> + +<p>I said, looking straight into her eyes:</p> + +<p>"It's a tremendous thing to him, his having you. I can see that +although I've known him so short a time. He's a very lucky man +and—and—if his luck were to go, I think that he'd simply die. There! +That isn't a very English thing to have said, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Why did you say it?" she cried sharply. "You don't trust me. You +think—"</p> + +<p>"I think nothing," I answered. "Only he's not like ordinary men. He's +so much younger than his age."</p> + +<p>She gave me then the strangest look. The light seemed suddenly to die +out of her face; her eyes sought mine as though for help. There were +tears in them.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I do want to be good to him!" she whispered. Then got up abruptly +and joined the others.</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon an automobile arrived and carried off most of +our party. I was compelled to remain for several hours, and intended +to drive, looking forward indeed to the long quiet silence of the +spring evening. Moved by some sudden impulse I suggested to Trenchard +that he should wait and drive with me: "The car will be very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +crowded," I said, "and I think too that you'd like to see some of the +country properly. It's a lovely evening—only thirty versts.... Will +you wait and come with me?"</p> + +<p>He agreed at once; he had been, all day, very quiet, watching, with +that rather clumsy expression of his, the expression of a dog who had +been taught by his master some tricks which he had half-forgotten and +would presently be expected to remember.</p> + +<p>When I made my suggestion he flung one look at Marie Ivanovna. She was +busied over some piece of luggage, and half-turned her head, smiling +at him:</p> + +<p>"Ah, do go, John—yes? We will be so cr-rowded.... It will be very +nice for you driving."</p> + +<p>I fancied that I heard him sigh. He tried to help the ladies with +their luggage, handed them the wrong parcels, dropped delicate +packages, apologised, blushed, was very hot, collected dust from I +know not where.... Once I heard a sharp, angry voice: "John! Oh!..." I +could not believe that it was Marie Ivanovna. Of course she was hot +and tired and had slept, last night, but little. The car, watched by +an inquisitive but strangely apathetic crowd of peasants, snorted its +way down the little streets, the green trees blowing and the starlings +chattering. In a moment the starlings and our two selves seemed to +have the whole dead little town to ourselves.</p> + +<p>I saw quite clearly that he was unhappy; he could never disguise his +feelings; as he waited for the trap to appear he had the same lost and +abandoned appearance that he had on my first vision of him at the +Petrograd station. The soldier who was to drive us smiled as he saw +me.</p> + +<p>"Only thirty versts, your honour ... or, thank God, even less. It will +take us no time." He was a large clumsy creature, like an eager +overgrown puppy; he was one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> four or five Nikolais in our +Otriad, and he is to be noticed in this history because he attached +himself from the very beginning to Trenchard with that faithful and +utterly unquestioning devotion of which the Russian soldier is so +frequently capable. He must, I think, have seen something helpless and +unhappy in Trenchard's appearance on this evening. Sancho to our Don +Quixote he was from that first moment.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's an English gentleman," I said when he had listened for a +moment to Trenchard's Russian.</p> + +<p>"Like yourself," said Nikolai.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Nikolai. You must look after him. He'll be strange here at +first."</p> + +<p>"<i>Slushaiu</i> (I hear)."</p> + +<p>That was all he said. He got up on to his seat, his broad back was +bent over his horses.</p> + +<p>"Well, and how have things been, Nikolai, busy?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Nikak nyet</i>—not at all. Very quiet."</p> + +<p>"No wounded?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing at all, <i>Barin</i>, for two weeks now."</p> + +<p>"Have you liked that?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tak totchno.</i> Certainly yes."</p> + +<p>"No, but have you?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tak totchno, Barin.</i>"</p> + +<p>Then he turned and gave, for one swift instant, a glance at Trenchard, +who was, very clumsily, climbing into the carriage. Nikolai looked at +him gravely. His round, red face was quite expressionless as he turned +back and began to abjure his horses in that half-affectionate, +half-abusive and wholly human whispering exclamation that Russians use +to their animals. We started.</p> + +<p>I have mentioned in these pages that I had already spent three months +with our Otriad at the Front. I cannot now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> define exactly what it was +that made this drive on this first evening something utterly distinct +and apart from all that I had experienced during that earlier period. +It is true that, before, I had been for almost two months in one place +and had seen nothing at all of actual warfare, except the feeding and +bandaging of the wounded. But I had imagined then, nevertheless, that +I was truly "in the thick of things," as indeed, in comparison with my +Moscow or Petrograd life, I was. We had not now driven through the +quiet evening air for ten minutes before I knew, with assured +certainty, that a new phase of life was, on this day, opening before +me; the dark hedges, the thin fine dust on the roads, the deep purple +colour of the air, beat at my heart, as though they themselves were +helping with quiet insistency to draw me into the drama. And yet +nothing could have been more peaceful than was that lovely evening. +The dark plum-colour in the evening sky soaked like wine into the +hills, the fields, the thatched cottages, the streams and the little +woods.</p> + +<p>The faint saffron that lingered below the crests and peaks of rosy +cloud showed between the stems of the silver birches like the friendly +smile of a happy day. The only human beings to be seen were the +peasants driving home their cows; far on the horizon the Carpathian +mountains were purple in the dusk, the snow on their highest ridges +faintly silver. There was not a sound in the world except the ring of +our horses' hoofs upon the road. And yet this sinister excitement +hammered, from somewhere, at me as I had never felt it before. It was +as though the lovely evening were a painted scene lowered to hide some +atrocity.</p> + +<p>"This is scarcely what you expected a conquered country to look like, +is it?" I said to Trenchard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>He looked about him, then said, hesitating: "No ... that is ... I +don't know what I expected."</p> + +<p>A curved moon, dull gold like buried treasure, rose slowly above the +hill; one white star flickered and the scents of the little gardens +that lined the road grew thicker in the air as the day faded.</p> + +<p>I was conscious of some restraint with Trenchard: "He's probably +wishing," I thought, "that he'd not been so expansive last night. He +doesn't trust me."</p> + +<p>Once he said abruptly:</p> + +<p>"They'll give me ... won't they ... work to do? It would be terrible +if there wasn't work. I'm not so ... so stupid at bandaging. I learnt +a lot in the hospital and although I'm clumsy with my hands generally +I'm not so clumsy about that—"</p> + +<p>"Why of course," I answered. "When there's work they'll be only too +delighted. But there won't always be work. You must be prepared for +that. Sometimes our Division is in reserve and then we're in reserve +too. Sometimes for so much as a fortnight. When I was out here before +I was in one place for more than two months. You must just take +everything as it comes."</p> + +<p>"I want to work," he said. "I <i>must</i>."</p> + +<p>Once again only he spoke:</p> + +<p>"That little fat man who travelled with us...."</p> + +<p>"Andrey Vassilievitch," I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes.... He interests me. You knew him before?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I've known him slightly for some years."</p> + +<p>"What has he come for? He's frightened out of his life."</p> + +<p>"Frightened?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he himself told me. He says that he's very nervous but that he +must do everything that every one else does—for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> a certain reason. He +got very excited when he talked to me and asked me whether I thought +it would all be very terrible."</p> + +<p>"He is a nervous fussy little man. Russians are not cowards, but +Audrey Vassilievitch lost his wife last year. He was very devoted to +her—very. He is miserable without her, they say. Perhaps he has come +to the war to forget her."</p> + +<p>I was surprised at Trenchard's interest; I had thought him so wrapt in +his own especial affair that nothing outside it could occupy him. But +he continued:</p> + +<p>"He knew the tall doctor—Nikitin—before, didn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes.... Nikitin knew his wife."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see.... Nikitin seems to despise him—I think he despises all +of us."</p> + +<p>"Oh no. That's only his manner. Many Russians look as though they were +despising their neighbours when, as a matter of fact, they're really +despising themselves. They're very fond of despising themselves: their +contempt allows them to do what they want to."</p> + +<p>"I don't think Nikitin despises himself. He looks too happy—at least, +happy is not the word. Perhaps triumphant is what I mean."</p> + +<p>"Ah, if you begin speculating about Russian expression you're lost. +They express so much in their faces that you think you know all their +deepest feelings. But they're not their deep feelings that you see. +Only their quick transient emotions that change every moment." I +fancied, just at that time, that I had studied the Russian character +very intently and it was perhaps agreeable to me to air my knowledge +before an Englishman who had come to Russia for the first time so +recently.</p> + +<p>But Trenchard did not seem to be greatly impressed by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> my cleverness. +He spoke no more. We drove then in silence whilst the moon, rising +high, caught colour into its dim outline, like a scimitar unsheathed; +the trees and hedges grew, with every moment, darker. We left the +valley through which we had been driving, slowly climbing the hill, +and here, on the top of the rising ground, we had our first glimpse of +the outposts of the war. A cottage had been posted on the highest +point of the hill; now all that remained of it was a sheet of iron, +crumpled like paper, propped in the centre by a black and solitary +post, trailing thence on the ground amongst tumbled bricks and refuse. +This sheet of iron was silver in the moonlight and stood out with its +solitary black support against the night sky, which was now breaking +into a million stars. Behind it stretched a flat plain that reached to +the horizon.</p> + +<p>"There," I said to Trenchard, "there's your first glimpse of actual +warfare. What do you say to every house in your village at home like +that? It's ghastly enough if you see it as I have done, still smoking, +with the looking-glasses and flower-pots and pictures lying about."</p> + +<p>But Trenchard said nothing.</p> + +<p>We started across the plain and at once, as with "Childe Roland":</p> + +<div class="poem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For mark! no sooner was I fairly found<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Than, pausing to throw backward a last view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the safe road, 'twas gone! grey plain all round:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I might go on; nought else remained to do.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Our "safe road" was a rough and stony track; far in front of us on the +rising hill that bounded the horizon a red light watched us like an +angry eye. There were corn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>fields that stirred and whispered, but no +hedges, no trees, and not a house to be seen.</p> + +<p>Nikolai turned and said: "A very strong battle here, Your Honour, only +three weeks back."</p> + +<p>By the side of the road stood a little cluster of wooden crosses and +behind them were two large holes filled now with water upon which the +moon was shining. In these holes the frogs were making a tremendous +noise.</p> + +<p>"That was shell," I said to Trenchard, pointing. The frogs drowned my +voice; there was something of a melancholy triumph in their cry and +their voices seemed to be caught up and echoed by thousands upon +thousands of other frogs inhabiting the plain.</p> + +<p>We came then upon a trench; the ridge of it stretched like a black +cord straight across the cornfield and here for a moment the road +seemed lost.</p> + +<p>I got out. "Here, Trenchard. You must come and look at this. Your +first Austrian trench. You may find treasure."</p> + +<p>We walked along in single file for some time and then suddenly I lost +him: the trench, just where we were, divided into two. I waited +thinking that in a moment he would appear. There was nothing very +thrilling about my trench; it was an old one and all that remained now +of any life was the blackened ground where there had been cooking, the +brown soiled cartridge-cases, and many empty tin cans. And then as I +waited, leaning forward with my elbows on the earthwork, the frogs the +only sound in the world, I was conscious that some one was watching +me. In front of me I could see the red light flickering and turning a +little as it seemed—behind me nothing but the starlight. I turned, +looked back, and for my very life could not hold myself from calling +out:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who's there?"</p> + +<p>I waited, then called more loudly: "Trenchard! Trenchard!" I laughed +at myself, leant again on the trench and puffed at my cigarette. Then +once more I was absolutely assured that some one watched me.</p> + +<p>I called again: "Who's there?"</p> + +<p>Then quite suddenly and to my own absurd relief Trenchard appeared, +stumbling forward over some roughness in the ground almost into my +arms:</p> + +<p>"I say, it's beastly here," he cried. "Let's go on—the frogs...."</p> + +<p>He had caught my hand.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said, "what did you find?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing—only ... I don't know.... It's as though some one were +watching me. It's getting late, isn't it? The frogs...." he said +again—"I hate them. They seem to be triumphing."</p> + +<p>We climbed into the trap and drove on in silence.</p> + +<p>I was half asleep when at last we left the plain and dropped down into +the valley beyond. I was surprised to discover on looking at my watch +that it was only eleven o'clock; we had been, it seemed to me, hours +crossing that plain. "It's a silly thing," I said to Trenchard, "but +it would take quite a lot to get me to drive back over that again." He +nodded his head. We drove over a bridge, up a little hill and were in +the rough moonlit square of O——, our destination. Almost immediately +we were climbing the dark rickety stairs of our dwelling. There were +lights, shouts of welcome, Molozov our chief, sisters, doctors, +students, the room almost filled with a table covered with food—cold +meat, boiled eggs, sausage, jam, sweets, and of course a huge samovar. +I can only say that never once, during my earlier experience with the +Otriad, had I been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> so rejoiced to see lights and friendly faces. I +looked round for Trenchard. He had already discovered Marie Ivanovna +and was standing with her at the window.</p> + +<p>I learned at breakfast the next morning that we were at once to move +to a house outside the village. The fantastic illusions that my drive +of the evening before had bred in me now in the clear light of morning +entirely deserted me. Moreover fantasy had slender opportunity of +encouragement in the presence of Molozov.</p> + +<p>Molozov, I would wish to say once and for all, was the heart and soul +of our enterprise. Without him the whole organisation so admirably +supported by the energetic ladies and gentlemen in Petrograd, would +have tumbled instantly into a thousand pieces. In Molozov they had +discovered exactly the man for their purpose; a large land-owner, a +member of one of the best Russian families, he had, since the +beginning of the war, given himself up to the adventure with the whole +of his energy, with the whole of that great capacity for organisation +that the management of his estates had already taught him. He was in +appearance, short, squarely built, inclined, although he was only +thirty-two or three, to be stout; he wore a dark black moustache and +his hair was already grey. He was a Russian of the purest blood and +yet possessed all the qualities that the absolute Russian is supposed +to lack. He was punctual to the moment, sharply accurate in all his +affairs, a shrewd psychologist but never a great talker and, above +all, a consummate diplomatist. As I watched him dealing with the +widely opposed temperaments and dispositions of all our company, +soothing one, scolding another, listening attentively, cutting +complaints short, comforting, commanding, soliciting, I marvelled at +the good fortune of that Petrograd committee. In spite of his kind +heart—and he was one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> kindest-hearted men I have ever met—he +could be quite ruthless in dismissal or rebuke when occasion arrived. +He had a great gift of the Russian irony and he could be also, like +all Russians, a child at an instant's call, if something pleased him +or if he simply felt that the times were good and the sun was shining. +I only once, in a moment that I shall have, later on, to describe, saw +him depressed and out of heart. He was always a most courteous +gentleman.</p> + +<p>I drove now with him in a trap at the head of the <i>Oboz</i>, as our long +train, with our tents, provisions, boxes and beds, was called. We were +a fine company now and my heart was proud as I looked back up the +shining road and saw the long winding procession of carts and +"sanitars" and remembered how tiny an affair we had been in the +beginning.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Molozov, "and what of your Englishman?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I like him," I said rather hurriedly. "He'll do."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you think so—very glad. I was not sure last night.... He +doesn't speak Russian very well, does he? He was tired last night. I'm +very glad that he should come, of course, but it's unpleasant ... this +engagement ... the Sister told me. It's a little difficult for all of +us."</p> + +<p>"They were engaged the evening before they left."</p> + +<p>"I know ... nothing to do about it, but it would have been better +otherwise. And Andrey Vassilievitch! Whatever put it into Anna +Mihailovna's head to send him! He's a tiresome little man—I've known +him earlier in Petrograd! He's on my nerves already with his chatter. +No, it's too bad. What can he do with us?"</p> + +<p>"He has a very good business head," I said. "And he's not really a bad +little man. And he's very anxious to do everything."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I know those people who are 'anxious to do everything.'... Don't +I know? Don't you remember Sister<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> Anna Maria? anxious to do +everything, anything—and then, when it came to it, not even the +simplest bandage.... Nikitin's a good man," he added, "one of the best +doctors in Petrograd. We've no doctors of our own now, you +know—except of course Alexei Petrovitch. The others are all from the +Division—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Semyonov!" I said. "How is he?"</p> + +<p>At that moment he rode up to us. Seen on horseback Alexei Petrovitch +Semyonov appeared a large man; he was, in reality, of middle height +but his back was broad, his whole figure thickly-set and muscular. He +wore a thick square-cut beard of so fair a shade that it was almost +white! His whole colour was pale and yet, in some way, expressive of +immense health and vitality. His lips showed through his beard and +moustache red and very thick. His every movement showed great +self-possession and confidence. He had, indeed, far more personality +than any other member of our Otriad.</p> + +<p>Although he was an extremely capable doctor his main business in life +seemed to be self-indulgence. He apparently did not know the meaning +of the word "restraint." The serious questions in life to him were +food, drink, women.</p> + +<p>He believed in no woman's virtue and no man's sincerity. He hailed any +one as a friend but if he considered some one a fool he said so +immediately. He concealed his opinions from no one.</p> + +<p>When he was at work his indulgence seemed for the moment to leave him. +He was a surgeon of the first order and loved his profession. He was a +man now of fifty, but had never married, preferring a long succession +of mistresses—women who had loved him, at whom he had always laughed, +to whom he had been kind in a careless fashion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>... He always declared +that no woman had ever touched his heart.</p> + +<p>He had come to the war voluntarily, forsaking a very lucrative +practice. This was always a puzzle to me. He had no romantic notions +about the war, no altruistic compulsions, no high conceptions of his +duty ... no one had worked more magnificently in the war than he. He +could not be said to be popular amongst us; we were all of us perhaps +a little afraid of him. He cared, so obviously, for none of us. But we +admired his vitality, his courage, his independence. I myself was +assured that he allowed us to see him only with the most casual +superficiality.</p> + +<p>As he rode up to me I wondered how he and Nikitin would fare. These +were two personalities worthy of attention. Also, what would he think +of Trenchard? His opinion of any one had great weight amongst us.</p> + +<p>I had not seen him last night and he leant over his horse now and +shook hands with me with a warm friendliness that surprised me. He +laughed, joked, was evidently in excellent spirits. He rode on a +little, then came back to us.</p> + +<p>"I like your new Sister," he said. "She's charming."</p> + +<p>"She's engaged," I answered, "to the new Englishman."</p> + +<p>"Ah! the new Englishman!" He laughed. "Apologies, Ivan Andreievitch +(myself), to your country ... but really ... what's he going to do +with us?"</p> + +<p>"He'll work," I said, surprised at the heat that I felt in Trenchard's +defence. "He's a splendid fellow."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt"—again Semyonov laughed. "We all know your +enthusiasms, Ivan Andreievitch, ... but an Englishman! <i>Ye Bogu</i>!..."</p> + +<p>"Engaged to that girl!" I heard him repeat to himself as again he rode +forward. Trenchard, little Andrey Vassilie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>vitch, Semyonov, Nikitin ... yes, +there was promise of much development here.</p> + +<p>We had dropped down into the valley and, at a sudden turn, saw the +school-house in front of us. It is before me now as I write with its +long low whitewashed two-storied front, its dormer-windows, its roof +faintly pink with a dark red bell-tower perched on the top. Behind it +is a long green field stretching to where hills, faintly blue in the +morning light, rose, with very gradual slopes against the sky. To the +right I could see there was a garden hidden now by trees, on the left +a fine old barn, its thatched roof deep brown, the props supporting it +black with age. In front of the pillared porch there was a little +square of white cobble-stones and in the middle of these an old grey +sundial. The whole place was bathed in the absolute peace of the +spring morning.</p> + +<p>As we drove up a little old lady with two tiny children clinging to +her skirts came to the porch. I could see, as we came up to her, that +she was trembling with terror; she put up her hand to her white hair, +clutched again desperately the two children, found at last her voice +and hoped that we would be "indulgent."</p> + +<p>Molozov assured her that she would suffer in no kind of way, that we +must use her school for a week or so and that any loss or damage that +she incurred would of course be made up to her. She was then, of a +sudden, immensely fluent, explaining that her husband—"a most +excellent husband to me in every way one might say"—had been dead +fifteen years now, that her two sons were both fighting for the +Austrians, that she looked after the school assisted by her daughter. +These were her grandchildren.... Such a terrible year she, in all her +long life, had never remembered. She....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>The arrival of the rest of the Oboz silenced her. She remained, with +wide-open staring eyes, her hand at her breast, watching, saying +absent-mindedly to the children: "Now Katya.... Now Anna.... See what +you're about!"</p> + +<p>The school was spotlessly clean. In the schoolroom the rough benches +were marked with names and crosses. On the whitewashed walls were +coloured maps of Galicia and tables of the Austrian kings and queens; +on the blackboard still an unfinished arithmetical sum and on the +master's desk a pile of exercise books.</p> + +<p>In a moment everything was changed; the sanitars had turned the +schoolroom into a dormitory, another room was to be our dining-room, +another a bedroom for the Sisters. In the high raftered kitchen our +midday meal was already cooking; the little cobbled court was piled +high with luggage. In the field beyond the house the sanitars had +pitched their tents.</p> + +<p>I walked out into the little garden—a charming place with yew hedges, +a lichen-covered well and old thick apple-trees, and here I found an +old man in a broad-brimmed straw hat tending the bees. The hives were +open and he was working with a knife whilst the bees hung in a +trembling hovering cloud about him. I spoke to him but he paid no +attention to me at all. I watched him then spoke again; he +straightened himself then looked at me for a moment with eyes full of +scorn. Words of fury, of abuse perhaps, seemed to tremble on his lips, +then shaking his head he turned his back upon me and continued his +work. Behind us I could hear the soldiers breaking the garden-fence to +make stakes for their tents.</p> + +<p>Here we were for a fortnight and it was strange to me, in the days of +stress and excitement that followed, to look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> back to that fortnight +and remember that we had, so many of us, been restless and +discontented at the quiet of it. Oddly enough, of all the many +backgrounds that were, during the next months, to follow in procession +behind me, there only remain to me with enduring vitality: this +school-house at O——, the banks of the River Nestor which I had +indeed good reason to remember, and finally the forest of S——. How +strange a contrast, that school-house with its little garden and white +cobbles and that forest which will, to the end of my life, ever haunt +my dreams.</p> + +<p>And yet, by its very contrast, how fitting a background to our +Prologue this school-house made! I wonder whether Nikitin sees it +still in his visions? Trenchard and Semyonov ... does it mean anything +to them, where they now are? First of them all, Marie Ivanovna.... I +see her still, bending over the well looking down, then suddenly +flinging her head back, laughing as we stood behind her, the sunlight +through the apple-trees flashing in her eyes.... That fortnight must +be to many of us of how ironic, of how tragic a tranquillity!</p> + +<p>So we settled down and did our best to become happily accustomed to +one another. Our own immediate company numbered twenty or so—Molozov, +two doctors, myself, Trenchard and Andrey Vassilievitch, the two new +Sisters and the three former ones, five or six young Russians, +gentlemen of ease and leisure who had had some "bandaging" practice at +the Petrograd hospitals, and three very young medical students, +directly attached to our two doctors. In addition to these there were +the doctors, Sisters and students belonging to the army itself—the +Sixty-Fifth Division of the Ninth Army. These sometimes lived with us +and sometimes by themselves; they had at their head Colonel Oblonsky, +a military doctor of much experience and wide knowl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>edge. There were +also the regular sanitars, some thirty or forty, men who were often by +profession schoolmasters or small merchants, of a better class for the +most part than the ordinary soldier.</p> + +<p>It is not, of course, my intention to describe with any detail the +individuals of this company. I have chosen already those of us who are +especially concerned with my present history, but these others made a +continually fluctuating and variable background, at first confusing +and, to a stranger, almost terrifying. When the army doctors and +Sisters dined with us we numbered from thirty to forty persons: +sometimes also the officers of the Staff of the Sixty-Fifth came to +our table. There were other occasions when every one was engaged on +one business or another and only three or four of us were left at the +central station or "Punkt," as it was called.</p> + +<p>And, of all these persons, who now stands out? I can remember a +Sister, short, plain, with red hair, who felt that she was treated +with insufficient dignity, whose voice rising in complaint is with me +now; I can see her small red-rimmed eyes watching for some insult and +then the curl of her lip as she snatched her opportunity.... Or there +was the jolly, fat Sister who had travelled with us, an admirable +worker, but a woman, apparently, with no personal life at all, no +excitements, dreads, angers, dejections. Upon her the war made no +impression at all. She spoke sometimes to us of her husband and her +children. She was not greedy, nor patriotic, neither vain nor humble, +neither egoistic nor unselfish. She was simply reliable.</p> + +<p>Or there was the tall gaunt Sister, intensely religious and serious. +She was regarded by all of us as an excellent woman, but of course we +did not like her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>One would say to another: "Sister K——, what an excellent worker!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. How she works!"</p> + +<p>"Splendid! Splendid!"</p> + +<p>When owing to the illness of her old mother she was compelled to +return to Petrograd what relief we all felt! How gay was our supper +the night of her departure! There was something very childish at the +heart of all of us.</p> + +<p>Of the young gentlemen from Petrograd I remember only three. The +family name of one was Ivanoff, but he was always known to the Otriad +as Goga, a pet diminutive of George. He was perhaps the youngest +person whom I have ever known. He must have been eighteen years of +age; he looked about eleven, with a round red face and wide-open eyes +that expressed eternal astonishment. Like Mr. Toots', his mind was +continually occupied with his tailor and he told me on several +occasions that he hoped I should visit him in Petrograd because there +in the house of his mother he had many splendid suits, shirts, ties, +that it would give him pleasure to show me. In spite of this little +weakness, he showed a most energetic character, willing to do anything +for anybody, eager to please the whole world. I can hear his voice +now:</p> + +<p>"<i>Yeh Bogu</i>! Ivan Andreievitch!... Imagine my position! There was +General Polinoff and the whole Staff.... What to do? Only three versts +from the position too and already six o'clock...."</p> + +<p>Or there was another serious gentleman, whose mind was continually +occupied with Russia: "It may be difficult for you, Ivan Andreievitch, +to see with our eyes, but for those of us who have Russia in our +hearts ... what rest or peace can there be? I can assure you...."</p> + +<p>He wore pince-nez and with his long pear-shaped head,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> shaven to the +skin, his white cheeks, protruding chin and long heavy white hands he +resembled nothing so much as a large fish hanging on a nail at a +fishmonger's. He worked always in a kind of cold desperate despair, +his pince-nez slipping off his shiny nose, his mouth set grimly. "What +is the use?" he seemed to say, "of helping these poor wounded soldiers +when Russia is in such a desperate condition? Tell me that!"</p> + +<p>Or there was a wild rough fellow from some town in Little Russia, a +boy of the most primitive character, no manners at all and a heart of +shining gold. Of life he had the very wildest notions. He loved women +and would sing Southern Russian songs about them. He had a strain of +fantasy that continually surprised one. He liked fairy tales. He would +say to me: "There's a tale? Ivan Andreievitch, about a princess who +lived on a lake of glass. There was a forest, you know, round the lake +and all the trees were of gold. The pond was guarded by three dwarfs. +I myself, Ivan Andreievitch, have seen a dwarf in Kiev no higher than +your leg, and in our town they say there was once a whole family of +dwarfs who lived in a house in the chief street in our town and sold +potatoes.... I don't know.... People tell one such things. But for the +rest of that tale, do you remember how it goes?"</p> + +<p>He could ride any horse, carry any man, was never tired nor out of +heart. He had the vaguest ideas about the war. "I knew a German once +in our town," he told me. "I always hated him.... He was going to +Petrograd to make his fortune. I hope he's dead." This fellow was +called Petrov.</p> + +<p>My chief interest during this fortnight was to watch the fortunes of +Marie Ivanovna and Trenchard with their new companions. It was +instantly apparent that Marie Ivanovna<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> was a success. On the second +day after our arrival at the school-house there were continual +exclamations: "But how charming the new Sister! How sympathetic!... +Have you talked to the new Sister?"</p> + +<p>Even Sister K——, so serious and religious, approved. It was evident +at once that Marie Ivanovna was, on her side, delighted with every +one. I could see that at present she was assured that what she wanted +from life would be granted to her. She gave herself, with complete +confidence, to any one and every one, and, with that triumphing +vitality that one felt in her from the first moment of meeting her, +she carried all before her. In the hospital at Petrograd they had +been, I gathered, "all serious and old," had treated her I fancy with +some sternness. Here, at any rate, "serious and old" she would not +find us. We welcomed, with joy, her youth, her enthusiasm, her +happiness.</p> + +<p>Semyonov, who never disguised nor restrained his feelings, was, from +the first instant, strangely attracted to her. She, I could see, liked +him very much, felt in him his strength and capacity and scorn of +others. Molozov also yielded her his instant admiration. He always +avoided any close personal relationship with any of us but I could see +that he was delighted with her vitality and energy. She pleased the +older Sisters by her frank and quite honest desire to be told things +and the younger Sisters by her equally honest admiration of their +gifts and qualities. She was honest and sincere, I do believe, in +every word and thought and action. She had, in many ways, the naive +purity, the unconsidered faith and confidence of a child still in the +nursery. She amazed me sometimes by her ignorance; she delighted me +frequently by her refreshing truth and straightforwardness. She felt a +little, I think, that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> did not yield her quite the extravagant +admiration of the others. I was Trenchard's friend....</p> + +<p>Yes, I was now Trenchard's friend. What had occurred since that night +in the train, when I had felt, during the greater part of the time, +nothing but irritation? Frankly, I do not know. It may be, partly, +that he was given to me by the rest of the Otriad. He was spoken of +now as "my" Englishman. And then, poor Trenchard!... How, during this +fortnight, he was unhappy! It had begun with him as I had foreseen. In +the first place he had been dismayed and silenced by the garrulity of +his new companions. It had seemed to him that he had understood +nothing of their conversation, that he was in the way, that finally he +was more lonely than he had ever been in his life before. Then, +however strongly he might to himself deny it, he had arrived in Russia +with what Nikitin called "his romantic notions." He had read his +Dostoevski and Turgenev; he had looked at those books of Russian +impressions that deal in nothing but snow, ikons, and the sublime +simplicity of the Russian peasant. He was a man whose circumstances +had led him to believe profoundly in his own incapacity, unpopularity, +ignorance. For a moment his love had given him a new confidence but +now how was that same love deserting him? He had foreseen a glorious +campaign, his lady and himself side by side, death and terror flying +before him. He found himself leading a country life of perfect quiet +and comfort, even as he might have led it in England, with a crowd of +people, strangely unfamiliar to him, driving him, as he had been +driven in the old days, into a host of awkwardnesses, confusions and +foolishnesses. I could not forgive Marie Ivanovna for her +disappointment in him, and yet I could understand how different he +must have appeared to her during those last days in Petrograd, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +alone with her and on fire with love, he had shown his true and +bravest self to her. She was impatient, she had hoped that the others +would see him as she had seen him. She watched them as they expressed +their surprise that he was not the practical, fearless and +unimaginative Englishman who was their typical figure. Whilst he found +them far from the Karamazovs, the Raskolnikoffs, of his imagination, +they in their turn could not create the "sportsman" and "man of +affairs" whom they had expected.</p> + +<p>To all of this Semyonov added, beyond question, his personal weight. +He had from the first declared Trenchard "a ridiculous figure." Whilst +the others were unfailingly kind, hospitable and even indulgent to +Trenchard, Semyonov was openly satirical, making no attempt to hide +his sarcastic irony. I do not know how much Trenchard's engagement to +Marie Ivanovna had to do with this, but I know that "my Englishman" +could not to his misfortune have had a more practical, more efficient +figure against whom to be contrasted than Semyonov.</p> + +<p>During these weeks I think that I hated Semyonov. There was, however, +one silent observer of all this business upon whose personal +interference I had not reckoned. This was Nikitin, who, at the end of +our first week at the school-house, broke his silence in a +conversation with me.</p> + +<p>Nikitin, although he spoke as little as possible to any one, had +already had his effect upon the Otriad. They felt behind his silence a +personality that might indeed be equal to Semyonov's own. By little +Andrey Vassilievitch they were always being assured: "Nikitin! A most +remarkable man! You may believe me. I have known him for many years. A +great friend of my poor wife's and mine...."</p> + +<p>They did not appear to be great friends. Nikitin quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> obviously +avoided the little man whenever it was possible. But then he avoided +us all.</p> + +<p>Upon a lovely afternoon Nikitin and I were alone in the wild little +garden, he lying full length on the grass, I reading a very ancient +English newspaper, with my back against a tree.</p> + +<p>He looked up at me with a swift penetrating glance, as though he were +seeing me for the first time and would wish at once to weigh my +character and abilities.</p> + +<p>"Your Englishman," he said. "He's not happy, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"No," I said, feeling the surprise of his question—it had become +almost a tradition with me that he never spoke unless he were first +spoken to. "He feels strange and a little lonely, perhaps ... it's +natural enough!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," repeated Nikitin, "it's natural enough. What did he come for?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'll be all right," I said hastily, "in a day or two."</p> + +<p>Nikitin lay on his back looking at the green, layer upon layer, light +and dark, with golden fragments of broken light leaping in the breeze +from branch to branch. "Why did he come? What did he expect to see? I +know what he expected to see—romantic Russia, romantic war. He +expected to find us, our hearts exploding with love, God's smile on +our simple faces, God's simple faith in our souls.... He has been told +by his cleverest writers that Russia is the last stronghold of God. +And war? He thought that he would be plunged into a scene of smoke and +flame, shrapnel, horror upon horror, danger upon danger. He finds +instead a country house, meals long and large, no sounds of cannon, +not even an aeroplane. Are we kind to him? Not at all.... We are not +unkind but we simply have other things to think about, and because we +are primi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>tive people we do what we want to do, feel what we want to +feel, and show quite frankly our feelings. He is not what we expected, +so that we prefer to fill our minds with things that do not give us +trouble. Later, like all Englishmen, he will dismiss us as savages, +or, if he is of the intellectual kind, he will talk about our +confusing subtleties and contradictions. But we are neither savages +nor confusing. We have simply a skin less than you.... We are a very +young people, a real and genuine Democracy, and we care for quite +simple things, women, food, sleep, money, quite simply and without +restraint. We show our eagerness, our disgust, our disappointment, our +amusement simply as the mood moves us. In Moscow they eat all day and +are not ashamed. Why should they be? In Kiev they think always about +women and do not pretend otherwise ... and so on. We have, of course, +no sense of time, nor method, nor system. If we were to think of these +things we would be compelled to use restraint and that would bother +us. We may lose the most important treasure in the world by not +keeping an appointment ... on the other hand we have kept our freedom. +We care for ideas for which you care nothing in England but we have a +sure suspicion of all conclusions. We are pessimists, one and all. +Life cannot be good. We ironically survey those who think that it +can.... We give way always to life but when things are at their worst +then we are relieved and even happy. Here at any rate we are on safe +ground. We have much sentiment, but it may, at any moment, give way to +some other emotion. We are therefore never to be relied upon, as +friends, as enemies, as anything you please. Except this—that in the +heart of every Russian there is a passionate love of goodness. We are +tolerant to all evil, to all weakness because we ourselves are weak. +We confess our weakness to any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> one because that permits us to indulge +in it—but when we see in another goodness, strength, virtue, we +worship it. You may bind us to you with bands of iron by your +virtues—never, as all foreigners think, by your vices. In this, too, +we are sentimentalists. We may not believe in God but we have an +intense curiosity about Him—a curiosity that with many of us never +leaves us alone, compels us to fill our lives, to fill our lives.... +We love Russia.... But that is another thing.... Never forget too that +behind every Russian's simplicity there is always his Ideal—his +secret Ideal, perhaps, that he keeps like an ikon sacred in his heart. +Yes, of every Russian, even of the worst of us, that is true. And it +complicates our lives, delivers us to our enemies, defeats all our +worldly aims, renders us helpless at the moment when we should be most +strong. But it is good, before God, that it should be so...."</p> + +<p>He suddenly sprang up and stood before me. "To-morrow I shall think +otherwise—and yet this is part of the truth that I have told you.... +And your Englishman? I like him ... I like him. That girl will treat +him badly, of course. How can she do otherwise? He sees her like +Turgenev's Liza. Well, she is not that. No girl in Russia to-day is +like Turgenev's Liza. And it's a good thing." He smiled—that strange, +happy, confident mysterious smile that I had seen first on the +Petrograd platform. Then he turned and walked slowly towards the +house.</p> + +<p>What Nikitin had said about Trenchard's expectation of "romantic war" +was perhaps true, in different degrees, of all of us. Even I, in spite +of my earlier experience, felt some irritation at this delay, and to +those of us who had arrived flaming with energy, bravery, resolution +to make their name before Europe, this feasting in a country garden +seemed a deliberate insult. Was this "romantic war?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> These long meals +under the trees, deep sleeps in the afternoon when the pigeons cooed +round the little red bell-tower and the pump creaked in the cobbled +courtyard and the bees hummed in the garden? Bees, cold water shining +deep in the well, and the samovar chuckling behind the flower-beds, +and fifteen versts away the Austrians challenging the Russian +nation!... "You know," Andrey Vassilievitch said to me, "it's very +disheartening."</p> + +<p>Marie Ivanovna at the end of the first week spoke her mind. I found +her one evening before supper leaning over the fence, gazing across +the long flat field, pale gold in the dusk with the hills like grey +clouds beyond it.</p> + +<p>"They tell me," she said, turning to me, "that we may be another +fortnight like this."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, "it's quite possible, or even longer. We can't provide +wounded and battles for you if there aren't any."</p> + +<p>"But there are!" she cried. "Isn't the whole of Europe fighting and +isn't it simply disgusting of us to be sitting down here, eating and +sleeping, just as though we were in a <i>dacha</i> in the country? At least +in the hospital in Petrograd I was working ... here...."</p> + +<p>"We've got to stick to our Division," I answered. "They can't have it +in reserve very long. When it goes, we'll go. The whole secret of +leading this life out here is taking exactly what comes as completely +as you can take it. If it's a time for sleeping and eating, sleep and +eat—there'll be days enough when you'll get nothing of either."</p> + +<p>She laughed then, swinging round to me, with the dusk round her white +nurse's cap and her eyes dark with her desires and hopes and +disappointments.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've no right to be discontented.... Every one is so good to me. +I love them all—even you, Mr. Durward.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> But I want to begin, to +begin, to begin! I want to see what it's like, to find what there is +there that frightens them, or makes them happy. We had a young officer +in our hospital who died. He was too ill ... he could tell us nothing, +but he was so excited by something ... something he was in the middle +of.... Who was it? What was it? I <i>must</i> be there, hunt it out, find +that I'm strong enough not to be afraid of <i>anything</i>." She suddenly +dropped her voice, changing with sharp abruptness. "And John? He's not +happy here, is he?"</p> + +<p>"You should know," I answered, "better than any of us."</p> + +<p>"Why should I know?" she replied, flaming out at me. "You always blame +me about him, but you are unfair. I want him to be happy—I would make +him so if I could. But he's so strange, so different from his time at +the hospital. He will scarcely speak to me or to any one. Why can't he +be agreeable to every one? I want them to like him but how can they +when he won't talk to them and runs away if they come near him? He's +disappointed perhaps at its being so quiet here. It isn't what he +expected to find it, but then isn't that the same for all of us? And +<i>we</i> don't sulk all day. He's disappointed with <i>me</i> perhaps but he +won't tell me what he wants. If I ask him he only says 'Oh, it's all +r-right—it's all r-right'—I hate that 'all r-right' of your +language—so stupid! What a purpose not to say if he wants something?"</p> + +<p>I said nothing. My silence urged her to a warmer defence.</p> + +<p>"And then he makes such mistakes—always everything wrong that he's +asked to do. Doctor Semyonov laughs at him—but of course! He's like a +little boy, a man as old as he is. And Englishmen are always so +practical, capable. Oh! speak to him, Mr. Durward; you can, please. If +<i>I</i> say<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> anything he's at once so miserable.... I don't understand, I +don't understand!" she cried, raising her hands with a little +despairing gesture. "How can he have been like that in Petrograd, and +now like this!"</p> + +<p>"Give him time, Marie Ivanovna," I answered her. "This is all new to +him, confusing, alarming. He's led a very quiet life. He's very +sensitive. He cares for you so deeply that the slightest thing wounds +him. He would hide that if he could—it's his tragedy that he can't."</p> + +<p>She would have answered had not supper arrived and with it our whole +company. Shall I ever know a more beautiful night? As we sat there the +moon came up, red-gold and full; the stars were clustered so thickly +between the trees that their light lay heavy like smoke upon the air. +The little garden seemed to be never still as our candlelight blew in +the breeze; so it hovered and trembled about us, the trees bending +beneath their precious load of stars, shuddering in their happiness at +so good an evening.</p> + +<p>We sat there as though we had known that it was to be our last night +of peace.... Many times the glasses of tea were filled, many times the +little blue tin boxes of sweets were pushed up and down the table, +many times the china teapot on the top of the samovar was fed with +fresh tea, many times spoons were dipped into the strawberry jam and +then plunged into the glasses of tea, such being the Russian pleasure.</p> + +<p>There occurred then an unfortunate incident. Some one had said +something about England: there had been a joke then about "sportsmen," +some allusion was made to some old story connected with myself, and I +had laughingly taken up the challenge. Suddenly Semyonov leaned across +the table and spoke to Trenchard. Trenchard, who had been silent +throughout the meal, misunderstood the Russian,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> thought that Semyonov +was trying to insult him, and sat there colouring, flaming at last, +silent. We all of us felt the awkwardness of it. There was a general +pause—Semyonov himself drew back with a little laugh.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Marie Ivanovna, across the table, in English said softly but +with a strange eager hostility:</p> + +<p>"How absurd!... To let them all see ... to let them know...." Perhaps +I, who was sitting next to her, alone heard her words.</p> + +<p>The colour left Trenchard's face; he looked at her once, then got up +and left the table. I could see then that she was distressed, but she +talked, laughed more eagerly, more enthusiastically than before. +Sometimes I saw her look towards the school-house.</p> + +<p>When there came an opportunity I rose and went to find him. He was +standing near his bed, his back to the door, his hands clenched.</p> + +<p>"I say, come out again—just as though nothing had happened. No one +noticed anything, only I...."</p> + +<p>He turned to me, his face working and with a passionate gesture, in a +voice that choked over the words, he cried: "She should not have said +it. She should not ... every one there.... She knew how it would wound +me.... Semyonov...."</p> + +<p>He positively was silent over that name. The mild expression of his +eyes, the clumsy kindness of his mouth gave a ludicrous expression to +his rage.</p> + +<p>"Wait! Wait!" I cried. "Be patient!"</p> + +<p>As I spoke I could hear him in the railway carriage:</p> + +<p>"I am mad with happiness.... God forgive me, my heart will break."</p> + +<p>Breaking from me, despair in his voice, he whispered to the empty +room, the desolate row of white beds watching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> him: "I always knew +that I was hopeless ... hopeless ... hopeless."</p> + +<p>"Look here," I said. "You mustn't take things so hard. You go up and +down.... Your emotions...."</p> + +<p>But he only shook his head:</p> + +<p>"She shouldn't have said it—like that—before every one," he +repeated.</p> + +<p>I left him. Afterwards as I stood in the passage, white and ghostly in +the moonlight, something suddenly told me that this night the prologue +of our drama was concluded.</p> + +<p>I waited on the steps of the house, heard the laughing voices in the +distance, while over the rest of the world there was absolute silence; +then abruptly, quite sharply, across the long low fields there came +the rumble of cannon. Three times it sounded. Then hearing no more I +returned into the house.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE INVISIBLE BATTLE</h3> + + +<p>On the evening of the following day Trenchard, Andrey Vassilievitch +and I were sent with sanitars and wagons to the little hamlet of +M——, five versts only from the Position. It was night when we +arrived there; no sound of cannon, only on the high hills (the first +lines of the Carpathians) that faced us the scattered watchfires of +our own Sixty-Fifth Division, and in the little village street a line +of cavalry moving silently, without a spoken word, on to the high-road +beyond. After much difficulty (the village was filled with the +officers of the Sixty-Fifth) we found a kitchen in which we might +sleep. Upon the rough earth floor our mattresses were spread, my feet +under the huge black oven, my head beneath a gilt picture of the +Virgin and Child that in the candlelight bowed and smiled, in company +with eight other pictures of Virgins and Children, to give us +confidence and encouragement.</p> + +<p>It was a terrible night. On a high pillared bed set into the farther +wall, an old Galician woman, her head bound up in a red handkerchief, +knelt all night and prayed aloud. Her daughter crouched against the +wall, sleeping, perhaps, but nevertheless rocking ceaselessly a wooden +cradle that hung from a black bar in the ceiling. In this cradle lay +her son, aged one or two, and once and again he cried for half an hour +or so, protesting, I suppose, against our invasion. There was a smell +in the kitchen of sour bread, mice, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> bad water. The heat was +terrible but the old lady told us that the grandchild was ill and +would certainly die were the window opened. The candle we blew out but +there remained a little burning lamp under the picture of the Virgin +immediately over the old lady's bed. I slept, but for how long I do +not know. I was only aware that suddenly I was awake, staring through +the tiny diamond-paned window, at the faint white light now breaking +in the sky. I could see from my mattress only a thin strip of this +light above the heavy mass of dark forest on the mountain-side.</p> + +<p>I must have been still only half-awake because I could not clearly +divide, before my eyes, the true from the false. I could see quite +plainly in the dim white shadow the face of Trenchard; he was not +asleep, but was leaning on his elbow staring in front of him. I could +see the old woman with her red handkerchief kneeling in front of her +lamp and her prayer came like the turning of a wheel, harsh and +incessant. The cradle creaked, in the air was the heavy smell, and +suddenly, beyond the window, a cock crowed. These things were real. +But also I seemed to be in some place much vaster than the stuffy +kitchen of the night before. Under the light that was with every +minute growing stronger, I could fancy that many figures were moving +in the shadows; it seemed to me as though I were in some place where +great preparations were being made. I fancied then that I could +discern Marie Ivanovna's figure, then Nikitin, then Semyonov, then +Molozov.... There was a great silence but I felt that every one was +busily occupied in making ready for some affair. This was with half my +consciousness—with the other half I was perfectly aware of the actual +room, of Trenchard, the creaking cradle and the rest.</p> + +<p>Then the forest that had been on the hills seemed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> draw closer to +the house. I felt that it had invaded the garden and that its very +branches were rubbing against the windows. With all of this I was +aware that I was imagining some occurrence that I had already seen, +that was not, in any way, new to me, I was assured of the next event. +When we, all of us, Marie Ivanovna, Semyonov, Nikitin and the rest, +were ready we should move out into the forest, would stand, a vast +company, with our dogs and horses....</p> + +<p>Why, it was Trenchard's dream that I was seeing! I was merely +repeating to myself his own imaginations—and with that I had +suddenly, as though some one had hypnotised me, fallen back into a +heavy dreamless sleep. It was already midday when I was wakened by +little Andrey Vassilievitch, who, sitting on my bed and evidently in a +state of the very greatest excitement, informed me that Dr. Semyonov +and the Sisters Marie Ivanovna and Anna Petrovna had arrived from ——, +and that we might be off at any moment. I was aware, as he +spoke, of a great stir beyond the window and saw, passing up through +the valley, a flood of soldiers, infantry, cavalry, kitchens with +clumsy black funnels bobbing on their unsteady wheels, cannon, +hundreds of carts; the soldiers came up through our own garden +treading down the cabbages, stopping at the well near our door and +filling their tin kettles, tramping up the road, spreading, like +smoke, in the far distance, up the high road that led into the +furthest forest.</p> + +<p>"They say—to-night—for certain," said Andrey Vassilievitch, his fat +hand trembling on my bed. He began to talk, his voice shaking with +excitement. "Do you know, Ivan Andreievitch, I am continually +surprised at myself: 'Here you are, Andrey Vassilievitch, here, at the +war. What do you make of it?? I say to myself. Just consider.... No, +but seriously, Ivan Andreievitch, of course I must seem<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> to all of you +something of a comic figure. When my wife was alive—how I wish that +you could have known her! Such a remarkable woman; every one who met +her was struck by her fine character—when my wife was alive I had my +position to support. That I should have been a comic figure would have +distressed her. But now, who cares? Nobody, you may very truly say.... +Well, well. But the point is that this evening we shall really be in +the thick of it. And—may I tell you something, Ivan Andreievitch? +Only for yourself, because you are an Englishman and can be trusted: +to speak quite truthfully I'm frightened. I say to myself that one is +at the war and that one must be frightened at nothing, and still I +remain frightened.... Frightened of what?... I really cannot tell you. +Death, perhaps? But no, I should not be sorry to die—there are +reasons....</p> + +<p>"And yet although I should not be sorry to die, I remain +frightened—all night I was awake—I do my utmost to control it, but +there is something stronger than I—something. I feel as though if I +once discovered what that something was I should not be frightened any +longer. Something definite that you could meet and say to yourself: +'There, Andrey Vassilievitch, you're not frightened of <i>that</i>, are +you? What is there to be frightened of?... Why then, you know, I don't +believe I should be frightened any more!'"</p> + +<p>I remember that he then explained to me that he wished Nikitin had +been sent instead of Semyonov. Nikitin was much more sympathetic.</p> + +<p>"You seem very fond of Nikitin," I said.</p> + +<p>"We are friends ... we have been friends for many years. My wife was +very fond of him. I am a lonely man, Ivan Andreievitch, since the +death of my wife, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> to be with any one who knew her is a great +happiness ... yes, a great happiness."</p> + +<p>"And Semyonov?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to say against Alexei Petrovitch," he answered +stiffly.</p> + +<p>When later I joined the others at the cottage higher up the road taken +by the doctors of the Division, I discovered Trenchard in an ecstasy +of happiness. He did not speak to me but his shining eyes, the +eagerness with which standing back from the group he watched us all, +told me everything. Marie Ivanovna had been kind to him, and when I +found her in the centre of them, her whole body alert with excitement, +I forgot my anger at her earlier unkindness or, if I remembered it, +laid it to the charge of my own imagination or Trenchard's +sensitiveness.</p> + +<p>Indeed we were all excited. How could we fail to be! There was some +big business toward, and in it we were to have our share. We were, +perhaps this very day, to penetrate into the reality of the thing that +for nine months now we had been watching. All of us, with our little +private histories like bundles on our backs, are venturing out to try +our fortune.... What are we going to find?</p> + +<p>I remember indeed that early on that afternoon I felt the drama of the +whole affair so heavily that I saw in every soldier who passed me a +messenger of fate. They called me to a meal. Eat! Now! How absurd it +seemed! Semyonov watched me cynically:</p> + +<p>"Eat and then sleep," he said, "or you'll be no use to any one."</p> + +<p>Afterwards I went back to the kitchen and slept. That sleep was the +end of my melodrama. I was awakened by a rough hand on my shoulder to +find it dark beyond the windows and Semyonov watching me impatiently:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come, get up! It's time for us to start," and then moved out. I was +conscious that I was cold and irritable. I looked back with surprised +contempt to my earlier dramatic emotions. I was hungry; I put on my +overcoat, shivered, came out into the evening, saw the line of wagons +silhouetted against the sky, listened to the perfect quiet on every +side of me, yawned and was vexed to find Trenchard at my side.</p> + +<p>"Why this is actually dull!" I thought to myself. "It is as though I +were going to some dinner that I know beforehand will be exceedingly +tiresome—only then I should get some food."</p> + +<p>I was disappointed at the lack of drama in the affair. I looked at my +watch—it was ten o'clock. Semyonov was arranging everything with a +masterly disregard of personal feelings. He swore fine Russian oaths, +abused the sanitars, always in his cold rather satirical voice, his +heavy figure moving up and down the road with a practical vivid +alertness that stirred my envy and also my annoyance. I felt utterly +useless. He ordered me on to my wagon in a manner that, in my present +half-sleepy, half-surly mood seemed to me abominably abrupt. Trenchard +climbed up, very clumsily, after me.</p> + +<p>I leaned back on the straw, let my arms fall and lay there, flat on my +back, staring straight into the sky.... With that my mood suddenly +changed. I was at peace with the whole world. To-night was again thick +with a heavy burden of stars that seemed to weigh like the silver lid +of some mighty box heavily down, down upon us, until trees and hills +and the dim Carpathians were bent flat beneath the pressure. I lying +upon my back, seeing only that sheet of stars, in my nostrils the +smell of the straw, rocked by the slow dreamy motion of the wagon, was +filled with an ex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>quisite ease and lethargy. I was going into battle, +was I? I was to have to-night the supreme experience of my life? It +might be that to-night I should die—only last week two members of the +Red Cross—a nurse and a doctor—had been killed. It might be that +these stars, this straw, this quiet night were round me for the last +time. It did not matter to me—nothing could touch me. My soul was +somewhere far away, upon some business of its own, and how happy was +my body without the soul, how contented, how undisturbed! I could +fancy that I should go, thus rocking, into battle and there die before +my soul had time to return to me. What would my soul do then? Find +some other body, or go wandering, searching for me? A star, a flash of +light like a cry of happiness or of glad surprise, fell through heaven +and the other stars trembled at the sight.</p> + +<p>My wagon stopped with a jerk. Some voice asked: what the devil were we +doing filling the road with our carts at the exact moment that +such-and-such a Division wished to move.</p> + +<p>I heard Semyonov's voice, very cold, official and polite. Then again: +"Well, in God's name, hurry then! ... taking up the road! ... hurry, I +tell you!"</p> + +<p>On we jogged again. Trenchard's voice came to me: he had been, it +might be, talking for some time.</p> + +<p>"And so I'm not surprised, Durward, that you thought me a terrible +fool to show my feelings as I've done this last fortnight. But you +don't know what it is to me—to have something at last in your hands +that you've dreamed of all your life and never dared to hope for: to +have it and feel that at any moment it may slip away and leave you in +a worse state than you were before. I'd been wishing, these last +weeks, that I'd never met her, that I'd simply come to the war by +myself. But now—to-day—when she spoke to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> me as she did, asked me to +forgive her for what happened last night, my God, Durward! <i>I</i> to +forgive <i>her</i>!... But I'll show her this very night what I can +do—this very night! They'll give me a chance, won't they? It would be +terrible if they didn't. Semyonov won't give me a chance if he can +help it. What have I done to Semyonov that he should hate me? What +have...."</p> + +<p>But I didn't answer Trenchard. That part of me that had any concern +with him and his affairs was far away. But his voice had stirred some +more active life in me. I thought to myself now: Will there be some +concrete definite moment in this affair when I shall say to myself: +"Ah, there it is! There's the heart of this whole business! There's +the enemy! Slay him and you have settled the matter!" or, perhaps, +"Ah, now I've seen the secret. Now I've hunted the animal to his lair. +This is war, this thing here. Now all my days I remain quiet. There is +nothing more to fear"—or would it be perhaps that I should face +something and be filled, then, with ungovernable terror so that I +should run for my life, run, hide me in the hills, cover up my days so +that no one shall ever find me again?...</p> + +<p>I raised myself on my elbow and looked at the country. We jolted over +a little brook, brushed through a thicket of trees, came on to a path +running at the forest's foot, and saw on our left a little wooden +house, a high wood fire burning in front of it. I looked at my watch. +It was one o'clock. Already a very faint glow throbbed in the sky. Out +of the forest, at long intervals, came a dull booming sound like the +shutting of a heavy iron door.</p> + +<p>The wagons drew up. We had arrived at our destination.</p> + +<p>"We shall be here," I heard Semyonov say, "some five hours or so. +You'd better sleep if you can."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>A group of soldiers round the wood fire were motionless, their faces +glowing, their bodies dark. Our wagons, drawn up together, resembled +in the twilight strange beasts; the two Sisters lay down on one wagon, +Semyonov, Andrey Vassilievitch, Trenchard and I on another. My +irritated mood had returned. I had been the last to climb on to the +straw and the others had so settled themselves that I had no room to +lie flat. Semyonov's big body occupied half the wagon, Andrey +Vassilievitch's boots touched my head and at intervals his whole body +gave nervous jerks. It was also quite bitterly cold, which was curious +enough after the warmth of the earlier nights. And always, at what +seemed to be regular intervals, there came, from the forest, the +banging of the iron door.</p> + +<p>I felt a passionate irritation against Andrey Vassilievitch. Why could +he not keep quiet? What, after all, was he doing here? I could hear +that he was dreaming. He muttered some woman's name:</p> + +<p>"Sasha ... Sasha ... Sasha...."</p> + +<p>"Can't you keep still?" I whispered to him, but in the cold I myself +was trembling. The dawn came at last with reluctance, flushing the air +with colour, then withdrawing into cold grey clouds, then stealing out +once more behind the forest in scattered strips of pale green gold, +then suddenly sending up into the heaven a flock of pink clouds like a +flight of birds, that spread in extending lines to the horizon, +covering at last a sky now faintly blue, with rosy bars. The flame of +the soldiers' fire grew faint, white mists rose in the fields, the +cannon in the forest ceased and the birds began.</p> + +<p>I sat up on the cart, looked at my sleeping companions, and thought +how unpleasant they looked. Semyonov like a dead man, Andrey +Vassilievitch like a happy pig, Tren<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>chard like a child who slept +after a scolding. I felt intense loneliness. I wanted some one to +comfort me, to reassure me against life which seemed to me suddenly +now perilous and remorseless; moreover some one seemed to be reviewing +my life for me and displaying it to me, laying bare all its +uselessness and insignificance.</p> + +<p>"But I'm in no way a fine fellow," I could fancy myself crying. "I'm +sleepy and cold and hungry. If you'll remove Andrey Vassilievitch's +boots for me I'll lie flat on this wagon and you can let loose every +shrapnel in the world over my head and I'll never stir. I thought I +was interested in your war, and I'm not.... I thought no discomfort +mattered to me, but I find that I dislike so much being cold and +hungry that it outweighs all heroism, all sense of danger ... let me +alone!"</p> + +<p>Then something occurred. Looking down over the side of the cart I saw, +to my great surprise, Marie Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"You!" I whispered.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" she answered. "Come down."</p> + +<p>I let myself down and at once she put her hand into mine.</p> + +<p>"Walk with me just a little way," she whispered, "to those trees and +back." I had noticed at once that her voice trembled; now I perceived +that her whole body was shaking; her hand gave little startled quivers +under mine.</p> + +<p>"You're cold," I said.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not cold," she answered still in a whisper, although we were +now some way from the wagons. "I'm frightened, Mr. Durward, that's +what's the matter—desperately frightened."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," I answered her. "You! Frightened! Never!"</p> + +<p>"But I am. I've been terribly fr-frightened all night;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> and that +Sister Anna Petrovna, he (she sometimes confused her pronouns) sleeps +like a log. How can he? I've never slept, not for a moment, and I've +been so cold and every time the cannon sounded I wanted to run +away.... Oh, Mr. Durward, I'm so ashamed!"</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, desperately clutching my hand:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Durward, you'll never tell any one, any one never.... Promise!"</p> + +<p>"Never a soul," I answered. "It's only because you're cold and hungry +and sleepy that you think you're frightened. You're not frightened +really. But wouldn't you like me to wake Trenchard and get him to come +to you.... He'd be so happy?..."</p> + +<p>She started fiercely from me. "Never! Never! Why, what <i>can</i> you +think! You must never tell, most of all you must never tell him.... He +must <i>never</i> know—nothing—"</p> + +<p>The cannon began again. She caught my arm and stood with her body +trembling, pressed against mine. I could feel her draw a deep breath. +As I looked at her, her face white in the dawn, her large eyes staring +like a child's, her body so young and slender, she seemed another +creature, utterly, absolutely apart from the woman of this last +fortnight.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" I said to her sternly. "You mustn't go on like this. +You've got work to do to-day. You've simply got to hold yourself in, +to tell yourself that nothing can touch you. Why to-night you'll laugh +at me if I remind you of this. You'll...."</p> + +<p>But there was better tonic than my words, Semyonov's voice came to +us—"Hullo, you there! It's five o'clock—we're moving."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<p>She drew herself sharply away from me. She raised her head, smiled at +me, then said:</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Durward. It's all well now. There's Dr. Semyonov—let +us go back."</p> + +<p>She greeted him with a voice that had in it not the slightest tremor.</p> + +<p>There comes now a difficult matter. During the later months when I was +to reflect on the whole affair I saw quite clearly that that hour +between our leaving the wooden house and arriving in the trenches +bridged quite clearly for me the division in this business between +imagination and reality: that is, I was never after this to speak of +war as I would have spoken of it an hour before. I was never again to +regard the paraphernalia of it with the curiosity of a stranger—I had +become part of it. This hour then may be regarded as in some ways the +most important of all my experiences. It is certainly the occasion to +which if I were using my invention I should make the most. Here then +is my difficulty.</p> + +<p>I have nothing to say about it. There's nothing at all to be made of +it....</p> + +<p>I may say at once that there was no atom of drama in it. At one moment +I was standing with Marie Ivanovna under the sunrise, at another I was +standing behind a trench in the heart of the forest with a battery to +my left and a battery to my right, a cuckoo somewhere not very far +away, and a dead man with his feet sticking out from under the cloth +that covered him peacefully beneath a tree at my side. There had, of +course, been that drive in the wagons, bumping over the uneven road +whilst the sun rose gallantly in the heavens and the clanging of the +iron door grew, with every roll of our wheels, louder and louder. But +it was rather as though I had been lifted in a sheet from one life—a +life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> of speculation, of viewing war from a superior and safe +distance, of viewing indeed all catastrophe and reality from that same +distance—into the other. I had been caught up, had hung for a moment +in midair, had been "planted" in this new experience. For us all there +must have been at this moment something of this passing from an old +life into a new one, and yet I dare swear that not for any one of us +was there any drama, any thrill, any excitement. We stood, a rather +lonely little group, in the forest clearing whilst the soldiers in the +trench flung us a careless glance, then turned back to their business +of the day with an indifference that showed how ordinary and drab a +thing custom had made it.</p> + +<p>Yes, we made a desolate little group. Semyonov had gone to a house on +the farther side of the road up which we had come, a house that flew +the Red Cross flag. We had only the right to care for the wounded of +certain Divisions and our presence had to be reported. We were left +then, Marie Ivanovna, Anna Petrovna, Andrey Vassilievitch, Trenchard +and I, all rather close together, uncomfortable, desolate and shy, as +boys feel on their first day at school. The battery on our left was +very near to us and we could see the sharp flash of its flame behind +the trees. The noise that it made was terrific, a sharp, angry, clumsy +noise, as though some huge giant clad in mail armour was flinging his +body, in a violent rage, against an iron door that echoed through an +empty house—my same iron door that I had heard all night. The rage of +the giant spread beyond his immediate little circle of trees and one +wondered at the men in the trenches because they were indifferent to +his temper.</p> + +<p>The noise of the more distant batteries was still, as it had been +before, like the clanging of many iron doors very mild and gentle +against the clamour of our own enraged fury. The Austrian reply seemed +like the sleepy echo of this con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>fusion, so sleepy and pleasant that +one felt almost friendly to the enemy.</p> + +<p>Our own battery was inconsistent in his raging. Had he only chosen to +fling himself at his door every three minutes, say, or even every +minute, we could have prepared ourselves, but he was moved by nothing, +apparently, but his own irrational impulse. There would be a pause of +two minutes, then three furious explosions, then a pause of five +minutes, then another explosion.... I mastered quickly my impulse to +leap into the air at every report, by a kind of prolonged extension in +my mind of one report into another. Little Andrey Vassilievitch was +not so successful. At each explosion his body jerked as though it had +been worked by wires; then he glanced round to see whether any one had +noticed his agitation, then drew himself up, brushed off imaginary +dust from his uniform, coughed and frowned. Trenchard stood close to +Marie Ivanovna and looked at her anxiously once or twice as though he +would like to speak to her, but she, holding herself very stiffly, +watched with sternness the whole world as though she personally had +arranged the spectacle and was responsible for its success.</p> + +<p>Soon Semyonov came back and said that he must go on to some further +trenches to discover the best position for us. To my intense surprise +Andrey Vassilievitch asked whether he might accompany him. I fancy +that he felt that he would venture anything to escape our adjacency to +the battery.</p> + +<p>So they departed, leaving us more forlorn than before We sat down on +the stretchers: Anna Petrovna, fat, heavy, phlegmatic, silent; Marie +Ivanovna silent too but with a look now of expectation in her eyes as +though she knew that something was coming for her very shortly; +Trenchard near her, trying to be cheerful, but conscious of the dead +soldier<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> under the tree from whom he seemed unable to remove his eyes. +There was, in the open space near us, a <i>kipiatilnik</i>, that is, a +large boiler on wheels in which tea is made. To this the soldiers were +crowding with their tin cans; the cuckoo, far away now, continued his +cry....</p> + +<p>At long intervals, out of the forest, a wounded soldier would appear. +He seemed to be always the same figure, sometimes wounded in the head, +sometimes in the leg, sometimes in the stomach, sometimes in the +hand—but always the same, with a look in his eyes of mild protest +because this had happened to him, also a look of dumb confidence that +some one somewhere would make things right for him. He came either to +us or to the Red Cross building across the road, according to his +company. One soldier with a torn thumb cried bitterly, looking at his +thumb and shaking his head at it, but he alone showed any emotion. The +others suffered the sting of the iodine without a word, walking off +when they were bandaged, or carried by our sanitars on the stretchers, +still with that look of wonder and trust in their eyes.</p> + +<p>And how glad we were when there was any work to do! The sun rose high +in the sky, the morning advanced, Semyonov and Andrey Vassilievitch +did not return. For the greater part of the time we did not speak, nor +move. I was conscious of an increasing rage against the battery. I +felt that if it was to cease I might observe, be interested, feel +excitement—as it was, it kept everything from me. It kept everything +from me because it insistently demanded my attention, like a vulgar +garrulous neighbour who persists in his tiresome story. Its perpetual +hammering had soon its physical effect. A sick headache crept upon me, +seized me, held me. I might look at the soldiers, sleeping now like +dead men in the trench, I might look at the Red<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> Cross flag lazily +flapping in the breeze across the road, I might look at the corpse +with the soiled marble feet under the tree, I might look at Trenchard +and Marie Ivanovna silent and unhappy on the stretchers, on Anna +Petrovna comfortably slumbering with an open mouth, I might listen to +the distant batteries, to the sudden quick impatient chatter of the +machine guns, to the rattling give-and-take of the musketry somewhere +far away where the river was, I might watch the cool green hollows of +the forest glades, the dark sleepy shadows, the bright patches of +burning sky between the branches, I might say to myself that all these +things together made the impression of my first battle ... and then +would know, in my heart, that there was no impression at all, no +thrill, no drama, no personality—only a sick throb in my head and a +cold hand upon my chest and a desire to fling myself into any horror, +any danger, if I could but escape this indigestible monotony....</p> + +<p>Once Trenchard, treading very softly as though every one around him +were asleep, came across and talked to me.</p> + +<p>"You know," he said in a whisper, "this isn't at all what I expected."</p> + +<p>"You needn't whisper," I answered irritably, "that battery's making +such a noise that I can't hear anything you say."</p> + +<p>"Yes, isn't it!" he said with a little sigh. "It's very unpleasant +indeed. Do you think Semyonov's forgotten us? We've been here a good +many hours and we aren't doing very much."</p> + +<p>"No," I answered. "We're doing nothing except get sick headaches."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, then he said:</p> + +<p>"Where is everything?"</p> + +<p>"Everything?—What?" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, the battle, for instance!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's down the hill, I suppose. We're trying to cross the river +and they're trying to prevent us."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered. "But that isn't exactly what I mean.... It's hard +to explain, but even if we were to see our soldiers trying to cross +the river and the Austrians trying to prevent them that wouldn't +be—well, wouldn't be exactly the real thing, would it? It would only +be a kind of side-show, rather unimportant like that dead man there!"</p> + +<p>But my headache prevented my interest in his speculations. I said +nothing.</p> + +<p>He added as though to himself:</p> + +<p>"Perhaps each individual soldier sees the real thing for himself but +can't express what he sees...."</p> + +<p>As I still made no answer, with another little sigh he got up and +walked back, on tip-toe, to the side of Marie Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly, in the early hours of the afternoon, to our intense +relief, Semyonov and Andrey Vassilievitch appeared. Semyonov was, as +ever, short, practical, and unemotional.</p> + +<p>"Been a long time, I'm afraid. We found it difficult to see exactly +where would be the best place. And, after all, we've got to +separate.... One Sister's wanted at the Red Cross over there. They've +asked for our help. The other will come with me on to the Position +until this evening. You three gentlemen, if you'll be so good, will +wait here until a wagon comes. Then it will take you down to the +trenches at the bottom of the hill. Then, if you don't mind, I would +like you to wait until dusk when we shall go out to fetch the +wounded.... Is that clear?"</p> + +<p>We answered yes.</p> + +<p>"Now which Sister will come with me? Marie Ivanovna,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> I think it would +interest you. No danger, except a stray shrapnel or two. Will you +come?"</p> + +<p>There leapt upon us then, with an agitation that seemed to silence the +very battery itself, Trenchard's voice:</p> + +<p>"No.... No ... Marie. No, it's dangerous. Semyonov says so. Your first +day...."</p> + +<p>He spoke in English, his voice trembling. I turned to see his face +white, his eyes wide open and at the same time blind; he passionately +addressed himself to Marie Ivanovna and to her alone.</p> + +<p>But she turned impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course, Doctor. I'm ready at once."</p> + +<p>Trenchard put his hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>"You are not to go—Marie, do you hear? I have a right ... I tell you, +you are not to go!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be so stupid, John," she shook off his arm. "Please, Doctor, +I'm ready."</p> + +<p>Semyonov turned to Trenchard with a smile: "Mr. (they all called him +Mr. now), it will be quite well ... I will look after her."</p> + +<p>"You ... you" (Trenchard could not control his voice), "you can't +prevent shrapnel—bullets. You don't care, you...."</p> + +<p>Semyonov's voice was sharp: "I think it better that Sister Marie +Ivanovna should come with me. You understand, the rest of you.... We +shall meet at dusk."</p> + +<p>Trenchard only said "Marie ..." then turned away from us. Anna +Petrovna, who had said nothing during this scene and had, indeed, +seemed to be oblivious of it, plunged with her heavy clumsy walk +across the road to the Red Cross house. The Doctor and Marie Ivanovna +disappeared behind the trench. I was, as was always my case with +Trenchard, both sympathetic and irritated. It was difficult<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> for him, +of course, but what did he expect the girl to do? Could he have +supposed for a single moment that she would remain? Could it be +possible that he knew her so little as that? And why make a scene now +before Semyonov when he obviously could do nothing? I knew, moreover, +with a certainty that was almost ironic in its clarity, that Marie +Ivanovna did not love, did not, perhaps, even care for him. By what +moment in Petrograd, a moment flaming with their high purposes and the +purple shadows of a Russian "white night," had she been entranced into +some glorious vision of him? On the very day that followed, she had +known, I was convinced, her mistake. At the station she had known it, +and instead of the fine Sir Galahad "without reproach" of the previous +night she saw some figure that, had she been English born, would have +appeared to her as Alice's White Knight perchance, or at best the +warm-hearted Uncle Toby, or that most Christian of English +heroes—Parson Adams. I could imagine that life had been so impulsive, +so straightforward, so simple a thing to her that this sudden +implication in an affair complicated and even dishonest caused her +bitter disquiet. Looking back now I could trace again and again the +sudden flashes, through her happiness, of this distress.</p> + +<p>He perhaps should have perceived it, but I could understand that he +could not believe that his treasure had at last after all these years +been given to him for so brief a moment. He could not, he would not, +believe it. Well, I knew that his eyes must very soon be opened to the +truth....</p> + +<p>As I turned to see him sitting on the stretcher with his back to me, +his head hanging a little as though it were too heavy for his neck, +his back bent, his long arms fallen loose at his sides, I thought that +Alice's White Knight he, in solemn truth, presented.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had a talent for doing things to his uniform. His cap, instead of +being raised in front, was flat, his jacket bulged out above his belt, +and the straps on his boot had broken from their holdings. He filled +the pockets of his trousers, in moments of absent-minded absorption, +with articles that he fancied that he would need—sometimes food, +black bread and sausage, sometimes a large pocket-knife, a folding +drinking glass, a ball of string, a notebook. These things protruded, +or gave his clothes a strange bulky look, fat in some places, thin in +others. As I saw him his shoulder-blades seemed to pierce his coat: I +could fancy with what agitation his hands were clenched.</p> + +<p>We sat down, the three of us together, and again the battery leapt +upon us. Now the sun was hot above the trees and the effect of the +noise behind us was that we ourselves, every two or three minutes, +were caught up, flung to the ground, recovered, breathless, exhausted, +only to be hurled again!</p> + +<p>How miserable we were, how lost, how desolate, Trenchard hearing in +every sound the death of his lady, Audrey Vassilievitch dreaming, I +fancy, that he had been caught in some cage out of which he would +never again escape. I, sick, almost blind with headache, and yet +exasperated, irritated by the emptiness of it all. If only we might +run down that hill! There surely we should find....</p> + +<p>At the very moment when the battery had finished as it seemed to me +its work of smashing my head into pulp the wagon arrived.</p> + +<p>"Now," I thought to myself as I climbed on to the straw, "I shall +begin to be excited!" We, all three of us, kneeling on the cart, +peered forward into the dim blue afternoon. We were very silent—only +once Trenchard said to me, "Per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>haps we shall find her down here: +where we're going. What do you think, Durward?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not!" I answered. "But still she'll be all right. Semyonov +will look after her!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Semyonov!" he answered.</p> + +<p>How joyful we were to leave our battery behind us. As the trees closed +around it we could fancy its baffled rage. Other batteries now seemed +to draw nearer to us and the whole forest was filled with childish +quarrelling giants; but as we began to bump down the hill out of the +forest stranger sounds attacked us. On either side of us were +cornfields and out of the heart of those from under our very feet as +it seemed there were explosions of a strange stinging metallic +kind—not angry and human as the battery had been, but rather like +some huge bottle cracking in the sun. These huge bottles—one could +fancy them green and shining somewhere in the corn—cracked one after +another; positively the sound intensified the heat of the sun upon +one's head. There were too now, for the first time in our experience, +shrapnel. They were not over us, but ran somewhere on our right across +the valley. Their sound was "fireworks" and nothing more—so that +alarm at their gentle holiday temper was impossible. Brock's Fireworks +on a Thursday evening at the Crystal Palace, oneself a small boy +sitting with both hands between one's knees, one's mouth open, a damp +box of chocolates on one's lap, the murmured "Ah ..." of the happy +crowd as the little gentle "Pop!" showed green and red against the +blue night sky. Ah! there was the little "Pop!" and after it a tiny +curling cloud of smoke in the air, the whole affair so gentle, so kind +even. There! sighing overhead they go! Five, six little curls of +smoke, and then beneath our very horses' feet again a huge green +bottle cracking in the sun!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>And with all this noise not a living soul to be seen! We had before us +as we slowly bumped down the hill a fair view. The river was hidden +from us, but there was a little hamlet guarded happily by a green +wood; there was a line of fair hills, fields of corn, and the long +dusty white road. Not a soul to be seen, only our bumping cart and, +now and then, against the burning sky those little curling circles of +smoke. The world slumbered....</p> + +<p>Suddenly from the ditch at the side of the road a soldier appeared, +spoke to our driver and disappeared again.</p> + +<p>"What did he say?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"He says, your Honour, that we must hasten. We may be hit."</p> + +<p>"Hit here—on this road?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tak totchno.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Well, hurry then."</p> + +<p>I caught a little frightened sigh behind me from Andrey Vassilievitch, +whom the events of the day had frozen into horror-stricken silence. We +hurried, bumping along; at the bottom of the hill there was a +farmhouse. From behind it an officer appeared.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing there? You're under fire.... Red Cross? Ah yes, we +had a message about you. Dr. Semyonov?... Yes. Please come this way. +Hurry, please!"</p> + +<p>We were led across the farmyard and almost tumbled into a trench at +the farther end of it.</p> + +<p>It wasn't until I felt some one touch my shoulder that I realised my +position. We were sitting, the three of us, in a slanting fashion with +our backs to the earthworks of the trench. To our right, under an +improvised round roof, a little dried-up man like a bee, with his +tunic open at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> neck and a beard of some days on his chin, was +calling down a telephone.</p> + +<p>Next to me on the left a smart young officer, of a perfect neatness +and even dandiness, was eating his supper, which his servant, +crouching in front of him, ladled with a spoon out of a tin can. +Beyond him again the soldiers in a long line under the farm wall were +sewing their clothes, eating, talking in whispers, and one of them +reading a newspaper aloud to himself.</p> + +<p>A barn opposite us in ruins showed between its bare posts the green +fields beyond. Now and then a soldier would move across the yard to +the door of the farm, and he seemed to slide with something between +walking and running, his shoulders bent, his head down. The sun, low +now, showed just above the end of the farm roof and the lines of light +were orange between the shadows of the barn. All the batteries seemed +now very far away; the only sound in the world was the occasional sigh +of the shrapnel. The farmyard was bathed in the peace of the summer +evening.</p> + +<p>The Colonel, when he had finished his conversation with some humorous +sally that gave him great pleasure, greeted us.</p> + +<p>"Very glad to see you, gentlemen.... Two Englishmen! Well, that's the +Alliance in very truth ... yes.... How's London, gentlemen? Yes, +<i>golubchik</i>, that small tin—the grey one. No, <i>durak</i>, the <i>small</i> +one. Dr. Semyonov sent a message. Pray make yourselves comfortable, +but don't raise your heads. They may turn their minds in this +direction at any moment again. We've had them once already this +afternoon. Eh, Piotr Ivanovitch (this to the smart young officer), +that would have made your Ekaterina Petrovna jump in her sleep—ha, +ha, ha—oh, yes, but I can see her jumping.... Hullo, telephone—Give +it here!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> That you, Ivan Leontievitch? No ... very well for the +moment.... Two Englishmen here sitting in my trench—truth itself! +Well, what about the Second 'Rota'? Are they coming down?... <i>Yeh +Bogu</i>, I don't know! What do you say?..."</p> + +<p>The young officer, in a very gentle and melodious voice, offered +Trenchard, who was sitting next to him, some supper.</p> + +<p>"One of these cutlets?"</p> + +<p>Trenchard, blushing and stammering, refused.</p> + +<p>"A cigarette, then?"</p> + +<p>Trenchard again refused and Piotr Ivanovitch, having done his duty, +relapsed into his muffled elegance. We sat very quietly there; +Trenchard staring with distressed eyes in front of him. Andrey +Vassilievitch, very uncomfortable, his fat body sliding forward on the +slant, pulling itself up, then sliding again—always he maintained his +air of importance, giving his cough, twisting the ends of his +moustache, staring, fiercely, at some one suddenly that he might +disconcert him, patting, with his plump little hands, his clothes.</p> + +<p>The shadows lengthened and a great green oak that hung over the barn +seemed, as the evening advanced, to grow larger and larger and to +absorb into its heart all the flaming colours of the day, to press +them into its dark shadow and to hide them, safe and contented, until +another morning.</p> + +<p>I sat there and gradually, caught, as it seemed to me, into a world of +whispers and half-lights, I slipped forward a little down into the +dark walls of the trench and half-slumbered, half clung still to the +buzzing voice of the Colonel, the languid replies of the young +officer. I felt then that some one was whispering to me that my real +adventure was about to begin. I could see quite plainly, like a road +up which I had gone, the events of the day behind me. I saw the ride +under the stars, the cold red dawn. Marie Ivan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>ovna standing beneath +my cart, the sudden battery and the desolate hours of waiting, the +wounded men stumbling out of the forest, the ride down the hill and +the green bottles bursting in the sun, the sudden silences and the +sudden sounds, my own weariness and discomfort and loneliness and now +Something—was it the dark green oak that bent down and hid the world +for me?—whispered, "You're drawing near—you're close—you're almost +there.... In a moment you will see ... you will see ... you will +see...."</p> + +<p>Somewhere the soldiers were singing, and then all sounds ceased. We +were standing, many of us, in the dark, the great oak and many other +giant trees were about us and the utter silence was like a sudden +plunge into deep water on a hot day. We were waiting, ready for the +Creature, breathless with suspense.</p> + +<p>"Now!" some one cried, and instantly there was such a roar that I +seemed to be lifted by it far into the sky, held, rocked, then dropped +gently. I woke to find myself standing up in the trench, my hands to +my ears. I was aware first that the sky had changed from blue into a +muddy grey, then that dust and an ugly smell were in my eyes, my +mouth, my nose. I remembered that I repeated stupidly, again and +again: "What? what? what?" Then the grey sky slowly fell away as +though it were pushed by some hand and I saw the faint evening blue, +with (so strange and unreal they seemed) silver-pointed stars. I +caught my breath and realised that now the whole right corner of the +barn was gone. The field stretched, a dark shadow, to the edge of the +yard. In the ground where the stakes of the barn had been there was a +deep pit; scattered helter-skelter were bricks, pieces of wood, and +over it all a cloud of thin fine dust that hovered and swung a little +like grey silk. The line of soldiers was crouched back into the trench +as though it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> had been driven by some force. From, as it appeared, a +great distance, I heard the Colonel's voice: "<i>Slava Bogu</i>, another +step to the right and we'd not have had time to say 'good-bye.'... Get +in there, you ... with your head out like that, do you want another?" +I was conscious then of Andrey Vassilievitch sitting huddled on the +ground of the trench, his head tucked into his chest.</p> + +<p>"You're not hurt, are you?" I said, bending down to him,</p> + +<p>He got up and to my surprise seemed quite composed. He was rubbing his +eyes as though he had waked from sleep.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," he answered in his shrill little voice. "No.... What a +noise! Did you hear it, Ivan Andreievitch?"</p> + +<p>Did I hear it? A ridiculous question!</p> + +<p>"But I assure you I was not alarmed," he said eagerly, turning round +to the young officer, who was rather red in the face but otherwise +unruffled. "The first time that one has been so close to me. What a +noise!"</p> + +<p>Trenchard searched in his pockets for something.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"My handkerchief!" he answered. "So dusty after that. It's in my +eyes!"</p> + +<p>He tumbled on to the ground a large clasp pocket-knife, a hunk of +black bread, a cigarette-case and some old letters. "I had one," he +muttered anxiously. "Somewhere, I know...."</p> + +<p>I heard the Colonel's voice again. "No one touched! There's some more +of their precious ammunition wasted.... What about your Ekaterina, +Piotr Ivanovitch—Ho, ho, ho!... Here, <i>golubchik</i>, the telephone!... +Hullo! Hullo!"</p> + +<p>For myself I had the irritation that one might feel had a boy thrown a +stone over the wall, broken a window and run away. Moreover, I felt +that again I had missed—IT.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> Always round the corner, always just out +of sight, always mocking one's clumsy pursuit. And still, even now, I +felt no excitement, no curiosity. My feet had not yet touched the +enchanted ground....</p> + +<p>The trench had at once slipped back into its earlier composure. The +dusk was now creeping down the hill; with every stir of the breeze +more stars were blown into the sky; the oak was all black now like a +friendly shadow protecting me.</p> + +<p>"There'll be no more for a while," said the Colonel. He was right. +There was stillness; no battery, however distant, no pitter-patter of +rifle fire, no chattering report of the machine guns.</p> + +<p>Men began to cross the yard, slowly, without caution. The dusk caught +us so that I could not see the Colonel's face; a stream that cut the +field, hidden in the day, was now suddenly revealed by a grinning +careless moon.</p> + +<p>Then a soldier crossed the yard to us, told us that Dr. Semyonov +wished us to start and had sent us a guide; the wagons were ready.</p> + +<p>At that instant, whence I know not, for the first time that day, +excitement leapt upon me.</p> + +<p>Events had hitherto passed before me like the shadowed film of a +cinematograph; it had been as though some one had given me glimpses of +a life, an adventure, a country with which I should later have some +concern but whose boundaries I was not yet to cross. Now, suddenly, +whether it was because of the dark and the silence I cannot say, I had +become, myself, an actor in the affair. It was not simply that we were +given something definite to do—we had had wounded during the +morning—it was rather that, as in the children's game we were "hot," +we had drawn in a moment close to some one or something of whose +presence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> we were quite distinctly aware. As we walked across the yard +into the long low field, speaking in whispers, watching a shaft of +light, perhaps some distant projector that trembled in pale white +shadows on the horizon, we seemed to me to be, in actual truth, the +hunters of Trenchard's dream.</p> + +<p>Never, surely, before, had I known the world so silent. Under the +hedges that lined the field there were soldiers like ghosts; our own +wagons, with the sanitars walking beside them, moved across the ground +without even the creak of a wheel. Semyonov was to meet us in an +hour's time at a certain crossroad. I was given the command of the +party. I was now, in literal truth, breathlessly excited. My heart was +beating in my breast like some creature who makes running leaps at +escape. My tongue was dry and my brain hot. But I was happy ... happy +with a strange exaltation that was unlike any emotion that I had known +before. It was in part the happiness that I had known sometimes in +Rugby football or in tennis when the players were evenly matched and +the game hard, but it was more than that. It had in it something of +the happiness that I have known, after many days at sea, on the first +view of land—but it was more than that. Something of the happiness of +possessing, at last, some object which one has many days desired and +never hoped to attain—but more, too, than that. Something of the +happiness of danger or pain that one has dreaded and finds, in actual +truth, give way before one's resolution—but more, again, than that. +This happiness, this exultation that I felt now but dimly, and was to +know more fully afterwards (but never, alas, as my companions were to +know it) is the subject of this book. The scent of it, the full +revelation of it, has not, until now, been my reward; I can only, as a +spectator, watch that revelation as it came afterwards to others more +fortunate than I. But what I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> write is the truth as far as I, from the +outside, have seen it. If it is not true, this book has no value +whatever.</p> + +<p>We were warned by the soldier who guarded us not to walk in a group +and we stole now, beneath a garden-wall, white under the moon, in a +long line. I could hear Trenchard behind me stumbling over the stones +and ruts, walking as he always did with little jerks, as though his +legs were beyond his control. We came then on to the high road, which +was so white and clear in the moonlight that it seemed as though the +whole Austrian army must instantly whisper to themselves: "Ah, there +they are!" and fire. The ditch to our right, as far as I could see, +was lined with soldiers, hidden by the hedge behind them, their rifles +just pointing on to the white surface of the land. Our guide asked +them their division and was answered in a whisper. The soldiers were +ghosts: there was no one, save ourselves, alive in the whole world....</p> + +<p>Then a little incident occurred. I was walking in the rear of our +wagons that I might see that all were there. I felt a touch on my arm +and found Andrey Vassilievitch standing in the middle of the road. His +face, staring at me as though I were a stranger, expressed desperate +determination.</p> + +<p>"Come on," I said. "We've no time to waste."</p> + +<p>"I'm not coming," he whispered back. His voice was breathless as +though he had been running.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," I answered roughly, and I put my hand on his arm. His body +trembled in jerks and starts.</p> + +<p>"It's madness ... this road ... the moon.... Of course they'll +fire.... We'll all be killed. But it isn't ... it isn't ... I can't +move...."</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> move.... Come, Andrey Vassilievitch,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> you've been brave +enough all day. There's no danger, I tell you. See how quiet +everything is. You <i>must</i>...."</p> + +<p>"I can't.... It's nothing ... nothing to do with me.... It's awful all +day—and now this!"</p> + +<p>I thought of Marie Ivanovna early in the morning. I looked down the +road and saw that the wagons were slowly moving into the distant +shadows.</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> come," I repeated. "We can't leave you here. Don't think +of yourself. And nothing can touch you—nothing, I tell you."</p> + +<p>"I'll go back, I must. I can't go on."</p> + +<p>"Go back? How can you? Where to? You can't go back to the trench. We +shan't know where to find you." A furious anger seized me; I caught +his arm. "I'll leave you, if you like. There are other things more +important."</p> + +<p>I move away from him. He looked down the long road, looked back.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't ... I can't," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"What did you come for?" I whispered furiously. "What did you think +war was?... Well, good-bye, do as you please!"</p> + +<p>As I drew away I saw a look of desperate determination in his eyes. He +looked at me like a dog who expects to be beaten. Then what must have +been one of the supreme moments of his life came to him. I saw him +struggle to command, with the effort of his whole soul, his terror. +For a moment he wavered. He made a hopeless gesture with his hand, +took two little steps as though he would run into the hedge amongst +the soldiers and hide there, then suddenly walked past me, quickly, +towards the wagons, with his own absurd little strut, with his head +up, giving his cough, looking, after that, neither to the right, nor +to the left.</p> + +<p>In silence we caught up the wagons. Soon, at some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> cross-roads, they +came to a pause. The guide was waiting for me. "It would be better, +your Honour," he whispered, "for the wagons to stay here. We shall go +now simply with the stretchers...."</p> + +<p>We left the wagons and, some fifteen of us, turned off down a lane to +the left. Sometimes there were soldiers in the hedges, sometimes they +met us, slipping from shadow to shadow. Always we asked whether they +knew of any wounded. We found a wounded soldier groaning under the +hedge. One leg was soaked in blood and he gave little shrill desperate +cries as we lifted him on to the stretcher. Another soldier, lying on +the road in the moonlight, murmured incessantly: "<i>Bojé moi! Bojé moi! +Bojé moi!</i>" But they were all ghosts. We alone, in that familiar and +yet so unreal world, were alive. When a stretcher was filled, four +sanitars turned back with it to the wagons, and we were soon a very +small party. We arrived at a church—a large fantastic white church +with a green turret that I had seen from the opposite hill in the +morning. Then it had seemed small and very remote. I had been told +that much firing had been centring round it, and it seemed now for me +very strange that we should be standing under its very shadow, its +outline so quiet and grave under the moon, with its churchyard, a +little orchard behind it, and a garden, scenting the night air, close +at hand. Here in the graveyard there was a group of wounded soldiers, +in their eyes that look of faithful expectation of certain relief. Our +stretchers were soon full.</p> + +<p>We were about to turn back when suddenly the road behind us was filled +with shadows. As we came out of the churchyard an officer stepped +forward to meet us. We saluted and shook hands. He seemed a boy, but +stood in front<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> of his men with an air as though he commanded the +whole of this world of ghosts.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>We explained.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you'll excuse me, you'd better make haste. An attack very +shortly ... yes. I should advise you to be out of this. Petrogradsky +Otriad? Yes ... very glad to have the pleasure...."</p> + +<p>We left him, his men a grey cloud behind him, and when we had taken a +few steps he seemed, with his young air of importance, his happy +serious courtesy, to have been called out of the ground, then, with +all his shadows behind him, to have been caught up into the air. These +were not figures that had anything to do with the little curling +wreaths of smoke, the bottles cracking in the sun, our furious giants +of the morning.</p> + +<p>"Ah, <i>Bojé moi, Bojé moi</i>!" sighed the wounded.... It was impossible, +in such a world of dim shadow, that there should ever be any other +sound again.</p> + +<p>My excitement had never left me; I had had no doubt, during this last +half-hour, that I was on the Enchanted Ground of the Enemy, so stray +and figurative had been my impressions all day. Now they were all +gathered into this half-hour and the whole affair received its climax. +"Ah," I thought to myself, "if I might only stay here now I should +draw closer and closer—I should make my discovery, hunt him down. But +just when I am on the verge I must leave it all. Ah, if I could but +stay!"</p> + +<p>Nevertheless we hastened. The world, in spite of the ghosts, was real +enough for us to be conscious of that attack looming behind us. We +found our wagons, transferred our wounded, then hurried down the road. +We found the cross-roads and there, waiting for us, Semyonov and +Marie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> Ivanovna. Standing in the moonlight, commanding, as it seemed +to me, all of us, even Semyonov, she was a very different figure from +the frightened girl of the early morning. Now her life was in her +eyes, her body inflamed with the fire of the things that had come to +her. So young in experience was she, so ignorant of all earlier +adventure, that she could well be seized, utterly and completely, by +her new vision ... possessed by some vision she was.</p> + +<p>And that vision was not Trenchard. Seeing her, he hurried towards her, +with a glad cry:</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are safe!"</p> + +<p>But she did not notice him.</p> + +<p>"Quick, this way!... Yes, the stretchers here.... No, I have +everything.... At once. There is little time!"</p> + +<p>The wounded were laid on the stretchers in the square of the +cross-roads. Semyonov and Marie Ivanovna bandaged them under the +moonlight and with the aid of electric-torches. On every side of me +there were little dialogues: "No ... not there. More this way. Yes, +that bandage will do. It's fresh. Hold up his leg. No, <i>durak</i>, under +the knee there.... Where's the lint?... Turn him a little—there—like +that. <i>Horosho, golubchik</i>. <i>Seitchass</i>! No, turn it back over the +thigh. Now, once more ... that's it. What's that—bullet or +shrapnel?... Take it back again, over the shoulder.... Yes, twice!"</p> + +<p>Once I caught sight of Trenchard, hurrying to be useful with the +little bottle of iodine, stumbling over one of the stretchers, causing +the wounded man to cry out.</p> + +<p>Then Semyonov's voice angrily:</p> + +<p>"Tchort! Who's that?... Ah, Meester! of course!"</p> + +<p>Then Marie Ivanovna's voice: "I've finished this, Alexei +Petrovitch.... That's all, isn't it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<p>These voices were all whispers, floating from one side of the road to +the other. The wounded men were lifted back on to the wagons. We moved +off again; Semyonov, Trenchard, Marie Ivanovna and I were now sitting +together.</p> + +<p>We left the flat fields where we had been so busy. Very slowly we +began to climb the hill down which I had come this afternoon. Behind +me was a great fan of country, black now under a hidden moon, dead as +though our retreat from it, depriving it of the last proofs of life, +had flung it back into non-existence. Before us was the black forest. +Not a sound save the roll of our wheels and, sometimes, a cry from one +of the wounded soldiers, not a stir of wind....</p> + +<p>I looked back. Without an instant's warning that dead world, as a +match is set to a waiting bonfire, broke into flame. A thousand +rockets rose, soaring, in streams of light into the dark sky; the +fields that had been vapour ran now with light. A huge projector, the +eye, as it seemed to me, of that enemy for whom I had all day been +searching, slowly wheeled across the world, cutting a great path +across the plain, picking houses and trees and fields out of space, +then dropping them back again. The rockets were gold and green, +sometimes as it seemed ringed with fire, sometimes cold like dead +moons, sometimes sparkling and quivering like great stars. And with +this light the whole world crackled into sound as though the sky, a +vast china plate, had been smashed by some angry god and been flung, +in a million pieces, to earth. The rifle-fire rose from horizon to +horizon like a living thing. Now the shrapnel rose, breaking on the +dark sky in flashes of fire. Suddenly some house was burning! The +flames rose in a column, breaking into tongues that advanced and +retreated, climbed and fell again. In the farthest distance other +houses had caught and their glow trembled in faint yellow light fading +into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> shadow when the projector found them. With a roar at our back +our own cannon began; the world bellowed and shook and trembled at our +feet.</p> + +<p>We reached the top of the hill. I caught one final vision, the picture +seeming to sway with all its lights, its shadows, its giant eye that +governed it, its colours and its mist, like a tapestry blown by wind. +I saw in our wagon, their faces lighted by the fire, Semyonov and +Marie Ivanovna. Semyonov knelt on the wooden barrier of the cart, his +figure outlined square and strong. She was kneeling behind him, her +hands on his shoulders. Her face was exultant, victorious. She seemed +to me the inspirer of that scene, to have created it, to hold it now +with the authority of her gaze.</p> + +<p>Behind her Trenchard was in shadow.</p> + +<p>We were on the hill-top, the cannon, as it seemed, on every side of +us. We hung for a moment so, the sky flaming up to our feet. Then we +had fallen down between the woods, every step muffling the sounds. +Everything was dark as though a curtain had been dropped.</p> + +<p>Semyonov turned round to me.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "there's your battle.... You've been in the thick of +it to-day!"</p> + +<p>I saw his eyes turned to Marie Ivanovna as though already he possessed +her.</p> + +<p>I was suddenly tired, disappointed, exhausted.</p> + +<p>"We've not been in the thick of it," I answered. "We have missed +it—all day we have missed it!"</p> + +<p>I tried to settle down in my wagon. "I beg your pardon," I said +irritably to Trenchard, "but your boot is in my neck!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>NIKITIN</h3> + + +<p>But this is not my story. If I have hitherto taken the chief place it +is because, in some degree, the impressions of Trenchard, Marie +Ivanovna, Andrey Vassilievitch must, during those first days, have run +with my own. We had all been brought to the same point—that last +vision from the hill of the battle of S—— and from that day we were +no longer apprentices.</p> + +<p>I now then retire. What happened to myself during the succeeding +months is of no matter. But two warnings may be offered. The first is +that it must not be supposed that the experiences of myself, of +Trenchard, of Nikitin in this business found their parallel in any +other single human being alive. It would be quite possible to select +every individual member of our Otriad and to prove from their case +that the effect of war upon the human soul—whether Russian or +English—was thus and thus. A study, for example, might be made of +Anna Petrovna to show that the effect of war is simply nothing at all, +that any one who pretends to extract cases and contrasts from the +contact of war with the soul is simply peddling in melodrama. Anna +Petrovna herself would certainly have been of that opinion. Or one +might select Sister K—— and prove from her case that the effect of +war was to display the earthly failings and wickedness of mankind, +that it was a punishment hurled by an irate God upon an unrepentant +people and that any one who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> saw beauty or courage in such a business +was a sham sentimentalist. Sister K—— would take a gloomy joy in +such a denunciation. Or if one selected the boy Goga it would be +simply to state that war was an immensely jolly business, in which one +stood the chance of winning the Georgian medal and thus triumphing +over one's schoolfellows, in which people were certainly killed but +"it couldn't happen to oneself"; meals were plentiful, there were +horses to ride, one was spoken to pleasantly by captains and even +generals. Moreover one wore a uniform.</p> + +<p>Or if Molozov, our chief, were questioned he would most certainly say +that war, as he saw it, was mainly a business of diplomacy, a business +of keeping the people around one in good temper, the soldiers in good +order, the generals and their staffs in good appetite, the other Red +Cross organisations in good self-conceit, and himself in good health. +All these things he did most admirably and he had, moreover, a heart +that felt as deeply for Russia as any heart in the world; but see the +matter psychologically or even dramatically he would not. He had his +own "nerves" and on occasion he displayed them, but war was for him, +entirely, a thing of training opposed to training, strategy opposed to +strategy, method and system opposed to method and system. For our +doctors again, war was half an affair of blood and bones, half an +affair of longing for home and children. The army doctors contemplated +our voluntary efforts with a certain irony. What could we understand +of war when we might, if we pleased, return home at any moment? Why, +it was simply a picnic to us.... No, they saw in it no drama whatever.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless how are we to be assured that these others, Anna +Petrovna, Sister K——, Goga, the Doctors had not their own secret +view? The subject here is simply the at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>titude of certain private +persons with whom I was allowed some intimacy ... for the rest one has +no right to speak.</p> + +<p>There comes then the second difficulty, namely: that of Nikitin, +Andrey Vassilievitch, Semyonov and Marie Ivanovna one can only present +a foreign point of view. Of Nikitin and Andrey Vassilievitch, at +least, I was the friend, but however deeply a Russian admits an +Englishman into friendship he can, to the very last, puzzle, confuse, +utterly surprise him. The Russian character seems, superficially, with +its lack of restraint, its idealism, its impracticality, its +mysticism, its material simplicities, to be so readily grasped that +the surprise that finally remains is the more dumbfounding. Perhaps +after all it is the very closeness of our resemblance the one to the +other that confuses us. It is, perhaps, that in the Russians' soul the +East can never be reconciled to the West. It is perhaps that the +Russian never reveals his secret ideal even to himself; far distant is +it then from his friend. It may be that towards other men the Russian +is indifferent and towards women his relation is so completely sexual +that his true character is hidden from her. Whatever it be that +surprise remains. For to those whom Russia and her people draw back +again and again, however sternly they may resist, this sure truth +stands: that here there is a mystery, a mystery that may never be +discovered. In the very soul of Russia the mystery is stirring; here +the restlessness, the eagerness, the disappointment, the vision of the +pursuit is working; and some who are outside her gates she has drawn +into that same search.</p> + +<p>I am not sure whether I may speak of Nikitin as my friend. I believe +that no one in our Otriad save Trenchard could make, with truth, this +claim. But for his own reasons or, perhaps, for no reason at all, he +chose me on two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> occasions as his confidant, and of these two +occasions I can recall every detail.</p> + +<p>We returned that night from S—— to find that the whole Otriad had +settled in the village of M——, where I myself had been the night +before. We were all living in an empty deserted farmhouse, with a +yard, a big orchard, wide barns and a wild overrun garden. We were, I +think, a little disappointed at the very languid interest that the +history of our adventures roused, but the truth was that the wounded +had begun to arrive in great numbers and there was no time for +travellers' stories.</p> + +<p>A dream, I know, yesterday's experiences seemed to me as I settled +down to the business that had filled so much of my earlier period at +the war. Here, with the wounded, I was at home—the bare little room, +the table with the bottles and bandages and scissors, the basins and +dishes, the air ever thicker and thicker with that smell of dried +blood, unwashed bodies, and iodine that is like no other smell in the +world. The room would be crowded, the sanitars supporting legs and +arms and heads, nurses dashing to the table for bandages or iodine or +scissors, three or four stretchers occupying the floor of the room +with the soldiers who were too severely wounded to sit or stand, these +soldiers often utterly quiet, dying perhaps, or watching with eyes +that realised only dreams and shadows, the little window square, the +strip of sky, the changing colours of the day; then the sitting +soldiers, on ordinary of a marvellous and most simple patience, +watching the bandaging of their arms and hands and legs, whispering +sometimes "<i>Bojé moi! Bojé moi!</i>" dragging themselves up from their +desperate struggle for endurance to answer the sanitars who asked +their name, their regiments, the nature of their wounds. Sometimes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +they would talk, telling how the thing had happened to them:</p> + +<p>"And there, your Honour, before I could move, she had come—such a +noise—eh, eh, a terrible thing—I called out '<i>Zemliac</i>. Here it is!' +I said, and he...."</p> + +<p>But as a rule they were very quiet, starting perhaps at the sting of +the iodine, asking for a bandage to be tighter or not so tight, +sometimes suddenly slipping in a faint to the ground, and then +apologising afterwards. And in their eyes always that look as though, +very shortly, they would hear some story so marvellous that it would +compensate for all their present pain and distress. There would be the +doctors, generally two at a time—Semyonov, unmoved, rough apparently +in his handling of the men but always accomplishing his work with +marvellous efficiency, abusing the nurses and sanitars without +hesitation if they did not do as he wished, but never raising his soft +ironic voice, his square body of a solidity and composure that nothing +could ruffle, his fair beard, his blue eyes, his spotless linen all +sharing in his self-assured superiority to us all; one of the Division +doctors, Alexei Ivanovitch, a man from Little Russia, beloved of us +all, whether in the Otriad or the army, a character possessing it +seemed none of the Russian moods and sensibilities, of the kindest +heart but no sentimentality, utterly free from self-praise, +self-interest, self-assertion, humorous, loving passionately his +country and, with all his Russian romance and even mysticism, packed +with practical common sense; another Division doctor, a young man, +carving for himself a practice out of Moscow merchants, crammed with +all the latest inventions and discoveries, caring for nothing save his +own career and frankly saying so, but a lively optimist whose belief +in his own powers was quite refreshing in its sincerity. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<p>In such a place and under such conditions Semyonov had at the earlier +period been master of us all. The effect of his personality was such +that we had, every one of us, believed him invincible. The very +frankness of his estimate of the world and ourselves as the most +worthless and incompetent bundle of rubbish, caused us to yield +completely to him. We believed that he rated himself but little higher +than the rest of us. He <i>was</i> superior but only because he saw so +clearly with eyes purged of sentiment and credulity. We, poor +creatures, had still our moments of faith and confidence. I had never +liked him and during these last days had positively hated him. I did +not doubt that he was making the frankest love to Marie Ivanovna and I +thought he was influencing her.... Trenchard was my friend, and what +an infant indeed he seemed against Semyonov's scornful challenge!</p> + +<p>But now, behold, Semyonov had his rival! If Semyonov cared nothing for +any of us, Nikitin, it was plain enough, cared nothing for Semyonov. +From the very first the two men had been opponents. It seemed as +though Nikitin's great stature and fine air, as of a king travelling +in disguise from some foreign country, made him the only man in the +world to put out Semyonov's sinister blaze. Nikitin was an idealist, a +mystic, a dreamer—everything that Semyonov was not. It is true that +if we mattered nothing at all to Semyonov, we also mattered nothing at +all to Nikitin, but for Nikitin there were dreams, visions, memories +and hopes. We were contented to be banished from his attention when we +were aware that happier objects detained him. We might envy him, we +could not dislike him.</p> + +<p>Semyonov never sneered at Nikitin. From the first he left him +absolutely alone. The two men simply avoided one another in so far as +was possible in a company so closely con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>fined as ours. From the first +they treated one another with a high and almost extravagant +politeness. As Nikitin spoke but seldom, there was little opportunity +for the manifestation of what Semyonov must have considered "his +childishly romantic mind," and Nikitin, on his side, made on no single +occasion a reply to the challenge of Semyonov's caustic cynicism.</p> + +<p>But if Nikitin was an idealist he was also, as was quite evident, a +doctor of absolutely first-rate ability and efficiency. I was present +at the first operation that he conducted with us—an easy amputation. +Semyonov was assisting and I know that he watched eagerly for some +slip or hesitation. It was an operation that any medical student might +have conducted with success, but the first incision of the knife +showed Nikitin a surgeon of genius. Semyonov recognised it.... I +fancied that from that moment I could detect in his attitude to +Nikitin a puzzled wonder that such an artist could be at the same time +such a fool.</p> + +<p>I began to feel in Nikitin a very lively interest. I had from the +first been conscious of his presence, his distinction, his attitude of +patient expectation and continuously happy reminiscence; but I felt +now for the first time a closer, more personal interest. From the +first, as I have said on an earlier page, his relationship to Andrey +Vassilievitch had puzzled me. If Nikitin were not of the common race +of men, most assuredly was Andrey Vassilievitch of the most ordinary +in the world. He was a little man of a type in no way distinctively +Russian—a type very common in England, in America, in France, in +Germany. He was, one would have said, of the world worldly, a man who, +with a sharp business brain, had acquired for himself houses, lands, +food, servants, acquaintances. Upon these achievements he would pride +himself, having worked with his own hand to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> his own advantage, having +beaten other men who had started the race from the same mark as +himself. He would be a man of a kindly disposition, hospitable, +generous at times when needs were put plainly before him, but yet of +little imagination, conventional in all his standards, readily +influenced outside his business by any chance acquaintance, but +nevertheless having his eye on worldly advantage and progress; he +would be timid of soul, playing always for safety, taking the easiest +way with all emotion, treading always the known road, accepting day by +day the creed that was given to him; he would be, outside his brain, +of a poor intelligence, accepting the things of art on the standard of +popular applause, talking with a stupid garrulity about matters of +which he had no first-hand knowledge—proud of his position as a man +of the world, wise in the character and moods of men of which, in +reality, he knew nothing. Had he been an Englishman or a German, this +would have been all and yet, because he was a Russian, this was not +even the beginning of the matter.</p> + +<p>I had, as I have already said, in earlier days known him only +slightly. I had once stayed for three days in his country-house and it +was here that I had met his wife. Russian houses are open to all the +world and, with such a man as Andrey Vassilievitch, through the doors +crowds of men and women are always coming and going, treating their +host like the platform of a railway station, eating his meals, +sleeping on his beds, making rendezvous with their friends, and yet +almost, on their departure, forgetting his very name.</p> + +<p>My visit had been of a date now some five years old. I can only +remember that his wife did not make any very definite impression upon +me, a little quiet woman, of a short figure, with kind, rather sleepy +eyes, a soft voice, and the air of one who knows her housewifely +business to per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>fection and has joy in her knowledge. "Not +interesting," I would have judged her, but I had during my stay no +personal talk with her. It was only after my visit that I was told +that this quiet woman was the passion of Andrey Vassilievitch's life. +He had been over thirty when he had married her; she had been married +before, had been treated, I was informed, with great brutality by her +husband who had left her. She had then divorced him. Praise of her, I +discovered, was universal. She was apparently a woman who created love +in others, but this by no marked virtues or cleverness; no one said of +her that she was "brilliant," "charming," "fascinating." People spoke +of her as though here at least there was some one of whom they were +sure, some one too who made them the characters they wished to be, +some one finally who had not surrendered herself, who gave them her +love but not her whole soul, keeping always mystery enough to maintain +her independence. No scandal was connected with her name. I heard of +Nikitin and others as her friends, and that was all. Then, quite +suddenly, two months before the beginning of the war, she died. They +said that Andrey Vassilievitch was like a lost dog, wished also at +first to talk to all who had known her, wearying her friends with his +reminiscences, his laments, his complaints—then suddenly silent, +speaking to no one about her, at first burying himself in his +business, then working on some committee in connexion with one of the +hospitals, then, as it appeared on the impulse of a moment, departing +to the war.</p> + +<p>I had expected to find him a changed man and was, perhaps, +disappointed that he should appear the same chattering feather-headed +little character whom I had known of old. Nevertheless I knew well +enough that there was more here than I could see, and that the root of +the matter was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> to be found in his connexion with Nikitin. In our +Otriad, friendships were continually springing up and dying down. Some +one would confide to one that so-and-so was "wonderfully sympathetic." +From the other side one would hear the same. For some days these +friends would be undivided, would search out from the Otriad the +others who were of their mind, would lose no opportunity of declaring +their "sympathy," would sit together at table, work together over the +bandaging, unite together in the public discussions that were frequent +and to a stranger's eye horribly heated. Then very soon there would +come a rift. How could that Russian passionate longing for justified +idealism be realised? Once more there were faults, spots on the sun, +selfishness, bad temper, narrowness, what you please. And at every +fresh disappointment would my companions be as surprised as though the +same thing had not happened to them only a fortnight ago.</p> + +<p>"But only last week you liked him so much!"</p> + +<p>"How could I know that he would hold such opinions? Never in my life +have I been more surprised."</p> + +<p>So upon these little billows sailed the stout bark of Russian +idealism, rising, falling, never overwhelmed, always bravely +confident, never seeking for calm waters, refusing them indeed for +their very placidity.</p> + +<p>But in the midst of these shifting fortunes there were certain +alliances and relationships that never changed. Amongst these was the +alliance of Nikitin and Andrey Vassilievitch. Friendship it could not +be called. Nikitin, although apparently he was kindly to the little +man, yielded him no intimacy. It seemed to us a very one-sided +business, depending partly upon Andrey Vassilievitch's continual +assertions that Nikitin was "his oldest friend and the closest friend +of his wife," that "Nikitin was one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> most remarkable men in the +world," that "only his intimate friends could know how remarkable he +was"; partly too upon the dog-like capacity of Andrey Vassilievitch to +fetch and carry for his friend, to put himself indeed to the greatest +inconvenience. It was pathetic to see the flaming pleasure in the +man's eyes when Nikitin permitted him to wait upon him, and how +ironically, upon such an occasion, would Semyonov watch them both!</p> + +<p>In spite of Nikitin's passivity he did, I fancied, more than merely +suffer this unequal alliance. It seemed to me that there was behind +his silence some active wish that the affair should continue. I should +speak too strongly if I were to say that he took pleasure in the man's +company, but he did, I believe, almost in spite of himself, secretly +encourage it. And there was, in spite of the comedy that persistently +hovered about his figure and habits, some fine spirit in Andrey +Vassilievitch's championship of his hero. How he hated Semyonov! How +he lost no single opportunity of trying to bring Nikitin forward in +public, of proving to the world who was the greater of the two men! +Something very single-hearted shone through the colour of his loyalty; +nothing, I was convinced, could swerve him from his fidelity. That, at +least, was until death.</p> + +<p>There arose then in these days of the wounded at M——a strange +relationship between myself and Nikitin. Friendship, I have said, I +may not call it. Nikitin afterwards told me it was my interest in the +study of human character that led to his frankness—as though he had +said, "Here is a man who likes to play a certain game. I also enjoy +it. We will play it together, but when the game is finished we +separate." Although discussions as to the characters of one or another +of us were continuous and, to an Englishman at any rate, most +strangely public, I do not think that the Rus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>sians in our Otriad were +really interested in human psychology. One criticised or praised in +order to justify some personal disappointment or pleasure. There was +nothing that gave our company greater pleasure than to declare in full +voice that "So-and-so was a dear, most sympathetic, a fine man." +Public praise was continuous and the most honest and spontaneous +affair; if criticism sometimes followed with surprising quickness that +was spontaneous too; all the emotions in our Otriad were spontaneous +to the very extreme of spontaneity. But we were not real students of +one another; we were content to call things by their names, to call +silence silence, obstinacy obstinacy, good temper good temper, and +leave it at that.</p> + +<p>No one, I think, really considered Nikitin at all deeply. They admired +him for his "quiet" but would have liked him better had he shared some +of their frankness—and that was all.</p> + +<p>It happened that for several days I worked in the bandaging room +directly under Nikitin. The work had a peculiar and really +unanalysable fascination for me. It was perhaps the directness of +contact that pleased me. I suppose one felt that here at any rate one +was doing immediate practical good, relieving distress and agony that +must, by some one, be immediately relieved; and, at any rate, in the +first days at M—— when the press of wounded was terrific (we +treated, in one day and night, nine hundred wounded soldiers) there +could be no doubt of the real demand for incessant tireless work. But +there was in my pleasure more than this. It was as though, through the +bodies of the wounded soldiers, I was helping to drive home the attack +upon our enemy. By our enemy I do not mean anything as concretely +commonplace as the German nation. One scarcely considered Germany as a +definite personality. One was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> resolved to cripple its power because +one believed that power to be a menace to the helpless, the innocent, +the lovers of truth and beauty; but that resolve, although it never +altered, seemed (the nearer one approached the citadel) in some way to +be farther and farther removed from the real question. Germany was of +no importance, and the ruin that Germany was wreaking was of no +importance compared with the histories of the individual souls that +were now in the making. Here were we: Nikitin, Trenchard, Sister +K——, Molozov, myself and the others—engaged upon our great +adventure. Across the surface of the world, at this same instant, out +upon the same hunt, seeking the same answer to their mystery, were +millions of our fellows. Somewhere in the heart of the deep forest the +enemy was hiding. We would defeat him? He would catch us unawares? He +had some plot, some hidden surprise? What should we find when we met +him?... We hated Germany, God knows, with a quiet, unresting, +interminable hatred, but it was not Germany that we were fighting.</p> + +<p>And these wounded knew something that we did not. In the first moments +of their agony when we met them their souls had not recovered from the +shock of their encounter. It was, with many of them, more than the +mere physical pain. They were still held by some discovery at whose +very doors they had been. The discovery itself had not been made by +them, but they had been so near to it that many of them would never be +the same man again. "No, your Honour," one soldier said to me. "It +isn't my arm.... That is nothing, <i>Slava Bogu</i> ... but life isn't so +real now. It is half gone." He would explain no more.</p> + +<p>Since the battle of S——, I had been restless. I wanted to be back +there again and this work was to me like talking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> to travellers who +had come from some country that one knew and desired.</p> + +<p>In the early morning, when the light was so cold and inhuman, when the +candles stuck in bottles on the window-sills shivered and quavered in +the little breeze, when the big basin on the floor seemed to swell +ever larger and larger, with its burden of bloody rags and soiled +bandages and filthy fragments of dirty clothes, when the air was +weighted down with the smell of blood and human flesh, when the sighs +and groans and cries kept up a perpetual undercurrent that one did not +notice and yet faltered before, when again and again bodies, torn +almost in half, faces mangled for life, hands battered into pulp, legs +hanging almost by a thread, rose before one, passed and rose again in +endless procession, then, in those early hours, some fantastic world +was about one. The poplar trees beyond the window, the little +beechwood on the hill, the pond across the road, a round grey sheet of +ruffled water, these things in the half-light seemed to wait for our +defeat. One instant on our part and it seemed that all the pain and +torture would rise in a flood and overwhelm one ... in those early +morning hours the enemy crept very close indeed. We could almost hear +his hot breath behind the bars of our fastened doors.</p> + +<p>There was a peculiar little headache that I have felt nowhere else, +before or since, that attacked one on those early mornings. It was not +a headache that afflicted one with definite physical pain. It was like +a cold hand pressing upon the brow, a hand that touched the eyes, the +nose, the mouth, then remained, a chill weight upon the head; the +blood seemed to stop in its course, one's heart beat feebly, and +things were dim before one's eyes. One was stupid and chose one's +words slowly, looking at people closely to see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> whether one really +knew them, even unsure about oneself, one's history, one's future; +neither hungry, tired, nor thirsty, neither sad nor joyful, neither +excited nor dull, only with the cold hand upon one's brow, catching +(with troubled breath) the beating of one's heart.</p> + +<p>In normal times the night-duty was of course taken in rotation, but +during the pressure of these four days we had to snatch our rest when +we might.</p> + +<p>About midnight on the fifth day the procession of wounded suddenly +slackened, and by two o'clock in the morning had ceased entirely. The +two nurses went to bed leaving Nikitin, myself, and some sleepy +sanitars alone. The little room was empty of all wounded, they having +been removed to the tent on the farther side of the road. The candles +had sunk deep into the bottles and were spluttering in a sea of +grease. The room smelt abominably, the blood on the floor had trickled +in thin red lines into the cracks between the boards, and the basins +with the soiled bandages overflowed. There was absolute silence. One +sanitar, asleep, had leaned, still standing, over a chair, and his +shadow with his heavy hanging head high above the candle against the +wall.</p> + +<p>Nikitin, seeming gigantic in the failing candlelight, stood back +against the window. He did not keep, as did Semyonov, perfect +neatness. A night of work left him with his hair on end, his black +beard rough and disordered; his shirtsleeves were turned up, his arms +stained with blood, and in his white apron he looked like some kingly +butcher. I was tired, the cold headache was upon me. I wished that I +could go, but I knew that both he and I must stay until eight o'clock. +While there was work to do nothing mattered, but now in the silence +the whole world seemed as empty and foul as a drained and stinking +tub.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nikitin looked at me.</p> + +<p>"You're tired," he said.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not tired," I answered. "I shouldn't sleep if I went to bed. +But I've got a headache that is not a headache, I smell a smell that +isn't a smell, I'm going to be sick—and yet I'm not going to be +sick."</p> + +<p>"Come outside," he said, "and get rid of this air." We went out and +sat down on a wooden bench that bordered the yard. Before us was the +high-road that ran from the town of S—— into the very heart of the +Carpathians. As the cold grey faded we could catch the thin outline of +those mountains, faint, like pencil-lines upon the sky now washed with +pink, covered in their nearer reaches by thick forests, insubstantial, +although they were close at hand, like water or long clouds. We could +see the road, white and clear at our feet, melting into shadow beyond +us, and catching in the little misty pools the coloured reflection of +the morning sky.</p> + +<p>The air was very fresh; a cock behind me welcomed the sun; the cold +band withdrew from my forehead.</p> + +<p>Nikitin was silent and I, silent also, sat there, almost asleep, happy +and tranquil. It seemed to me very natural to him that he should +neither move nor speak, but after a time he began to talk. I had in +that early morning a strange impression, as though deep in my dreams I +was listening to some history. I know that I did not sleep and yet +even now as I recover his quiet voice and, I believe, many of his very +words, in reminiscence those hours are still dreaming hours. I know +that every word that he told me then was true in actual fact. And yet +it seems to me that we were all slumbering, the world at our feet, the +sun in the sky, the wounded in their tent, and that through the mist +of all that slumber Nikitin's voice, soft, measured,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> itself like an +echo of some other voice miles away, penetrated—but to my heart +rather than to my brain. Afterwards this was all strangely parallel in +my mind with that earlier conversation that I had had with Trenchard +in the train.... And now as I sit here, in so different a place, +amongst men so different, those other two come back to me, happy +ghosts. Yes, happy I know that one at least of them is!</p> + +<p>Like water behind glass, like music behind a screen, Nikitin's voice +comes back to me—dim but so close, mysterious but so intimate. Ah, +the questions that I would ask him now if only I might have those +morning hours over again!</p> + +<p>"You're a solemn man altogether, Durward. Perhaps all Englishmen seem +so to us, and it may be only your tranquillity, so unlike our moods +and nerves by which we kill ourselves dead before we're half way +through life.... I had an English tutor for a year when I was a boy. +He didn't teach me much: 'all right' and 'Tank you' is the only +English I've kept, but I think of him now as the very quietest man in +all the universe. He never seemed to breathe, so still he was. And how +I admired him for that! My father was a very excitable man, his moods +and tempers killed him when he was just over forty.... We have a +proverb, 'In the still marshes there are devils,' and we admire and +fear quiet men because they have something that we have not. And I +like the way that you watch us, Durward. Your friend Trenchard does +not watch us at all and one could be his friend. For you one has quite +another feeling. It is as though I had something to give you that you +really want. Why should I not give it you? My giving it will do me no +harm, it may even yield me pleasure. You will not throw it away. You +are an Englishman and will not for a moment's temper or passion reveal +secrets.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> And there are no secrets. What I tell you you may tell the +world—but I warn you that it will neither interest them nor will they +believe it.... There is, you see, no climax to my story. I have no +story, indeed; like an old feldscher in my village who hates our +village Pope. 'Why, Georg Georgevitch,' I say, 'do you hate him? He is +a worthy man.' 'Your Honour,' he says, 'there is nothing there; a fat +man, but God has the rest of him—I hate him for his emptiness.' I'm +in a humour to talk. I have, in a way, fulfilled the purpose that my +English tutor created in me. I've grown a sort of quiet skin, you +know, but under that skin the heart pounds away, the veins swell to +bursting. I'm a fool behind it all—just a fool as every Russian is a +fool with more in hand than he knows how to deal with. You don't +understand Russia, do you? No, and I don't and no one does. But we can +all talk about her—and love her too, if you like, although our +sentiment's a bad thing in us, some say. But for us not to talk—for +one of us to be silent—do you know how hard that is?... And through +it all how I despise myself for wishing to tell them! What business is +it of theirs? Then this war. Can you conceive what it is doing to +Russians? If you have loved Russia and dreamed for her and had your +dreams flung again and again to the ground and trampled on—and now, +once more, the bubbles are in the sky, glittering, gleaming ... do we +not have to speak, do you think? Must it not be hard, when before we +have not been able to be silent about women and vodka, to be silent +now about the dearest wish of our heart? We have come out here, all of +us, to see what we will find. I have come because I want to get nearer +to something—I had brought something in my heart about which I had +learnt to be silent. 'That is enough!' I thought, 'there can be +nothing else about which I can wish to talk; but now, sud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>denly, like +that crucifix on the hillock by the road that the sun has just +touched, there is something more. And now here we are nothing ... two +souls come together out of space for an hour ... and it doesn't matter +what I say to you, except that it's true and the truth will be +something for you. Here's what I've come to the war with ... my little +bit of possession, if you like, that I've brought with me, as we've +all brought something. Will you understand me? Perhaps not, and it +really doesn't matter. I know what I have, what I want, but not what I +am. So how should you know if I do not? And I love life, I believe in +God. I wish to meet Death. One can be serious without being absurd at +an early hour like this, when nothing is real except such things.... +Andrey Vassilievitch and myself have puzzled you, have we not? I have +seen you watching us very seriously, as though we were figures in a +novel, and that has amazed me, because you must not be solemn about +us. You'll understand nothing about Russian life unless you laugh at +it during at least half the week.</p> + +<p>"Almost five years ago I met Andrey Vassilievitch at a friend's house +in Petrograd. He was an acquaintance of mine of some years' duration, +but I had avoided him because he seemed to me the last kind of man +whom I would ever care to know. I had been at this time five years in +Petrograd and had now a good practice there as a surgeon. I was a +successful man and I knew it, but I was also a disappointed man +because my idealism, that was being for ever wounded by my own +actions, would not die. How I wished for it to die! I thought of the +day when I should be without it as the day of liberation, of freedom. +That had become my idea, I must tell you, the dominating idea of my +life: that I should kill my idealism, laugh at the belief in God, lose +faith in every one and everything, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> then simply enjoy myself—my +work which I loved and my pleasure which I should love when my +idealism had died.... Sometimes during those years I thought that it +was dying. Women helped to kill it, I believed, and I knew many women, +desperately persistently laughing at them, leaving them or being left +by them; and then, in spite of myself, bitterly, deeply disappointed. +Something always saying to me: 'I am God and you cannot hide from me.' +'I am God and I will not be hidden.'</p> + +<p>"And on this night, about five years ago, at the house of a friend, I +met Andrey Vassilievitch. We left the house together, and because it +was a fine night, walked down the Nevski. There at the corner of the +Morskaia, because he was a nervous man who wished to be well with +every one in the world and because he had nothing especial to say, he +asked me to dinner, and I, because it was a fine night and there had +been good wine, said that I would go.</p> + +<p>"The next day I cursed my folly. I do not know to this day why I did +not break the engagement, it would have been sufficiently easy, but +break it I did not and a week later, reluctantly, I went. Do you know +how houses and streets of which you have observed nothing, afterwards, +called out by some important event, leap into detail? That night I +swear that I saw nothing of that little street behind the Mariinsky +Theatre. It was a fine 'white night' at the end of May and the theatre +was in a bustle of arrivals because it was nearly eight o'clock. Not +at all the hour of Russian dinner, as you know, but Andrey +Vassilievitch always liked to be as English as possible. I tell you +that I saw nothing of the street and yet now I know that at the door +of the little <i>trakteer</i> there were two men and a woman laughing, that +an <i>isvotchik</i> was drawn up in front of a high white block of flats, +asleep, his head fallen on his breast, that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> wonderful light, +faintly blue and misty like gauze hung down from the sky, down over +the houses, but falling not quite on to the pavement which was hard +and ugly and grey. The little street was very silent and quiet and +had, like so many Petrograd streets, a decorous intimacy with the +eighteenth century ghosts thronging its air....</p> + +<p>"Afterwards, how I was to know that street, every stone and corner of +it! It seems wonderful to me now that I trod its pavement that night +so carelessly. My destination was a square little house at the corner +on the right. Andrey Vassilievitch boasted a whole house to himself, a +rare pride in our city, as you know. When I was inside the doors I +knew at once that it was not Andrey Vassilievitch's house at all. Some +stronger spirit than his was there. Knowing him, I had expected to +find there many modern things, some imitation of English manners, some +bad but expensive pictures, a gramophone, a pianolo, a library of +Russian classics in our hideous modern bindings, a billiard-room—you +know the character. How quiet this little house was. In the little +square hall an old faded carpet, a grandfather's clock and two +eighteenth century prints of Petrograd. All the rooms were square, so +Russian with their placid family portraits, their old tables and +chairs, not beautiful save for their fidelity, and old thumbed +editions of Pushkin and Gogol and Lermontov in the bookshelves. +Clocks, old slow clocks, all telling different time, all over the +house. The house was very neat, but in odd corners there were all +those odd family things that Russians collect, china of the worst +period, brass trays, large candlesticks, musical boxes, anything you +please. Only in the dining-room there was some attempt at modernity. +Bad modern furniture, on the walls bad copies of such things as +Somoff's 'Blue Lady,' Vrubel's 'Pan' and one of Benoit's 'Peter the +Great' water-colours.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> Beyond this room the house was of eighty years +ago, muffled in its old furniture, speaking with the voice of its old +clocks, scented with the scent of its musk and lavender, watched by +the contented gaze of the old family portraits.</p> + +<p>"Alexandra Pavlovna, Andrey Vassilievitch's wife, was waiting for us. +Has it happened to you yet that your life that has been such and such +a life is in the moment of a heart-beat all another life? You have +passed an examination, you are suddenly ill, you break your back by a +fall, or more simply than all of these, you enter a town, see a +picture, hear a bar of music.... The thing's done: all values changed: +what you saw before you see no longer, what you needed before you need +no longer, what you expected before you expect no longer.... Alexandra +Pavlovna was not a beautiful woman. Not tall, with hair quite grey, +eyes not dark nor light—sad though. When she smiled there was great +charm but so it is true of many women. Her complexion was always pale +and her voice, although it was sweet to those who loved her, was +perhaps too quiet to be greatly remarked by strangers. I have known +men who thought her an ordinary woman.... She had much humour but did +not show it to every one. She was as still as that cloud there above +the hill, full of colour; like, that is, to those who loved her; seen +from another view, as perhaps that cloud may be, there was nothing +wonderful.... Nothing wonderful, but so many loved her! There was +never, I think, a woman so greatly beloved. And you may judge by me. I +had led a life in which after my work women had always played the +chief part, and as the months passed and I had grown proud I had vowed +that women must be exceptional to please me. I had felt the eye of the +world upon me. 'You'll see no ordinary women in Victor Leontievitch's +company' I heard them say, and I was proud that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> they should say it. +From the first instant of seeing Alexandra Pavlovna I loved her and I +loved her in a new, an utterly new way. For the first time in my life +I did not think of myself as a traveller who, passing for many years +through countries that did not greatly interest him, feels his aches +and pains, his money troubles, his discomforts and little personal +irritations. Then suddenly he crosses the border and the new land so +possesses him that he is only a vessel for its beauty, to absorb it, +to hold it, to carry the burden of it in safety.... I crossed the +border. For four years after that I pursued that enchanted journey. +Why did I love her? Who can say? Andrey Vassilievitch adored her with +an utter devotion and had done so since the first moment of meeting +her. I have known many others, women and men, who felt that devotion. +On that first evening we were very quiet—only another woman, a cousin +of hers. After dinner I had half an hour's talk with her. I can see +her—ah! how I can see you, my dear!—sitting back a little in her +chair, resting, her hands folded very quietly in her lap, her eyes +watching me gravely. I felt like a boy who has come into the world for +the first time. I could not talk to her—I stammered over the simplest +things. But I was conscious of a deep luxurious delight. I did not, as +I had done before, lay plans, say that this-and-this would be so if I +did this-and-this, I did not consciously try to influence or direct +her. I felt no definite sensual attraction, did not say, as I had +always done with other women, 'It is the hair, the eyes, the mouth.' +If I thought at all it was only 'This is better than anything that I +have known before; I had never dreamt of anything like this.'</p> + +<p>"After I had left her that night I did not walk the streets, nor +drink, nor find companions. I went home and slept the soundest sleep +of my life. In the morning I knew tran<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>quillity for the first time in +all my days. I did not, as I had done after many earlier first +meetings, hasten to see my friend. I did not know even that she liked +me and yet I felt no doubt nor confusion. It was, perhaps, that I was +ready to accept this new influence under any conditions, was ready for +once to leave the rules to another. I felt no curiosity, knew no +determination to discover the conditions of her life that I might bend +them to my own purposes. I was quite passive, untroubled, and of a +marvellous, almost selfish happiness.</p> + +<p>"Our friendship continued very easily. It soon came to our meeting +every day. In the summer they moved to their house in Finland and I +went to stay with them. But it was not until her return to Petrograd +in September that I told her that I loved her. Upon one of the first +autumn days, upon an evening, when the little green tree outside their +door was gold and there was a slip of an apricot moon, when the first +fires were lighted (Andrey Vassilievitch had English fireplaces), +sitting alone together in her little faded old-fashioned room, I told +her that I loved her. She listened very quietly as I talked, her eyes +on my face, grave, sad perhaps, and yet humorous, secure in her own +settled life but sharing also in the life of others. She watched me +rather as a mother watches her child.... I told her that it mattered +nothing the conditions that she put upon me; that so long as I saw her +and knew that she believed me to be her friend I asked for nothing. +She answered, still very quietly but putting her hand on mine, that +she had loved me from the first moment of our meeting. That she +wondered that yet once again love should have come into her life when +she had thought that that was all finished for her. She told me that +love had been in her life nothing but pain and distress, and then she +asked me, very simply, whether I would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> try to keep this thing so that +it should be happy and should endure. I said that I would obey her in +anything that she should command.... There followed then the strangest +life for me. Lovers in the fullest sense we were and yet it was +different from any love that I had ever known. When I ask myself why, +in what, it differed I cannot answer. Two old grey middle-aged people +who happened to suit one another.... Not romantic.... But I think in +the end of it all the reason was that she never revealed herself to me +entirely. I was always curious about her, always felt that other +people knew more of her than I did, always thought that one day I +should know all. It is 'knowing all' that kills love, and I never knew +all. We were always together. She was a woman of very remarkable +intelligence, loving music, literature, painting, with a most +excellently critical love. Her friendship with me gave her, I do +believe, a new youth and happiness. We became inseparable, and all my +earlier life had passed away from me like worn-out clothes. I was +happy—but of course I was not satisfied. I was jealous of that which +Audrey Vassilievitch had—and I lacked. My whole relationship to +Andrey Vassilievitch was a curious one. My friendship for his wife +must I am sure have been torture to him. He knew that she had given me +a great deal that she had never given to him. And yet, because he +loved her so profoundly, he was only anxious that she should be happy. +He saw that my friendship gave her new interests, new life even. He +encouraged me, then, in every way, to stay with them, to be with them. +He left us alone continually. During the whole of that four years he +never once spoke in anger to me nor challenged my fidelity. My +relationship to him was difficult. We were, quite simply as men, the +worst-suited in the world. He had not a trick nor a habit that did not +get on my nerves;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> he was intelligent only in those things that I +despised a man for knowing. This would have been well enough had he +not persisted in talking about matters of art and literature, of +which, of course, he knew nothing. He did it, I believe, to please his +wife and myself. I despised him for many things and yet, in my heart, +I knew that he had much that I had not. He was, and is, a finer man +than I.... And, last and first of all, he possessed part of his wife +that I did not. After all, she did, in her own beautiful way, love +him. She was a mother to him; she laughed tenderly at his foolishness, +cared for him, watched over him, defended him. Me she would never need +to defend. Our relationship was built rather on my defence of her. +Sometimes I would wish that I were such a <i>durak</i> as Andrey +Vassilievitch, that I might have her protection.... There were many, +many times when I hated him—no times at all when he did not irritate +me. I wished.... I wished.... I do not know what I wished. Only I +always waited for the time when I should have all of her, when I +should hold her against all the world. Then, after four years of this +new life, she quite suddenly died. Again in that little house, on a +'white night,' just as when I had at first met her, the purple +curtains hanging in the little street, the <i>isvostchik</i> sleeping, the +clocks in the house chattering in their haste to keep up with time.... +Only two months before the outbreak of the war she caught cold, for a +week suffered from pneumonia and died. At the last Andrey +Vassilievitch and I were alone with her. He had her hand in his but +her last cry was 'Victor,' and as she died I felt as though, at last, +after that long waiting, she had leapt into my arms for ever....</p> + +<p>"After her death for many weeks, she was with me more completely than +she had been during her lifetime. I knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> that she was dead, but I +thought that I also had died. I went into Finland alone, saw no one, +talked to no one, saw only her. Then quite suddenly I came to life +again. She withdrew from me.... Work seemed the only possible thing; +but I was, during all this time, happy not miserable. She was not with +me, but she was not very far away. Then Andrey Vassilievitch came back +to me. He told me that he knew that she had loved me—that he had +tried to speak of her to others who had known her, but they had, none +of them, had real knowledge of her. Might he speak to me sometimes +about her?</p> + +<p>"I found that though he irritated me more than ever I liked to talk +about her to him. As I spoke of her he scarcely was present at all and +yet he had known her and loved her, and would listen for ever and ever +if I wished.</p> + +<p>"When the war had lasted some months the fancy came to me that I could +get nearer to her by going into it. I might even die, which would be +best of all. I did not wish to kill myself because I felt that to be a +coward's death, and in such a way I thought that I would only separate +myself from her. But in the war, perhaps, I might meet death in such a +way as to show him that I despised him both for myself and her. By +suicide I would be paying him reverence.... Some such thought also had +Andrey Vassilievitch. I heard that he thought of attaching himself to +some Red Cross Otriad. I told him my plans. He said no more, but +suddenly, as you know, I found him on the platform of the Warsaw +station. Afterwards he apologised to me, said that he must be near me, +that he would try not to annoy me, that if sometimes he spoke of her +to me he hoped that I would not mind.... And I? What do I feel? I do +not know. He has some share in her that I have not. I have some share +in her that he has not, and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> think that it has come to both of us +that the one of us who dies first will attain her. It seems to me now +that she is continually with me, but I believe that this is nothing to +the knowledge I shall have of her one day. Am I right? Is Andrey +Vassilievitch right? Can it be that such a man—such men, I should +say, as either I or he—will ever be given such happiness? I do not +know. I only know that God exists—that Love is more powerful than +man—that Death can fall before us if we believe that it will—that +the soul of man is Power and Love.... I believe in God...."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>FIRST MOVE TO THE ENEMY</h3> + + +<p>It was during two nights in the forest of S——, about which I must +afterwards write, that I had those long conversations with Trenchard, +upon whose evidence now I must very largely depend. Before me as I +write is his Diary, left to me by him. In this whole business of the +war there is nothing more difficult than the varied and confused +succession with which moods, impressions, fancies, succeed one upon +another, but Trenchard told me so simply and yet so graphically of the +events of these weeks that followed the battle of S—— that I believe +I am departing in no way from the truth in my present account, the +truth, at any rate as he himself believed it to be....</p> + +<p>The only impression that he brought away with him from the battle of +S—— was that picture, lighted by the horizon fires, of Marie +Ivanovna kneeling with her hand on Semyonov's shoulder. That, every +detail and colour of it, bit into his brain.</p> + +<p>In understanding him it is of the first importance to remember that +this was the one and only love business of his life. The effect of +those days in Petrograd when Marie Ivanovna had shown him that she +liked him, the thundering stupefying effect of that night when she had +accepted his love, must have caught his soul and changed it as glass +is caught by the worker and blown into shape and colour. There he was, +fashioned and purified, ready for her use.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> What would she make of +him? That she should make nothing of him at all was as incredible to +him as that there should not be, somewhere in the world, Polchester +town in Glebeshire county.</p> + +<p>There had been with him, I think, from the first a fear that "it was +all too good to be true"—<i>Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes</i>. It is not +easy for any man, after thirty years' shy shrinking from the world, to +shake himself free of superstitions, and such terrors the quiet and +retired Polchester had bred in Trenchard's heart as though it had been +the very epitome of life at its lowest and vilest. It simply came to +this, that he refused to believe that Marie Ivanovna had been given to +him only to be taken away again. About women he knew simply nothing +and Russian women are not the least complicated of their sex. About +Marie Ivanovna he of course knew nothing at all.</p> + +<p>His first weeks in our Otriad had been like the painful return to drab +reality after a splendid dream. "After all I am the hopeless creature +I thought I was. What was there, in those days in Petrograd, that +could blind me?" His shyness returned, his awkwardness, his mistakes +in tact and resource were upon him again like a suit of badly made +clothes. He knew this but he believed that it could make no difference +to his lady. So sure was he of himself in regard to her—she might be +transformed into anything hideous or vile and still now he would love +her—that he could not believe that she would change. The love that +had come to them was surely eternal—it must be, it must be, it must +be....</p> + +<p>He failed altogether to understand her youth, her inexperience, above +all her coloured romantic fancy. Her romantic fancy had made him in +her eyes for a brief hour something that he was not. After a month at +the war I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> believe that she had grown into a woman. She had loved him +for an instant as a young girl loves a hero of a novel. And although +she was now a woman she must still keep her romantic fancy. He was no +longer part of that—only a clumsy man at whom people laughed. She +must, I think, have suffered at her own awakening, for she was honest, +impetuous, pure, if ever woman was those things.</p> + +<p>He did not see her as she was—he still clung to his confidence; but +he began as the days advanced to be terribly afraid. His fears centred +themselves round Semyonov. Semyonov must have seemed to him an awful +figure, powerful, contemptuous, all-conquering. Any blunders that he +committed were doubled by Semyonov's presence. He could do nothing +right if Semyonov were there. He was only too ready to believe that +Semyonov knew the world and he did not, and if Semyonov thought him a +fool—it was quite obvious what Semyonov thought him—then a fool he +must be. He clung desperately to the hope that there would be a +battle—a romantic dramatic battle—and that in it he would most +gloriously distinguish himself. He believed that, for her sake, he +would face all the terrors of hell. The battle came and there were no +terrors of hell—only sick headache, noise, men desperately wounded, +and, once again, his own clumsiness. Then, in that final picture of +Marie Ivanovna and Semyonov he saw his own most miserable exclusion.</p> + +<p>In the days that followed there was much work and he was forgotten. He +assisted in the bandaging-room; in later days he was to prove most +efficient and capable, but at first he was shy and nervous and +Semyonov, who seemed always to be present, did not spare him.</p> + +<p>Then, quite suddenly, Marie Ivanovna changed. She was kinder to him +than she had ever been, yes, kinder than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> during those early days in +Petrograd. We all noticed the change in her. When she was with him in +the bandaging-room she whispered advice to him, helped him when she +had a free moment, laughed with him, put him, of course, into a heaven +of delight. How happy at once he was! His clumsiness instantly fell +away from him, he only smiled when Semyonov sneered, his Russian +improved in a remarkable manner. She was tender to him as though she +were much older than he. He has told me that, in spite of his joy, +that tenderness alarmed him. Also when he kissed her she drew back a +little—and she did not reply when he spoke of their marriage.</p> + +<p>But for four days he was happy! He used to sing to himself as he +walked about the house in a high cracked voice—one song <i>I did but +see her passing by</i>—another <i>Early one morning</i>—I can hear him now, +his voice breaking always on the high notes.</p> + +<div class="poem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Early one morning<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as the sun was rising<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard a maid singing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the valley below:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ah! don't deceive me! Pray never leave me,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How could you treat a poor maiden so!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>His pockets were more full than ever of knives and string and buttons. +His smile when he was happy lightened his face, changing the lines of +it, making it if not handsome pleasant and friendly. He would talk to +himself in English, ruffling his hands through his hair: "And then, at +three o'clock I must go with Andrey Vassilievitch ..." or "I wonder +whether she'll mind if I ask—" He had a large briar pipe at which he +puffed furiously, but could not smoke without an endless procession of +matches that afterwards littered the floor around him. "The tobacco's +damp,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> he explained to us a hundred times. "It's better damp...."</p> + +<p>Then, quite suddenly, the blow fell.</p> + +<p>One evening, as they were standing alone together in the yard watching +the yellow sky die into dusk, without any preparation, she spoke to +him.</p> + +<p>"John," she said, "I can't marry you."</p> + +<p>He heard her as though she had spoken to another man. It was as though +he said: "Ah, that will be bad news for so-and-so."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," he said, and instantly afterwards his heart +began to beat like a raging beast and his knees trembled.</p> + +<p>"I can't marry you," she told him, "because I don't love you. Ah, I've +known it a long time—ever since we left Petrograd. I've often, often +wanted to tell you ... I've been afraid."</p> + +<p>"You can't marry me?" he repeated, "But you must...." Then hurriedly: +"No, I shouldn't say that. You must forgive me ... you have confused +me."</p> + +<p>"I'm very unhappy ... I've been unhappy a long time. It was a mistake +in Petrograd. I don't love you—but it isn't only that.... You +wouldn't be happy with me. You think now ... but it's a mistake."</p> + +<p>He has told me that as the idea worked through to his brain his only +thought was that he must keep her at all costs, under any conditions, +keep her.</p> + +<p>"You can't—you mustn't," he whispered, staring as though he would +hold her by her eyes. "Don't you see that you mustn't? What am I to do +after all this? What are we both to do? It's breaking everything. I +shan't believe in anything if you.... Ah! but no, you don't really +mean anything...."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + +<p>He saw that she was trembling and he bent forward, put his arm very +gently round her as though he would protect her.</p> + +<p>But she very strongly drew away from him, looked him in the face, then +dropped her eyes, let her whole body droop as though she were most +bitterly ashamed.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said, "what I've been ... what I've done. During +these last weeks I've been terrible to myself—and yet it's better +too. I didn't live a real life before, and now I see things as they +are. I don't love you, John, and so we mustn't marry."</p> + +<p>He looked at her and then suddenly wild, furious, shouting at her:</p> + +<p>"You mustn't.... You dare not.... Then go if you wish. I don't want +you, do you hear?... I don't want.... I don't want you!"</p> + +<p>She turned and walked swiftly into the house. He watched her go, then +with quick stumbling steps hurried into the field below the farm.</p> + +<p>There he stood, thinking of nothing, knowing nothing, seeing nothing. +The dusk came up, there had been rain during the day, the mist was in +grey sheets, the wet dank smell of the earth and of the vegetables +amongst which he stood grew stronger as the light faded. He thought of +nothing, nothing at all. He felt in his pocket for his pipe, something +dropped—and he knelt down there on the soaking ground, searching. He +searched furiously, raging to himself again and again: "Oh! I must +find it! I must find it! I must find it!" His hands tore the wet +vegetables, were thick with the soil. Other things fell from his +pockets, Then the rain began to descend again, thin and cold. In some +building he could hear a horse moving, stamping. He pulled up the +vegetables by their roots in his search. As<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> though a sword had struck +him his brain was clear. He knew of his loss. He flung himself on the +ground, rubbing the wet soil on to his face, whispering desperately: +"Oh God!—Oh God!—Oh God!"</p> + +<p>On the day following we did not know of what had happened. Trenchard +was not with us, as he was sent about midday with some sanitars to +bury the dead in a wood five miles from M——. That must have been, in +many ways, the most terrible day of his life and during it, for the +first time, he was to know that unreality that comes to every one, +sooner or later, at the war. It is an unreality that is the more +terrible because it selects from reality details that cannot be +denied, selects them without transformation, saying to his victim: +"These things are as you have always seen them, therefore this world +is as you have always seen it. It is real, I tell you." Let that false +reality be admitted and there is no more peace.</p> + +<p>On this day there were the two sanitars, whose faces now he knew, +walking solidly beside his cart, there were the little orchards with +the soldiers' tents sheltering beneath them, the villages with the old +men, the women, the children, watching, like ghosts, their passage, +the fields in which the summer corn was ripening, the first trembling +heat and beauty of a quiet day in early June. No sound in the world +but peace, the woods opening around them as they advanced. He lay back +on his bumping cart, watching the world as though he was seeing +pictures of some place where he had once been but long left. Yes, long +ago he had left it. His world was now a narrow burning chamber, in +which dwelt with him a taunting jeering torturing spirit of +reminiscence. He saw with the utmost clearness every detail of his +relationship with Marie Ivanovna. He had no doubt at all that that +relationship was finally, hopelessly closed. His was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> not a character +that was the stronger for misfortune. He submitted, crushed to the +ground. His mind now dwelt upon that journey from Petrograd, a journey +of incredible, ironic ecstasy lighted with the fires of the wonderful +spring that had accompanied it. He recalled every detail of his +conversation with me. His confidence that life would now be fine for +him—how could life ever be fine for a man who let the prizes, the +treasures, slip from his fingers, without an attempt to clutch them? +It was so now that he saw the whole of the affair—blame of Marie +Ivanovna there was none, only of his own weakness, his imbecile, +idiotic weakness. In that last conversation with her why could he not +have said that he refused to let her go, held to her, dominated her, +as a strong man would have done? No, without a word, except a cry of +impotent childish rage, he had submitted.... So, all his life it had +been—so, all his life it would be.</p> + +<p>He could only wonder now at his easy ready belief that happiness would +last for him. Had happiness ever lasted? As a man began so he ended. +Life laughed at him and would always laugh. Nevertheless, he <i>had</i> +that journey—five days of perfect unalloyed delight. Nobody could rob +him of that. She had said to him that even at the beginning of the +journey she had known that she did not love him—she had known but he +had not, and even though he had cheated himself with the glittering +bubble of an illusion the splendour had been there....</p> + +<p>Meanwhile behind his despair there was something else stirring. He has +told me that upon that afternoon he was only very dimly, very very +faintly aware of it, aware of it only fiercely to deny it. He knew, +however stoutly he might refuse to acknowledge it, that the events of +the last weeks had bred in him some curiosity, some excitement that +he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> could not analyse. He would like to have thought that his life +began and ended only in Marie Ivanovna, but the Battle of S—— had, +as it were in spite of himself, left something more.</p> + +<p>He found that he recalled the details of that battle as though his +taking part in it had bound him to something. Even it was suggested to +him that there was something now that he must do outside his love for +Marie Ivanovna, something that had perhaps no connexion with her at +all. In the very heart of his misery he was conscious that a little +pulse was beating that was strange to him, foreign to him; it was as +though he were warned that he had embarked upon some voyage that must +be carried through to the very end. He was, in truth, less completely +overwhelmed by his catastrophe than he knew.</p> + +<p>As they now advanced and entered upon the first outworks of the +Carpathians the day clouded. They stumbled down into a little narrow +brown valley and drove there by the side of an ugly naked stream, +wandering sluggishly through mud and weeds. Over them the woods, grey +and sullen, had completely closed. The sun, a round glazed disk +sharply defined but without colour, was like a dirty plate in the sky. +Up again into the woods, then over rough cart tracks, they came +finally to a standstill amongst thick brushwood and dripping +undergrowth.</p> + +<p>They could hear, very far away, the noise of cannon. The sanitars were +inclined to grumble. "Nice sort of business, looking for dead men +here, your Honour.... We must leave the carts here and go on foot. +What's it wet for? It hasn't been raining."</p> + +<p>Why was it wet, indeed? A heavy brooding inertia, Trenchard has told +me, seemed to seize them all. "They were not pleasant trees, you +know," I remember his after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>wards telling me, "all dirty and tangled, +and we all looked dirty too. There was an unpleasant smell in the air. +But that afternoon I simply didn't care about anything, nothing +mattered." I don't think that the sanitars at that time respected +Trenchard very greatly. He wasn't, in any case, a man of authority and +his broken stammering Russian wouldn't help him. Then there is nothing +stranger than the fashion in which the Russian language will (if you +are a timid foreigner), of a sudden wilfully desert you. Be bold with +it and it may, somewhat haughtily, perhaps, consent to your use of +it ... be frightened of it and it will despise you for ever. Upon that +afternoon it deserted Trenchard; even his own language seemed to have +left him. His brain was cold and damp like the woods around him.</p> + +<p>They passed through the thickets and came, to their great surprise, +upon a trench occupied by soldiers. This surprised them because they +had heard that the Austrians were many versts distant. The soldiers +also seemed to wonder. They explained their mission to a young officer +who seemed at first as though he would ask them something, then +checked himself, gave them permission to pass through and watched them +with grave gaze. After they had crossed the barbed wire the woods +suddenly closed about them as though a door had been softly shut +behind them. The ground now squelched beneath their feet, the sky +between the trees was like damp blotting-paper, and the smell that had +been only faintly in the air before was now heavy around them, blown +in thick gusts as the wind moved through the trees. Shrapnel now could +be distinctly heard at no great distance, with its hiss, its snap of +sound, and sometimes rifle-shots like the crack of a ball on a cricket +bat broke through the thickets. They separated, spreading like beaters +in a long line: "Soon," Trenchard told me, "I was quite alone. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +could hear sometimes the breaking of a twig or a stumbling footfall +but I might have been alone at the end of the world. It was obvious +that the regimental sanitars had been there before us because there +were many new roughly made graves. There were letters too and post +cards lying about all heavy with wet and dirt. I picked up some of +these—letters from lovers and sisters and brothers. One letter I +remember in a large baby-hand from a boy to his father telling him +about his lessons and his drill, 'because he would soon be a soldier.' +One letter, too, from a girl to her lover saying that she had had a +dream and knew now that her 'dear Franz, whom she loved with all her +soul, would return to her!... I am quite confident now that we shall +be happy here again very soon....' In such a place, those words."</p> + +<p>As he walked alone there he felt, as I had felt before the battle of +S——, that he had already been there. He knew those trees, that +smell, that heavy overhanging sky. Then he remembered, as I had +remembered, his dream. But whereas that dream had been to me only a +reflected story, with him it had lasted throughout his life. He knew +every step of that first advance into the forest, the look back to the +long dim white house with shadowy figures still about it, the avenue +with many trees, the horses and dogs down the first grey path, then +the sudden loneliness, the quiet broken only by the dripping of the +trees.</p> + +<p>Always that had caught him by the throat with terror, and now to-day +he was caught once again. He was watched: he fancied that he could see +the eyes behind the thicket and hear the rustling movement of +somebody. To-day he could hear nothing. If at last his dream was to be +fashioned into reality let it be so. Did the creature wish to destroy +him, let it be so. He had no strength, no hope, no desire....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It was there," he told me, "when I scarcely knew what was real and +what was not, that I saw that for which I was searching. I noticed +first the dark grey-blue of the trousers, then the white skull. There +was a horrible stench in the air. I called and the sanitars answered +me. Then I looked at it. I had never seen a dead man before. This man +had been dead for about a fortnight, I suppose. Its grey-blue trousers +and thick boots were in excellent condition and a tin spoon and some +papers were showing out of the top of one boot. Its face was a +grinning skull and little black animals like ants were climbing in and +out of the mouth and the eye-sockets. Its jacket was in good +condition, its arms were flung out beyond its head. I felt sick and +the whole place was so damp and smelt so badly that it must have been +horribly unhealthy. The sanitars began to dig a grave. Those who were +not working smoked cigarettes, and they all stood in a group watching +the body with a solemn and serious interest. One of them made a little +wooden cross out of some twigs. There was a letter just beside the +body which they brought me. It began: 'Darling Heinrich,—Your last +letter was so cheerful that I have quite recovered from my depression. +It may not be so long now before ...' and so on, like the other +letters that I had read. It grinned at us there with a devilish +sarcasm, but its trousers and boots were pitiful and human. The men +finished the grave and then, with their feet, turned it over. As it +rolled a flood of bright yellow insects swarmed out of its jacket, and +a grey liquid trickled out of the skull. The last I saw of it was the +gleam of the tin spoon above its boot...."</p> + +<p>"We searched after that," he told me, "for several hours and found +three more bodies. They were Austrians, in the condition of the first. +I walked in a dream of horror. It was, I suppose, a bad day for me to +have come with my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> other unhappiness weighing upon me, but I was, in +some stupid way, altogether unprepared for what I had seen. I had, as +I have told you, thought of death very often in my life but I had +never thought of it like this. I did not now think of death very +clearly but only of the uselessness of trying to bear up against +anything when that was all one came to in the end. I felt my very +bones crumble and my flesh decay on my body, as I stood there. I felt +as though I had really been caught at last after a silly aimless +flight and that even if I had the strength or cleverness to escape I +had not the desire to try. I had been mocked with a week's happiness +only to have it taken from me for my enemy's ironic enjoyment. I had a +quite definite consciousness of my enemy. I had as a boy thought, you +remember, of my uncle—and now, as I moved through the wood, I could +hear the old man's chuckle just as he had chuckled in the old days, +snapping his fingers together and twitching his nose...."</p> + +<p>They searched the wood until late in the afternoon, trampling through +the wet, peering through thickets, listening for one another's voices, +finding sometimes a trophy in the shape of an empty shrapnel case, an +Austrian cap or dagger. Then, quite suddenly, a sanitar noticed that +the bursting of the shrapnel was much closer than it had been during +the early afternoon. It was now, indeed, very near and they could +sometimes see the flash of fire between the trees.</p> + +<p>"There's something strange about this, your Honour," said one of the +sanitars nervously, and they all looked at Trenchard as though it were +his fault that they were there. Then close behind them, with a snap of +rage, a shrapnel broke amongst the trees. After that they turned for +home, without a word to one another, not running but hastening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> with +flushed faces as though some one were behind them.</p> + +<p>They came to the trench and to their surprise found it absolutely +deserted. Then, plunging on, they arrived at the two wagons, climbed +on to one of them, leaving Trenchard alone with the driver on the +other. "I tell you," he remarked to me afterwards, "I sank into that +wagon as though into my grave. I don't know that ever before or since +in my life have I felt such exhaustion. It was reaction, I suppose—a +miserable, wretched exhaustion that left me well enough aware that I +was the most unhappy of men and simply forced me, without a protest, +to accept that condition. Moreover, I had always before me the vision +of the dead body. Wherever I turned there it was, grinning at me, the +black flies crawling in and out of its jaws, and behind it something +that said to me: 'There! now I have shown you what I can do.... To +that you're coming.'..."</p> + +<p>He must have slept because he was suddenly conscious of sitting up in +his car, surrounded by an intense stillness. He looked about him but +could see nothing clearly, as though he were still sleeping. Then he +was aware of a sanitar standing below the cart, looking up at him with +great agitation and saying again and again: "<i>Borjé moi! Borjé moi! +Borjé moi!</i>"</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. The sanitar then seemed to +slip away leaving him alone with a vague sense of disaster. The sun +had set, but there was a moon, full and high, and now by its light he +could see that his wagon was standing outside the gate of the house at +M——. There was the yard, the bandaging-room, the long faded wall of +the house, the barn, but where? ... where?... He sat up, then jumped +down on to the road. The big white tent on the further side of the +yard, the tent that had, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> very morning, been full of wounded, was +gone. The lines of wagons, horses and tents that had filled the field +across the road were gone. No voices came from the house—somewhere a +door banged persistently—other sound there was none.</p> + +<p>The sanitars then surrounded him, speaking all together, waving their +arms, their faces white under the moon, their eyes large and +frightened like the eyes of little children. He tried to push their +babel off from him. He could not understand.... Was this a +continuation of the nightmare of the afternoon? There was a roar just +behind their ears as it seemed. They saw a light flash upon the sky +and fade, flash again and fade. With their faces towards the horizon +they watched.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" Trenchard said at last. There advanced towards him then +from out of the empty house an old man in a wide straw hat with a +broom.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" Trenchard said again.</p> + +<p>"It's the Austrians," said the old man in Polish, of which Trenchard +understood very little. "First it's the Russians.... Then it's the +Austrians.... Then it's the Russians.... Then it's the Austrians. And +always between each of them I have to clean things up"—and some more +which Trenchard did not understand. The old man then stood at his gate +watching them with a gaze serious, sad, reflective. Meanwhile the +sanitars had discovered one of our own soldiers: this man, who had +been sitting under a hedge and listening to the Austrian cannon with +very uncomfortable feelings, told them of the affair. At three o'clock +that afternoon our Otriad had been informed that it must retreat +"within half an hour." Not only our own Sixty-Fifth Division, but the +whole of the Ninth Army was retreating "within half an hour." Moreover +the Austrians were ad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>vancing "a verst a minute." By four o'clock the +whole of our Otriad had disappeared, leaving only this soldier to +inform us that we must move on at once to T—— or S——, twenty or +thirty versts distant.</p> + +<p>"Retreating!" cried Trenchard. "But we were winning! We'd just won a +battle!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tak totchno!</i>" said the soldier gravely, "Twenty versts! the horses +won't do it, your Honour!"</p> + +<p>"They've got to do it!" said Trenchard sharply, and the echo of the +Austrian cannon, again as it seemed quite close at hand, emphasised +his words. Except for this the silence of the world around them was +eerie; only far away they seemed to hear the persistent rumble of +carts on the road.</p> + +<p>"They're gone! They're all gone! We're left last of all!" and "The +Austrians advancing a verst a minute!"</p> + +<p>He took a last look at the house which had seemed yesterday so +absolutely to belong to them and now was already making preparations +for its new guests. As he gazed he thought of his agony in that field +below the house. Only last night and now what years ago it seemed! +What years, what years ago!</p> + +<p>He climbed wearily again upon his wagon. There had entered into his +unhappiness now a new element. This was a sensation of cold despairing +anger that ground should be yielded so helplessly. About every field, +every hedge and lane and tree, as slowly they jogged along he felt +this. Only to-day this corn, these stones, these flowers were Russian, +and to-morrow Austrian! This, as it seemed, simply out of the air, +dictated by some whispering devil crouching behind a hedge, afraid to +appear! This, too, when only a few hours ago there had been that +battle of S—— won by them after a struggle of many days; that +position, soaked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> with Russian blood, to be surrendered now as a leaf +blows in the wind.</p> + +<p>When they arrived at T—— and found our Otriad he was, I believe, so +deeply exhausted that he was not conscious of his actions. His account +to me of what then occurred is fantastic and confused. He discovered +apparently the house where we were; it was then one o'clock in the +morning. Every one was asleep. There seemed to be no place for him to +be, he could find neither candles nor matches, and he wandered out +into the road again. Then, it seems, he was standing beside a deep +lake. "I can remember nothing clearly except that the lake was black +and endless. I stood looking at it. I could see the bodies out of the +forest, only now they were slipping along the water, their skulls +white and gleaming. I had also a confused impression that Russia was +beaten and the war over. And that for me too life was utterly at an +end.... I remember that I deliberately thought of Marie because it +hurt so abominably. I repeated to myself the incidents of the night +before, all of them, talking aloud to myself. I decided then that I +would drown myself in the lake. It seemed the only thing to do. I took +my coat off. Then sat down in the mud and took off my boots. Why I did +this I don't know. I looked at the water, thought that it would be +cold, but that it would soon be over because I couldn't swim. I heard +the frogs, looked back at the flickering fires amongst our wagons, +then walked down the bank...."</p> + +<p>Nikitin must for some time have been watching him, because at that +moment he stepped forward, took Trenchard's arm, and drew him back. +Nikitin has himself told me that he was walking up and down the road +that night because he could not sleep. When he spoke to Trenchard the +man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> seemed dazed and bewildered, said something about "life being all +over for him and—death being horrible!"</p> + +<p>Nikitin put his arm round him, took him back to his room, where he +made him a bed on the floor, gave him a sleeping-draught and watched +him until he slept.</p> + +<p>That was the true beginning of the friendship between Nikitin and +Trenchard.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE RETREAT</h3> + + +<p>The retreat struck us as breathlessly as though we had been whirled by +a wind-storm into midair on the afternoon of a summer day. At five +minutes to three we had been sitting round the table in the garden of +the house at M—— drinking tea. We were, I remember, very gay. We had +heard only the day before of the Russian surrender of Przemysl and +that had for a moment depressed us; but as always we could see very +little beyond our own immediate Division. Here, on our own Front, we +had at last cleared the path before us. On that very afternoon we were +gaily anticipating our advance. Even Sister K—— who, for religious +reasons, took always a gloomy view of the future, was cheerful. She +sipped her cherry jam and smiled upon us. Anna Petrovna, imperturbably +sewing, calmly sighed her satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps to-morrow we shall move. I feel like it. It will be splendid +to go through the Carpathians—beautiful scenery, I believe." Molozov +was absent in the town of B—— collecting some wagons that had +arrived from Petrograd. "He'll be back to-night, I believe," said +Sister K——. "Dear me, what a pleasant afternoon!"</p> + +<p>It was then that I saw the face of the boy Goga. I had turned, +smiling, pleased with the sunshine, cherry jam, and a good Russian +cigarette straight from Petrograd. The boy Goga stared across the yard +at me, his round red cheeks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> pale, mouth open, and his eyes confused +and unbelieving.</p> + +<p>He seemed then to jump across the intervening space. Then he screamed +at us:</p> + +<p>"We're retreating.... We're retreating!" he shrieked in the high +trembling voice peculiar to agitated Russians. "We have only half an +hour and the Austrians are almost here now!"</p> + +<p>We were flung after that into a hurry of movement that left us no time +for reasoning or argument. Semyonov appeared and in Molozov's absence +took the lead. He was, of course, entirely unmoved, and as I now +remember, combed his fair beard with a little tortoiseshell pocket +comb as he talked to us. "Yes, we must move in half an hour. Very +sad ... the whole army is retreating. Why, God knows...."</p> + +<p>There arose clouds of dust in the yard where we had had our happy +luncheon. The tents had disappeared. The wounded were once more lying +on the jolting carts, looking up through their pain and distress to a +heaven that was hot and grey and indifferent. An old man whom we had +not seen during the whole of our stay suddenly appeared from nowhere +with a long broom and watched us complacently. We had our own private +property to pack. As I pressed my last things into my bag I turned +from my desolate little tent, looked over the fields, the garden, the +house, the barns.... "But it was ours—OURS," I thought passionately. +We had but just now won a desperately-fought battle; across the long +purple misty fields the bodies of those fallen Russians seemed to rise +and reproach us. "We had won that land for you—and now—like this, +you can abandon us!"</p> + +<p>At that moment I cursed my lameness that would prevent me from ever +being a soldier. How poor, on that afternoon, it seemed to be unable +to defend with one's own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> hand those fields, those rivers, those +hills! "Ah but Russia, I will serve you faithfully for this!" was the +prayer at all our hearts that afternoon....</p> + +<p>Semyonov had wisely directed our little procession away from the main +road to O—— which was filled now with the carts and wagons of our +Sixty-Fifth Division. We were to spend the night at the small village +of T——, twenty versts distant; then, to-morrow morning, to arrive at +O——.</p> + +<p>The carts were waiting in a long line down the road, the soldiers, hot +and dusty, carried bags and sacks and bundles. A wounded man cried +suddenly: "Oh, Oh, Oh," an ugly mongrel terrier who had attached +himself to our Otriad tried to leap up at him, barking, in the air. +There was a scent of hay and dust and flowers, and, very faintly, +behind it all, came the soft gentle rumble of the Austrian cannon.</p> + +<p>Nikitin, splendid on his horse, shouted to Semyonov:</p> + +<p>"What of Mr.? Hadn't some one better go to meet him?"</p> + +<p>"I've arranged that!" Semyonov answered shortly.</p> + +<p>It was of course my fate to travel in the ancient black carriage that +was one of the glories of our Otriad, with Sister Sofia Antonovna, the +Sister with the small red-rimmed eyes of whom I have spoken on an +earlier page. She was a woman who found in every arrangement in life, +whether made by God, the Germans, or the General of our Division, much +cause for complaint and dismay. She had never been pretty but had +always felt that she ought to be; she was stupid but comforted herself +by the certain assurance that every one else was stupid too. She had +come to the war because a large family of brothers and sisters refused +to have her at home. I disliked her very much, and she hated myself +and Marie Ivanovna more than any one else<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> in the world. I don't know +why she grouped us together—she always did.</p> + +<p>Marie Ivanovna was sitting with us now in the carriage, white-faced +and silent. Sofia Antonovna was very patronising.... "When you've +worked a little more at the Front, dear, you'll know that these things +must happen. Bad work somewhere, of course. What can you expect from a +country like Russia? Everything mismanaged ... nothing but thieves and +robbers. Of course we're beaten and always will be."</p> + +<p>"How can you, Sofia Antonovna?" Sister Marie interrupted in a low +trembling voice. "It is nobody's fault. It is only for a moment. We +will return—soon—at once. I know it. Ah, we <i>must</i>, we <i>must</i>! ... +and your courage all goes. Of course it would."</p> + +<p>Sister Sofia Antonovna smiled and her eyes watched us both. "I'm +afraid your Mr. will be left behind," she said.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Semyonov," Marie Ivanovna began—then stopped. We were all of us +silent during the rest of the journey.</p> + +<p>And how is one to give any true picture of the confusion into which we +flung ourselves at O——? O—— had been the town at which, a little +more than a month ago, we had arrived so eagerly, so optimistically. +It had been to us then the quietest retreat in the world—irritating, +provoking by reason of its peace. The little school-house, the green +well, the orchard, the bees, the long light evenings with no sound but +the birds and running water—those things had been a month ago.</p> + +<p>We were hurled now into a world of dust and despair. The square market +place, the houses that huddled round it were swallowed up by soldiers, +horses, carts and whirling clouds. A wind blew and through the wind a +hot sun blazed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> Everywhere horses were neighing, cows and sheep were +driven in thick herds through columns of soldiers, motor cars +frantically pushed their way from place to place, and always, +everywhere, covering every inch of ground flying, as it seemed, from +the air, on to roofs, in and out of windows, from house to house, from +corner to corner, was the humorous, pathetic, expectant, +matter-of-fact, dreaming, stolid Russian soldier. He was to come to +me, later on, in a very different fashion, but on this dreadful day in +O—— he was simply part of the intolerable, depressing background.</p> + +<p>If this day were dreadful to me what must it have been to Trenchard! +We were none of us aware at this time of what had happened to him two +days before, nor did we know of his adventure of yesterday. O—— +seemed to him, he has told me, like hell.</p> + +<p>We spent the day gathered together in a large white house that had +formerly been the town-hall of O——. It had, I remember, high empty +rooms all gilt and looking-glasses; the windows were broken and the +dust came, in circles and twisting spirals, blowing over the gilt +chairs and wooden floors.</p> + +<p>We made tea and sat miserably together. Semyonov was in some other +part of the town. We were to wait here until Molozov arrived from +B——.</p> + +<p>There can be few things so bad as the sense of insecurity that we had +that afternoon. The very ground seemed to have been cut away from +under our feet. We had gathered enough from the officers of our +Division to know that something very disastrous "somewhere" had +occurred. It was the very vagueness of the thing that terrified us. +What could have happened? Only something very monstrous could have +compelled so general a retirement. We might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> all of us be prisoners +before the evening. That seemed to us, and indeed was afterwards +proved in reality, to have been no slender possibility. There was no +spot on earth that belonged to us. So firm and solid we had been at +M——. Even we had hung pictures on the walls and planted flowers +outside the dining-room. Now all that remained for us was this +horrible place with its endless looking-glasses, its bare gleaming +floors and the intolerable noise through its open windows of carts, +soldiers, horses, the smell of dung and tobacco, and the hot air, like +gas, that flung the dust into our faces.</p> + +<p>Beyond the vague terrors of our uncertainty was the figure, seen quite +clearly by all of us without any sentiment, of Russia. Certainly +Trenchard and I could feel with less poignancy the appeal of her +presence, and yet I swear that to us also on that day it was she of +whom we were thinking. We had been, until then, her allies; we were +now her servants.</p> + +<p>By Russia every one of us, sitting in that huge room, meant something +different. To Goga she was home, a white house on the Volga, tennis, +long evenings, early mornings, holidays in a tangled wilderness of +happiness. To Sister K—— she was "Holy Russia," Russia of the +Kremlin, of the Lavra, of a million ikons in a million little streets, +little rooms, little churches. To Sister Sofia she was Petrograd with +cafés, novels by such writers as Verbitzkaia and our own Jack London, +the cinematograph, and the Islands on a fine evening in May. To the +student like a white fish she was a platform for frantic speeches, +incipient revolutions, little untidy hysterical meetings in a dirty +room in a back street, newspapers, the incapacities of the Douma, the +robberies and villainies of the Government. To Anna Petrovna she was +comfortable, unspeculative, friendly "home."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> To Nikitin she was the +face of one woman upon whose eyes his own were always fixed. To Marie +Ivanovna she was a flaming glorious wonder, mystical, transplendent, +revealed in every blade of grass, every flash of sun across the sky, +every line of the road, the top of every hill.</p> + +<p>And to Trenchard and myself? For Trenchard she had, perhaps, taken to +herself some part of his beloved country. He has told me—and I will +witness in myself to the truth of this—that he never in his life felt +more burningly his love for England than at this first moment of his +consciousness of Russia. The lanes and sea of his remembered vision +were not far from that dirty, disordered town in Galicia—and for both +of them he was rendering his service.</p> + +<p>At any rate there we sat, huddled together, reflected in the countless +looking-glasses as a helpless miserable "lot," falling into long +silences, hoping for the coming of Molozov with later news, listening +to the confusion in the street below. Marie Ivanovna with her hands +behind her back and her head up walked, nervously, up and down the +long room. Her eyes stared beyond us and the place, striving perhaps +to find some reason why life should so continually insist on being a +different thing from her imaginings of it.</p> + +<p>Lighted by the hot sun, blown upon by the dust, her figure, tall, +thin, swaying a little in its many reflections, had the determined +valour of some Joan of Arc. But Joan of Arc, I thought to myself, had +at least some one definite against whom to wave her white banner; we +were fighting dust and the sun.</p> + +<p>Trenchard and Nikitin had left us to go into the town to search for +news. We were silent. Suddenly Marie Ivanovna, turning upon us all as +though she hated us, cried fiercely:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think you should know that Mr. Trenchard and I are no longer +engaged."</p> + +<p>It was neither the time nor the place for such a declaration. I cannot +suggest why Marie Ivanovna spoke unless it were that she felt life +that was betraying her so basely that she, herself, at least, must be +honest. We none of us knew what to say. What <i>could</i> we say? This +appalling day had sunk for us all individualities. We were scarcely +aware of one another's names and here was Marie Ivanovna thrusting all +these personalities upon us. Sister Sofia's red-rimmed eyes glittered +with pleasure but she only said: "Oh, dear, I'm very sorry." Sister +K—— who was always without tact made a most uncomfortable remark: +"Poor Mr.!..."</p> + +<p>That, I believe, was what we were all feeling. I had an impulse to run +out into the street, find Trenchard, and make him comfortable. I felt +furiously indignant with the girl. We all looked at her, I suppose, +with indignation, because she regarded us with a fierce, insulting +smile, then turned her back upon us and went to a window.</p> + +<p>At that moment Molozov with Trenchard, Nikitin and Semyonov, entered. +I have said earlier in this book that only upon one occasion have I +seen Molozov utterly overcome, a defeated man. This was the occasion +to which I refer. He stood there in the doorway, under a vulgar bevy +of gilt and crimson cupids, his face dull paste in colour, his hands +hanging like lead; he looked at us without seeing us. Semyonov said +something to him: "Why, of course," I heard him reply, "we've got to +get out as quickly as we can.... That's all."</p> + +<p>He came over towards us and we were all, except Marie Ivanovna, +desperately frightened. She cried to him: "Well, what's the truth? How +bad is it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + +<p>He didn't turn to her but answered to us all.</p> + +<p>"It's abominable—everywhere."</p> + +<p>I know that then the great feeling of us all was that we must escape +from the horrible place in some way. This beastly town of O—— (once +cursed by us for its gentle placidity) was responsible for the whole +disaster; it was as though we said to ourselves, "If we had not been +here this would not have happened."</p> + +<p>We all stood up as though we felt that we must leave at once, and +while we stood thus there was a report that shook the floor so that we +rocked on our feet, brought a shower of dust and whitewash from the +walls, cracked the one remaining pane of glass and drove two mice +scattering with terror wildly across the floor. The noise had been +terrific. Our very hearts stood still. The Austrians were here +then.... This was the end....</p> + +<p>"It's the bridge," Semyonov said quietly, and of course ironically. +"We've blown it up. There'll be the other in a moment."</p> + +<p>There was—a second shock brought down more dust and a large scale of +gilt wood from one of the cornices. We waited then for our orders, +looking down from the windows on to what seemed a perfect babel of +disorder and confusion.</p> + +<p>"We must be at X—— to-night," Molozov told us. "The Staff is on its +way already. We should be moving in half an hour."</p> + +<p>We made our preparations.</p> + +<p>Trenchard, meanwhile, had had during this afternoon one driving +compelling impulse beyond all others, that he must, at all costs, +escape all personal contact with Marie Ivanovna. It seemed to him the +most awful thing that could possibly happen to him now would be a +compulsory conversation with her. He did not, of course, know that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +she had spoken to us, and he thought that it would be the easiest +thing in all the confusion that this retreat involved that he should +be flung up against her. He sought his chief refuge in Nikitin. I am +aware that in the things I have said of Nikitin, in speaking both of +his relation to Andrey Vassilievitch's wife and to Trenchard himself, +I have shown him as something of a sentimental figure. And yet +sentimental was the very last thing that he really was. He had not the +"open-heartedness" that is commonly asserted to be the chief glory and +the chief defect of the Russian soul. He had talked to me because I +was a foreigner and of no importance to him—some one who would be +entirely outside his life. He took Trenchard now for his friend I +believe because he really was attracted by the admixture of chivalry +and helplessness, of simplicity and credulity, of timidity and courage +that the man's character displayed. I am sure that had it been I who +had been in Trenchard's position he would not have stretched out one +finger to help me.</p> + +<p>Trenchard himself had only vague memories of the events of the +preceding evening. He was aware quite simply that the whole thing had +been a horrible dream and that "nothing so bad could ever possibly +happen to him again." He had "touched the worst," and he undoubtedly +found some relief to-day in the general distress and confusion. It +covered his personal disaster and forced him to forget himself in +other persons' misfortunes. He was, as it happened, of more use than +any one just then in getting every one speedily out of O——. He ran +messages, found parcels and bags for the Sisters, collected sanitars, +even discovered the mongrel terrier, tied a string to him and gave him +to one of our soldiers to look after. In what a confusion, as the +evening fell, was the garden of our large white house!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> Huge wagons +covered its lawn; horses, neighing, stamping, jumping, were dragged +and pulled and threatened; officers, from stout colonels to very young +lieutenants, came cursing and shouting, first this way and that. A +huge bag of biscuits broke away from a provision van and fell +scattering on to the ground; the soldiers, told that they might help +themselves, laughing and shouting like babies, fell upon the store. +But for the most part there was gloom, gloom, gloom under the evening +sky. Sometimes the reflections of distant rockets would shudder and +fade across the pale blue; incessantly, from every corner of the +world, came the screaming rattle of carts, a sound like many pencils +drawn across a gigantic slate—and always the dust rose and fell in +webs and curtains of filmy gold, under the evening sun.</p> + +<p>At last Trenchard found himself with Molozov and Ivan Mihailovitch, +the student like a fish, in the old black carriage. Molozov had "flung +the world to the devil," Trenchard afterwards said, "and I sat there, +you know, looking at his white face and wondering what I ought to talk +about." Trenchard suddenly found himself narrowly and aggressively +English—and it is certain that every Englishman in Russia on Tuesday +thanks God that he is a practical man and has some common sense, and +on Wednesday wonders whether any one in England knows the true value +of anything at all and is ashamed of a country so miserably without a +passion for "ideas."</p> + +<p>To-night Trenchard was an Englishman. He had been really useful at +O—— and he had felt a new spirit of kindness around him. He did not +know that Marie Ivanovna had made her declaration to us and that we +were therefore all anxious to show him that we thought that he had +been badly treated. Moreover he suspected, with a true English +distrust of emotions, that the Russians before him were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> inclined to +luxuriate in their gloom. Molozov's despair and Ivan Mihailovitch's +passionate eyes and jerking white hands irritated him.</p> + +<p>He smiled a practical English smile and looked about him at the +swaying procession of carts and soldiers with a practical eye.</p> + +<p>"Come," he said to Molozov, "don't despair. There's nothing really to +be distressed about. There <i>must</i> be these retreats, you know. There +<i>must</i> be. The great thing in this war is to see the whole thing in +proportion—the <i>whole</i> thing. France and England and the Dardanelles +and Italy—<i>everything</i>. In another month or two—"</p> + +<p>But Molozov, frowning, shook his head.</p> + +<p>"This country ... no method ... no system. <i>Nothing.</i> It is +terrible.... <i>That's</i> a pretty girl!" he added moodily, looking at a +group of peasants in a doorway. "A <i>very</i> pretty girl!" he added, +sitting up a little and staring. Then he relapsed, "No +system—<i>nothing</i>," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"But there <i>will</i> be," continued Trenchard in his English voice. (He +told me afterwards that he was conscious at the time of a horrible +priggish superiority.) "Here in Russia you go up and down so. You've +no restraint. Now if you had discipline—"</p> + +<p>But he was interrupted by the melancholy figure of an officer who hung +on to our slowly moving carriage, walking beside it with his hand on +the door. He did not seem to have anything very much to say but looked +at us with large melancholy eyes. He was small and needed dusting.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Molozov, saluting.</p> + +<p>"I've had contusion," said the little officer in a dreamy voice. +"Contusion ... I don't feel very well. I don't quite know where I +ought to go."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Our doctors are just behind," said Molozov. "You can come on with +them."</p> + +<p>"Your doctors ..." the little officer repeated dreamily. "Very +well...." But he continued with us. "I've had contusion," he said. "At +M——. Yes.... And now I don't quite know where I am. I'm very +depressed and unhappy. What do you advise?"</p> + +<p>"There are our doctors," Molozov repeated rather irritably. "You'll +find them ... behind there."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so," the melancholy little figure repeated and +disappeared.</p> + +<p>In some way this figure affected Trenchard very dismally and drove all +his English common sense away. We were moving now slowly through +clouds of dust, and peasants who watched us from their doorways with a +cold indifference that was worse than exultation.</p> + +<p>When we arrived, at two or three in the morning, at X——, our +destination, the spirits of all of us were heavily weighted. Tired, +cross, dirty, driven and pursued, and always with us that harassing +fear that we had now no ground upon which we might rest our feet, that +nothing in the world belonged to us, that we were fugitives and +vagabonds by the will of God.</p> + +<p>As our carriage stopped before the door of the large white building in +X—— that seemed just like the large white building in O——, the +little officer was again at our side.</p> + +<p>"I've got contusion ..." he said. "I'm very unhappy, and I don't know +where to go."</p> + +<p>Trenchard felt now as though in another moment he would tumble back +again into his nightmare of yesterday. The house at X—— indeed was +fantastic enough. I feel that I am in danger of giving too many +descriptions of our various halting-places. For the most part they +largely re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>sembled one another, large deserted country houses with +broken windows, bare walls and floors, a tangled garden and a tattered +collection of books in the Polish language. But this building at X—— +was like no other of our asylums.</p> + +<p>It was a huge place, a strange combination of the local town-hall and +the local theatre. It was the theatre that at that early hour in the +morning seemed to our weary eyes so fantastic. As we peered into it it +was a huge place, already filled with wounded and lighted only by +candles, stuck here and there in bottles. I could see, dimly, the +stage at the back of the room, and still hanging, tattered and +restless in the draught, a forgotten backcloth of some old play. I +could see that it was a picture of a gay scene in an impossibly highly +coloured town—high marble stairs down which flower-girls with swollen +legs came tripping into a market-place filled with soldiers and their +lovers—"Carmen" perhaps. It seemed absurd enough there in the +uncertain candlelight with the wounded groaning and crying in front of +it. There was already in the air that familiar smell of blood and +iodine, the familiar cries of: "Oh, <i>Sestritza</i>—Oh, <i>Sestritza</i>!" the +familiar patient faces of the soldiers, sitting up, waiting for their +turn, the familiar sharp voice of the sanitar: "What Division? What +regiment? bullet or shrapnel?"</p> + +<p>I remember that some wounded man, in high fever, was singing, and that +no one could stop him.</p> + +<p>"He's dead," I heard Semyonov's curt voice behind me, and turning saw +them cover the body on the stretcher with a sheet.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Oh!... Oh! Oh!" shrieked a man from the middle of whose back +Nikitin, probing with his finger, was extracting a bullet. The candles +flared, the ladies from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> "Carmen" wavered on the marble steps, the +high cracked voice of the soldier continued its song. I stood there +with Trenchard and Andrey Vassilievitch. Then we turned away.</p> + +<p>"We're not wanted to-night," I said. "We'd better get out of the way +and sleep somewhere. There'll be plenty to do to-morrow!" Little +Andrey Vassilievitch, whom during the retreat I had entirely +forgotten, looked very pathetic. He was dusty and dirty and hated his +discomfort. He did not know where to go and was in everybody's way. +Nikitin was immensely busy and had no time to waste on his friend. +Poor Andrey was tired and terribly depressed.</p> + +<p>"What I say is," he confided to us in a voice that trembled a little, +"that we are not to despair. We have to retreat to-day, but who knows +what will happen to-morrow? Every one is aware that Russia is a +glorious country and has endless resources. Well then.... What I say +is ..."; an officer bundled into him, apologised but quite obviously +cursed him for being in the way.</p> + +<p>"Come along," said Trenchard, putting his arm on Andrey +Vassilievitch's sleeve. "We'll find somewhere to sleep. Of course +we're not in despair. Why should we be? You'll feel better to-morrow."</p> + +<p>They departed, and as they went I wondered at this new side in +Trenchard's character. He seemed strong, practical, and almost +cheerful. I, knowing his disaster, was puzzled. My lame leg was +hurting me to-night. I found a corner to lie down in, rolled myself in +my greatcoat and passed through a strange succession of fantastic +dreams in which Trenchard, Marie Ivanovna, Nikitin, and Semyonov all +figured. Behind them I seemed to hear some voice crying: "I've got you +all!... I've got you all!... You're caught!... You're caught!... +You're caught!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the following day there happened to Trenchard the thing that he had +dreaded. Writing of it now I cannot disentangle it from the +circumstances and surroundings of his account of it to me. He was +looking back then, when he spoke to me, to something that seemed +almost fantastic in its ironical reality. Every word of that +conversation he afterwards recalled to himself again and again. As to +Marie Ivanovna I think that he never even began to understand her; +that he should believe in her was a different matter from his +understanding her. That he should worship her was a tribute both to +his inexperience and to his sentiment. But his relation to her and to +this whole adventure of his was confused and complicated by the fact +that he was not, I believe, in himself a sentimental man. What one +supposed to be sentiment was a quite honest and naked lack of +knowledge of the world. As experience came to him sentiment fell away +from him. But experience was never to come to him in regard to Marie +Ivanovna; he was to know as little of her at the end as he had known +at the beginning, and this whole conversation with her (of course, I +have only his report of it) is clouded with his romantic conception of +her. To that I might add also my own romantic conception; if Trenchard +never saw her clearly because he loved her, I never saw her clearly +because—because—why, I do not know.... She was, from first to last, +a figure of romance, irritating, aggressive, enchanting, baffling, +always blinding, to all of us.</p> + +<p>During the morning after our arrival in M—— Trenchard worked in the +theatre, bandaging and helping with the transport of the wounded up +the high and difficult staircase. Then at midday, tired with the heat, +the closeness of the place, he escaped into the little park that +bordered the farther side of the road. It was a burning day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> in +June—the sun came beating through the trees, and as soon as he had +turned the corner of the path and had lost the line of ruined and +blackened houses to his right he found himself in the wildest and most +glittering of little orchards. The grass grew here to a great +height—the apple-trees were of a fine age, and the sun in squares and +circles and stars of light flashed like fire through the thick green. +He stepped forward, blinded by the quivering gold, and walked into the +arms of Marie Ivanovna. He, quite literally, ran against her and put +his arms about her for a moment to steady her, not seeing who she was.</p> + +<p>Then he gave a little cry.</p> + +<p>She was also frightened. "It was the only time," he told me, "that I +had ever seen her show fear."</p> + +<p>They were silent, neither of them knowing the way to speak.</p> + +<p>Then she said: "John, don't r-run away. It is very good. I wanted to +speak to you. Here, sit down here."</p> + +<p>She herself sat down and patted the grass, inviting him. He at once +sat down beside her, but he could say nothing—nothing at all.</p> + +<p>She waited for a time and then, seeing him, I suppose, at a loss and +helpless, regained her own courage. "Are you still angry with me?"</p> + +<p>"No," he answered, not looking at her.</p> + +<p>"You have a right to be; I behaved very badly."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," he replied, "why you thought in Petrograd that +you loved me and then—so soon—found that you did not—so soon."</p> + +<p>He looked at her and then lowered his eyes.</p> + +<p>"What do you know or I know?" she suddenly asked him impetuously. "Are +we not both always thinking that things will be so +fine—<i>seichass</i>—and then they are not. How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> could we be happy +together when we are both so ignorant? Ah, you know, John, <i>you know</i> +that happy together we could never be."</p> + +<p>He looked at her clearly and without hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I was very stupid," he said. "I thought that because I had come into +a big thing I would be big myself. It is not so; I am the same person +as I was in England. I have not changed at all and I shall never +change ... only in this one thing that whether you go from me or +whether you stay I shall never love anybody but you. All men say that, +I know," he added, "but there are not many men who have had so little +in their lives as I, and so perhaps it means more with me than it does +with others."</p> + +<p>She made no reply to him. She had not, I believe, heard him. She said, +as though she were speaking to herself: "If we had not come, John, if +we had stayed in Petrograd, anything might have been. But here there +is something more than people. I don't know whether I love or hate any +one. I cannot marry you or any man until this is all over."</p> + +<p>"And then," he interrupted passionately, touching her sleeve with his +hand. "After the war? Perhaps—again, you will—"</p> + +<p>She took his hand in hers, looking at him as though she were suddenly +seeing him for the first time:</p> + +<p>"No—<i>you</i>, John, never. In Petrograd I didn't know what this could +be—no idea—none. And now that I'm here I can think of nothing else +than what I'm going to find. There is something here that I'd be +afraid of if I let myself be and that's what I love. What will happen +when I meet it? Shall I feel fear or no? And so, too, if there were a +man whom I feared...."</p> + +<p>"Semyonov!" Trenchard cried.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<p>She looked at him and did not answer. He caught her hand urgently. +"No, Marie, no—any one but Semyonov. It doesn't matter about me. But +you <i>must</i> be happy—you <i>must</i> be. Nothing else—and he won't make +you. He isn't—"</p> + +<p>"Happy!" she answered scornfully. "I don't want to be happy. <i>That</i> +isn't it. But to be sure that one's not afraid—" (She repeated to +herself several times <i>Hrabrost</i>—the Russian for "bravery.") "That is +more than you, John, or than I or than—"</p> + +<p>She broke off, looked at him suddenly as he told me "very tenderly and +kindly as though she liked me."</p> + +<p>"John, I'm your friend. I've been bad to you, but I'm your friend. I +don't understand why I've been so bad to you because, I would be +fur-rious—yes, fur-rious—if any one else were bad to you. And be +mine, John, whatever I do, be mine. I'm not really a bad +character—only I think it's too exciting now, here—everything—for +me to stop and think."</p> + +<p>"You know," he answered with a rather tired gesture (he had worked in +that hot theatre all the morning) "that I am always the same—but you +must not marry Semyonov," he added fiercely.</p> + +<p>She did not answer him, looked up at the sunlight and said after a +time:</p> + +<p>"I hate Sister K——. She is not really religious. She doesn't wash +either. Let us go back. I was away, I said, only for a little."</p> + +<p>They walked back, he told me, in perfect silence. He was more unhappy +than ever. He was more unhappy because he saw quite clearly that he +did not understand her at all; he felt farther away from her than ever +and loved her more devotedly than ever: a desperate state of things. +If he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> taken that sentence of hers—"I think it's too +exciting—now—here—for me to stop and think," he would, I fancy, +have found the clue to her, but he would not believe that she was so +simple as that. In the two days that followed, days of the greatest +discomfort, disappointment and disorder, his mind never left her for a +moment. His diary for these four days is very short and unromantic.</p> + +<p>"<i>June 23rd.</i> In X——. Morning worked in the theatre. Bandaged +thirty. Operation 1—arm amputated. Learn that there has been a battle +round the school-house at O—— where we first were. Wonderful +weather. Spent some time in the park. Talked to M. there. Evening +moved—thirty versts to P——. Much dust, very slow, owing to the +Guards retreating at same time. Was with Durward and Andrey +Vassilievitch in a <i>Podvoda</i>—Like the latter, but he's out of place +here. Arrived 1.30.</p> + +<p>"<i>June 24th.</i> Off early morning. This time black carriage with Sisters +K—— and Anna Petrovna. More dust—thousands of soldiers passing us, +singing as though there were no retreat. News from L—— very bad. Say +there's no ammunition. Arrived Nijnieff evening 7.30. Very hungry and +thirsty. We could find no house for some hours; a charming little town +in a valley. Nestor seems huge—very beautiful with wooded hills. But +whole place so swallowed in dust impossible to see anything. Heaps of +wounded again. I and Molozov in nice room alone. Have not seen M. all +day.</p> + +<p>"<i>June 25th.</i> This morning Nikitin, Sister K——, Goga, and I +attempted to get back to P—— to see whether there were wounded. +Started off on the carts but when we got to the hill above the village +met the whole of our Division coming out. The village abandoned, so +back we had to go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> again through all the dust. Evening nothing doing. +Every one depressed.</p> + +<p>"<i>June 26th.</i> Very early—half-past five in the morning—we were +roused and had to take part in an exodus like the Israelites. Most +unpleasant, moving an inch an hour, Cossacks riding one down if one +preferred to go on foot to being bumped in the haycart. Every one in +the depths of depression. Crossed the Nestor, a perfectly magnificent +river. Five versts further, then stopped at a farmhouse, pitched +tents. Instantly hundreds of wounded. Battle fierce just other side of +Nijnieff. Worked like a nigger—from two to eight never stopped +bandaging. About ten went off to the position with Molozov. Strange to +be back in the little town under such different circumstances. Dark as +pitch—raining. Much noise, motors, soldiers like ghosts +though—shrapnel all the time. Tired, depressed and nervous. Horrid +waiting doing nothing; two houses under the shrapnel. Expected also at +every moment bridge behind us to be blown up. At last wagons filled +with wounded, started back and got home eventually, taking two hours +over it. Very glad when it was over...."</p> + +<p>We had arrived, indeed, although we did not then know it and were +expecting, every moment, to move back again, at the conclusion of our +first exodus. Our only other transition, after a day or two longer at +our farmhouse, was forward four versts to a tiny village on a high +hill overlooking the Nestor, to the left of Nijnieff. This village was +called Mittövo. Mittövo was to be our world for many weeks to come. We +inhabited once again the large white deserted country-house with the +tangled garden, the dusty bare floors, the broken windows. At the end +of the tangled garden there was a white stone cross, and here was a +most wonderful view, the high hill running precipitously down to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +flat silver expanse of the Nestor that ran like a gleaming girdle +under the breasts of the slopes beyond. These further slopes were +clothed with wood. I remember, on the first day that I watched, the +forest beyond was black and dense like a cloud resting on the hill; +the Nestor and our own country was soaked with sun.</p> + +<p>"That's a fine forest," I said to my companion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the forest of S——, stretches miles back into Galicia." It was +Nikitin that day who spoke to me. We turned carelessly away. Meanwhile +how difficult and unpleasant those first weeks at Mittövo were! We had +none of us realised, I suppose, how sternly those days of retreat had +tested our nerves. We had been not only retreating, but (at the same +time) working fiercely, and now, when for some while the work +slackened and, under the hot blazing sun, we found nothing for our +hands to do, a grinding irritable reaction settled down upon us.</p> + +<p>I had known in my earlier experience at the war the troubles that +inevitably rise from inaction; the little personal inconveniences, the +tyrannies of habits and manners and appearances, when you've got +nothing to do but sit and watch your immediate neighbour. But on that +earlier occasion our army had been successful; it seemed that the war +would soon find its conclusion in the collapse of Germany, and good +news from Europe smiled upon us every morning at breakfast. Now we +were tired and over-wrought. Good news there was none—indeed every +day brought disastrous tidings. We, ourselves, must look back upon a +hundred versts of fair smiling country that we had conquered with the +sacrifice of many thousands of lives and surrendered without the +giving of a blow. And always the force that compelled us to this was +sinister and ironical by its invisibility.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was the Russian temperament to declare exactly what it felt, to +give free rein to its moods and dislikes and discomforts. The weather +was beginning to be fiercely hot, there were many rumours of cholera +and typhus—we, all of us, lost colour and appetite, slept badly and +suffered from sudden headaches.</p> + +<p>Three days after our arrival at Mittövo we had all discovered private +hostilities and resentments. I was as bad as any one. I could not +endure the revolutionary student, Ivan Mihailovitch. I thought him +most uncleanly in his habits, and I was compelled to sleep in the same +room with him. Certainly it was true that washing was not one of the +most important things in the world to him. In the morning he would +lurch out of bed, put on a soiled shirt and trousers, dab his face +with a decrepit sponge, take a tiny piece of soap from an old tin box, +look at it, rub it on his fingers and put it hurriedly away again as +though he were ashamed of it. Sometimes, getting out of bed, he would +cry: "Have you heard the latest scandal? About the ammunition in the +Tenth Army! They say—" and then he would forget his washing +altogether. He did not shave his head, as most of us had done, but +allowed his hair to grow very long, and this, of course, was often a +subject of irritation to him. He had also a habit of sitting on his +bed in his nightclothes, yawning and scratching his body all over, +very slowly, with his long (and I'm afraid dirty) finger-nails, for +the space, perhaps, of a quarter of an hour. This I found difficult to +endure. His long white face was always a dirty shade of grey and his +jacket was stained with reminiscences of his meals. His habits at +table were terrible; he was always so deeply interested in what he was +saying that he had not time to close his mouth whilst he was eating, +to ask people to pass him food (he stretched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> his long dirty hand +across the table) or to pass food to others. He shouted a great deal +and was in a furious passion every five minutes. I also just at this +time found the boy Goga tiresome; the boy had not been taught by his +parents the duty that children owe to their elders and I am inclined +to believe that this duty is almost universally untaught in Russia. To +Goga a General was as nothing, he would contradict our old +white-haired General T——, when he came to dine with us, would +patronise the Colonel and assure the General's aide-de-camp that he +knew better. He would advance his father as a perpetual and faithful +witness to the truth of his statements. "You may say what you like," +he would cry to myself or a Sister, "but my father knows better than +you do. He has the front seat in the Moscow Opera all through the +season and has been to England three times." Goga also had been once +to England for a week (spent entirely on the Brighton Pier) and he +told me many things. He would forget, for a moment, that I was an +Englishman and would assure me that he knew better than I did. He was +a being with the best heart in the world, but his parents loved him so +much that they had neglected his education.</p> + +<p>These things may seem trifling enough, but they had, nevertheless, +their importance. Among the Sisters, Sister K—— was the unpopular +one. I myself must honestly confess that she was a woman ill-suited to +company less worthy than herself. She had an upright virtuous +character but she was narrow (a rare fault in a Russian), +superstitious, dogmatically religious, and entirely without tact. She +quite honestly thought us a poor lot and would say to me: "I hope, Mr. +Durward, you don't judge Russia by the specimens you find here," and +was, of course, always overheard. She was a strict moralist, but was +also generous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> with all the warmth of Russian generosity in money +matters. She was a marvellous hard worker, quite fearless, accurate, +and punctual in all things. She fought incessant battles with Anna +Petrovna who hated her as warmly as it was in her quiet, unruffled +heart to hate any one. The only thing stranger than the fierceness of +their quarrels was the suddenness of their conclusion. I remember that +at dinner one day they fought a battle over the question of a clean +towel with a heat and vigour that was Homeric. A quarter of an hour +later I found them quietly talking together. Anna Petrovna was showing +Sister K—— a large and hideous photograph of her children.</p> + +<p>"How sympathetic! How beautiful!" said Sister K——.</p> + +<p>"But I thought you hated her?" I said afterwards in confusion to Anna +Petrovna.</p> + +<p>"She was very sympathetic about my children," said Anna Petrovna +placidly.</p> + +<p>Then, of course, Sister Sofia Antonovna, the sister with the red eyes, +made trouble when she could. She was, as I discovered afterwards, a +bitterly disappointed woman, having been deserted by her fiancé only a +week before her marriage. That had happened three years ago and she +still loved him, so that she had her excuse for her view of the world. +My friends seemed to me, during those first weeks at Mittövo, simply a +company of good-hearted, ill-disciplined children. I had gone directly +back to my days in the nursery. Restraint of any kind there was none, +discipline as to time or emotions was undreamed of, and with it all a +vitality, a warmth of heart, a sincerity and honesty that made that +Otriad, perhaps, the most lovable company I have ever known. Russians +are fond of sneering at themselves; for him who declares that he likes +Russia and Russians they have either polite disbelief or gentle +contempt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> In England we have qualities of endurance, of reliability, +of solidity, to which, often enough, I long to return—but that warmth +of heart that I have known here for two long years, a warmth that +means love for the neglected, for the defeated, for the helpless, a +warmth that lights a fire on every hearth in every house in +Russia—that is a greater thing than the possessors of it know.</p> + +<p>Through all the little quarrels and disputes of our company there ran +the thread of the affair of Trenchard, Marie Ivanovna and Semyonov. +Trenchard was lighted now with the pleasure of their affection, and +Marie Ivanovna, who had been at first so popular amongst them, was +held to be hard and capricious. She, at least, did not make it easy +for them to like her. She had seemed in those first days in O—— as +though she wished to win all their hearts, but now it was as though +she had not time to consider any of us, as though she had something of +far greater importance to claim her attention. She was now very +continually with Semyonov and yet it seemed to me that it was rather +respect for his opinion and admiration of his independence than liking +that compelled her. He was, beyond any question, in love with her, if +the name of love can be given to the fierce, intolerant passion that +governed him.</p> + +<p>He made no attempt to disguise his feelings, was as rude to the rest +of us as he pleased, and, of course, flung his scorn plentifully over +Trenchard. But now I seemed to detect in him some shades of +restlessness and anxiety that I had never seen in him before. He was +not sure of her; he did not, I believe, understand her any more than +did the rest of us. With justice, indeed, I was afraid for her. His +passion, I thought, was as surely and as nakedly a physical one as any +other that I had seen precede it, and would as certainly pass as all +purely physical passions do. She was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> as ignorant of the world as on +the day when she arrived amongst us; but my feeling about her was that +she would receive his love almost as though in a dream, her thoughts +fixed on something far from him and in no way depending on him. At any +rate she was with him now continually. We judged her proud and +hard-hearted, all of us except Trenchard who loved her, Semyonov who +wanted her, and Nikitin, who, as I now believe, even then understood +her.</p> + +<p>Trenchard meanwhile was confused and unsettled: inaction did not suit +him any better than it did the rest of us. He had too much time to +think about Marie Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>He was undoubtedly pleased at his new popularity. He expanded under it +and became something of the loquacious and uncalculating person that +he had shown himself during his confession to me in the train. To the +Russians his loquacity was in no way strange or unpleasant. They were +in the habit of unburdening themselves, their hopes, their +disappointments, their joys, their tragedies, to the first strangers +whom they met. It seemed quite natural to them that Trenchard, puffing +his rebellious pipe, should talk to them about Glebeshire, Polchester, +Rafiel, Millie and Katherine Trenchard.</p> + +<p>"I'd like you to meet Katherine, Anna Petrovna," he would say. "You +would find her delightful. She's married now to a young man she ran +away with, which surprised every one—her running away, I mean, +because she was always considered such a serious character."</p> + +<p>"I forget whether you've seen my children, 'Mr.'" Anna Petrovna would +reply. "I must show you their photograph."</p> + +<p>And she would produce the large and hideous picture.</p> + +<p>He was the same as in those first days, and yet how immensely not the +same. He bore himself now with a chiv<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>alrous tact towards Marie +Ivanovna that was beyond all praise. He always cherished in his heart +his memory of their little conversation in the orchard. "How I wish," +he told me, "that I had made that conversation longer. It was so very +short and I might so easily have lengthened it. There were so many +things afterwards that I might have said—and she never gave me +another chance."</p> + +<p>She never did—she kept him from her. Kind to him, perhaps, but never +allowing him another moment's intimacy. He had almost the air, it +seemed to me, of patiently waiting for the moment when she should need +him, the air too of a man who was sure, in his heart, that that moment +would come.</p> + +<p>And the other thing that stiffened him was his hatred for Semyonov. +Hatred may seem too fierce a word for the emotion of any one as mild +and gentle as Trenchard—and yet hatred at this time it was. He seemed +no longer afraid of Semyonov and there was something about him now +which surprised the other man. Through all those first days at +Mittövo, when we seemed for a moment almost to have slipped out of the +war and to be leading the smaller more quarrelsome life of earlier +days, Trenchard was occupied with only one question—"What was he +feeling about Semyonov?"—"I felt as though I could stand anything if +only she didn't love him. Since that awful night of the Retreat I had +resigned myself to losing her; any one should marry her who would make +her happy—but he—never! But it was the indecision that I could not +bear. I didn't know—I couldn't tell, what she felt."</p> + +<p>The indecision was not to last much longer. One evening, when we had +been at Mittövo about a week, he was at the Cross watching the sun, +like a crimson flower, sink behind the dim grey forest. The Nestor, in +the evening mist, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> a golden shadow under the hill. This beauty +made him melancholy. He was wishing passionately, as he stood there, +for work, hard, dangerous, gripping work. He did not know that that +was to be the last idle minute of his life. Hearing a step on the path +he turned round to find Semyonov at his side.</p> + +<p>"Lovely view, isn't it?" said Semyonov, watching him.</p> + +<p>"Lovely," answered Trenchard.</p> + +<p>Semyonov sat down on the little stone seat beneath the Cross and +looked up at his rival. Trenchard looked down at him, hating his +square, stolid composure, his thick thighs, his fair beard, his +ironical eyes. "You're a <i>beastly</i> man!" he thought.</p> + +<p>"How long are you going to be with us, do you think?" asked Semyonov.</p> + +<p>"Don't know—depends on so many things."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go back to England? They want soldiers."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't pass my eyesight."</p> + +<p>"When are they going to begin doing something on the other Front, do +you think?"</p> + +<p>"When they're ready, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"They're very slow. Where's all your army we heard so much about?"</p> + +<p>"There's a big army going to be ready soon."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but we were told things would begin in May. It's only the +Germans who've begun."</p> + +<p>"I don't know; I've seen no English papers for some weeks."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Semyonov smiled, stood up, looked into Trenchard's +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I must go to England," he said slowly, "after the war. Marie Ivanovna +and I will go, I hope, together. She told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> me to-day that that is one +of the things that she hopes we will do together—later on."</p> + +<p>Trenchard returned Semyonov's gaze. After a moment he said:</p> + +<p>"Yes—you would enjoy it." He waited, then added: "I must be walking +back now. I'm late!" And he turned away to the house.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>ONE NIGHT</h3> + + +<p>Marie Ivanovna herself spoke to me of Semyonov. She found me alone +waiting for my morning tea. We were before the others, and could hear, +in the next room, Molozov splashing water about the floor and crying +to Michail, his servant, to pour "<i>Yestsho! Yestsho!" "Yestsho! +Yestsho!</i>"—"Still more! Still more," over his head.</p> + +<p>She stood in the doorway looking as though she hated my presence.</p> + +<p>"The others have not arrived," I said. "It's late to-day."</p> + +<p>"I can see," she answered. "Every one is idle now."</p> + +<p>Then her voice changed. She came across to me. We talked of +unimportant things for a while. Then she said: "I'm very happy, Mr. +Durward.... Be kind about it. Alexei Petrovitch and I...." She +hesitated.</p> + +<p>I looked at her and saw that she was again the young and helpless girl +whom I had not seen since that early morning before our first battle. +I said, very lamely, "If you are happy, Marie Ivanovna, I am glad."</p> + +<p>"You think it terrible of me," she said swiftly. "And why do you all +talk of being happy? What does <i>that</i> matter? But I can trust him. +He's strong and afraid of nothing."</p> + +<p>I could say nothing.</p> + +<p>"Of course you think me very bad—that I have treated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +—John—shamefully—yes?... I will not defend myself to you. What is +there to defend? John and I could never have lived together, <i>never</i>. +You yourself must see that."</p> + +<p>"It does not matter what I think," I answered. "I am Trenchard's +friend, and he has no knowledge of life nor human nature. He has made +a bad start. You must forgive me if I think more of him than of you, +Marie Ivanovna."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said fiercely. "It is John—John—John, you all think of. +But John would not have loved me if he knew me as I truly am. And now, +at last, I can be myself. It does not matter to Alexei Petrovitch what +I am."</p> + +<p>"But you have known him so short a time—and you have been so quick. +If you had waited...."</p> + +<p>"Waited!" she caught me up. "Waited! How can one wait when one isn't +allowed to wait? It must be finished here, at once, and I'm not going +to finish alone. I'm frightened, Mr. Durward, but also I must see it +right through. He makes me brave. He's afraid of nothing. I couldn't +leave this, and yet I was frightened to go on alone. With him beside +me I'm not afraid."</p> + +<p>Anna Petrovna interrupted us.</p> + +<p>"It's Goga's stomach again," she said placidly. "He's had great pain +all night. It was those sweets yesterday. Just give me that glass, my +dear. Weak tea's the only thing he can have."</p> + +<p>Well, I had said nothing to Marie Ivanovna. What was there I could +have said?</p> + +<p>And the next thing about Trenchard was that he had got his wish, and +was lying on his back once more, in one of our nice, simple, +uncomfortable haycarts, looking up at the evening sky. This was the +evening after his conversation with Semyonov. Quite suddenly the +battle had caught us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> into its arms again. It was raging now in the +woods to the right of us, woods on the further side of the Nestor, +situated on a tributary. I will quote now directly from his diary:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As our line of carts crossed the great river I could hear +the muffled "brum-brum" of the cannons and "tap-tap-tap" of +the machine-guns now so conventionally familiar. Nikitin was +lying in silence at my side. Behind us came twenty wagons +with the sanitars; the evening was very still, plum-colour +in the woods, misty over the river; the creaking of our +carts was the only sound, save the "brum-brum" and the +"tap-tap-tap"....</p> + +<p>I lay on my back and thought of Semyonov and myself. I had +in my mind two pictures. One was of Semyonov sitting on the +stone under the cross, looking up at me with comfortable and +ironical insolence, Semyonov so strong and resolute and +successful. Semyonov who got what he wanted, did what he +wanted, said what he wanted.</p> + +<p>The other picture was of myself, as I had been the other +night when I had gone with the wagons to Nijnieff to fetch +the wounded. I saw myself standing in a muddy little lane +just outside the town, under pouring rain. The wagons waited +there, the horses stamping now and then, and the wounded men +on the only wagon that was filled, moaned and cried. +Shrapnel whizzed overhead—sometimes crying, like an echo, +in the far distance, sometimes screaming with the rage of a +hurt animal close at hand. Groups of soldiers ran swiftly +past me, quite silent, their heads bent. Somewhere on the +high road I could hear motor-cars spluttering and humming. +At irregular intervals Red Cross men would arrive with +wounded, would ask in a whisper that was inhuman and +isolating whether there were room on my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> carts. Then the +body would be lifted up; there would be muttered directions, +the wounded man would cry, then the other wounded would also +cry—after that, there would be the dismal silence again, +silence broken only by the shrapnel and the heavy plopping +smothers of the rain. But it was myself upon whom my eyes +were fixed, myself, a miserable figure, the rain dripping +from me, slipping down my neck, squelching under my boots. +And as I stood there I was afraid. That was what I now saw. +I had been terribly afraid for the first time since I had +come to the war. I had worked all day in the bandaging room, +and perhaps my physical weariness was responsible; but +whatever it might be there I was, a coward. At the threat of +every shrapnel I bent my head and shrugged my shoulders, at +every cry of the wounded men—one man was delirious and sang +a little song—a shudder trembled all down my body. I +thought of the bridge between myself and the Otriad—how +easily it might be blown up! and then, if the Division were +beaten back what massacre there would be! I wanted to go +home, to sleep, to be safe and warm—above all, to be safe! +I saw before me some of the wounded whom I had bandaged +to-day—men without faces or with hanging jaws that must be +held up with the hand whilst the bandage was tied. One man +blind, one man mad (he thought he was drowning in hot +water), one man holding his stomach together with his hands. +I saw all these figures crowding round me in the lane—I +also saw the dead men in the forest, the skull, the flies, +the strong blue-grey trousers.... I shook so that my teeth +chattered—a very pitiful figure.</p> + +<p>Well, that was the other night. It was true that to-night I +did not feel frightened—at least not as yet. But then it +was a beautiful evening, very peaceful, still and warm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>—and +there was Nikitin. In any case there were those two figures +whom I must consider—Semyonov and myself. That brief +conversation last night had brought us quite sharply face to +face. I found to my own surprise that Semyonov's declaration +of his engagement had not been a great shock to me, had not +indeed altered very greatly the earlier situation. But it +had shown me quite clearly that my own love for Marie +Ivanovna was in no way diminished, that I must protect her +from a man who was, I felt, quite simply a "beastly" man.</p> + +<p><i>Well</i>, then if Semyonov and I were to fight it out, I would +need to be at my best. Did that little picture of the other +evening show me at my best? This business presented a bigger +fight than the simple one with Semyonov. I knew, quite +clearly, as I lay on my back in the cart, that the fight +against Semyonov and the fight against ... was mingled +together, depended for their issue one upon the other—that +the dead men in the forest had no merely accidental +connexion with Marie Ivanovna's safety and Semyonov's +scornful piracies.</p> + +<p>Well, <i>then</i> ... Semyonov and I, I and my old dead uncle, +myself shaking in the road the other night under the rain! +What was to be the issue of all of it?</p> + +<p>I, on this lovely evening, saw quite clearly the progress of +events that had brought me to this point. One: that drive +with Durward on the first day when we had stopped at the +trench and heard the frogs. Two: the evening at O——, when +Marie Ivanovna had been angry and we had first heard the +cannon. Three: the day at S—— and Marie kneeling on the +cart with her hand on Semyonov's shoulder. Four: her refusal +of me, the bodies in the forest, the Retreat, that night +Nikitin (getting well into the thick of it now). Five: the +talk with Marie in the park. Six: the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> wet night at +Nijnieff. Seven: last night's little talk with Semyonov.... +Yes, I could see now that I had been advancing always +forward into the forest, growing ever nearer and nearer, +perceiving now the tactics of the enemy, beaten here, +frightened there, but still penetrating—not, as yet, +retreating ... and always, my private little history +marching with me, confused with the private little histories +of all of the others, all of them penetrating more deeply +and more deeply....</p> + +<p>And if I lost my nerve I was beaten! If I had lost my nerve +no protecting of Marie, no defiance of Semyonov—and, far +beyond these, abject submission to my enemy in the forest. +<i>If</i> I had lost my nerve!... <i>Had</i> I? Was it only weariness +the other night? But twice now I had been properly beaten, +and why, after all, should I imagine that I would be able to +put up a fight—I who had never in all my life fought +anything successfully? I lay on my back, looked at the sky. +I sat up, looked at the country, I set my teeth, looked at +Nikitin.</p> + +<p>Nikitin grunted. "I've had a good nap," he said. "You should +have had one. There'll be plenty of work for us to-night by +the sound of it." We turned a corner of the road through the +wood and one of our own batteries jumped upon us.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad it's not raining," I said.</p> + +<p>"We've still some way to go," said Nikitin, sitting up. +"What a lovely evening!" Then he added, quite without +apparent connexion, "Well, you're more at home amongst us +all now, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said I.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that. And what do you think of Andrey +Vassilievitch?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>I answered: "Oh! I like him! ... but I don't think he's +happy at the war," I added.</p> + +<p>"I want you to like him," Nikitin said. "He's a splendid man ... I +have known him many years. He is merry and simple and +it is easy to laugh at him, but it is always easy to laugh +at the best people. You must like him, 'Mr.'... He likes you +very much."</p> + +<p>I felt as though Nikitin were here forming an alliance +between the three of us. Well, I liked Nikitin, I liked +Andrey Vassilievitch. I listened to the battery, now some +way behind us, then said:</p> + +<p>"Of course, I am his friend if he wishes."</p> + +<p>Nikitin repeated solemnly: "Andrey Vassilievitch is a +splendid fellow."</p> + +<p>Then we arrived. Here, beside the broad path of the forest +there was a clearing and above the clearing a thick pattern +of shining stars curved like the top of a shell. Here, in +the open, the doctors had made a temporary hospital, +fastening candles on the trees, arranging two tables on +trestles, all very white and clean under a brilliant full +moon. There were here two Sisters whom I did not know, +several doctors, one of them a fat little army doctor who +had often been a visitor to our Otriad. The latter greeted +Nikitin warmly, nodded to me. He was a gay, merry little man +with twinkling eyes. "<i>Noo tak.</i> Fine, our hospital, don't +you think? Plenty to do this night, my friend. Here, +<i>golubchik</i>, this way.... Finger, is it? Oh! that's nothing. +Here, courage a moment. Where are the scissors?... scissors, +some one. One moment.... <i>One</i> ... moment. Ah! there you +are!" The finger that had been hanging by a shred fell into +the basin. The soldier muttered something, slipped on to his +knees, his face grey under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> the moon, then huddled into +nothing, like a bundle of old clothes, fainted helplessly +away.</p> + +<p>"Here, water!... No, take him over there! That's right. +Well, 'Mr.'—how are you? Lovely night.... Plenty of work +there'll be, too. Oh! you're going down to the <i>Vengerovsky +Polk</i>? Yes, they're down to the right there +somewhere—across the fields.... Warm over there."</p> + +<p>The noise just then of the batteries was terrific. We were +compelled to shout at one another. A battery behind us +bellowed like a young bull and the shrapnel falling at some +distance amongst the trees had a strange splashing sound as +of a stone falling into water.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> The candles twinkled in +the breeze and the place had the air of a Christmas-tree +celebration, the wounded soldiers waiting their turn as +children wait for their presents. The starlight gave the +effect of a blue-frosted crispness to the pine-strewn +ground. We arranged our wagons safely, then, followed by the +sanitars, walked off, Nikitin almost fantastically tall +under the starlight as he strode along. The forest-path +stopped and we came to open country. Fields with waving corn +stretched before us to be lost in the farther distance in +the dark shadows of the forest.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> It must be remembered that this account is +Trenchard's—taken from his diary. In my own experience I +have never known the bursting of shell to sound in the least +like a stone in water. But he insists on the accuracy of +this. Throughout this and the succeeding chapters there are +many statements for which I have only his authority.—P.D.</p></div> + +<p>A little bunch of soldiers crouched here, watching, Nikitin +spoke to them.</p> + +<p>"Here, <i>golubchik</i> ... tell me! what <i>polk</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Moskovsky, your Honour." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And the Vengerovsky ... they're to the right, are they?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, your Honour. By the high road, when it comes into the +forest."</p> + +<p>"What? There where the road turns?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tak totchno.</i>"</p> + +<p>"How are things down there just now? Wounded, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ne mogoo znat.</i> I'm unable to say, your Honour ... but +there's been an attack there an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"Are those ours?"—listening to a battery across the fields.</p> + +<p>"Ours, your Honour."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll go on and see."</p> + +<p>I had listened to this conversation with the sensation of a +man who has stopped himself on the very edge of a precipice. +I thought in those few moments with a marvellous and +penetrating clarity. I had, after all, been always until now +at the battle of S——, or when I had gone with the wagons +to Nijnieff, on the outskirts of the thing. I knew that +to-night, in another ten minutes, I would be in the +middle—the "very middle." As I waited there I recalled the +pages of the diary of some officer, a diary that had been +shown me quite casually by its owner. It had been a miracle +of laconic brevity: "6.30 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span>, down to the battery. All +quiet. 8.0, three of their shells. One of ours killed, two +wounded. Five yards' distance. 8.30, breakfasted; K. arrived +from the 'Doll's House'—all quiet there," and so on. This, +I knew, was the proper way to look at the affair: "6.0 <span class="smcap">A. +M.</span>, down to the battery. 7.0 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span>, breakfasted. 8.0 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span>, +dead...." For the life of me now I could not look at it like +that. I saw a thousand things that were, perhaps, not really +there, but were there at any rate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> for me. If I was beaten +to-night I was beaten once and for all.... I saw the shining +road under the starlight and shadows of wounded men, +groaning and stumbling, whispering their way along.</p> + +<p>"Let's go," said Nikitin.</p> + +<p>I drew a breath and stepped out into the moonlight. A shell +burst with a delicate splash of fire amongst the stars. The +road looked very long and very, very lonely.</p> + +<p>However, soon I found myself walking along it quite casually +and talking about unimportant peaceful things. "Come," I +thought to myself. "This really isn't so bad."</p> + +<p>"It's a great pity," Nikitin said, "that I can't read +English. Have to take your novelists as they choose to give +them us. Who is there now in England?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said I as one talks in a dream, "there's Hardy, and +Henry James, and Conrad. I've seen translations of Conrad in +Petrograd. And then there's Wells—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Wells I know. But he writes stories for boys.... +There's Jack London, but his are American. I like to read an +English novel sometimes. Your English life is so cosy. You +have tea before the fire and everything is comfortable. We +don't know what comfort is in Russia."</p> + +<p>A machine gun "rat-tat-tat-tated" close to us, and three +rockets, like a flight of startled birds, rose suddenly +together on the far horizon.</p> + +<p>"No, we have no comfort in Russia," repeated Nikitin. "Now I +fancy that an English country-house...."</p> + +<p>We had reached the further wood; the moonlight fell away +from us and the shadows shifted and trembled under the +reflection of rockets and a projector that swung lazily and +unsteadily, like something nodding in its sleep.</p> + +<p>On the left of the road there was a house standing back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> in +its own garden. I could see dimly that this was a row of +country villas.</p> + +<p>"Stand by this gate five minutes," Nikitin whispered to me. +"I must find the Colonel. The sanitars will come and fetch +you when I've settled the spot for our bandaging."</p> + +<p>Nikitin disappeared and I was quite alone. I felt terribly +desolate. I stood back against the gate of the villa +watching soldiers hurry by, seeing high mysterious hedges, +the roofs of houses, a line of lighted sky, the tops of +trees, all these things rising and falling as the glare in +the heavens rose and fell. There was sometimes a terrible +noise and sometimes an equally terrible stillness. Somewhere +in the darkness a man was groaning, "Oh! ah!—Oh! ah!" +without cessation. Somewhere the gate of one of the villas +swung to and fro, creaking. Sometimes soldiers would stare +at my motionless figure and then pass on. All this time, as +in one's dreams sometimes one holds off a nightmare, I was +keeping my fear at bay. I had now exactly the sensation that +I had known so often in my dream, that I was standing +somewhere in the dark, that the Enemy was watching me and +waiting to spring. But to-night I was only <i>nearly</i> afraid. +One step on my part, one extra noise, one more flare of +light, and I would abandon myself to panic, but, although +the perspiration was wet on my forehead, my heart thumping, +and my hands dry and hot, I was not yet <i>quite</i> afraid.</p> + +<p>I had a strange sensation of suffocation, as though I were +at the bottom of a well, a well black and damp, with the +stars of the sky miles away. There came to me, with a kind +of ironic sentimentality, the picture of the drawing-room at +home in Polchester, the corner where the piano stood with a +palm in an ugly brass pot just behind it, the table near the +door with a brass Indian tray and a fat photograph-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>book +with, gilt clasps, the picture of "Christ being Scourged" +above the fireplace, and the green silk screen that stood +under the picture in the summer.</p> + +<p>A soldier stopped and spoke to me: "Your Honour, it's on the +right—the next gate." I followed him without attention, +having no doubt but that this was one of our own sanitars, +and accompanied a group of soldiers that surrounded a +bobbing kitchen on wheels. I was puzzled by the kitchen +because I knew that one had not been brought by our Otriad, +but I thought that the doctors of the Division had perhaps +begged our men to aid the army sanitars.</p> + +<p>We hurried through a gate to the right, where in what +appeared to be a yard of some kind, the kitchen was +established and then, from out of the very earth as it +seemed, soldiers appeared, clustering around it with their +tin cans. The soldier who was in charge of the party said to +me in a confidential whisper: "There's plenty of <i>Kasha</i>, +your Honour, and the soup will last us, too."</p> + +<p>"Very good," said I in a bewildered voice. At the strange +accent the soldier looked at me, and then I looked at the +soldier. The soldier was a stranger to me (a pleasant round +man with a huge smiling mouth and two chins) and I was a +stranger to the soldier.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the soldier, looking, "I thought...."</p> + +<p>"I thought—" said I, most uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>The soldiers vanished back into the darknesses round the +kitchen. Voices, whispering, could be heard.</p> + +<p>"Now, that's the end," thought I. "I'm shot as a German +spy."</p> + +<p>I looked at the soldiers, clustered like bees round the +kitchen, then I slipped through the gate into the dark road. +I stood there listening. The battle seemed to have drawn +away, because I could hear rifles, machine-guns, cannon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +muffled round a corner of the hill. Here there was now +silence, broken only by soldiers who hurried up the road or +went in and out at the villa gates. I felt abandoned. How +was I to discover Nikitin again? Before what gate had I +stood? I did not know; I seemed to know nothing.</p> + +<p>I moved down the road, very miserable and very cold. I had +stupidly left my coat in one of the wagons. I walked on, my +boots knocking against one another, thinking to myself: "If +I'm not given something to do very soon I shall be just as I +was the other night at Nijnieff—and then I shall suddenly +take to my heels down this road as hard as I can go!"</p> + +<p>It was then that I tumbled straight into the arms of +Nikitin, who was standing at the edge of the forest, +watching for me. I was so happy that I felt now afraid of +nothing. I held Nikitin's arm, babbling something about +kitchens and Germans.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't understand what you say," I remember Nikitin +replied; "but you must come and work. There's plenty of it."</p> + +<p>We moved to a cottage on the very boundary of the forest, +where a little common ran down to the moonlight. Passing +through a narrow passage, I entered into a little room with +a large white stove. On the top of the stove, under the +roof, crouched a boy or a young man with long black hair and +a white face. This youth wore what resembled a white shirt +over baggy white trousers. His feet were bare and very +dirty. Nothing moved except his eyes. He sat there, in +exactly that position, all night.</p> + +<p>The room was small but was the best that could be obtained. +Within the space of ten minutes it became a perfect +shambles. The wounded were brought in without pause and +under the candlelight Nikitin, two sanitars, and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> worked +until the sweat ran down our backs and arms in streams. It +dripped from my nose, into my mouth, into my eyes. The +wounds were horrible. No man seemed to come into the room +with an unmangled body. The smell rose higher and higher, +the bloody rags lay about the kitchen floor, torn arms, +smashed legs, heads with gaping wounds, the pitiful crying +and praying, the shrill voices of the delirious, Nikitin, +his arms steeped in blood to the elbows, probing, cutting, +digging, I myself bandaging until I did not know what my +hands were doing.... Then suddenly the battle coming right +back to us again, overhead now as it seemed; the cannon +shaking three silly staring china dogs on the kitchen +dresser, the rifle fire clattering like tumbling crockery +about the walls of the cottage—and through it all the white +youth, crouched like a ghost on the stove, watching without +pause....</p> + +<p>"Ah, no, your Honour.... Ah, no! ... I can't! I can't! Oh, +oh, oh, oh!" and then sobs, the man breaking down like a +child, hiding his face in his arms, his wounded leg +twitching convulsively. I paused, wiped the sweat from my +eyes, stood up. Nikitin looked at me.</p> + +<p>"Take some fresh air!" he said. "Go out with the stretcher +for half an hour. I can manage here."</p> + +<p>I wiped my forehead.</p> + +<p>"Sure you can manage?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Nikitin. "Here, hold his back!... No, <i>durak</i>, +his <i>back</i>. <i>Bojé moi</i>, can't you get your arm under? +There—like that. <i>Horosho, golubchik, horosho</i> ... only a +minute! There! There!"</p> + +<p>I washed my hands and went out. The air caressed my forehead +like cold water; from the little garden at the back there +came scents of flowers; the moonlight was blue on the +common. Eight sanitars were waiting to start. The Feld<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>scher +in charge of them did not, I thought, seem greatly pleased +when he saw me, but then I am often stupidly sensitive; no +one said anything and we started. We carried two stretchers +and a soldier from the trenches was with us to guide us.</p> + +<p>I could see that the men were not happy. I heard one of them +mutter to another that they should not have been sent now; +that they should have waited until the attack was over ... +"and the full moon.... Did any one ever see such a moon?"</p> + +<p>We came to cross-roads and advanced very carefully.</p> + +<p>As we crossed the road I was conscious of great excitement. +The noise around us was terrific and different from any +noise that I heard before. I did not think at the time, but +was informed afterwards that it was because we were almost +directly under a high-wooded cliff (the actual position +about whose possession the battle was being fought), that +the noise was so tremendous. The echo flung everything back +so that each report sounded three or four times. This +certainly had the strangest effect—a background as it were +of rolling thunder, sometimes distant, sometimes very close +and, in front of this, clapping, bellowing, stamping, and +then suddenly an absolutely <i>smashing</i> effect as though some +one cried: "Well, this will settle it!" In quieter intervals +one heard the birdlike flight of bullets above one's head +and the irritated bad temper of the machine-guns. At every +<i>smashing</i> noise the sanitars, who were, I believe, +schoolmasters and little clerks, and therefore of a more +sensitive head than the peasant soldier, ducked their heads, +and one fat red-faced man tried to lie down flat on two +occasions and was cursed heartily by the Feldscher. I myself +felt no fear but only a pounding exhilarating excitement, +because I was at last "really in it." We found one wounded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +man very soon, lying under the hedge with the top of his +head gone. Four sanitars (their relief showed very plainly +in their faces) returned with him. We advanced again, +skirting now a little orchard and keeping always in the +shadow under the hedge. Our guide, the soldier, assured us +that the wounded man was "very near—quite close." Then we +came to a large barn on the edge of what seemed a silver +lake but was in reality a long field under the full light of +the moon. As we paused I saw, on the further side of the +field, two shells burst, very quickly, one after the other.</p> + +<p>We all stopped under the shelter of the barn.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Feldscher to the soldier, "where's your +man?"</p> + +<p>"Only a short way," said the soldier. "Quite close."</p> + +<p>"Across that field?" asked the Feldscher, pointing to the +moonlight.</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly," said the soldier.</p> + +<p>The Feldscher scratched his head. "We can't go further +without orders," he said. "That's very dangerous in front +there. I'm responsible for these men. We must return and +ask, your Honour," he said, turning to me.</p> + +<p>"We shall be nearly an hour returning," I said. "Is your +friend badly wounded?" I asked the soldier.</p> + +<p>"Very," said he.</p> + +<p>"You see ..." I said to the Feldscher. "We can't possibly +leave him like that. It's only a little way."</p> + +<p>The Feldscher shook his head. "I can't be responsible. I had +my orders to go so far and no further. I must see that my +men are safe."</p> + +<p>The sanitars who were sitting in a row on their haunches +under the shadow of the barn all nodded their heads.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know Russians were cowards," I said fiercely.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Feldscher shook his head quite unmoved: "Your Honour +must understand that I had my orders." Then he added slowly: +"but of course if your Honour wishes to go yourself ... I +would come with you. The others ... they must do as they +please. They are in their right to return. But I should +advise that we return."</p> + +<p>"I'm going on," I said.</p> + +<p>I must say here that I felt no other sensation than a blind +and quite obstinate selfishness. I had no thought of Nikitin +or of the sanitars. I did not (and this I must emphasise) +think, for a moment, of the wounded man. If the situation +had been that by returning I should save many lives and by +advancing should save only my own I should still have +advanced. If the only hope for the wounded man was my +instant speech with Nikitin I would not have gone back to +speak with him. I was at this moment neither brave nor +fearful. I repeat that I had no sensation except an +absolutely selfish obstinate challenge that I, myself, was +addressing to Something in space. I was saying: "At last, my +chance has come. Now you shall see whether I fly from you or +no. <i>Now</i> you shall do your worst and fail. I'm the hunter +now, not the hunted."</p> + +<p>I was conscious of nothing but this quite childish +preoccupation with myself. I was, nevertheless, pleased with +myself. "There, you see," some one near me seemed to say, +"he's not quite so unpractical after all. He's full of +common sense." I looked at the row of sanitars squatting on +the ground, and felt like a schoolmaster with his children.</p> + +<p>"You'd better go home then," I said scornfully. The +Feldscher, who was a short stocky man, with a red face and +melancholy eyes (something like a prize-fighter turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +poet), dismissed them. They went off in a line under the +hedge.</p> + +<p>The man obviously thought me a tiresome prig. He had no +romantic illusions about the business; he had not been a +Feldscher during twenty years for nothing and knew that a +wound was a wound; when a man was dead he was <i>dead</i>.</p> + +<p>However.... "Truly it's not far?" he asked the soldier.</p> + +<p>"<i>Tak totchno</i>," the man answered, his face quite without +expression.</p> + +<p>We crossed the moonlit field and for a brief moment silence +fell, as though an audience were holding its breath watching +us. On the other side were cottages, the outskirts of a tiny +village. Here beside these cottages we fell into a fantastic +world. That small village must in other times have been a +pretty place, nestling with its gardens by the river under +the hill. It seemed now to rock and rattle under the noise +of the cannon. All the open spaces were like white marble in +the moonlight and in these open spaces there was utter +silence and emptiness. The place seemed deserted—and yet, +in every shadow, in long lines under the cottage wells, in +little clumps and clusters round trees or ruins there were +eyes staring, the gleam of muskets shone, little specks of +light, dancing from wall to wall. Everywhere there were +bodies, legs, boots, arms, heads, sudden caps, sudden +fingers, sudden hot and streaming breaths. And over +everything this infernal noise and yet no human sound. A +nightmare of the true nightmare of dreams. The open silver +spaces, the little gardens thick with flowers, the high moon +and the starry sky, not a living soul to be seen—and +nevertheless watchers everywhere. "Step forward on to that +little plot of grass in front of the cottage windows and +you're a dead man"—the moonlight said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> There were men in +the body of the earth, not in trenches, but in holes—my +foot stepped on a head of hair and some low voice cursed me. +I was, I suppose, by this time, a little delirious with my +adventure. I know that I could now distinguish no separate +sounds—shells and bullets had vanished and in their stead +were whispers and screams and shouts of triumph and bursts +of laughter. Songs in chorus, somewhere miners hammering +below the earth, somewhere storm at sea with the crash of +waves on rocks and the shriek of wind through rigging, +somewhere some one who dropped heavy loads of furniture so +carelessly that I cursed him—and always these little +patches of moonlight, so tempting just because one was +forbidden....</p> + +<p>We were not popular here. Husky, breathless voices whispered +to us "to be away from here, quick. We would draw the fire. +What did we want here now?"</p> + +<p>"Have you any wounded?" we whispered in return.</p> + +<p>"No, no," the answer came. "Keep away from the moonlight." +The voices came to us connected sometimes with a nose, an +eye, or a leg, often enough out of the heaven itself.</p> + +<p>"There's a man wounded behind the next lines," some voice +murmured.</p> + +<p>We stumbled on and suddenly came to a river with very steep +banks and a number of narrow and slender bridges. If this +<i>had</i> in reality been a nightmare this river could not have +obtruded itself more often than it did. We discovered to our +dismay that our soldier-guide had disappeared (exactly as in +a nightmare he would have done). We crossed the river +(bathed of course in moonlight), the plank bridge shaking +and quivering beneath us.</p> + +<p>We had then a difficult task. Here a row of cottages beneath +the very edge of the bank and in the cottage shadow the +soldiers were ranged in a long line. Their boots<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> stretched +to the verge of the bank, which was slippery and uncertain. +We had to walk on this with our stretchers, stepping between +the boots, stumbling often and slipping down towards the +water.</p> + +<p>"Any wounded?" we whispered again and again.</p> + +<p>"No," the whisper came back. "Hasten.... Take care of the +moonlight."</p> + +<p>And then, to my infinite relief and comfort, behind the +cottages we found our wounded man. There was a dark yard +here, apparently quite deserted. The Feldscher made an +exclamation and stepped forward. Three bodies lay together, +over one another; two men were dead and cold, the third +stirred, very faintly, as we came up, opened his eyes, +smiled and said:</p> + +<p>"Eh, <i>Bojé moi</i> ... at last!"</p> + +<p>As we moved him on to the stretcher, with a little sigh he +fainted again. He had a bad stomach-wound. Before picking up +the stretcher, the Feldscher wiped his forehead and crossed +himself.</p> + +<p>"It's a heavy thing for two," he said. "He's a big man," +looking at the soldier. There was now somewhere, apparently +not very far away, hot rifle fire. The crackle sparkled in +the air, as though one were living in a world in which all +the electricity was loose. The other firing seemed to have +drawn away, and the "Boom—Boom—boom" in front of us was +echo from the hill....</p> + +<p>We picked up the stretcher and started. It was fortunate for +us that we had that difficult bit beside the river at the +beginning of our journey. I don't know how we managed it, +stepping over the endless row of legs, with every side step +the stretcher lurching over to the left and threatening to +pitch us into the river. So slippery too was the ground that +our boots refused to grip. The man on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> the stretcher was +dreaming, making a little sound like an unceasing lullaby on +two notes—"Na ... na! Na ... na! Na ... na!"</p> + +<p>We were compelled to cross the river twice, and the planks +bent under our weight until I was assured that they would +snap. My arms were beginning to ache and the sweat to +trickle down my spine. My right boot had rubbed my heel. We +left the river behind us and then, suddenly, my right hand +began to slip off the iron handle of the stretcher.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to put it down a moment," I said. We laid it on +the ground and at the same instant a bullet sang so close to +my ear that I felt it as though an insect had bitten me. +Then a shell, exploding, as it seemed to us, amongst the +very cottages where we had just been, startled us.</p> + +<p>"We saved our man," said the Feldscher, looking at the +soldier, "but we'd better move on. It's uncomfortable here."</p> + +<p>We picked the thing up and started again, and at once my +hand began to slip away from its hold (nightmare sensation +exactly). I bent my head down, managed to lick my hand +without raising it, and stiffened the muscles of my arm. We +were watched, once more, by a million eyes—again I stepped +on a head of hair buried somewhere in the ground. Then some +voice cried shrilly: "Ah! Ah!" ... some man hit.</p> + +<p>Every bone in my body began to ache. I was, of course, +rottenly trained, without a sound muscle in my body, and my +legs threatened cramp, my heel grated against my boot and +sent a stab to my stomach with every movement, my shoulders +seemed to pull away from the stretcher as though they would +separately rebel against my orders ... and my hand began +again to slip. The Feldscher also began to feel the strain. +Once he asked me to stop. He apolo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>gised; I could see the +sweat pouring down his face: "A very big man'" he said.</p> + +<p>Whether it were the echo, whether my ears had by this time +been utterly deafened and confused I do not know, but now +the shock and rumble of the cannon seemed to come directly +from under my feet. I felt perhaps as though I were on one +of those railways that I have seen in London at a fair when +the ground shakes and quivers beneath you. It really would +not have surprised me had the earth suddenly yawned and +swallowed me. Every plague now beset me. My hand refused to +hold the stretcher, my body was wet with perspiration, my +face was for some reason covered with mud.... There was a +snap and my braces burst. My belt was loose and my trousers, +as though they had waited for their opportunity, slipped +down over my knees. I felt the cold night wind on my flesh. +Neither decency nor comfort mattered to me now—I would have +walked gladly naked through the world. The Feldscher was +making a grinding noise between his teeth. I was no longer +conscious of shell or bullets. I heard no noise. I was aware +of neither light nor darkness. I could not have told my name +had any one asked me it. I did not recognise trees nor +houses, nor was I at all aware that with a muddy face and my +trousers down to my knees I was a strange figure. I was +aware of one thing only—that I must keep my right hand on +the stretcher. My left behaved decently enough, but my right +was a rebel. I felt a personal fury against it, as though I +said to it: "Ah! but I'll punish you when I get back!" I +with all my mental consciousness "willed" it to remain on +the handle. It slipped. I drove it back. It slipped further, +it was almost gone.... With a supreme effort I drove it back +again, "I <i>will</i> fall off," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> my hand. "You shall +<i>not</i>," said I. "I have!" cried my hand triumphantly. +"Back!" I swore, driving it.</p> + +<p>We were now, I believe, both stumbling along, the wounded +man pitching from side to side. Of the rest of our journey I +have the most confused memory. The firing had no longer any +effect upon me. I was thinking of my rebellious hand, my +aching heel, and the irritation of my trousers clustered +about my legs. "Another step and I shall fall!" I +thought.... "I shall sleep." I heard, from a great distance +as it seemed, the soldier's "Na ... Na! Na ... na!" I +replied to him as a nurse to her child. "Na ... na! Na ... +na!" ... Then I heard Nikitin's voice....</p> + +<p>Half an hour after my adventure I was watching the dawn +flood the sky from the little garden at the back of the +cottage. It seemed that those stretchers are really heavy +things for any two men to carry.... We had been three hours +on our journey!</p> + +<p>Well—I sat in the garden watching the sun rise. To my right +were four dead men neatly laid out in a row under a tree. +Their faces had not been covered but their eyes were closed, +their cheeks, hands, and feet like wax. In front of them the +young man who had sat on the stove in the kitchen all night +and watched us at work was mowing the tall grass with a +scythe. He was going to dig graves. He wore a white shirt +and white trousers and had long black hair.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't they take you for a soldier?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>"Consumptive," he said.</p> + +<p>I had washed my face, hitched up my trousers. I sat on the +trunk of a tree, watched the dew on the grass and the faint +blue like the colour of a bird's egg flood the sky, staining +it pale yellow. All firing had utterly ceased.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> There was +not a sound except the birds in the trees who were beginning +to sing. A soldier, a fine grave figure with a black beard, +was washing in a little pool at the end of the garden. He +was naked save for his white drawers. There was, I repeat, +not a sound. Our cottage looked so peaceful—smoke coming +from the chimney. No sign of the shambles, no sign except +the four dead men, all so grave and quiet. The blue in the +sky grew deeper. Then the sun rose, a jolly gold ball with +red clouds swinging in streamers away from it.</p> + +<p>The birds sang above my head so loudly that the boy who was +mowing looked up at them. The soldier finished his washing, +put on his shirt. He was a Mahommedan, I perceived, because +he prayed, very solemnly, his face to the sun, bowing to the +ground. The grass fell before the flashing scythe, the sun +flamed behind the trees, and I was happy as I had never +known happiness in my life before.</p> + +<p>I had done only what all the soldiers are doing every day of +their lives. I had been only where they always were.... But +I felt that I need never be afraid again. Every one knows +how an early summer morning can give one confidence; in my +happiness, God forgive me, I thought that my struggles were +at an end, that I had met my enemy and defeated him ... that +I was worthy and able to defend Marie.</p> + +<p>These things may seem foolish now when one knows what +followed them, but the happiness of that morning at least +was real. Perhaps all over Europe there were men, at that +moment, happy as I was, because they had proved something to +themselves. Then Nikitin called to me, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Tea, 'Mr.' and <i>bulki</i> (white bread) and sausage?"</p> + +<p>"All right, I'm coming," I answered. "Listen, <i>golub<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>chik</i>," +I called to the soldier. "Bring me some water in your +kettle. I'll wash my hands."</p> + +<p>He came, smiling, towards me.</p> + +<p>I have given the incidents of this night in great detail for +my own satisfaction, because I wish to forget nothing. To +others the little adventure must seem trivial, but to myself +it represented the climax of a chain of events. </p></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_TWO" id="PART_TWO"></a>PART TWO</h2> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE LOVERS</h3> + + +<p>Semyonov and Marie Ivanovna did not offer us a picture of idealised +love—they did not offer us a picture of anything, and although they +were, both of them, most certainly changed, they could not be said in +any way to do what the Otriad expected of them. The Otriad quite +frankly expected them to be ashamed of themselves. To expect that of +Semyonov at any time showed a lamentable lack of interest in human +character, but, as I have already said, our Otriad was always excited +by results rather than causes. Semyonov had never shown himself +ashamed of anything, and he most certainly did not intend to begin +now. He had never disguised his love for Marie Ivanovna and now she +was his "spoils"—won by his own strong piratical hand from the good +but rather feeble bark Trenchard—he manifested his scorn of us more +openly than ever.</p> + +<p>He seemed to have grown rather stronger and stouter during these last +months, and his square stolidity was a thing at which to marvel. Had +he been taller, had his beard been pointed rather than square, he +would have been graceful and even picturesque—but his figure, as he +strode along, showed foursquare, as though it had been hewn out of +wood; one of those pale, almost white, honey-coloured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> woods would +give the effect of his fair beard and eyebrows. His thick red lips +were more startling than ever, curved as they usually were in cynical +contempt of some foolish victim. How he did despise us!</p> + +<p>When one of our childish quarrels arose at meal-times he would say +nothing, but would continue stolidly his serious business of eating. +He was very fond of his food, which he ate in the greediest manner. +When the quarrel was subsiding, as it usually did, into the first +glasses of tea, he would look up, watch us with his contemptuous blue +eyes, laugh and say: "Well, and now?... Who is it next?"—and every +one would be clumsily embarrassed.</p> + +<p>We were often, as are all Russian companies, ridiculously amused about +nothing. At the most serious crises we would, like Gayeff in "The +Cherry Orchard," suddenly break into stupid bursts of laughter, quite +aimless but with a great deal of sincerity. Whirls of laughter would +invade our table. "Oh, do look at Goga!" some one would say, and there +we all were, perhaps for a quarter of an hour! Semyonov, strangely +enough, shared this childish habit, and there was nothing odder than +to see the man lose control of himself, double himself up, laugh until +the tears ran down his face—simply at nothing at all!</p> + +<p>The truth is that now I was very far from hating him. There were +moments, certainly, when he was rude to the Sisters, when he was +abominably greedy, when he was ruthlessly selfish, when he poured +scorn upon me; at such times I thought him, as Trenchard has expressed +it, a "beastly" man. He certainly had no great opinion of myself. "You +think yourself very clever, Ivan Andreievitch. Yes, you think you're +watching all of us and studying all our characters. And I suppose +there'll be a book one day, another of those books by Englishmen about +poor Russians—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> you'll flatter yourself that now at last one true +picture has been given ... but let me tell you that you'll never know +anything really about us so long as you're a sentimentalist!"</p> + +<p>Yes, there were moments when I hated him, but those moments never +continued for long. For one thing one could not hate so magnificent, +so honest, so uncompromising, so efficient a worker! He was worthy of +some very high position in the army, and he could certainly have +attained any height had he chosen. He had a genius for compelling +other men to obey him, he was never perturbed by unexpected mischance, +he paid no attention at all to what other people thought of him, and +he seemed incapable of fatigue. I often wondered what he was doing +here, why he had chosen so small an Otriad as ours in which to work, +why he stayed with us when he, so openly, despised us all. Until the +arrival of Marie Ivanovna there was no answer to these +questions—after that the answer was obvious enough. Again, one could +not hate a man of his sterling independence of character. We were, all +of us I think, emotionalists, of one kind or another, and went up and +down in our feelings, alliances, severances, trusts and distrusts, as +a thermometer goes up and down. We were good enough people in our way, +but we were most certainly not "a strong lot." Even Nikitin, the best +of the rest of us, was a dreamy idealist, far enough from life as it +was and quite unprepared to come down from his dreams and see things +as they were.</p> + +<p>But Semyonov never relaxed for an instant from his position. He asked +no man's help nor advice, minded no man's scorn, sought no man's love. +During my experience of him I saw him moved only once by an +overmastering emotion, and that was, of course, his love for Marie +Ivanovna. That, I believe, <i>did</i> master him, but deep down, deep down, +he kept his rebellions, his anxieties, his sur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>mises; only as the +light of a burning house is seen by men, pale and faint upon the sky +many miles from the conflagration, did we catch signs of his trouble. +If I had not had those talks with Trenchard and read his diary I +should have known nothing. Even now I can offer no solution....</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he showed fiercely and openly enough his love for Marie +Ivanovna. He behaved to her with the vulgarest ostentation, as a rich +merchant behaves when he has snatched some priceless picture from a +defeated rival. As he laughed at us he seemed to say: "Now, I have +really a thing of value here. You are, all of you, too stupid to +realise this, but you must take my word for it. Show yourself off, my +dear, and let them all see!"</p> + +<p>Marie Ivanovna most certainly did <i>not</i> "show herself off." The +beginning of his trouble was that he could not do with her as he +pleased. She had fallen into his hands so easily that he thought, I +suppose, that "she had been dying of love for him" from the first +moment of seeing him. But this was I believe very far from the truth. +My impression of her acceptance of him was that she had done it "with +her eyes fixed upon something else." That <i>she</i> had not realised all +the consequences of accepting <i>him</i> any more than she had realised the +consequences of her accepting Trenchard was obvious from the first. +She simply was ignorant of life, and at the same time wanted to cram +into her hands the full sense of it (as one crushes rose-leaves) as +quickly as possible. She admired Semyonov—it may be that she loved +him; but she certainly had not surrendered herself to him, and in her +lively ignorant way she was as strong as he.</p> + +<p>During the first weeks of her engagement she was, as she had been at +her first arrival amongst us, as happy and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> light-hearted as a child. +She knew that we disapproved of her treatment of Trenchard, but she +thought that we must see, as she did, that "she had behaved in the +only possible way." Once again she was straight and honest to the +world—and she could behave now like a real friend of her John. That +strange irrational temper that she had shown during the Retreat had +now entirely disappeared. She approved of us all and wished us to +approve of her—which we, as we were Russians and could not possibly +dislike pleasant agreeable people whatever there might be against +them, speedily did. She was charming to us. I can see her now, leaning +her chin on her hands; looking at us, the colour, shell-pink, coming +and going delicately in her cheek, like flame behind china. Her +delicacy, her height, her slender figure, her wide childish eyes, her +charmingly ugly large mouth and short nose, her black hair, the appeal +of her ignorance and strength and credulity—ah! she won our hearts +simply whenever she pleased! Of course we disliked her when she was +rude to us, our self-respect demanded it, but let her "come round" and +round we came too.</p> + +<p>Her treatment of Semyonov was strange. She was quite fearless, +laughing at his temper, his sarcasm, rebuking his selfishness and bad +manners, avoiding his coarse and unhesitating love-making, and above +all, trusting him in the oddest way as though, in spite of his faults, +she placed all her reliance on him and knew that he would not fail +her. Nothing annoyed him more than her behaviour to Trenchard. It +would, of course, be absurd to say that he was jealous of Trenchard; +he despised the man too deeply and was, himself, too sure of his lady +to know jealousy; but he was irritated by the attention paid to him, +irritated even by the attention he himself paid to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wherever I go there's that man," he said once to me. "Why doesn't he +go back to his own country?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose," I would answer hotly, "he has other things to do than to +consider your individual wishes, Alexei Petrovitch."</p> + +<p>Then he would laugh: "Well, well, Ivan Andreievitch, you +sentimentalists all hang together."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you leave him alone?" I remember that I continued.</p> + +<p>"Because he doesn't leave me alone," he answered shortly.</p> + +<p>It was, of course, Marie Ivanovna who brought them together. She could +not see, or rather she <i>would</i> not see, that friendship between two +such men was an impossibility. For herself she liked Trenchard better +than she had ever done. She had now no responsibility towards him; we +were all fond of him, pleased ourselves by saying that "he was more +Russian than English." The Sisters mended his clothes, cared for his +stomach, and listened with pleased gravity to his innocent chatter. +Marie Ivanovna was now really proud of him. There were great stories +of the courage and enterprise he had shown during the night when he +had been with Nikitin. Nikitin, in his lofty romantic fashion, spoke +of him as though he had been the hero of the Russian army. Trenchard +was, of course, quite unspoiled by this praise and popularity. He +remained for me at least very much the same innocent, clumsy, +pathetic, and frequently irritating figure that he had been at the +beginning. I will honestly confess that I was often heartily tired of +his Glebeshire stories, tired too of a certain childish obstinacy with +which he clung to his generally crude and half-baked opinions.</p> + +<p>But then I do not care to be contradicted by people of whom, +intellectually, I have a low estimation; it is one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> of my most +unfortunate weaknesses. I had no opinion of Trenchard's intellect at +all, and in that I was quite wrong. Semyonov at this time flung +Nikitin, Andrey Vassilievitch, Trenchard and myself into one basket. +We were all "crazy romantics" and there came an occasion, which I have +reason most clearly to remember, when he told us what he thought of +us. We were together, Semyonov, Nikitin, Trenchard and I, after +breakfast, smoking cigarettes, enjoying half an hour's idleness before +setting about our various business. It was a blazing hot morning and +the air quivered, like a silver curtain before our eyes, separating us +from the dim blue forest of S—— beyond the river, the Nestor itself, +the deep green slopes of our own hill. We had been silent, then +Trenchard said a foolish thing: "War brings all the best out of +people, I think," he said. God knows what private line of thought he +had been pursuing, some sentimental reflections, I suppose, that were +in him perfectly honest and sincere. But he did not look his best that +morning, sitting back in his chair with his mouth open, his forehead +damp with the heat, his tunic up about his neck and a rather dirty +blue pocket-handkerchief in his hand.</p> + +<p>I saw Semyonov's lip curl.</p> + +<p>"Yes. That's very interesting, Mr.," he said. "I'm glad at any rate +that we've had the honour of seeing the best of <i>you</i>. That's very +pleasant to know."</p> + +<p>"What I mean—" said Trenchard, blushing and stammering. "What ... +that is—"</p> + +<p>"I agree with Mr.," suddenly said Nikitin, who had been dreamily +watching the blue forest. "War <i>does</i> bring out the best in the human +character—always."</p> + +<p>Semyonov turned smilingly to him. "Yes, Vladimir Stepanovitch, we know +your illusions. Forgive me for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> insisting that they are illusions. I +would not disturb your romantic happiness for the world."</p> + +<p>"You can't disturb me, Alexei Petrovitch," Nikitin answered sleepily. +"What a hot morning!"</p> + +<p>"No," said Semyonov. "I would be very wrong to disturb you. Believe +me, I've never tried. It's very agreeable to me to see you and Mr. so +happy together and it must be pleasant for both of you to feel that +you've got a nice God all of your own who sleeps a good deal but +still, on the whole, gives you what you want. We may wonder a little +what Mr. has done to be so favoured—never very much I fancy—but +still I like the friendliness and comfort of it and I'm really lucky +to have the good fortune of your acquaintance. So nice for Russia too +to have plenty of people about who don't do any work nor take any +trouble about anything because they've got a nice fat God who'll do it +all for them if they'll only be patient. Thats why we're beating the +Germans so handsomely—the poor Germans, who only, ignorant heathens +as they are, believe in themselves."</p> + +<p>He looked at us all with a friendly patronising contempt.</p> + +<p>"That's your point of view, Alexei Petrovitch," Nikitin answered +rather hotly. "Think as you please of course. But there's more in life +than you can see—there is indeed."</p> + +<p>"Of course there is," said Semyonov lazily, "much more. I'm an +ignorant, rough man. I like things as they are and make the best of +them, so, of course, I'm not clever. Mr.'s clever, aren't you, Mr.? +All the same he doesn't know how to put his boots on properly. If he +put his boots on better and knew less about God he might be of more +use at the Front, perhaps. That's only my idea, and I daresay I'm +wrong.... All the same, for the sake of the comfort <i>and</i> the pockets +of all of us I do hope you'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> really rouse your God and ask Him to do +something sensible—something with method in it and a few more bullets +in it and a little more efficiency in it. You might ask Him to do what +He can...."</p> + +<p>He looked at us, laughing; then he said to Trenchard, "But don't you +fear, Mr. You'll go to heaven all right. Even though it's the wise men +who succeed in this world, I don't doubt it's the fools who have their +way in the next."</p> + +<p>He left us.</p> + +<p>Semyonov was with every new day more baffled by Marie Ivanovna. In the +first place she quietly refused to obey him. We were now much occupied +with the feeding of the peasants in a village stricken with cholera on +the other side of the river. A gloomy enough business it was and I +shall have, very shortly, to speak of it in detail. For the moment it +is enough to say that two of us went off every morning with a kitchen +on wheels, distributed the food, and returned in the afternoon. +Semyonov intensely disliked Marie Ivanovna's share in this work, but +he could not, of course, object to her taking, with the other Sisters, +the risks and unpleasantness of it. He made, whenever it was possible, +objections, found her work at the hospital where he himself was, +occupied her in every possible way. But he did this against her will. +She seemed to find a very especial pleasure and excitement in the +cholera work; she wished often to take the place of some other Sister. +Indeed everything on the other side of the river seemed to have a +great fascination for her. She herself told me: "The moment I cross +the bridge I feel as though I were on enchanted ground." On the +occasions when I accompanied her to the cholera village she was +radiant, so happy that she seemed to have nothing further in the world +to desire. She herself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> was puzzled. "What is it?" she said to me. "Is +it the forest? It must be, I think, the forest. I would remain on this +side for ever if I had my way."</p> + +<p>When I saw Semyonov's anxiety about her I could not but remember that +little scene at the battle of S—— when he had taken her off with +him, leaving Trenchard in so pitiful a condition. Certainly Time +brings in his revenges! And Marie Ivanovna would listen to nothing +that he said.</p> + +<p>"I want you at the hospital this morning," he would say.</p> + +<p>"Do you really want me?" she would ask, looking up, laughing, in his +face.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do."</p> + +<p>"Well, you should have told me last night. This morning I go with Anna +Petrovna to the cholera. All is arranged."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you must change your plans."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not."</p> + +<p>"Goga may go...."</p> + +<p>"No, I wish to go."</p> + +<p>And she went. He had certainly never before in his life been thus +defied. He simply did not know what to do about it. If he had thought +that bullying would frighten her he would, I believe, have bullied +her, but he knew quite well that it wouldn't. And then, as I now began +to perceive (I had at first thought otherwise), he was for the first +time in his life experiencing something deeper and more confusing than +his customary animal passions. He may at first have wanted Marie +Ivanovna as he wanted his dinner or his supper ... now he wanted her +differently. New emotions, surprising confusing emotions stirred in +him. At least that is how I interpret the uneasiness, the hesitation, +which I now seemed to perceive in him. He was no longer sure of +himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>I witnessed just at this time a little scene that surprised me. I had +been in the bandaging room alone one evening, cutting up bandages. I +was going through the passage into the other part of the house when a +sound stopped me. I could not avoid seeing beyond the open door a +little scene that happened so swiftly that I could neither retire nor +advance.</p> + +<p>Marie Ivanovna and Semyonov were coming together towards the bandaging +room. She was in front of him when he put his hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me?" he said in a low voice.</p> + +<p>She turned round to him, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, looking at him.</p> + +<p>"Then kiss me."</p> + +<p>"No, not now."</p> + +<p>"Why not now?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you want to?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head, still laughing into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"But if I command you?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! <i>command</i>!... Then I certainly will not."</p> + +<p>His hand tightened on her arm and she did not draw away.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I say yes."</p> + +<p>"I say no."</p> + +<p>He suddenly caught her, held her to him as though he would kill her +and kissed her furiously, on her eyes, her mouth, her hair. With his +violence he pushed back her head-dress. I could see his back bent like +a bow, and his thick short legs wide apart, every muscle taut. She lay +quite motionless, as though asleep in his arms, giving him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> no +response—then quite suddenly she flung her hands round his neck and +kissed him as passionately as he had kissed her. At last they parted, +both of them laughing.</p> + +<p>He looked at her, and then with a gentleness and courtesy that I had +never seen in him before nor dreamed that he possessed, very softly +kissed her hand.</p> + +<p>"I love you and—and you love me," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes ... I love you," she answered gravely. "At least, part of me +does."</p> + +<p>"It shall be all of you soon," he answered.</p> + +<p>"If there's time enough," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Time!... I'll follow you wherever you go—"</p> + +<p>"I really believe you will," she answered, laughing again. They waited +then, looking at one another. A bell rang. "Ah! I'm hungry.... Supper +time...." To my relief they passed away from the bandaging room +towards the other part of the house.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile his irritation at Marie Ivanovna's kindness to Trenchard +increased with every hour. His attitude to the man had changed since +Trenchard's night at the Position; he was vexed, I think, to hear that +the fellow had proved himself a man—and a practical man with common +sense. Semyonov was honest about this. He did not doubt Nikitin's +word, he even congratulated Trenchard, but he certainly disliked him +more than ever. He thought, I suppose, as he had thought about +Nikitin: "How can a man with his wits about him be at the same time +such a fool?" And then he saw that Marie Ivanovna was delighted with +Trenchard's little piece of good luck. She laughed at Semyonov about +it. "We all know you're a very brave man," she cried. "But you're not +so brave as Mr." And Semyonov, because he knew that Trenchard was a +fool and that he himself was not, was vexed, as a bull is vexed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> by a +red flag. These things made him think a great deal about Trenchard. I +have seen him watching him with angry and puzzled gaze as though he +would satisfy himself why this gnat of a man worried him!</p> + +<p>Then, finally, was Andrey Vassilievitch.... The little man had not +given me much of his company during these last weeks. I fancy that +since that night at the battle of S—— when he had revealed his +terror he had been shy of me although, God knows, he had no need to +be. He never forgot if any one had seen him in an unfortunate +position, and, although he bore me no grudge, he was nervous and +embarrassed with me. It happened, however, that during this same week +of which I have been speaking I had a conversation with him. I was +standing alone by the Cross watching a long trail of wagons cross the +bridge far beneath me, watching too a high bank of black cloud that +was passing away from the sky above the forest, blown by a wind that +rolled the surface of the river into silver. He too had come to look +at the view and was surprised and disturbed at finding me there. Of +course he was exaggerated in expressions of pleasure: "Why, Ivan +Andreievitch, this is delightful!" he cried. "If I only had known we +might have walked here together!"</p> + +<p>We sat down on the stone seat.</p> + +<p>"You don't think it will rain?" he asked anxiously. "No, those clouds +are going away, I see. Well ... this is delightful ..." and then sat +there gloomily looking in front of him.</p> + +<p>I could see that he was depressed.</p> + +<p>"Well, Andrey Vassilievitch," I said to him. "You're depressed about +something?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said very gloomily indeed. "I have many unhappy hours, Ivan +Andreievitch."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>I did not get up and leave him as I very easily might have done. I had +had, since the night when Nikitin had spoken to me so frankly, a +desire to know the little man's side of that affair. In some curious +fashion that silent plain wife of his had been very frequently in my +thoughts; there had not been enough in Nikitin's account to explain to +me his passion for her, and yet her ghost, as though evoked by the +memories both of Nikitin and her husband, had seemed to me, sometimes, +to be present with us....</p> + +<p>I waited.</p> + +<p>"Tell me frankly," Audrey Vassilievitch said at last, "am I of any use +here?"</p> + +<p>"Of use?" I repeated, taken by surprise.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Am I doing only what any one else can do as well? Would it be +better perhaps if another were here?"</p> + +<p>"No, certainly not," I answered warmly. "Your business training is of +the greatest value to us. Molozov has said to me 'that he does not +know what we should do without you.'"</p> + +<p>(This was not strictly true.)</p> + +<p>"Ah!" the little man was greatly pleased. "I am glad, very glad—to +hear what you say. Semyonov made me feel—"</p> + +<p>"You should not be influenced," I hurriedly interrupted him, "by what +Semyonov thinks. It is of no importance."</p> + +<p>"He has a bad character," Andrey Vassilievitch said suddenly with +great excitement, "a bad character. And why cannot he leave me alone? +Why should he laugh always? I do my best. I am quiet and not in his +way. I can do things that he cannot. I am not big as he but at least I +do not rob men of their women."</p> + +<p>He was shaking with anger, his head trembling and his hands +quivering—it was difficult not to smile.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You must not listen nor notice nor think of it," I said firmly. "We +are grateful for your work—all of us. Semyonov laughs at us all."</p> + +<p>"That poor Marie Ivanovna," he burst out. "She does not know. She is +ignorant of life. At first I was angry with her but now I see that she +is helpless. There will be terrible things afterwards, Ivan +Andreievitch!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"I think she understands him better than we do."</p> + +<p>"I have never," he said vehemently, "hated a man in my life as I hate +him." But in spite of his passionate declaration he was obviously +reassured by my defence of him. He was quiet suddenly, looked at the +view mildly and, in a moment, thought me the best friend he had in the +world—in the Russian manner.</p> + +<p>"You see, Ivan Andreievitch," he said, looking at me with the eyes of +an unnaturally wise baby, "that I cannot help wishing that my wife +were here to advise Marie Ivanovna. She would have loved my wife very +much, as every one did, and would have confided in her. That would +have helped a girl who, like Marie Ivanovna, is ignorant of the world +and the loves of men."</p> + +<p>"You miss your wife very much?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"There is not a moment of the day but I do not think of her," he +answered very solemnly, staring in front of him. "That must seem +strange to you who did not know her, and even I sometimes think it is +not good. But what to do? She was a woman so remarkable that no one +who knew her can forget."</p> + +<p>"I have often been told that every one who knew her loved her," I +said.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you have heard that.... They talk of her, of course. She will +always be remembered." His eyes shone with pleasure. "Yes, every one +loved her. I myself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> loved her with a passion that nothing can ever +change. And why?... I cannot tell you—unless it were that she was the +only person I have known who did not wish me another kind of man. I +could be myself with her and know that she still cared for me.... I +will not pretend to you, Ivan Andreievitch, that I think myself a fine +man," he continued. "I have never thought myself so. When I was very +young I envied tall men and handsome men and men who knew what was the +best thing to do without thinking of it. I have always known that +people would only come to me for what I have got to give and I have +pretended that I do not care. And once I had an English merchant as my +guest. He was very agreeable and pleasant to me—and then by chance I +overheard him say: 'Ah, Andrey Vassilievitch! A vulgar little snob!' +That is perhaps what I am—I do not know—we are all what God pleases. +But I had mistresses, I had friends, acquaintances. They despised me. +They left me always for some one finer. They say that we Russians care +too much what others think of us—but when in your own house +people—your friends—say such things of you...."</p> + +<p>He broke off, then, smiling, continued:</p> + +<p>"My wife came. There was something in me, just as I was, that she +cared for. She did not passionately love me, but she loved me with her +heart because she saw that I needed love. She always saw people just +as they were.... And I understood. I understood from the beginning +exactly what I was to her...."</p> + +<p>He paused again, put his hand on my knee, then spoke, looking very +serious with his comic little nose and mouth like the nose and mouth +of a poodle. "I had a friend, Ivan Andreievitch. A fine man.... He +loved my wife and my wife loved him. He was not vulgar. He had a fine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +taste, he was handsome and clever. What was I to do? I knew that my +wife loved him, and she must be happy. I knew that I owed her +everything because of all that she had done for me. I helped them in +their love.... For five years I wished them well. Do you think it was +easy for me? I suffered, Ivan Andreievitch, the tortures of hell. I +was jealous, God forgive me! How jealous! Sometimes alone in my room I +would cry all night—not a fine thing to do. But then how should I +act? She gave him what she could never give to me. She loved him with +passion—for me she cared as good women care for the poor. I was +foolish perhaps. I tried to be as they were, with their taste and easy +judgments ... I failed, of course. What could I do all at once? One is +as God has pleased from the beginning. Ah! how I was unhappy those +five years! I wished that he would die and then cursed myself for +wishing it. And yet I knew that I had something that he had not. I +needed her more than he, and she knew that. Her charm for him would +fade perhaps as the years passed. He was a passionate man who had +loved many women. For me, as she well knew, it would never pass.</p> + +<p>"She died. For a time I was like a dead man. And she was not enough +with me. I talked to her friends, but they had not known her—not as +she was. Only one had known her and he was the friend whom she had +loved.</p> + +<p>"Of course he found me as he had always done—tiresome, irritating, of +vulgar taste. But he, too, wanted to speak of her. And so we were +drawn together.... Now ... is he my friend? I say always that he is. I +say to myself: 'Andrey Vassilievitch, he is your best friend'—but I +am jealous. Yes, Ivan Andreievitch, I am jealous of him. I think that +perhaps he will die before me and that then—somewhere—together—they +will laugh at me. And he has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> <i>such</i> memories of her! At the last she +cried his name! He is so much a grander man than I! Fine in every way! +Did I say that she would laugh? No, no ... that never. But she will +say: 'Poor Andrey Vassilievitch!' She will pity me!... I think that I +would be happier if I did not see my friend. But I cannot leave +him.... We talk of her often. And yet he despises me and wonders that +she can have loved me...."</p> + +<p>I had a fear lest Andrey Vassilievitch should cry. He seemed so +desolate there, giving strange little self-important coughs and +sniffs, beating the ground with his smart little military boot.</p> + +<p>Across the river the black wall of cloud had returned and now hung +above the forest of S——, that lay sullenly, in its shadow, +forbidding and thick, itself like a cloud. The world was cold, the +Nestor like a snake.... I shivered, seized by some sudden sense of +coming disaster and trouble. The evenings there were often strangely +chill.</p> + +<p>"Look," cried Andrey Vassilievitch, starting to his feet "There's +Marie Ivanovna!"</p> + +<p>I turned and saw her standing there, smiling at us, silently and +without movement, like an apparition.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIII" id="CHAPTER_IIII"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>MARIE IVANOVNA</h3> + + +<p>It was on July 23 that I first entered the Forest of S——. I did not, +I remember, pay the event any especial attention. I went with Anna +Petrovna to the cholera village that is on the outskirts of the +forest, and I recollect that we hastened back because that evening we +were to celebrate the conclusion of the first six months' work of our +Otriad. Of my entrance into the forest I remember absolutely nothing; +it seemed, I suppose, an ordinary enough forest to me. Of the +festivities in the evening I have a very clear recollection. I +remember that it was the loveliest summer weather, not too hot, with a +little breeze coming up from the river, and the green glittering on +every side of us with the quiver of flashing water. In the little +garden outside our house a table had been improvised and on this were +a large gilt ikon, a vase of flowers in a hideous purple jar, and two +tall candles whose flames looked unreal and thin in the sunlight. +There was the priest, a fine stout man with a long black beard and +hair falling below his shoulders, clothed in silk of gold and purple, +waving a censer, monotoning the prayers in a high Russian tenor, with +one eye on the choir of sanitars, one eye on the candles blown by the +wind, the breeze meanwhile playing irreverent jests on his splendid +skirts of gold. Then there was the congregation in three groups. The +first group—two generals, two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> colonels, four or five other officers, +the Sisters (Sister K—— bowing and crossing herself incessantly, +Anna Petrovna with her attention obviously on the dinner cooking +behind a tree in the garden, Marie Ivanovna looking lovely and happy +and good), ourselves—Molozov official, Semyonov sarcastic, Nikitin in +a dream, Andrey Vassilievitch busy with his smart uniform, Trenchard +(forgotten his sword, his blue handkerchief protruding from his +pocket) absorbed by the ceremony, myself thinking of Trenchard, +Goga—and the rest. The second group—the singing sanitars, some ten +of them, stout and healthy, singing as Russians do with complete +self-forgetfulness and a rapturous happiness in front of them, a funny +little man with spectacles and a sharp-pointed beard, once a +schoolmaster, now a sanitar, conducting their music with a long bony +finger—all of them chanting the responses with perfect precision and +harmony. Third group, the other sanitars, the strangest collection of +faces, wild, savage and eastern: Tartars, Lithuanians, Mongolian, mild +and northern, cold and western, merry and human from Little Russia, +gigantic and fierce from the Caucasus, small and frozen from +Archangel, one or two civilised and superior <i>and</i> uninteresting from +Petrograd and Moscow.</p> + +<p>Over the wall a long row of interested Galician peasants and soldiers +passing in carts or on horseback. Seeing the ikon, the priest, the +blowing candles, hearing the singing they would take off their hats, +cross themselves, for a moment their eyes would go dreamy, mild, +forgetful, then on their hats would go again, back they would turn +their horses, cursing them up the hill, chaffing the Galician women, +down deep in the everyday life again.</p> + +<p>The service ended. The priest turns to us, the gold Cross is raised, +we advance one by one: the generals, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> colonels, the lieutenants, +the Sisters, Semyonov, Nikitin, Goga, then the choir, then the +sanitars, even to hunch-backed Alesha, who is always given the +dirtiest work to do and is only half a human being; one by one we kiss +the Cross, the candles are blown out, the ikon folded up and put away +in a cardboard box, we are introduced to the generals, there is +general conversation, and the stars and the moon come out "blown +straight up, it seems, out of the bosom of the Nestor...."</p> + +<p>It was a very happy and innocent evening. For extracting the utmost +happiness possible out of the simplest materials the Russians have +surely no rivals. How our generals and our colonels enjoyed that +evening! A wonderful dinner was cooked between two stones in the +garden—little pig, young chickens, <i>borshtsh</i>, that most luxurious of +soups, and ices—yes, and ices. Then there were speeches, many, many +glasses of tea, strawberry and cherry jam, biscuits and cigarettes. We +were all very, very happy....</p> + +<p>It was arranged on the morning after the feast that I should go again +to the cholera village with Marie Ivanovna and Semyonov. Under a +morning of a blazing relentless heat, bars of light ruling the sky, we +started, the three of us, at about ten o'clock, in the little low +dogcart, followed by the kitchen and the boiler. Marie Ivanovna sat +next to Semyonov, I facing them. Semyonov was happier than I had ever +seen him before. Happiness was not a quality with which I would ever +have charged him; he had seemed to despise it as something too simple +and sentimental for any but sentimental fools—but now this morning (I +had noticed something of the same thing in him the evening before) he +was quite <i>simply</i> happy, looking younger by many years, the ironical +curve of his lip gone, his eyes smiling, his attitude to the world +gentle and almost benevolent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> Of course she, Marie Ivanovna, had +wrought this change in him. There was no doubt this morning that she +loved him. She had in her face and bearing all the pride and also all +the humility that a love, won, secured, ensured, brings with it. She +did not look at him often nor take his hand. She spoke to me during +the drive and only once and again smiled up at him; but her soul, +shining through the thin covering of her body, laughed to me, crying: +"I am happy because I have my desire. Of yesterday I remember nothing, +of to-morrow I can know nothing, but to-day is mine!"</p> + +<p>He was very quiet. When he looked at her his eyes took complete +possession of her. I did not, that morning, count at all to either of +them, but I too felt a kind of pride as though I were sharing in some +triumphal procession. She chattered on, and then at last was silent. I +remember that the great heat of the morning wrought in us all a kind +of lethargy. We were lazily confident that day that nothing evil could +overtake us. We idly watched the sky, the river, the approaching +forest, with a luxurious reliance on the power of man, and I caught +much of my assurance from Semyonov himself. He did really seem to me, +that morning, a "tremendous" figure, as he sat there, so still, so +triumphant. He had never before, perhaps, been quite certain of Marie +Ivanovna, had been alarmed at her independence, or at his own +passionate love for her. But this morning he <i>knew</i>. She loved him. +She was his—no one could take her from him. She was the woman he +wanted as he had never wanted a woman before, and <i>she was his—she +was his</i>!</p> + +<p>I do not remember our entering the forest. I know that first you climb +a rough, rather narrow road up from the river, that the trees close +about you very gradually, that there is a little church with a green +turret and a fine view<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> of the Nestor, and that there a broad solemn +avenue of silver birch leads you forward, gently and without any +sinister omens. Then again the forest clears and there are fields of +corn and, built amongst the thin scattering of trees, the village of +N——. It was here, on passing the first houses of the village, that I +felt the heat to be almost unbearable; it seemed strange to me, I +remember, that they (whoever "they" were), having so many trees here, +a forest that stretched many miles behind them, should have chosen to +pitch their village upon the only exposed and torrid bit of ground +that they could find. Behind us was the forest, in front of us also +the forest, but here, how the sun blazed down on the roofs and little +blown patches of garden, how it glared in through the broken windows, +and penetrated into the darkest corners of the desolate rooms!</p> + +<p>Poor N——! In the second month of the war it had been shelled and +many of the houses destroyed. The buildings that remained seemed to +have given up the struggle and abandoned themselves to inevitable +degradation. Moreover, down the principal street, at every other door +there hung the sinister black flag, a piece of dirty black cloth +fastened to a stick, and upon the filthy wall was scrawled in Russian +"cholera." Dead, indeed, under the appalling heat of the morning the +whole place lay. No one was to be seen until we neared the ruins of +what had once been a little town-hall or meeting-place, a procession +turned the corner—a procession of a peasant with a tall lighted +candle, another peasant with a tattered banner, a priest in soiled +silk, a coffin of white wood on a haycart, and four or five +white-faced and apathetic women. A doleful singing came from the +miserable party. They did not look at us as we passed....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>A rumble of cannon, once and again, sounded like the lazy snore of +some sleeping beast.</p> + +<p>Near the town-hall we found a company of fantastic creatures awaiting +us. They were pressed together in a dense crowd as though they were +afraid of some one attacking them. There were many old men, like the +clowns in Shakespeare, dirty beyond belief in tattered garments, +wide-brimmed hats, broad skirts and baggy trousers; old men with long +tangled hair, bare bony breasts and slobbering chins. Many of the +women seemed strong and young; their faces were on the whole +cheerful—a brazen indifference to anything and everything was their +attitude. There were many children. Two gendarmes guarded them with +rough friendly discipline. I thought that I had seen nothing more +terrible at the war than the eager pitiful docility with which they +moved to and fro in obedience to the gendarmes' orders. A dreadful, +broken, creeping submission....</p> + +<p>But it was their fantasy, their coloured incredible unreality that +overwhelmed me. The building, black and twisted against the hard blue +sky, raised its head behind us like a malicious monster. Before us +this crowd, all tattered faded pieces of scarlet and yellow and blue, +men with huge noses, sunken eyes, sharp chins, long skinny hands, +women with hard, bright, dead faces, little children with eyes that +were afraid and indifferent, hungry and mad, all this crowd swaying +before us, with the cannon muttering beyond the walls, and the thin +miserable thread of the funeral hymn trickling like water under our +feet.... I looked from these to Semyonov and Marie Ivanovna, they in +their white overalls working at the meat kitchen and the huge +bread-baskets, radiant in their love, their success, their struggle, +confident, both of them, this morning that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> they had the fire of life +in their hands to do with it as they pleased.</p> + +<p>I have not wished during the progress of this book, which is the +history of the experiences of others rather than of myself, to lay any +stress on my personal history, and here I would only say that any one +who is burdened with a physical disease or encumbrance that will +remain to the end of life must know that there are certain moments +when this hindrance leaps up at him like the grinning face of a +devil—despairing hideous moments they are! I have said that during +our drive I had felt a confident happy participation in the joy of +those others who were with me ... now as we stood there feeding that +company of scarecrows, a sudden horror of my own lameness, a sudden +consciousness that I belonged rather to that band of miserable +diseased hungry fugitives than to the two triumphant figures on the +other side of me, overwhelmed and defeated me. I bent my head; I felt +a shame, a degradation as though I should have crept into some shadow +and hidden.... I would not mention this were it not that afterwards, +in retrospect, the moment seemed to me an omen. After all, life is not +always to the victorious!...</p> + +<p>Our scarecrows wanted, horribly, their food. It was dreadful to see +the anxiety with which they watched the portioning of the thick heavy +hunks of black bread. They had to show Marie Ivanovna their dirty +little scraps of paper which described the portions to which they were +entitled. How their bony fingers clutched the paper afterwards as they +pressed it back into their skinny bosoms! Sometimes they could not +wait to return home, but would squat down on the ground and lap their +soup like dogs. The day grew hotter and hotter, the world smelt of +disease and dirt, waste and desolation. Marie Ivanovna's face was +soft<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> with tenderness as she watched them. Semyonov had always his eye +upon her, seeing that she did not touch them, sometimes calling out +sharply: "Now! Marie! ... take care! Take care!" but this morning he +also seemed kind and gentle to them, leading a small girl back to her +haggard bony old guardian, carrying her heavy can of soup for her, or +joking with some of the old men.... "Now, uncle ... you ought to be at +the war! What have they done, leaving you? So young and so vigorous! +They'll take you yet!" and the old man, a toothless trembling +creature, clutching his hunk of bread with shaking hands, would grin +like the head of Death himself! How close to death they all seemed! +How alive were my friends, strong in the sun, compassionate but also +perhaps a little despising this poor gathering of wastrels.</p> + +<p>The work went on; then at last the final scraps of meat and bread had +been shared, the kitchen closed its oven, we took off our overalls, +shook ourselves, and bade farewell to the scarecrows. The kitchen was +then sent home and we moved forward with the tea boiler and two +sanitars further into the forest. Our destination was a large empty +house behind the trenches. From here we were to take tea in the boiler +to certain regiments, tea with wine in it as preventative against +cholera. It was the early afternoon now, and we moved very slowly. The +heat was intense and although the trees were thick on every side of us +there seemed to be no shade nor coolness, as though the leaves had +been made of paper.</p> + +<p>"This is a strange forest," I said. "Although there are trees there's +no shade. It burns like a furnace."</p> + +<p>No one replied. We passed as though in a dream, meeting no one, +hearing no sound, the light dancing and flickering on our path. I +nodded on my seat. I was half asleep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> when we arrived at our +destination. This was the accustomed white deserted house standing in +a desolate tangled garden. There was no one there on our arrival. All +the doors were open, the sun blazing along the dusty passages. It was +inhabited, just then, I believe, by some artillery officers, but I saw +none of them. Semyonov went off to find the Colonel of the regiment to +whom we were to give tea; Marie Ivanovna and I remained in one of the +empty rooms, the only sound the buzzing flies. Every detail of that +room will remain in my heart and brain until I die. Marie Ivanovna, +looking very white and cool, with the happiness shining in her large +clear eyes, sat on an old worn sofa near the window. In the glass of +the window there were bullet holes, and beyond the window a piece of +blazing golden garden. The room was very dirty, dust lay thick upon +everything. Some one had eaten a meal there, and there was a plate, a +knife, also egg-shells, an empty sardine-tin, and a hunk of black +bread. There was a book which I picked up, attracted by the English +lettering on the faded red cover. It was a "Report on the Condition of +New Mexico in 1904"—a heavy fat volume with the usual photographs of +water-falls, cornfields and enormous sheep. On the walls there was +only one picture, a torn supplement from some German magazine showing +father returning to his family after a long absence—welcomed, of +course, by child (fat and ugly), wife (fatter and uglier), and dog (a +mongrel). There was the usual pile of fiction in Polish, translations +I suspect of Conan Doyle and Jerome; there was a desolate palm in a +corner and a chipped blue washing stand. A hideous place: the sun did +not penetrate and it should have been cool, but for some reason the +air was heavy and hot as though we were enclosed in a biscuit-tin.</p> + +<p>I leaned against the table and looked at Marie Ivanovna.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Isn't it strange?" I said, "we're only a verst or two from the +Austrians and not a sound to be heard. But the gendarme told me that +we must be careful here. A good many bullets flying about, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she said laughing. "I don't feel as though anything could touch +me to-day. I never loved life before as I love it now. Is it right to +be so happy at such a time as this and in such a place?... And how +strange it is that through all the tragedy one can only truly see +one's own little affairs, and only feel one's own little troubles and +joys. That's bad ... one should be punished for that!"</p> + +<p>I loved her at that moment; I felt bitterly, I remember, that I, +because I was plain and a cripple, silent and uninteresting, would +never win the love of such women. I remembered little Andrey +Vassilievitch's words about his wife: "For me she cared as good women +care for the poor." In that way for me too women would care—when they +cared at all. And always, all my life, it would be like that. How +unfair that everything should be given to the Semyonovs and the +Nikitins of this world, everything denied to such men as Trenchard, +Andrey Vassilievitch and I!...</p> + +<p>But my little grumble passed as I looked at her.</p> + +<p>How honest and straight and true with her impulses, her enthusiasms, +her rebellions and ignorances she was! Yes, I loved her and had always +loved her. That was why I had cared for Trenchard, why now I was +attracted by Semyonov, because, shadow of a man as I was, not man +enough to be jealous, I could see with her eyes, stand beside her and +share her emotion.... But God! how that day I despised myself!</p> + +<p>"You're tired!" she said, looking at me. "Is your leg hurting you?"</p> + +<p>"Not much," I answered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sit down here beside me." She made way for me on the sofa. "Ivan +Andreievitch, you will always be my friend?"</p> + +<p>"Always," I answered.</p> + +<p>"I believe you will. I'm a little afraid of you, but I think that I +would rather have you as a friend than any one—except John. How +fortunate I am! Two Englishmen for my friends! You do not change as +R-russians do! You will be angry with me when you think that I am +wrong, but then I can believe you. I know that you will tell me the +truth."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," I said slowly, "Alexei Petrovitch will not wish that I +should be your friend!"</p> + +<p>"Alexei?" she said, laughing. "Oh, thank you very much, I shall choose +my own friends. That will always be my affair."</p> + +<p>I had an uneasy suspicion that perhaps she knew as little about +Semyonov as she had once known about Trenchard. It might be that all +her life she might never learn wisdom. I do not know that I wished her +to learn it.</p> + +<p>"No," she continued. "But you forgive me now? Forgive me for all my +mistakes, for thinking that I loved John when I did not and treating +him so badly. Ah! but how unhappy I was! I wished to be honourable and +honest—I wished it passionately—and I seemed only to make mistakes. +And then because I was ashamed of myself I was angry with every +one—at least it seemed that it was with every one, but it was really +with myself."</p> + +<p>"I did you injustice," I said. "And I did Alexei Petrovitch an +injustice also. I know now that he truly and deeply loves you.... I +believe that you will be very happy ... yes, it is better, much +better, than that you should have married Trenchard."</p> + +<p>Her face flushed with happiness, that strange flush of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> colour behind +her pale cheeks, coming and going with the beats of her heart.</p> + +<p>She continued happily, confidently: "When I was growing up I was +always restless. My mother allowed me to do as I pleased and I had no +one in authority over me. I was restless because I knew nothing and no +one could tell me anything that seemed to me true. I would have, like +other girls, sudden enthusiasms for some one who seemed strong and +wonderful—and then they were never wonderful—only like every one +else. I would be angry, impatient, miserable. Russian girls begin life +so early.... After a time, mother began to treat me as though I was +grown up. We went to Petrograd and I thought about clothes and +theatres. But I never forgot—I always waited for the man or the work +or the friend that was to make life real. Then suddenly the war came +and I thought that I had found what I wanted. But there too there were +disappointments. John was not John, the war was not the war ... and +it's only to-day now that I feel as though I were r-right inside. I've +been so stupid—I've made so many mistakes." She dropped her voice: +"I've always been afraid, Ivan Andreievitch, that is the truth. You +remember that morning before S——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said. "I remember it."</p> + +<p>"Well, it has been often, often like that. I've been afraid of myself +and—of something else—of dying. I found that I didn't want to die, +that the thought of death was too horrible to me. That day of the +Retreat how afraid I was! John could not protect me, no one could. And +I was ashamed of myself! How ashamed, how miserable. And I was afraid +because I thought of myself more than of any one else—always. I had +fine ideals but—in practice—it was only that—that I always was +selfish. Now, for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> first time ever, I care for some one more than +myself and suddenly I am afraid of death no longer. It is true, Ivan +Andreievitch, I do not believe that death can separate Alexei from me; +I have more reason now to wish to live than I have ever had, but now I +am not afraid. Wherever I am, Alexei will come—wherever he is, I will +go...."</p> + +<p>She broke off—then laughed. "You think it silly in England to talk +about such things. No English girl would, would she? In Russia we are +silly if we like. But oh! how happy it is, after all these weeks, not +to be afraid—not to wake up early and lie there and think—think and +shudder. They used to say I was brave about the wounded, brave at +S——, brave at operations ... if they only knew! You only, Ivan +Andreievitch, have seen me afraid, you only!..." She looked at me, her +eyes searching my face: "Isn't it strange that you who do not love me +know me, perhaps, better than John—and yes, better than Alexei. +That's why I tell you—I can talk to you. I never could talk to +women—I never cared for women. You and John for my friends—yes, I am +indeed happy!"</p> + +<p>She got up from the old sofa, walked a little about the room, looked +at the remains of the meal, at the book, then turned round to me:</p> + +<p>"Don't ever tell any one, Ivan Andreievitch, that I have been +afraid.... I'm never to be afraid again. And I'm not going to die. I +know now that life is wonderful—at last all that when I was young I +expected it to be.... Do you know, Ivan Andreievitch, I feel to-day as +though I would live for ever!..."</p> + +<p>Semyonov came in. He was in splendid spirits; I had never seen him so +gay, so carelessly happy.</p> + +<p>"Well," he cried to me, "we're to go now—at once ... and the next +time at eight. We'll leave you this time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> We'll be back by half-past +six. We'll do the Third and Fourth Roti now. The Eighth and Ninth +afterwards. Can you wait for tea until we return? Good.... Half-past +six, then!"</p> + +<p>They departed. As she went out of the door she turned and gave me a +little happy smile as though to bind me to an intimate enduring +confidence. I smiled back at her and she was gone.</p> + +<p>After they had left me I felt very lonely. The house was still and +desolate, and I took a book that I had brought with me—the "Le Deuil +des Primeveres" of François Jammes. I had learnt the habit during my +first visit to the war of always taking a book in my pocket when +engaged upon any business; there were so many long weary hours of +waiting when the nerves were stretched, and a book—quiet and real and +something apart from all wars and all rumours of wars—was a most +serious necessity. What "Tristram Shandy" was to me once under fire +near Nijnieff, and "Red-gauntlet" on an awful morning when our whole +Otriad meditated on the possibility of imprisonment before the +evening—with nothing to be done but sit and wait! I went into the +garden with M. Jammes.</p> + +<p>As I walked along the little paths through a tangle of wood and green +that might very well have presented the garden of the Sleeping Beauty, +I heard now and then a sound that resembled the swift flight of a bird +or the sudden "ting" of a telegraph-wire. The Austrians were amusing +themselves; sometimes a bullet would clip a tree in its passing or one +would see a leaf, quite suddenly detached, hover for a moment idly in +the air and then circle slowly to the ground. Except for this sound +the garden was fast held in the warm peace of a summer afternoon. I +found a most happy little neglected orchard with old gnarled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +apple-trees and thick waving grass. Here I lay on my back, watching +the gold through the leaves, soaked in the apathy and somnolence of +the day, sinking idly into sleep, rising, sinking again, as though +rocked in a hammock. I was in England once more—at intervals there +came a sharp click that exactly resembled the sound that one hears in +an English village on a summer afternoon when they are playing cricket +in the field near by—oneself at one's ease in the garden, half +sleeping, half building castles in the air, the crack of the ball on +the bat, the cooing of some pigeons on the roof.... Once again that +sharp pleasant sound, again the flight of the bird above one's head, +again the rustle of some leaves behind one's head ... soon there will +be tea, strawberries and cream, a demand that one shall play tennis, +that saunter through the cool dark house, up old stairs, along narrow +passages to one's room where one will slowly, happily change into +flannels—hearing still through the open window the crack of the bat +upon the ball from the distant field....</p> + +<p>But as I lay there I was unhappy, rebellious. The confidence and +splendour of Marie Ivanovna and Semyonov had driven me into exile. I +hated myself that afternoon. That pursuit—the excitement of the +penetration into the dark forest—the thrill of the chase—those +things were for the strong men, the brave women—not for the halt and +maimed ... not love nor glory, neither hate nor fierce rebellion were +for such men as I.... I cursed my fate, my life, because I loved, not +for the first time, a woman who was glad that I did not love her and +was so sure that I did not and could not, that she could proclaim her +satisfaction openly to me!</p> + +<p>I had an hour of bitterness—then, as I had so often done<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> before, I +laughed, drove the little devil into his cage, locked it, dropped the +thick curtain in front of it.</p> + +<p>I claimed the company of M. François Jammes.</p> + +<p>He has a delightful poem about donkeys and as I read it I regained my +tranquillity. It begins:</p> + +<div class="poem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lorsqu'il faudra aller vers Vous, ô mon Dieu, faites<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Que ce soit par un jour ou la campagne en fete<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poudroiera. Je désire, ainsi que je fis ici-bas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Choisir un chemin pour aller, comme il me plaira,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Au Paradis, où sont en plein jour les étoiles.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Je prendrai mon bâton et sur la grande route<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'irai et je dirai aux ânes, mes amis:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Je suis Francois Jammes et je vais au Paradis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Car il n'y a pas d'enfer au pays du Bon Dieu.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Je leur dirai: Venez, doux amis du ciel bleu,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pauvres bêtes chéries qui d'un brusque mouvement d'oreilles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chassez les mouches plates, les coups et les abeilles....<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That brought tranquillity back to me. I found another poem—his +"Amsterdam."</p> + +<div class="poem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Les maisons pointues ont l'air de pencher. On dirait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Qu'elles tombent. Les mâts des vaisseaux qui s'embrouillent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dans le ciel sont penchés comme des branches sèches<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Au milieu de verdure, de raye, de rouille,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De harengs saurs, de peaux de moutons et de bouille.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Robinson Crusoë passa par Amsterdam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Je crois du moins qu'il y passa) en revenant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De l'île ombreuse et verte aux noix de coco fraîches.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quelle émotion il dut avoir quand il vit luire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Les portes énormes, aux lourds marteaux, de cette ville!...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Regardait-il curieusement les entresols<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ou les commis écrivent les livres de comptes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eut-il envie de pleurer en resongeant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A son cher perroquet, à son lourd parasol,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Qui l'abritait dans l'île attristée et clémente?...<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>I was asleep; my eyes closed; the book fell from my hand. Some one +near me seemed to repeat in the air the words:</p> + +<div class="poem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Robinson Crusoë passa par Amsterdam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Je crois, du moins, qu'il y passa) en revenant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De l'île ombreuse....<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"De l'île ombreuse" ... "Robinson Crusoë passa" ...<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I was rocked in the hot golden air. I slept heavily, deeply, without +dreams....</p> + +<p>I was awakened by a cold fierce apprehension of terror. I sat up, +stared slowly around me with the sure, certain conviction that some +dreadful thing had occurred. The orchard was as it had been—the sun, +lower now, shone through the green branches. All was still and even, +as I listened I heard the sharp crack of the ball upon the bat +breaking the evening air. My heart had simply ceased to beat. I +remember that with a hand that trembled I picked up the book that was +lying open on the grass and read, without understanding them, the +words. I remember that I said, out aloud: "Something's happened," then +turning saw Semyonov's face.</p> + +<p>I realised nothing save his face with its pale square beard and red +lips, framed there by the shining green and blue. He stood there, +without moving, staring at me, and the memory of his eyes even now as +I write of it hurts me physically so that my own eyes close.</p> + +<p>That was perhaps the worst moment of my life, that confrontation of +Semyonov. He stood there as though carved in stone (his figure had +always the stiff clear outline of stone or wood). I realised nothing +of his body—I simply saw his eyes, that were staring straight in +front of him, that were blazing with pain, and yet were blind. He +looked past me and, if one had not seen the live agony of his eyes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +one would have thought that he was absorbed in watching something that +was so distant that he must concentrate all his attention upon it.</p> + +<p>I got upon my feet and as my eyes met his I knew without any question +at all that Marie Ivanovna was dead.</p> + +<p>When I had risen we stood for a moment facing one another, then +without a word he turned towards the house. I followed him, leaving my +book upon the grass. He walking slowly in front of me with his usual +assured step, except that once he walked into a bush that was to his +right; he afterwards came away from it, as a man walking in his sleep +might do, without lowering his eyes to look at it. We entered by a +side-door. I, myself, had no thoughts at all at this time. I felt only +the cold, heavy oppression at my heart, and I had, I remember, no +curiosity as to what had occurred. We passed through passages that +were strangely dark, in a silence that was weighted and mysterious. We +entered the room where we had been earlier in the afternoon; it seemed +now to be full of people, I saw now quite clearly, although just +before the whole world had seemed to be dark. I saw our two soldiers +standing back by the door; a doctor, whose face I did not know, a very +corpulent man, was on his knees on the floor—some sanitars were in a +group by the window. In the middle of the room lay Marie Ivanovna on a +stretcher. Even as I entered the stout doctor rose, shaking his head. +I had only that one glimpse of her face on my entry, because, at the +shake of the doctor's head, a sanitar stepped forward and covered her +with a cloth. But I shall see her face as it was until I die. Her eyes +were closed, she seemed very peaceful.... But I cannot write of it, +even now....</p> + +<p>My business here is simply with facts, and I must be forgiven if now I +am brief in my account.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> + +<p>The room was just as it had been earlier in the afternoon; I saw the +sardine-tin, the dirty plate that had a little cloud of flies upon it; +the room seemed under the evening sun full of gold dust. I crossed +over to our soldiers and asked them how it had been. One of them told +me that they had gone with the boiler to the trenches. Everything had +been very quiet. They had taken their stand behind a small ruined +house. Semyonov had just returned from telling the officers of the +Rota that the tea was ready when, quite suddenly, the Austrians had +begun to fire. Bullets had passed thickly overhead. Marie Ivanovna had +seemed quite fearless, and laughing, had stepped, for a moment, from +behind the shelter to see whether the soldiers were coming for their +tea. She was struck instantly; she gave a sharp little cry and fell. +They rushed to her side, but death had been instantaneous. She had +been struck in the heart.... There was nothing to be done.... The +soldiers seemed to feel it very deeply, and one of them, a little +round fellow with a merry face whom I knew well, turned away from me +and began to cry, with his hand to his eyes.</p> + +<p>Semyonov was standing in the room with exactly that same dead burning +expression in his eyes. His mouth was set severely, his legs apart, +his hands at his sides.</p> + +<p>"A terrible misfortune," I heard the stout doctor say.</p> + +<p>Semyonov looked at him gravely.</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much for your kindness," he said courteously. Then, by +a common instinct, without any spoken word between us, we all went +from the room, leaving Semyonov alone there.</p> + +<p>I remember very little of our return to Mittövo. We borrowed a cart +upon which we laid the body. I sat in the trap with Semyonov. I was, I +remember, afraid lest he should suddenly go off his head. It seemed +quite a possible thing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> then, he was so quiet, so motionless, scarcely +breathing. I concentrated all my thought upon this. I had my hand upon +his arm and I remember that it relieved me in some way to feel it so +thick and strong beneath his sleeve. He did not look at me once.</p> + +<p>I do not know what my thoughts were, a confused incoherent medley of +nonsense. I did not think of Marie Ivanovna at all. I repeated again +and again to myself, in the silly, insane way that one does under the +shock of some trouble, the words of the poem that I had read that +afternoon:</p> + +<div class="poem1"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Robinson Crusoë passa par Amsterdam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Je crois du moins qu'il y passa) en revenant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De l'île ombreuse et verte—ombreuse et verte—ombreuse et verte....<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was dark, or at any rate, it seemed to me dark. The weather was +still and close; every sound echoed abominably through the silence. +When we arrived at Mittövo I suddenly thought of Trenchard. I had +utterly forgotten him until that moment. I got out of the trap and +when Semyonov climbed out he put his hand on my arm. I don't know why +but that touched me so deeply and sharply that I felt, suddenly, as +though in another instant I should lose my self-control. It was so +unlike him, so utterly unlike him, to do that. I trembled a little, +then steadied myself, and we walked together into the house. They must +all instantly have known what had occurred because I heard running +steps and sharp anxious voices.</p> + +<p>I felt desperately, as a man runs when he is afraid, that I must be +alone. I slipped away into the passage that leads from the hall. This +passage was quite dark and I was feeling my direction with my hands +when some one, carrying a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> candle, turned the corner. It was +Trenchard. He raised the candle high to look at me.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Durward," he cried. "You're back. What sort of a time?..."</p> + +<p>I told him at once what had occurred. The candle dropped from his +hand, falling with a sharp clatter. There was a horrible pause, both +of us standing there close to one another in the sudden blackness. I +could hear his fast nervous breathing. I was myself unstrung I +suppose, because I remember that I was dreadfully afraid lest +Trenchard should do something to me, there, as we stood.</p> + +<p>I felt his hand groping on my clothes. But he was only feeling his +way. I heard his steps, creeping, stumbling down the passage. Once I +thought that he had fallen.</p> + +<p>Then there was silence, and at last I was alone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIII" id="CHAPTER_IIIII"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE FOREST</h3> + + +<p>And now I am confronted with a very serious difficulty. There is +nothing stranger in this whole business of the life and character of +war than the fashion in which an atmosphere that has been of the +intensest character can, by the mere advance or retreat of a pace or +two, disappear, close in upon itself, present the blindest front to +the soul that has, a moment before, penetrated it. It is as though one +had visited a house for the first time. The interior is of the most +absorbing and unique interest. There are revealed in it beauties, +terrors, of so sharp a reality that one believes that one's life is +changed for ever by the sight of them. One passes the door, closes it +behind one, steps into the outer world, looks back, and there is only +before one's view a thick cold wall—the windows are dead, there is no +sound, only bland, dull, expressionless space. Moreover this dull +wall, almost instantly, persuades one of the incredibility of what one +has seen. There were no beauties, there were no terrors.... Ordinary +life closes round one, trivial things reassume their old importance, +one disbelieves in fantastic dreams.</p> + +<p>I believe that every one who has had experience of war will admit the +truth of this. I had myself already known something of the kind and +had wondered at the fashion in which the crossing of a mere verst or +two can bring the old life about one. I had known it during the battle +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> S——, in the days that followed the battle, in moments of the +Retreat, when for half an hour we would suddenly be laughing and +careless as though we were in Petrograd.</p> + +<p>And so when I look back to the weeks of whose history I wish now to +give a truthful account, I am afraid of myself. I wish to give nothing +more than the facts, and yet that something that is <i>more</i> than the +facts is of the first, and indeed the only, importance. Moreover the +last impression that I wish to convey is that war is a <i>hysterical</i> +business. I believe that that succession of days in the forest of +S——, the experience of Nikitin, Semyonov, Andrey Vassilievitch, +Trenchard and myself—might have occurred to any one, must have +occurred to many other persons, but from the cool safe foundation on +which now I stand it cannot but seem exceptional, even exaggerated. +Exaggerated, in very truth, I know that it is not. And yet this +life—so ordered, so disciplined, so rational, and <span class="smcap">THAT</span> life—where do +they join?... I penetrated but a little way; my friends penetrated +into the very heart ... and, because I was left outside, I remain the +only possible recorder: but a recorder who can offer only signs, +moments, glimpses through a closing door....</p> + +<p>I am waiting now for the return of my opportunity.</p> + +<p>On the night of the death of Marie Ivanovna I slept a heavy, dreamless +sleep. I was wakened between six and seven the next morning by +Nikitin, who told me that he, Trenchard, Andrey Vassilievitch and I +were to return at once to the forest. I realised at once that +indescribable quiver in the air of momentous events. The house was +quite still, the summer morning very fresh and clear, but the air was +weighted with some crisis. It was not only the death of Marie Ivanovna +that was present with us, it was rather something that told us that +now no individual life or death<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> counted ... individualities, +personalities, were swallowed up in the sweeping urgency of a great +climax. Nikitin simply told me that a furious battle was raging some +ten versts on the other side of the river, that we were to go at once +to form a temporary hospital behind the lines in the Forest; that the +nurses and the rest of the Otriad would remain in Mittövo to wait for +the main tide of the wounded, but that we were to go forward to help +the army doctors. He spoke very quietly. We said nothing of Marie +Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>I dressed quickly and on going out found the wagons waiting, some +fifteen or twenty sanitars and Trenchard and Andrey Vassilievitch. The +four of us climbed into one of the wagons and set off. I did not see +Semyonov. Trenchard was pale, there were heavy black lines under his +eyes—but he seemed calm, and he stared in front of him as though he +were absorbed by some concentrated self-control. For the first time in +my experience of him he seemed to me a strong independent character.</p> + +<p>We did not speak at all. I could see that Andrey Vassilievitch was +nervous: his eyes were anxious and now and then he moistened his lips +with his tongue. When we had crossed the river and began to climb the +hill I knew that I <i>hated</i> the Forest. It was looking beautiful under +the early morning sun, its green so delicate and clear, its soft +shadows so cool, its birds singing so carelessly, the silver birches, +lines of light against the dark spaces; but this was all to me now as +though it had been arranged by some ironic hand. It knew well enough +who had died there yesterday and it was preparing now, behind its +black recesses, a rich harvest for its malicious spirit. We passed +through the cholera village and reached the white house of yesterday +at about ten o'clock. As we clattered up to the door I for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> moment +closed my eyes. I felt as though I could not face the horrible place, +then summoning my control I boldly challenged it, surveying its long +broken windows, its high doorway, its sunny, insulting garden. We were +met by the stout doctor, whom I had seen before. As he is of some +importance in the events that followed I will mention his +name—Konstantine Feôdorovitch Kryllow. He was large and stout, a true +Russian type, with a merry laughing face. He had the true Russian +spirit of unconquerable irrational merriment. He laughed at everything +with the gaiety of a man who finds life too preposterous for words. He +had all the Russian untidyness, kindness of heart, gay, ironical +pessimism. "To-morrow" was a word unknown to him: nothing was sacred +to him, and yet at times it seemed as though life were so holy, so +mysterious, that the only way to keep it from careless eyes was by +laughing at it. He had no principles, no plans, no prejudices, no +reverences. If he wished to sleep for a week he would do so, if he +wished to eat for a week he would do so. If he died to-morrow he did +not care ... it was all so absurd that it was not worth while to give +it any attention. He would grow very fat, he would die—he would love +women, play cards, drink, quarrel, give his life for a sentimental +moment, pour every farthing of his possessions into the lap of a +friend, incur debts which he would not pay, quarrel wildly with a man +about a rouble, remember things that you would expect him to forget, +forget everything that he should remember—a pagan, a saint, a +blackguard, a hero—anything you please so long as you do not take it +seriously.</p> + +<p>This morning he was dirty and looked as though he had slept for many +nights without taking off his clothes—unshaven, his shirt open +showing his hairy chest, his eyes blinking in the light.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's good," he said, seeing us. "I've got to be off, leaving the +place to you.... Fearful time they're having over there," pointing +across the garden. "Yes, five versts away. Plenty of work in a minute. +Brought food with you? Very little here." Then I heard him begin, as +he walked into the house with Nikitin, "Terrible thing, Doctor, about +your Sister yesterday.... Terrible.... I—"</p> + +<p>I remember that my great desire was that I should not be left alone +with Trenchard. I clung to Andrey Vassilievitch, and a poor resource +he was, watching with nervous eyes the building and the glimmering +forest, dusting his clothes and beginning sentences which he did not +finish, Trenchard was quite silent. We entered the horrible room of +yesterday. The dirty plate and the sardine-tin were still there with +the flies about them: the highly coloured German supplement watched us +from its rakish position on the wall, the treatise on New Mexico was +lying on the table. I picked up the book and it opened naturally at a +place where the last reader had turned down the corner of the page. +The same page happens to be quoted exactly in Trenchard's diary on an +occasion about which afterwards I shall have to speak. There is an +account of the year's work of some New Mexican school and it runs:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Besides the regular class work there have been other +features of special merit, programmes of which we append:</p> + +<p>"Lectures: Rev. H. W. Ruffner, Titles and Degrees; Mr. Fred +A. Bush, What the Community owes the Newspaper and what the +Newspaper owes the Community; Dr. E. H. Woods, Tuberculosis; +Rev. I. R. Glass, Fools; Mr. Eugene Warren, Blood of the +Nation; Dr. L. M. Strong, Orthopedics; Hon. S. M. +Ashenfelter, Freedom of Effort; Hon. W. T. Cessna, Don't Pay +too dearly for the Whistle; Dr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> O. S. Westlake, The +Physician and the Laity; Prof. Wellington Putman, Rip Van +Winkle; Rev. E. S. Hanshaw, The Mind's Picture Gallery; Hon. +R. M. Turner, Opportunities.</p> + +<p>"<i>Othello.</i> For the first time the normal students presented +for the class-day exercise a Shakespearian play, <i>Othello</i>. +Cast of characters: Othello, E. F. Dunlavey; Iago, Douglas +Giffard; Duke of Venice, Charles Harper; Brabantio, Eugene +Cosgrove; Cassio, Arnold Rosenfeld; Roderigo, Erwin Moore; +Montano, Wilson Portherfield; Lodovico, Henry Geitz; +Gratiano, William Fleming; Desdemona, Carrie Whitehill; +Emilia, Gussie Rodgers; Bianca, Florence Otter; senators, +officers, messengers and attendants.</p> + +<p>"<i>Graduating Programme.</i> Music: the Anglo-Saxon in History, +Douglas Giffard; the Anglo-Saxon in Science, Florence Otter; +the Anglo-Saxon in Literature, Gussie Rodgers; Music; annual +address, Hon. R. M. Turner; Music; presentation of diplomas.</p> + +<p>"Doubtless among the most interesting and most profitable +events of the institution was the annual society contest +between the two societies, the Literati and the Lyceum. The +Silver City Commercial Club offered a costly cup to the +winning society and it was won by the Lyceum. The contest +was in oration, elocution, debate, parliamentary usage and +athletics.</p> + +<p>"The inside adornment of the hall has not been neglected. A +number of portraits and a large number of carbon prints of +celebrated paintings have been added, the class picture +being the most important and costing in the neighbourhood of +$100; this is the hunting scene of Ruysdael. Some of the +others are 'The Parthenon,' 'The Immaculate Conception' by +Murillo, and 'The Allegorie du Printemps' by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> Botticelli. +Many valuable specimens have been added to the museum: among +these are minerals, animals and vegetable products, and +manufactured articles from abroad illustrative of the habits +and customs of foreigners." </p></div> + +<p>I give this page in full because it was afterwards to have importance, +though at the time I glanced at it only carelessly. But I remember +that I speculated on the lecture by the Rev. I. R. Glass about +"Fools," that I admired a contest so widely extended as to embrace +oration, parliamentary usage and athletics, that I liked very much the +"class Ruysdael," "costing in the neighbourhood of $100," and the +"manufactured articles from abroad, illustrative of the habits and +customs of foreigners."</p> + +<p>Nikitin came up to me. "Will you please set off at once with Mr. to +Vulatch?" he said. "Find there Colonel Maximoff and get direct orders +from him. Return as soon as possible. They say we're not likely to +have wounded until late this afternoon—a good thing as a lot wants +doing to this place. Hasten, Ivan Andreievitch. No time to lose."</p> + +<p>Vulatch was a little town situated ten versts to our right in the +Forest. I had heard of its strange position before, quite a town and +yet lying in the very heart of the Forest, as though it had been the +settlement of some early colonists. It had running through it a good +high road, but otherwise was far removed from the outer world. It had +during the war been twice bombarded and was now, I believed, ruined +and deserted. For the moment it was the headquarters of the +Sixty-Fifth Staff. I was frankly frightened of going alone with +Trenchard—frightened both of myself and of him. I told him and +without a word he went with me. When we started off in the wagon I +looked at him. He was sitting on the straw, very quietly, his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> hands +folded, looking in front of him. He seemed older: the sentimental +naiveté that had been always in his face seemed now entirely to have +left him. He had always looked before as though he wanted some one to +help him out of a position that was too difficult for him; now he was +alone in a world where no one could reach him. During the whole drive +to Vulatch we exchanged no word. The sound of the cannon was distant +but incessant, and strangely, as it seemed to me, we were alone. Once +and again soldiers passed us, sometimes wagons with kitchens or +provisions met us on the road, sometimes groups of men were waiting by +the roadside, once we saw them setting up telegraph wires, once a +desolate band of Austrian prisoners crossed our path, twice wagons +with wounded rumbled along—but for the most part we were alone. We +were out of the main track of the battle. It was as though the Forest +had arranged this that it might the more impress us. Our road, +although it was the high road, was rough and uneven and we advanced +slowly: with every step that the horses took I was the more conscious +of a sinister and malign influence. I know how easily one's nerves can +lend atmosphere to something that is in itself innocent and harmless +enough, but it must be remembered that (at this time), in spite of +what had happened yesterday, neither Trenchard's nerves nor mine were +strained. My sensation must, I think, have closely resembled the +feelings of a diver who, for the first time, descends below the water. +I had never felt anything like this before and there was quite +definitely about my eyes, my nose, my mouth, a feeling of suffocation. +I can only say that it was exactly as though I were breathing in an +atmosphere that was strange to me. This may have been partly the +effect of the sun that was beating down very strongly upon us, but it +was also, curiously enough, the result of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> some dimness that obscured +the direct path of one's vision. On every side of our rough forest +road there were black cavernous spaces set here and there like caves +between sheets of burning sunlight. Into these caves one's gaze simply +could not penetrate, and the light and darkness shifted about one with +exactly the effect of stirring, swaying water. Although the way was +quite clear and the road broad I felt as though at any moment our +advance would be stopped by an impenetrable barrier, a barrier of +bristled thickets, of an iron wall, of a sudden, fathomless precipice. +Of course to both Trenchard and myself there were, during this drive, +thoughts of his dream. We both recognized, although at this time we +did not speak of it, that this was the very place that had now grown +so vivid to us. "Ah, this is how it looks in sunlight!" I would think +to myself, having seen it always in the early morning and cold. Behind +me the long white house, the hunters, the dogs.... No, they were not +here in the burning suffocating sunlight, but they would come—they +would come!</p> + +<p>The monotony of the place emphasised its vastness. It was not, I +suppose, a great Forest, but to-day it seemed as though we were +winding further and further, through labyrinth after labyrinth of +clouding obscurity, winding towards some destination from which we +could never again escape. "Pum—pum—pum," whispered the cannon; +"Whirr—whirr—whirr," the shadowy trembling background echoed. Then +with a sudden lifting of the curtain Vulatch was revealed to us. +Ruined towns and villages were, by this time, no new sight to me, but +this place was different from anything that I had ever seen before. +From the bend of the little hill we looked down upon it and the sight +of it made me shudder. It was the deadest place, the <i>deadest</i> place +in the world—all white under the sun it lay there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> like the bleached +bones of some animal picked clean long ago by the birds.</p> + +<p>Not a sound came from it, not a movement could be discerned in it. I +could see, standing out straight from the heart of it, what must have +been once a fine church. It had had four green turrets perched like +little green bubbles on white towers; three of these were still there, +and between them stood the white husk of the place; from where we +watched we could see little fires of blue light sparkling like jewels +between the holes. Over it all was a strange metallic glitter as +though we were seeing through glass, glass shaded very faintly green. +Under this green shadow, which seemed very gently to stain the air, +the town was indeed like a lost city beneath the sea. Catching our +breaths we plunged down into the fantastic depths....</p> + +<p>As we descended the hill we were surprised by the silence—not a soul +to be seen. We had expected to find the place filled with the soldiers +of the Sixty-Fifth Division. Our driver on this day was the man +Nikolai whom I have mentioned before as attaching himself from the +very beginning to Trenchard's service. He had been Trenchard's +unofficial servant now for a long time, saying very little, always +succeeding, in some quiet fashion of his own, in accompanying +Trenchard on his expeditions. Nikolai was one of the quietest human +beings I have ever known. His charming ugly face was in repose a +little gloomy, not thoughtful so much as expectant, dreamy perhaps but +also very practical and unidealistic. His smile changed all that; in a +moment his face was merry, even good-humouredly malicious, suspicious, +and a little ironical. He had the thick stolid body of the Russian +peasant who is trained to any endurance, any misfortune that God might +choose to send it. His attachment to Trenchard had been so +un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>obtrusive that Molozov had officially permitted it without +realising that he had permitted anything. It was so unobtrusive that I +myself had not, during these last weeks, noticed it. To-day I saw +Nikolai glance many times at Trenchard. His eyes were anxious and +inquiring; he looked at him rather as a dog may look at his master, +although there was here no dumb submission, nor any sentimental +weakness.... I should rather say that Nikolai looked at Trenchard as +one free man may look at another. "What is the matter with you?" his +eyes seemed to say. "But I know ... a terrible thing has happened to +you. At any rate I am here to be of any use that I can."</p> + +<p>"Nikolai," I said, "why is there no one here?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ne mogoo znat</i>, your Honour."</p> + +<p>"Well, the first soldier you see you must ask."</p> + +<p>"<i>Tak totchno.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Who said you were to drive us?"</p> + +<p>"Vladimir Stepanovitch, your Honour."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to remain with us?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tak totchno.</i>"</p> + +<p>His eyes rested for a moment on Trenchard, then he turned to his +horses.</p> + +<p>We were entering the town now and it did, indeed, present to us a +scene of desperate desolation. The place had been originally built in +rising tiers on the side of the valley, and the principal street had +leading out of it, up the hill, steps rising to balconied houses that +commanded a view of the opposite hill. Almost every house in this +street was in ruins; sometimes the ruins were complete—only an +isolated chimney of broken stone wall remaining, sometimes the shell +was standing, the windows boarded up with wood, sometimes almost the +whole building was there, a gaping space in the roof the only sign of +desolation. And there re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>mained the ironical signs of its earlier +life. Many of the buildings had their titles still upon them. In one +place I saw the blackened and almost illegible plate of a lawyer, in +another a large still fresh-looking advertisement of a dentist, here +there was the large lettering "Tobacconist," there upon a trembling +wall the tattered remains of an announcement of a sale of furniture. +Once, most ironical of all, a gaping and smoke-stained building showed +the half-torn remnant of a cinematograph picture, a fat gentleman in a +bowler hat entering with a lady on either arm a gaily painted +restaurant. Over this, in big letters, the word "FARCE."</p> + +<p>Although we saw no soldiers we were not entirely alone. In and out of +the sunny caverns, appearing outlined against the darkness, vanishing +in a sudden blaze of light, were shadows of the citizens of Vulatch. +They seemed to me, without exception, to be Jews. From most of the +Galician towns and villages the Jews had been expelled—here they +only, apparently, had been left. Of women I saw scarcely any—old men, +with long dirty black or grizzled beards, yellow skins, peaked black +caps, and filthy black gowns clutched about their thin bodies. They +watched us, silently, ominously, maliciously. They crept from door to +door, stole up the stone steps and vanished, appeared, as it seemed, +right beneath our horses' feet and disappeared. If we caught them with +our eyes they bowed with a loathsome, trembling subservience. There +were many little Jewish children, with glittering eyes, naked feet, +bare scrubby heads and white faces. Nikolai at length caught an old +man and asked him where the soldiers were. The old man replied in very +tolerable Russian that all the soldiers had gone last night—not one +of them remained—but he believed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> that some more were shortly to +arrive. They were always coming and going, he said.</p> + +<p>We stayed where we were, under the blazing sun, and held council. In +every doorway, in every shadow, there were eyes watching us. The whole +town was overweighted, overwhelmed by the brooding Forest. From where +we stood I could see it rising on every side of us like a trembling, +threatening green wave; in the furious heat of the sun the white ruins +seemed to jump and leap.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said to Trenchard, "what's to be done?"</p> + +<p>He pulled himself back from his thoughts.</p> + +<p>He had been sitting in the cart, quite motionless, his face white and +hidden, as though he slept. He raised his tired, heavy eyes to my +face.</p> + +<p>"Do?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered impatiently. "Didn't you hear what Nikolai said? +There are no soldiers here. We can't find Maximoff because he isn't +here. We must go back, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Very well," he answered indifferently.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going back," I said, "until I've had something to drink—tea +or coffee. I wonder whether there's anything here—any place we could +go to."</p> + +<p>Nikolai inquired. Old Shylock pointed with his bony finger down the +street.</p> + +<p>"Very fine restaurant there," he said.</p> + +<p>"Will you come and see?" I asked Trenchard.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Trenchard.</p> + +<p>I told Nikolai to stay there and wait for us. I walked down the +street, followed by Trenchard. I found on my left, at the top of a +little flight of steps, a house that was for the most part untouched +by the general havoc around and about it. The lower windows were +cracked and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> door open and gaping, but there stood, quite bravely +with new paint, the word "<i>Restoration</i>" on the lintel and there were +even curtains about the upper windows. Passing through the door we +found a room decently clean, and behind the little bar a stout +red-faced Galician in white shirt and grey trousers, a citizen of the +normal world. We were just then his only customers. We asked him for +tea and sat down at a little table in the corner of the room. He did +not talk to us but stood in his place humming cheerfully to himself +and cleaning glasses. He was a rogue, I thought, looking at his little +eyes, but at any rate a merry rogue; he certainly had kept off from +him the general death and desolation that had overwhelmed his +neighbours. I sat opposite to Trenchard and wondered what to say to +him. His expression had never varied. As I looked at him I could not +but think of the strength of his eyes, of his mouth, the quiet +concentration of his hands ... a different figure from the smiling +uncertain man on the Petrograd station—how many years ago?</p> + +<p>Our tea was brought to us. Then quite suddenly Trenchard said to me:</p> + +<p>"Did she say anything before she died?"</p> + +<p>"No," I answered quietly. "She died instantly, they told me."</p> + +<p>"How exactly was she killed?"</p> + +<p>His eyes watched my face without falter, clearly, gravely, +steadfastly.</p> + +<p>"She was killed by a bullet. Stepped out from behind her shelter and +it happened at once. She can have suffered nothing."</p> + +<p>"And Semyonov <i>let</i> her?"</p> + +<p>"He could not have prevented it. It might have happened to any one."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I would have prevented it," he said, nodding his head gravely.</p> + +<p>He was silent for a little; then with a sudden jerk he said:</p> + +<p>"Where has she gone?"</p> + +<p>"Gone?" I repeated stupidly after him.</p> + +<p>"Yes—that's not death—to go like that. She must be somewhere +still—somewhere in this beastly forest. What—afterwards—when you +saw her—what? ... her face?..."</p> + +<p>"She looked very peaceful—quite happy."</p> + +<p>"No restlessness in her face? No anxiety?"</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"But all that life—that energy. It can't have stopped. Quite +suddenly. It <i>can't</i>. She can't have wanted <i>not</i> to know all those +things that she was so eager about before." He was suddenly voluble, +excited, leaning forward, staring at me. "You know how she was. You +must have seen it numbers of times—how she never looked at any of us +really, how we were none of us—no, not even Semyonov—anything to her +<i>really</i>; always staring past us, wanting to know the answer to +questions that <i>we</i> couldn't solve for her. She wouldn't give it all +up simply for nothing, simply for a bullet ..." he broke off.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Trenchard," I said, "try not to think of her just now more +than you can help, <i>just now</i>. We're in for a stiff time, I believe. +This will be our last easy afternoon, I fancy, and even now we ought +to be back helping Nikitin. You've got to work all you know. One's +nerves get wrong easily enough in a place like this—and after what +has happened I feel this damned Forest already. But we mustn't <i>let</i> +our nerves go. We've simply got to work and think about nothing at +all—<i>think about nothing at all</i>."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> + +<p>I don't believe that he heard me.</p> + +<p>"Semyonov?" he said slowly. "What did he do?"</p> + +<p>"He was very quiet," I answered. "He didn't say anything. He looked +awful."</p> + +<p>"Yes. She snapped her fingers at <i>him</i> anyway. <i>He</i> couldn't keep her +for all his bullying."</p> + +<p>"It pretty well killed him," I said rather fiercely. "Look here, +Trenchard. Don't think of yourself—or of her. Every one's in it now. +There isn't any personality about it. We've simply got to do our best +and not think about it. It's thinking that beats one if one lets it."</p> + +<p>"Semyonov ... Semyonov," he repeated to himself, smiling. "No, <i>he</i> +had not power over her." Then looking at me very calmly, he remarked: +"This Death, you know, Durward.... It simply doesn't exist. It can't +stop <i>her</i>. It can't stop <i>any one</i> if they're determined. I'll find +her before Semyonov does, too."</p> + +<p>Then, as though he had waked from sleep, he said to me, his voice +trembling a little: "Am I talking queerly, Durward? If I am, don't +think anything of it. It's this heat—and this place. Let's get back." +He only spoke once more. He said: "Do you remember that first +drive—ages ago, when we saw the trenches and heard the frogs and I +thought there was some one there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said. "I remember."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's rather like that now, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>A pretty girl, twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, obviously the +daughter of the red-faced proprietor, came up to us and asked us if we +would like any more tea. She would be stout later on, her red cheeks +were plump and her black hair arranged coquettishly in little shining +curls. She smiled on us.</p> + +<p>"No more tea?" she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No more," I answered.</p> + +<p>"You will not be staying here?"</p> + +<p>"Not to-night."</p> + +<p>"We have a nice room here."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps one of you—"</p> + +<p>"No. We are returning to-night,"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, for an hour or two." Then smiling at me and laughing a +little, "I have known many officers ... very many."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," I said sternly.</p> + +<p>"I have a sister," she said. She turned, crying: "Marie, Marie!"</p> + +<p>A little girl, who could not have been more than fourteen years of +age, appeared from the background. She also was red-cheeked and plump; +her hair also was arranged in black, shining curls. She stood looking +at us, half smiling, half defiant, sucking her finger.</p> + +<p>"She also has known officers," said the girl. "She would be very glad, +if you cared—"</p> + +<p>I heard their father behind the bar humming to himself.</p> + +<p>"Come out of this!" I said to Trenchard. "Come away!"</p> + +<p>He followed me quietly, bowing very politely to the staring +sisters....</p> + +<p>"Go on," I said to Nikolai. "Drive on. No time to waste. We've got +work to do."</p> + +<p>On our return we found that the press of work was not as yet severe. +Half the building belonged to us, the remaining half being used by the +officers of the battery. Nikitin had arranged a large room, that must +I think have been a dining-room in happier days, with beds; to the +right was the operating-room, overhead were our bedrooms and the room +where originally I had sat with Marie Ivanovna<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> was a general meeting +place. The officers of the battery, two middle-aged and two very young +indeed, were extremely courteous and begged us to make use of them in +any way possible. They were living in the raggedest fashion, a week's +growth of beard on their chins, their beds unmade, the floor littered +with ends of cigarettes, pieces of paper, journals.</p> + +<p>"Been here weeks," they apologetically explained to us. "Come in and +have a meal with us whenever you like." They resembled animals in a +cave. When they were not on duty they played <i>chemin-de-fer</i> and +slept. Meanwhile for three days and nights our work was slight. The +battle drew further away into the Forest. Wagons with wounded came to +us only at long intervals.</p> + +<p>The result of these three days was a strange new intimacy between the +four of us. I have never in all my life seen anything more charming +than the behaviour of Nikitin and Andrey Vassilievitch to Trenchard. +There is something about Russian kindness that is both simpler and +more tactful than any other kindness in the world. Tact is too often +another name for insincerity, but Russian kindheartedness is the most +honest impulse in the Russian soul, the quality that comes first, +before anger, before injustice, before prejudice, before slander, +before disloyalty, and overrides them all. They were, of course, +conscious that Trenchard's case was worse than their own. Marie +Ivanovna's death had shocked them, but she had been outside their +lives and already she was fading from them. Trenchard was another +matter. Nikitin seemed to me for the first time in my knowledge of him +to come down from his idealistic dreaming. He cared for Trenchard like +a child, but never obtrusively. Trenchard seemed to appreciate it, but +there was something about him that I did not like. His nerves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> were +tensely strained, he did his work with his eyes fixed upon some +impossible distance, he often did not hear us when we spoke to him.</p> + +<p>And so the three of us formed a kind of hedge about him to protect +him, a hedge of which he was perfectly unconscious. He was very silent +and I would have given a great deal to hear again one of those +Glebeshire stories that I had once found so tiresome. That some plan +or purpose was in his head one could not doubt.</p> + +<p>We had, all of us, much in common in our characters. We liked the +sentimental easy coloured view of life. We suddenly felt a strange +freedom here in this place. For myself, on the third day, I found that +Marie Ivanovna was most strangely present with me, and on the +afternoon of that day, our wounded quiet on their beds, our wagons +sent into the tent with no prospect of their return for several hours, +we sat together, Nikitin, Andrey Vassilievitch and I, looking out +through a break in the garden towards the Forest, and talked about +her. The weather was now very heavy—certainly a thunderstorm was +coming. I was also weighted down by an intense desire for sleep, at +the same time knowing that if I were to fling myself on my bed sleep +would not come to me. This is an experience that is not unusual at the +Front, and officers have told me that in the middle of a battle when +there comes a sudden lull, their longing for sleep has been so +overpowering that no imminent danger could lift it from their eyes.</p> + +<p>We sat there then and talked in low voices of Marie Ivanovna. I was +aware of the buzzing of the flies, of the dull yellow light beyond the +windows, of the Forest crouching a little as it seemed to me like a +creature who expects a blow. We were all half asleep perhaps, the room +dark behind us, and we talked of her as we might talk of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> picture, a +book, an experience ended and dismissed—something outside our present +affairs. And yet I knew that for me at any rate she was not outside +them. I felt as though at any moment she might enter the room. We +discussed her aloofness, her sudden happiness and her sudden distress, +her intimacies and withdrawals, Nikitin and Andrey Vassilievitch +slowly elaborating her into a high romantic figure. Behind her, behind +all our thoughts of her, there was the presence of Semyonov. Nothing +was stranger during our time here than the way that Semyonov had +always kept us company.</p> + +<p>Our consciousness of relief from him had begun it. We had been more +under his influence than any of us had cared to confess and, in his +presence, had checked our natural impulses. I also was strongly aware +of him through Trenchard. Trenchard seemed now to have a horror of him +that could be explained only by the fact that he held him responsible +for Marie Ivanovna's death. "It's a good thing," I thought to myself, +"that Semyonov's not here."</p> + +<p>These hours of waiting, when there was nothing to do, was bad for all +our nerves. Upon this afternoon I remember that after a time silence +fell between us. We were all staring in front of us, seeing pictures +of other places and other people. I was aware, as I always was, of the +Forest, seeing it shine with its sinister green haze, seeing the white +bleached town, the huddled villagers waiting for their food, but +seeing yet more vividly the deep silences, the dark hollows, the +silent avenues of silver birch. Against this were the figures of the +people who were dear to me. It is strange how war selects and brings +forward as one's eternal company the one or two souls who have been of +importance in one's life. One knows then, in those long, long +threatening pauses, when the battle seems to gather itself to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>gether +before it thunders its next smashing blow, those who are one's true +companions. Certain English figures were now with me outlined against +the Forest—and joined together with them Marie Ivanovna as I had last +seen her, turning round to me by the door and smiling upon me. I did +truthfully feel, as Trenchard had said to me, that she was not dead; I +sat, staring before me, conjuring her to appear. The others also sat +there, staring in front of them. Were they also summoning some figure? +I knew, as though Andrey Vassilievitch had told me, that he was +thinking of his wife. And Nikitin?...</p> + +<p>He sat there, lying back on the old sofa that Marie had used, his +black beard, his long limbs, his dark eyes giving him the colour of +some Eastern magician. He did indeed, with his intense, absorbed gaze, +seem to be casting a spell As I looked Andrey Vassilievitch caught his +glance—they exchanged the strangest flash—something that was +intimate and yet foreign, something appealing and yet hostile. It was +as though Andrey Vassilievitch had said: "I know you are thinking of +her. Leave her to me," and Nikitin had replied: "My poor friend. What +can you do?... I do as I please."</p> + +<p>I know at least that I saw Andrey Vassilievitch frown, make as though +he would get up and leave the room, then think better of it, and sink +back into his chair.</p> + +<p>I remember that just at that moment Trenchard entered. He joined us +and sat on the sofa near Nikitin without speaking, staring in front of +him like the rest of us. His face was tired and old, his cheeks +hollow.</p> + +<p>I waited and the silence began to get on my nerves. Then there came an +interruption. The door opened quite silently: we all turned our eyes +towards it without moving our heads. In the doorway stood Semyonov.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> + +<p>We were startled as though by a ghost. I remember that Andrey +Vassilievitch jumped to his feet, crying. Trenchard never moved. +Semyonov with his usual stolid self-possession came towards us, +greeted us, then turning to me said:</p> + +<p>"I've come to take your place, Ivan Andreievitch."</p> + +<p>"My place?" I stammered.</p> + +<p>"Yes. You're wanted there. You're to return at once in the +<i>britchka</i>.... In half an hour, if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>"And you'll stay?"</p> + +<p>"And I'll stay."</p> + +<p>No one else said anything. I remember that I had some half-intention +of protesting, of begging to be allowed to remain. But I was no match +for Semyonov. I could fancy the futility of my saying: "But really, +Alexei Petrovitch, we don't want you here. It's much better to leave +me. You'll upset them all. It's a nervous place, this." I said +nothing, except: "All right. I'll go." He watched me. He watched us +all. I fancy that he smiled.</p> + +<p>Outside I had a desperate absurd thought that I would return and ask +him to be kind to Trenchard. As I turned away some one seemed to +whisper in my ear:</p> + +<p>"He's come, you know, to find Marie Ivanovna."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIV" id="CHAPTER_IIIV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>FOUR?</h3> + + +<p>Before I give the extracts from Trenchard's diary that follow I would +like to say that I do not believe that Trenchard had any thought +whatever, as he wrote, of publication. He says quite clearly that he +wrote simply for his own satisfaction and later interest. At the same +time I am convinced that he would not now object to their publication. +If he had been here he would, I know, have supported my intention. The +diary lies before me, here on my table, written in two yellow, +stiff-covered manuscript books without lines. They are written very +unevenly and untidily, with very few erasures, but at times +incoherently and with gaps. In one place he has cut from the newspaper +Rupert Brooke's sonnet, beginning:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Blow out, you Bugles, over the rich Dead!</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and pasted it on to the blank page.</p> + +<p>At times he sticks on to the other pages newspaper descriptions that +have pleased him. His own descriptions of the Forest seem to me +influenced by my talks with him, and I remember that it was Nikitin +who spoke of the light like a glass ball and of the green-like water. +For the most part he exhibits, from the beginning of the diary to the +end, extreme practical common sense and he makes, I fancy, a very +strong effort to record quite simply and even naïvely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> the truth as he +sees it. At other times he is quite frankly incoherent....</p> + +<p>I will give, on another page, my impression of him when I saw him on +my return to the Forest. I am, of course, in no way responsible for +inconsistencies or irrelevances. He had kept a diary since his first +coming to the war and I have already given some extracts from it. The +earlier diary, in one place only, namely his account of his adventure +during his night with Nikitin, is of the full descriptive order. That +one occasion I have already quoted in its entirety. With that +exception the early diary is brief and concerned only with the dryest +recital of events. After the death of Marie Ivanovna, however, its +character entirely changes for reasons which he himself shows. I would +have expected perhaps a certain solemnity or even pomposity in the +style of it; he had never a strong sense of humour. But I find it +written in the very simplest fashion; words here and there are +misspelt and his handwriting is large and round like a schoolboy's.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, July 29th.</i> I intend to write this diary with great fulness +for two reasons—in the first place because I can see that it is of +the greatest importance, if one is to get through this business +properly, to leave no hours empty. The trying thing in this affair is +having nothing to do—nothing one can <i>possibly</i> do. They all, +officers, soldiers, from Nikolai Nikolaievitch to my Nikolai here, +will tell you that. No empty hours for me if I can help it.... +Secondly, I really do wish to record exactly my experiences here. I am +perfectly aware that when I'm out of it all, when it's even a day's +march behind me, I shall regard it as frankly incredible—not the +thing itself but the way I felt about it. When I come out of it into +the world again I shall be overwhelmed with other people's impressions +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> it, people far cleverer than I. There will be brilliant +descriptions of battles, of what it feels like to be under fire, of +marches, victories, retreats, wounds, death—everything. I shall +forget what my own little tiny piece of it was like—and I don't want +to forget. I want intensely to remember the truth <i>always</i>, because +the truth is bound up with Marie, and Marie with the truth. Why need I +be shy now about her? Why should I hesitate, under the fear of my own +later timidity, of saying exactly now what I feel? God knows what I +<i>do</i> feel! I am confused, half-numb, half-dead, I believe, with +moments of fiery biting realisation. I'm neither sad, nor happy—only +breathlessly expectant. The only adventure I have ever had in my life +is not—no, it is not—yet ended. And I know that Marie could not have +left me like that, without a word, unless she were returning or were +going to send for me.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile to-day a beastly thing has happened, a thing that will make +life much harder for me here. All the morning there was work. Bandaged +twenty—had fifty in altogether—sent thirty-four on, kept the rest. +Two died during the morning. This isn't really a good place to be, +it's so hemmed in with trees. We ought to be somewhere more open. The +Forest is unhealthy, too. There's been fighting in and out of it +almost since the war began—it <i>can't</i> be healthy. In this hot weather +the place <i>smells</i>.... Then there are the Flies. I write them with a +capital letter because I've got to keep my head about the Flies. Does +any one at home or away from this infernal strip of fighting realise +what flies are? Of course one's read of the tropical sorts, all red +and stinging, or white and bloated—what you like, evil and horrid, +but these here are just the ordinary household kind. Quite ordinary, +but sheets, walls of them. I came into the little larder place near +our sitting-room<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> this morning. I thought they'd painted the walls +black during the night. Then, at my taking the cover off some sugar, +it was exactly as though the walls hovered and then fell inward +breaking into black dust as they fell. They'll cluster over a drop of +wine on the table just like an evil black flower with grey petals. +With one's body they can play tricks beyond belief. They <i>laugh</i> at +one, hovering at a distance, waiting. They watch one with their wicked +little eyes ... yes, I shall have to be careful about flies.</p> + +<p>I've had a headache all day, but then in the afternoon there was a +thunderstorm hovering somewhere near and there was no work to do. I +feel tired, too, and yet I can't sleep. Later in the afternoon we were +all sitting together, very quiet, not talking. I was thinking about +Semyonov then. I wondered whether he felt her death. How had he taken +it? Durward would tell me so little. I was so glad, all the same, that +he wasn't here. And yet, in the strangest way, I would like to have +spoken to him, to have asked him, if I had dared, a little about her. +He was the only man to whom she really gave herself. I don't grudge +him that—but there's so much that I want to know—and yet I'd die +rather than ask him. Die! That's an old phrase now—death would tell +me much more than Semyonov ever could. Just when we were sitting there +he came in. It was the most horrible shock. I don't want to put it +melodramatically but that was exactly what it was. I had been thinking +of him, thinking even of speaking to him, but I had known at the time +that he wasn't here, that he couldn't be here—then there he was in +the doorway—square and solid and grave and scornful. Now the horrible +thing is that the moment I realised him I felt afraid. I didn't feel +anger or hatred or fine desires for revenge—anything like +that—simply a miserable contemptible fear. It seems that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> as soon as +I climb out of one fear I tumble into another. They are not physical +now, but <i>worse</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Later.</i> The last bit seems rather silly. But I'll leave it.... As to +Semyonov. Of course he was very quiet and scornful with all of us. He +told Durward that he'd come to take his place and Durward went without +a word, Semyonov went off then with Nikitin, looking about, and making +suggestions! He changed some things but not very much. We had been +pretty intimate, all of us, before he came. I had really felt this +last day that Vladimir Stepanovitch and Andrey Vassilievitch were +understood by me. Russians come and go so. At one moment they are +close to you, intimate, open-hearted, then suddenly they shut up, are +miles away, look at you with distrust and suspicion. So with these +two. On Semyonov's arrival they changed absolutely. <i>He</i> shut them up +of course. We were all as gloomy at supper as though we were deadly +enemies. But the worst thing was at night. Durward and I had slept in +one little room, Vladimir Stepanovitch and Andrey Vassilievitch in +another. Of course Semyonov took Durward's bed. There was nowhere else +for him to go. I don't know what he thought about it. Of course he +said nothing. He talked a little about ordinary things and I answered +stupidly as I always do with him. I hated the solemn way he undressed. +He was a long time cleaning his teeth, making noises in his mouth as +though he were laughing at me. Then he sat on his bed, naked except +for his shirt, combing his moustache and beard very carefully with a +pocket-comb. He was so thick and solid and scornful, not looking at me +exactly, just staring in front of him. There was no sound except his +comb scraping through his beard. The room was so small and he seemed +absolutely to fill it, so that I felt really <i>flattened</i> against the +wall. It was as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> though he were showing me deliberately how much finer +a man he was than I, how much stronger his body, that he could do +<i>anything</i> with me if he liked. He asked me, very politely, whether +I'd mind blowing out the candle and I did it at once. He watched me as +I walked across the floor and I felt ashamed of my thinness and my +ugliness and <i>I know that he knew that I was ashamed</i>. After the light +was blown out I heard him settle into his bed with a great heavy plop. +I couldn't sleep for a long time, and at every movement that he made I +felt as though he were laughing at me. And yet with all this I had +also the strangest impulse to get up, there in the dark, to walk +across the room, to put my hand on his shoulder and to ask him about +her. What would he do? He'd refuse to speak, I suppose. I should only +get insulted—and yet.... He must be thinking of her—all the time +just as I am. He must <i>want</i> to talk of her and I know her better than +any one else did. And perhaps if I once broke down his pride ... and +yet every time that his body moved and the bed creaked I felt that I +hated him, that I never wanted to speak to him again, that.... Oh! but +I'm ashamed of myself. He is right to despise me....</p> + +<p><i>Saturday, July 31st.</i> It is just midnight. I am on duty to-night. +Everything is quiet and there are not likely I think to be any more +wounded until the morning. I am sitting in the room where they brought +Marie. It's strange to think of that, and when you're sitting with a +candle in a dark room you can imagine anything. It's odd in this +affair how little things affect one. There's a book here, a "Report on +New Mexico." I looked at it idly the other day and now I'm for ever +picking it up. It always opens at the same page and I find myself +thinking, speculating about it in a ridiculous manner. I shall throw +the thing away to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>-morrow, but I know the page by heart anyway. It's +an account of the work of some school or other. Here are a few of the +lectures that were given:</p> + +<p>Mr. Fred. A. Bush. What the Community owes the Newspaper and what the +Newspaper owes the Community.—Rev. I. R. Glass. Fools.—Hon. W. T. +Cessna. Don't Pay too dearly for the Whistle.—Prof. Wellington +Putman. Rip van Winkle.—Rev. R. S. Hanshaw. The Mind's Picture +Gallery.</p> + +<p>Then they acted <i>Othello</i>—The "Normal Students," whoever they may be. +Othello, E. F. Dunlavey. Iago—Douglas Giffard. Desdemona—Carrie +Whitehill. Emilia—Gussie Rodgers.... Afterwards I see that Miss +Gussie Rodgers gave a lecture on the Anglo-Saxon in Literature. She +must have been a clever young woman. Then I see that they decorated +one of their rooms with "a large number of carbon prints of celebrated +paintings," "the class picture being the most important and costing in +the neighbourhood of $100—this is the hunting scene of Ruysdael...." +Also they added to their Museum "manufactured articles from abroad +illustrative of the habits and customs of foreigners."</p> + +<p>Now isn't that <i>all</i> incredible after the day that I've had? Where do +the things join? What's all <i>that</i> got to do with the horrors I've +been through to-day, with the Forest, the cholera, Marie, Semyonov.... +With <i>all</i> that's happening in Europe? With this mad earthquake of a +catastrophe? And yet one thinks of such silly things. I can see them +doing <i>Othello</i> with their cheap ermine, bad jewellery and impossible +wigs. I expect Othello's black came off as he got hotter and hotter; +and the Rev. I. R. Glass on "Fools".... There'd be all the cheap +morality—"It's better, my young friends, to be good than to be bad. +It pays better in the end"—and there'd be little stories, sentimental +some of them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> and humorous some of them. There'd be a general titter +of laughter at the humorous ones.... And the carbon prints, the +"Ruysdael" always pointed out to visitors ... and after the war it +will all be going on again. At Polchester, too, they'll be having +cheap lectures in the Town-Hall and Shakespeare Readings and +High-School Prize-givings.... <i>Where's</i> the Connexion between That and +This? <i>Where's</i> the permanent thing in us that goes on whatever life +may do to us? Is life still beautiful and noble in spite of whatever +man may do with it, or is Semyonov right and there is no meaning in my +love for Marie, nothing real and true except the things we see with +our eyes, hear with our ears? Is Semyonov right, or are Nikitin, +Andrey Vassilievitch and I?... And now let me stick to facts. I left +this morning about six with twenty wagons to fetch wounded. <i>Such</i> a +wonderful summer morning—the Forest quite incredibly beautiful, birds +singing in thousands, and that strange little stream that runs near +our house and can look so abominable when it pleases, was trembling +and lovely as though it didn't know what evil was. We got to the first +Red Cross place about eight. Here was Krylov. What a good fellow! +Always cheerful, always kindhearted, nothing can dismay him. A Russian +type that's common enough in spite of all the "profound pessimism of +the Russian heart" that we're always hearing of. There he was anyway, +working like a butcher before a feast-day. Dirty looking barn they +were working in and it smelt like hell. Cannon pretty close too. They +say the Austrians are fearfully strong just here and of course our +ammunition is climbing down to less than nothing—looks as though we +were going to have a hot time soon. I turned in and helped Krylov all +the morning and somehow his fat, ugly face, his little exclamations, +his explosive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> comical rages, his sudden rough kindnesses did one a +world of good. We filled the wagons and sent them back, then about +midday, under a blazing hot sun, we went on with the others. Is there +any place in the globe hot and suffocating quite as this Forest is? +Even in the open spaces one can't breathe and there's never any proper +shade under the trees. At first we were at a loss, No one seemed quite +to know where the Vengrovsky Polk were. I had to go on alone and +reconnoitre. I was right out in the open then and more alone than one +could believe. Cannon were blazing away and one battery seemed just +behind me—and yet I couldn't see it. I could see nothing—only great +ridges of hills with the Forest like gigantic torrents of green water +under the mist, and just at my feet cornfields <i>thick</i> with +cornflowers. Then I saw rather a wonderful thing. I came to the edge +of my hill and looked down into a cup of a valley, quite a little +valley with the green waves towering on every side of it. Through the +mist there shimmered below me a blue lake. I was puzzled—there was no +water here that I knew, but by this time the Forest has so bewitched +my senses that I'm ready to believe anything of it. There it was, +anyway, a blue lake, shifting a little under gold haze. I climbed down +the hill a yard or two and then you can believe that I jumped! My blue +lake was Austrian prisoners, nothing more nor less! Has any one quite +seen them like that before, I wonder, and isn't this Forest really the +old witch's forest, able to do what it pleases with anything? There +they were, hundreds of them, covering the whole floor of the little +valley. I walked down into the middle of them, found an officer, asked +him about wounded, and got directed some two versts in front of me. +Then I climbed up the hill back to my wagons and we started off. We +went down the hill round by the road and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> came to the prisoners, +crossed a stream and plunged into a shining dazzling nightmare. +<i>Where</i> the cannon were I don't know—all a considerable distance +away, I suppose, because the only sign of shell were the little +breaking puffs of smoke in the blue sky with just a pin-flash of light +as they broke; but really amongst that welter of wooded hill the +sounds were uncanny. They'd be under one's feet, over one's head, in +one's ear, up against one's stomach, straight in the small of one's +back. Since my night with Nikitin physical fear really seems to have +left me—the whole outward paraphernalia of the war has become an +entirely commonplace thing, but it was the Forest that I felt—exactly +as though it were playing with me. Wasn't there an old mediæval +torture when they shot arrows at their victim, always just missing +him, first on one side, then on another, until at last, tired of the +game, they fixed him through the head? Well, that's what the old beast +was trying to do to me, <i>anything</i> to doubt what's real and what is +not, <i>anything</i> to make me question my senses.... We tumbled quite +suddenly on to some men, a small Red Cross shelter and two or three +hundred soldiers sitting under the trees by the road resting—most of +them sleeping. The doctor in the Red Cross place—a small fussy +man—was ill-tempered and overworked. There were at least thirty dead +men lying in a row outside the shelter, and the army sanitars were +bringing in more wounded every minute. "Why weren't there more wagons? +What was the use of coming with so few? Where was the other doctor, +some one or other who ought to have relieved him?" There he was, like +a little monkey on wires, dancing up and down in the blazing road, his +arms covered with blood, pincers in one hand and bandages in the other +and the inside of his shelter with such a green, filthy smell coming +out of it that you'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> think the roof would burst! I filled seven of my +wagons, sent them back and went forward with the remaining three. We +were climbing now, up through the Forest road, the shell, very close, +making a terrific noise, and in between the scream of the shell the +birds singing like anything!</p> + +<p>The road turned the corner and then we <i>were</i> in the middle of it! Now +<i>here's</i> the worst thing I've seen with my eyes since I came to the +war—worst thing I shall ever see perhaps. One looks back, you know, +to one of those old average afternoons at Polchester, my father coming +back from golf, I myself going into the old red-walled garden for tea, +with some novel under my arm, the cathedral bell ringing for Evensong +just over the wall across the Green, then slowly dropping to its +close, then the faint murmur of the organ. Some bird twittering in a +tree overhead, buttered toast in a neat pile placed carefully over hot +water to keep it warm; honey, heavy home-made cake, perhaps the local +weekly paper with the "Do you know that ..." column demanding one's +critical attention. One's annoyed because to-morrow some tiresome +fellow's coming to luncheon, because one wishes to buy some china that +one can't afford, because the wife of the Precentor said to the Dean's +sister that young Trenchard would be an old man in a year or two.... +One sips one's tea, the organ leads the chants, the sun sinks below +the wall.... That! This! ... there's the Forest road hot like red-hot +iron under the sun; it winds away into the Forest, but so far as the +eye can see it is covered with things that have been left by flying +men—<i>such</i> articles! Swords, daggers, rifles, cartridge-cases, of +course, but also books, letters, a hair-brush, underclothes, +newspapers, these tilings in thick, tangled profusion, rifles in +heaps, cartridge-cases by the hundred! Under the sun up and down the +road there are dead and dying, Russians<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> and Austrians together. The +Forest is both above and below the road and from out of it there comes +a continual screaming. There is every note in this babel of voices, +mad notes, plaintive notes, angry notes, whimpering notes. One wounded +man is very slowly trying to drag himself across the road, and his +foot which is nearly severed from his leg waggles behind him. One path +that leads from the road to the Forest is piled with bodies and is a +stream of blood. Some of the dead are lying very quietly in the ditch, +their heads pillowed on their arms—every now and then something that +you had thought dead stirs.... And the screaming from the Forest is +incessant so that you simply don't hear the shell (now very close +indeed)....</p> + +<p>There <i>is</i>, you know, that world somewhere with the Rev. Someone +lecturing on Fools and "the class 'Ruysdael' costing in the +neighbourhood of $100." At least, it's very important if I'm to +continue to keep my head steady that I should <i>know</i> that it is there!</p> + +<p>It seemed that we were the first Red Cross people to arrive. Oh! what +rewards would I have offered for another ten wagons! How lamentably +insufficient our three carts appeared standing there in the road with +this screaming Forest on every side of one! As I waited there, +overwhelmed by the blind indifference of the place, listening still to +the incredible birds, seeing in the businesslike attentions of my +sanitars only a further incredible indifference, a great stream of +soldiers came up the road, passing into the first line of trenches, +only a little deeper in the Forest. They were very hot, the +perspiration dripping down their faces, but they went through to the +position without a glance at the dead and wounded. No concern of +<i>theirs</i>—that. Life had changed; they had changed with it.... +Meanwhile they did as they were told.... <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> + +<p>We worked there, filling our wagons. The selection was a horrible +difficulty. All the wounded were Austrians and how they begged not to +be left! It would be many hours, perhaps, before the next Red Cross +Division would appear. An awful business! One man dying in the wood +tore at his stomach with an unceasing gesture and the air came through +his mouth like gas screaming through an "escape" hole. One Austrian, +quite an old man, died in my arms in the middle of the road. He was +not conscious, but he fumbled for his prayer-book, which he gave me, +muttering something. His name "Schneidher Gyorgy Pelmonoster" was +written on the first page.</p> + +<p>We started for home at length. Our drive back was terrible. I find +that I cannot linger any longer over this affair. Our carts drove over +rough stones and ruts and we were four hours on the journey. Our +wounded screamed all the way—one man died.... My candle is nearly +out. I must find another. In one of its frantic leaps just now I +fancied that I saw Marie standing near the door. She looked just as +she always did, very kind though smiling.... Of course it was only the +candle. I must be careful not to encourage these fancies. But God! how +lonely I am to-night! I realise, I suppose, that there isn't one +single living soul in the world who cares whether I die to-night or +not—not one. Durward will remember me, perhaps. No one else. And +Marie would have cared. Yes, even married to Semyonov she would have +cared—and remembered. And I could always have cared for her, been her +friend, as she asked me. I'm pretty low to-night. If I could sleep.... +Boof!... There goes the candle!</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday, August 4th</i>.... I am growing accustomed, I suppose, to +Semyonov's company. After all, his contempt for me is an old thing, +dating from the very first moment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> that he ever saw me. It has become +now a commonplace to both of us. He is very silent now compared with +the old days. There has been much work yesterday and to-day, but still +last night I could not sleep. I think that he also did not sleep and +we both lay there in the dark, thinking, I suppose, of the same thing. +I thought even of myself, my sense of humour has never been very +strong, but I can at any rate see that I am no very fine figure in +life, and that whether such a man as I live or die can be of no great +importance to any one or anything, but I do most truly desire not to +make more of the matter than is just. A man may have felt himself the +most insignificant and useless of human creatures all his days, but +face him with death and he becomes, by very force of the contrast, +something of a figure.</p> + +<p>Here am I, deprived of the only thing in life that gave me joy or +pride. I should, after that deprivation, have slipped back, I suppose, +to my old life of hopeless uninterest and insignificance, but now here +the death of Marie Ivanovna has been no check at all. I half believe +now that one can do with life or death what one will. If I had known +that from the beginning what things I might have found! As it is, I +must simply make the best of it. Semyonov's contempt would once have +frightened the very life out of me, but after that night of his +arrival here it has been nothing compared with the excitement of our +relationship—the things that are keeping us together in spite of +ourselves and the strange changes, I do believe, that this situation +here is making in him. The loss of Marie Ivanovna would two months ago +perhaps have finished me. What is it now beside the wonder as to +whether I have lost her after all, the consciousness of pursuit, the +longing to <i>know</i>?...</p> + +<p>Durward and I have spoken sometimes of my dream of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> the Forest. It +must seem to him now, as to myself, strangely fulfilled; but I believe +that if I catch the beast it will only be to discover that there is a +further quest beyond, and then another maybe beyond that....</p> + +<p>At the same time there's the practical question of one's nerve. If +this strain of work continues, if the hot weather lasts, and if I +don't sleep, I shall have to take care. Three times during the last +three days I have fancied that I have seen Marie Ivanovna, once in +broad daylight in the Forest, once sitting on the sofa in our room, +once at night near my bed. Of course this is the merest illusion, but +I have hours now when I am not quite sure of things. Andrey +Vassilievitch told me something of the same to-day—that he thought +that he saw his wife and that Nikitin told him the same yesterday. The +flies also are confusing and there's a hot dry smell that's +disagreeable and prevents one from eating. I know that I must keep a +clear head on these things. If only one could get away for an hour or +two, right outside—but one is shut up in this Forest as though it +were a green oven.... I ought to be sleeping now instead of writing +all this.... I must say that I had a curious illusion ten minutes ago +while I was writing this, that one of the wounded, in a bed near the +door which is open, began to slip, bed and all, across the floor +towards me. He did indeed come closer and closer to me, the bed moving +in jerks as though it were pushed. This was, of course, simply because +my eyes were tired. When I try to sleep they are hot and smarting....</p> + +<p>I interrupt Trenchard's diary to give a very brief account of the +impression that was made on me by my visit to the three of them with +some wagons four days after the date of the above entry. It must be +remembered that I had not, of course, at this time read any of +Trenchard's diary, nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> had I seen anything of him since the moment of +Semyonov's arrival. My chief impression during the interval had been +my memory of Trenchard as I had last seen him, miserable, white-faced, +unnerved. I had thought about him a good deal. Those days at the +Otriad had been for the rest of us rather pleasantly tranquil. There +was no question that we were relieved by the absence of Semyonov and +Trenchard. Semyonov was no easy companion at any time and we had the +very natural desire to throw off from us the weight of Marie +Ivanovna's unexpected death. I will not speak of myself in this +matter, but for the others. She had not been very long in their +company, she had been strange and unsettled in her behaviour, she had +been engaged to a man, jilted him, and engaged herself to another—all +within a very short period of time. I, myself, was occupied +incessantly by my thoughts of her, but that was my own affair. The +past week then with us had been tranquil and easy. On my arrival at +the "Point" in the Forest I was met at once by a new atmosphere. For +one thing the war here was on the very top of us. Only a few yards +away, towards the end of the garden, they were digging trenches. +Somewhere beyond the windows, in the Forest, a battery had established +itself near a clearing at the edge of a hill, the guns disguised with +leaves and branches. Soldiers were moving incessantly to and fro. The +house seemed full of wounded, wagons coming and going. They were +digging graves in the garden, and sheeted bodies were lying in the +orchard.</p> + +<p>My friends greeted me, seemed glad to see me for a moment, and then +pursued their business. I was entirely outside their life. Only ten +days before I had felt a closer intimacy with Trenchard, Andrey +Vassilievitch and Nikitin than I had ever had with any of them. Now I +simply<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> did not exist for them. It was not the work that excluded me. +The evening that passed then was an easy evening—very little to do. +We spent most of the night in playing <i>chemin-de-fer</i>. No, it was not +the work. It was quite simply that something was happening to all of +them in which I had no concern. They were all changed and about them +all—yes, even, I believe, about Semyonov—there was an air of +suppressed excitement, rather the excitement that schoolboys have, +when they have prepared some secret forbidden defiance or adventure. +Trenchard, whom I had left in the depths of a lethargic depression, +was most curiously preoccupied. He looked at me first as though he did +not perfectly remember me. He, assuredly, was not well. His eyes were +lined heavily, his white cheeks had a flush of red that burnt there +feverishly, and he seemed extraordinarily thin. He was restless, his +eyes were never still, and I saw him sometimes fix them, in a strange +way, upon some object as though he would assure himself that it was +there. He was obviously under the influence of some deep excitement. +He told me that he was sleeping badly, that his head ached, and that +his eyes hurt him, but he did not seem distressed by these things. He +was too strongly absorbed by something to be depressed. He treated me +and everything around him with impatience, as though he could not wait +for something that he was expecting.</p> + +<p>I have seen in this business of the war strange things that nerves can +do with the human mind and body. I have seen many men who remain with +their nerves as strong as steel from the first to the last, but this +is, I should say, the exception and only to be found with men of a +very unimaginative character. As regards Trenchard one must take into +account his recent loss, the sudden stress of incessant exhausting +work, the flaming weather and the constant com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>panionship of the one +human being of all others most calculated to disturb his tranquillity. +But in varying degrees I think that every one in this place was at +this time working under a strain of something abnormal and +uncalculated. The very knowledge that the attack was now being pressed +severely and that we had so little ammunition with which to reply, was +enough to strain the nerves of every one. Trenchard told me, in the +course of the conversation, that I had with him during my second day's +stay, that his visit to the lines some days earlier (this is the visit +of which he speaks in his diary) had greatly upset him. He had been +disturbed apparently by the fact that there were not sufficient +wagons. The whole sense of the Forest, he told me, was a strain to +him, the feeling that he could not escape from it, the thought of its +colour and heat and at the same time its ugliness and horror, the +cholera scarecrow in it, and the deserted town and all the horrors of +the recent attacks. The dead Austrians and Russians.... But I repeat, +most emphatically, that he was not depressed by this. It was rather +that he wished to keep his energies fresh and clear for some purpose +of his own, and was therefore disturbed by anything that threatened +his health. He was not quite well, he told me—headaches, not +sleeping—but that "he had it well in control."</p> + +<p>And here now is a strange thing. One of the chief purposes of my visit +had been to persuade one of the four men to return with me to the +Otriad. Molozov had asserted very emphatically that none of them +should be compelled against their will to return to Mittövo, but he +thought that it would be well if, considering the strain of the work +and the Position, they were to take it in turns to have a day or two's +rest and so relieve one another. I had had no doubt that this would be +very acceptable to them, but on my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> proposing it, was surprised to +receive from each of them individually an abrupt refusal even to +consider the matter. At the same time they assured me, severally, that +the one or the other of them needed, very badly, a rest. After I had +spoken, Nikitin, taking me aside, told me that he thought that Andrey +Vassilievitch would be better at Mittövo. "He is a little in the way +here," he said. "Certainly he does his best, but this is not his +place." Nikitin wore the same preoccupied air as the +others.—"Whatever you do," he said, "don't let Andrey know that I +spoke to you." Andrey Vassilievitch, on his side with much nervousness +and self-importance, told me that he thought that Nikitin was +suffering from overwork and needed a complete rest. "You know, Ivan +Andreievitch, he is really not at all well; I sleep in the same room. +He talks in his sleep, fancies that he sees things ... very +odd—although this hot weather ... I myself for the matter of that +..." and then he nervously broke off.</p> + +<p>But with all this they did not seem to quarrel with one another. It is +true that I discovered a kind of impatience, especially between Andrey +Vassilievitch and Nikitin, the kind of restlessness that you see +sometimes between two horses which are harnessed together. Semyonov +(he paid no attention to me at all during my visit) treated Trenchard +quite decently, and I observed on several occasions his look of +puzzled curiosity at the man—a look to which I have alluded before. +He spoke to him always in the tone of contemptuous banter that he had +from the beginning used to him: "Well, Mr., I suppose that you +couldn't bring a big enough bandage however much you were asked to. +But why choose the smallest possible...."</p> + +<p>Or, "That's where Mr. writes his poetry—being a nice romantic +Englishman. Isn't it, Mr.?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> + +<p>But I was greatly struck by Trenchard's manner of taking these +remarks. He behaved now as though he had secret reasons for knowing +that he was in every way as good a man as Semyonov—a better one, +maybe. He laughed, or sometimes simply looked at his companion, or he +would reply in his bad halting Russian with some jest at Semyonov's +expense.</p> + +<p>Finally, to end this business, if ever a man were affected to the +heart by the loss of a friend or a lover, Semyonov was that man. He +was a man too strong in himself and too contemptuous of weakness to +show to all the world his hurt. I myself might have seen nothing had I +not always before me the memory of that vision of his face between the +trees. But from that I had proceeded—</p> + +<p>It was, I suppose, the first time in his life that the fulfilment of +his desire had been denied him. Had Marie Ivanovna lived, and had he +attained with her his complete satisfaction, he would have tired of +her perhaps as he had tired of many others, and have remained only the +stronger cynic. But she had eluded him, eluded him at the very moment +of her freshness and happiness and triumph. What defeat to his proud +spirit was working now in him? What longing? What fierce determination +to secure even now his ends? The change that I fancied in him was +perhaps no more than his bracing of his strength and courage to face +new conditions. Death had robbed him of his possession—so much the +worse then for Death!</p> + +<p>Upon this day of icy cold, as I write these words, I am afraid that my +account may be taken as an extravagant and unjustified conceit. But +that I do most honestly believe it not to be. I myself felt, during my +two days' stay in that place, the strangest contact with new +experiences, new developments, new relationships. Normal life had been +left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> utterly behind and there was nothing to remind one of it save +perhaps that "Report on New Mexico" still there on the dusty table. +But there was the heat; there were the wheeling, circling clouds of +flies, now in lines, now in squares, now broken like smoke, now dim +like vapour; there was that old familiar smell of dust and flesh, +chemicals and blood; there were the men dying and broken, fighting +like giants, defeating fears and terrors that hung like grey shadows +about the doors and windows of the house.... Every incident and +experience that we had had at the war, every incident and experience +that I have related in these pages seemed to be gathered into this +house.... As I look back upon it now it seems, without any +extravagance at all, the very heart of the fortress of the enemy. I do +not mean in the least that life was solemn or pretentious or heavy. It +was careless, casual, as liable to the ridiculous intervention of +unimportant things as ever it had been; but it was life pressed so +close to the fine presence of Fate that you could hear the very +beating of his heart. And <i>in</i> this Fortress it seemed to me that I, +who was watching, outside the lives of these others, an observer only +whom, perhaps, this same Fate despised, asked of God a sign. I saw +suddenly here the connexion, for which I had been waiting, between the +four men: There they were, Nikitin and Andrey, Semyonov and +Trenchard—Two Wise Men and Two Fools—surely the rivalry was +ludicrous in its inequality ... and yet God does not judge as men do. +Nikitin and Semyonov or Andrey and Trenchard? Who would be taken and +who left? I recalled Semyonov's jesting words: "Even though it's the +wise men succeed in this world I don't doubt it's the fools have their +way in the next."</p> + +<p>I waited for my Sign....</p> + +<p>Last of all I can hear it objected that every one was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> surely too busy +to attend to relationships or shades of relationships. But it was this +very thing that contributed to the situation, namely, that, in the +very stress of the work, there were hours, many hours, when there was +simply nothing to be done. Then if one could not sleep times were bad +indeed. Moreover, even in the throng of work itself one would be +conscious of that slipping off from one of all the trappings of +reality. One by one they would slip away and then, bewildered, one +would doubt the evidence of one's eyes, one's brain, one's ears, the +fatigue hammering, hammering at one's consciousness.... I have known +what that kind of strain can be.</p> + +<p>I left on the second morning after my arrival and returned to Mittövo +alone.</p> + +<p><i>Trenchard's Diary. Tuesday, August 10.</i> Durward has been here for two +days. He's a good fellow but I seem rather to have lost touch with him +during these last days. Then he's rather bloodless—a little more +humour would cheer him up wonderfully. We've all been in mad spirits +to-day as though we were drunk. The battery officers have got a +gramophone that we turned on. We danced a bit although it's hot as +hell.... Then in the evening my spirits suddenly went; Andrey +Vassilievitch gets on one's nerves. His voice is tiresome and I'm +tired of his wife. He tells me that he thinks he sees her at night. +"Do I think it likely?" Silly little ass—just the way to rot his +nerves. Funny thing to-night. We were playing <i>chemin-de-fer</i>. +Suddenly Semyonov said:</p> + +<p>"Supposing Molozov says that only one of us is to stay on here." There +was silence after that. We all four looked at one another. All I knew +was nothing was going to move me away from this place if I could help +it. Then Semyonov said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course I would have to stay."</p> + +<p>We went for him then. You should have heard Nikitin! I didn't believe +that he had it in him. Semyonov was quiet, of course, smiling that +beastly smile of his.</p> + +<p>Then at last he said:</p> + +<p>"Suppose we play for it?"</p> + +<p>We agreed. The one who turned up the Ace of Hearts was to stay. You +could have heard a pin drop after that. I have never before felt what +I felt then. If I had to return and leave Semyonov here! They say that +the attack may develop in this direction at any moment. If Semyonov +were to be here and I not.... And yet what was it that I wanted? What +I want is to be close to Marie again, to be there where Semyonov +cannot reach us. I believe that she might always have cared for me if +he had not been there. Whatever death may be, I must <i>know</i>.... If +there is nothing more, no matter. If there <i>is</i> something more—then +there is something for her as well as for me and I shall find her, and +I must find her alone. There's nothing left in life now to me save +that. As I sat there looking at the cards I knew all this, knew quite +clearly that I must escape Semyonov. There's no madness in this. +Whilst he is there I'm nothing—but without him, if I were with her +again—I was always beaten easily by anybody but in this at least I +can be strong. I don't hate him but I know that he will always be +first as long as we're together. And we seem to be tied now like dogs +by their tails, tied by our thoughts of Marie....</p> + +<p>Well, anyway I turned up the Ace. My heart seemed to jump right upside +down when I saw it. The others said nothing. Only Semyonov at last:</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr., if it comes to it we'll have to see that it's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> necessary +for <i>two</i> of us to be here. It will never do for you and me to be +parted—"</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the firing's very close to-night. They say the Austrians +have taken Vulatch. Shocking, our lack of ammunition.... God! The +heat!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIV" id="CHAPTER_IIV"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE DOOR CLOSES BEHIND THEM</h3> + + +<p><i>Trenchard's Diary. Saturday, August 14th....</i></p> + +<p>Captain T—— died this afternoon at four-thirty. A considerable shock +to me. He was so young, so strong. They all said that he had a +remarkable future. He had dined with us several times at Mittövo and +his vitality had always attracted me; vitality restrained and drilled +towards some definite purpose. He might have been a great man.... His +wound in the stomach did not hurt him, I think. He was wonderfully +calm at the last. How strange it is that at home death is so horrible +with its long ceremonies, its crowd of relations, its gradual +decay—and here, in nine out of every ten deaths that I have seen +there has been peace or even happiness. This is the merest truth and +will be confirmed by any one who has worked here. Again and again I +have seen that strange flash of surprised, almost startled interest, +again and again I have been conscious—<i>behind</i> not <i>in</i> the eyes—of +the expression of one who is startled by fresh conditions, a fine +view, a sudden piece of news. This is no argument for religion, for +any creed or dogma, I only say that here it is so, that Death seems to +be happiness and the beginning of something new and unexpected.... I +believe that even so hardy a cynic as Semyonov would support me in +this. I and Semyonov were alone with young Captain T—— when he died. +Semyonov had liked the man and had done everything possible to save<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +him. But he was absorbed by his death—<i>absorbed</i> as though he would +tear the secret of it from the body that looked suddenly so empty, and +so meaningless.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm glad he was happy," he said to me. Then he stood, looking +at me curiously. I returned the look. We neither of us said anything. +These are all commonplaces, I suppose, that I am discovering. The only +importance is that some ten million human beings are, in this war, +making these discoveries for themselves, just as I am. Who can tell +what that may mean? I have seen here no visions, nor have I met any +one who has seen them, but there are undoubted facts—not easy things +to discount.</p> + +<p><i>Sunday, August 15.</i> Things are pretty bad here. The Austrians have +taken Vulatch. Both on the right and on the left they have advanced. +They may arrive here at any moment. The magnificence of the Russian +soldier is surely beyond all praise. I wonder whether people in France +and England realise that for the last three months here he has been +fighting with one bullet as against ten. He stands in his trench +practically unarmed against an enemy whose resources seem, +endless—but nothing can turn him back. Whatever advances the Germans +may make I see Russia returning again and again. I do from the bottom +of my soul, and, what is of more importance, from the sober witness of +my eyes, here believe that nothing can stop the impetus born of her +new spirit. This war is the beginning of a world history for her.</p> + +<p>Krylov this afternoon said that he thought that we should leave this +place, get out our wagons and retire. But how can we? At this moment, +how can we? We are just now at the most critical meeting of the +ways—the extra twelve versts back to Mittövo may make the whole +difference to many of the cases, and the doctors of the Division, +Krylov<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> himself admits, have got their arms full. We simply can't +leave them.... There has been some confusion here. There doesn't seem +any responsible person to give us orders. Colonel Maximoff has +forgotten us, I believe. In any case I think that we must stay on here +for another day and night. Perhaps we shall get away to-morrow....</p> + +<p>I had a queer experience this afternoon. I don't want to make too much +of it but here it is. I went up to my room this afternoon at five to +get some sleep, as I'm on duty to-night. I lay down and shut my eyes +and then, of course, as I always do, immediately saw Marie Ivanovna. I +know quite clearly that this present relationship to her cannot +continue for long or I shall be off my head. I can see myself quite +clearly as though I were outside myself, and I know that I'm madder +now than I was a week ago. For instance in this business of Marie +Ivanovna, I knew then that my seeing her was an illusion—now I am not +quite sure. I knew a week ago that I saw her because she is so much in +my thoughts, because of the intolerable heat, because of the Flies and +the Forest, because of Semyonov. I am not sure now whether it is not +<i>her</i> wish that I should see her. She comes as she came on those last +days before she left me—with all the kindness in her eyes that no +other human being has ever given me before, nor will ever give me +again. To-day I looked and was not sure whether she were gone or no. I +was not sure of several things in the room and as I lay there I said +to myself, "Is that really a looking-glass or no?" "If I tried could I +touch it or would it fade from under my hand?" The room was +intolerably close and there was a fly who persecuted me. As I lay +there he came and settled on my hand. He waited, watching me with his +wicked sneering eyes, then he crept forward, and waited again, rubbing +his legs one against the other. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> very slyly, laughing to himself, +he began to tickle me. I slashed with my hand at him, he flew into the +air, sneering, then with a little "ping" settled on the back of my +neck. I vowed that I would not mind him; I lay still. He began then to +crawl very slowly forward towards my chin, and it was as though he +were dragging spidery strands of nerves through my body, fitting them +all on to stiff, tight wires. He reached my chin, and then again, +sneering up into my eyes, he began to tickle. I thought once more that +I had him, but once again he was in the air. Then, after waiting until +I had almost sunk back into sleep, he did the worst thing that a fly +can do, began, very slowly, to crawl down the inside of my pince-nez +(I had been trying to read). He got between the glass and my eyelash +and moved very faintly with his damnable legs. Then my patience +went—I did what during these last days I have vowed not to do, lost +my control, jumped from my bed, and cursed with rage....</p> + +<p>Then with my head almost bursting with heat and my legs trembling I +had an awful moment, I thought that I was really mad. I thought that I +would get the looking-glass and smash it and that then I would jump +from the window. In another moment I thought that something would +break in my head, the something with which I kept control over +myself—I seemed to hear myself praying aloud: "Oh God! let me keep my +reason! Oh God! let me keep my reason!" and I could see the Forest +like a great green hot wave rising beyond the window to a towering +height ready to leap down upon me.</p> + +<p>Then Semyonov came in. He stood in the doorway and looked at me. He +must have thought me strange and I know that I waited, staring at him, +feeling foolish as I always do with him. But he spoke to me kindly, +with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> sort of kindness that there is sometimes in his voice, +patronising and reluctant of course.</p> + +<p>"You can't sleep, Mr.?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, and said something about flies.</p> + +<p>"What have you been doing to the looking-glass?" he asked, laughing, +for there the thing was on the floor, broken into pieces. I am sure +that I never touched it.</p> + +<p>"That's unlucky," he said. "Never mind, Mr.," he said smiling at me, +"twenty-two misfortunes, aren't you? Always dropping something," he +added quite kindly. "More, perhaps, than the rest of us.... Wash your +face in cold water. It's this infernal heat that worries us all."</p> + +<p>I remember then that he poured the water into the blue tin basin for +me and then, taking the tin mug himself, poured it in cupfuls over my +hands and arms. I afterwards did the same for him. At that moment I +very nearly spoke to him of Marie. I wished desperately to try; but I +looked at his face, and his eyes, laughing at me as they always did, +stopped me.</p> + +<p>When I had finished he thanked me, wiped his hands, then turning round +at the door he said: "Why don't you go back to Mittövo, Mr. —— +You're tired out."</p> + +<p>"You know why," I answered, without looking at him He seemed then as +though he would speak, but he stopped himself and went away. I lay +down again and tried to sleep, but when I closed my eyes the green +beyond the window burnt through my eyelids—and then the fly (I am +sure it was the same fly) returned....</p> + +<p><i>Monday, August 16</i>.... Lord! but I am tired of this endless +bandaging, cleaning of filthy wounds, paring away of ragged ends of +flesh, smelling, breathing, drinking blood and dust and dirt. The poor +fellows! Their bravery is beyond any word of mine. They have come +these last few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> days with their eyes dazed and their ears deafened. +Indeed the roaring of the cannon has been since yesterday afternoon +incessant. They say that the Austrians are straining every nerve to +break through to the river and cross. We are doing what we can to +prevent them, but what can we do? There simply IS NOT AMMUNITION! The +officers here are almost crying with despair, and the men know it and +go on, with their cheerfulness, their obedience, their mild +kindliness—go into that green hell to be butchered, and come out of +it again, if they are lucky, with their bodies mangled and twisted, +and horror in their eyes. It's nobody's fault, I suppose, this +business. How easy to write in the daily papers that the Germans +prepared for war and that we did not, and that after a month or two +all will be well.... After a month or two! tell that to us here stuck +in this Forest and hear us how we laugh!...</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, for the good of my health, I'm figuring very clearly to +myself all the physical features of this place. It's a long white +house, two-storied. The front door has broken glass over it and +there's a litter of tumbled bricks on the top step. After you've gone +through the front door you come into the hall where the wounded are as +thick as flies. You go through the hall and turn to the left. There's +a pantry place on your right all full of flies and when you open the +door they unsettle with a great buzz and shift into all sorts of +shapes and patterns. Next to them is our sitting-room, the horrid +place always dirty and stifling. Then there's the operating-room, then +another room for beds, then the kitchen. Outside to the right there's +the garden, dry now with the heat, and the orchard smells of the men +they've buried in it. To the left, after a little clearing, there's +the forest always green and glittering. The men are in the trenches +now, the new ones that were made last week,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> so I suppose that we +shall be in the thick of it very shortly. That battery at the edge of +the hill has been banging away all the morning. What else is there? +There's an old pump just outside the sitting-room window. There's a +litter of dirty paper and refuse there, too, that the flies gather +round. There's an old barn away to the right where some horses are and +two cows. I have to keep my mind on these things because I know +they're real. You can touch them with your hands and they'll still be +there even if you go away—they won't walk with you as you move. So I +must fasten on to these things about which there can't be any doubt. +In the same way I like to remember that book in the sitting-room—Mr. +Glass who lectured on "Fools," the Ruysdael, and the Normal Pupils who +acted <i>Othello</i>. They're real enough and are probably somewhere now +quietly studying, or teaching, or sleeping—I envy them....</p> + +<p>A thing that happened this morning disturbed us all. Four soldiers +came out of the Forest quite mad. They seemed rational enough at first +and said that they'd been sent out of the first line trenches with +contusion—one of them had a bleeding finger, but the others were +untouched. Then one of them, a middle-aged man with a black beard, +began quite gravely to tell us that the Forest was moving. They had +seen it with their own eyes. They had watched all the trees march +slowly forward like columns of soldiers and soon the whole Forest +would move and would crush every one in it. It was all very well +fighting Austrians, but whole forests was more than any one could +expect of them. Then suddenly one of them cried out, pointing with his +finger: "See, Your Honour—there it comes!... Ah! let us run! let us +run!" One of them began to cry. It was very disagreeable. I saw Audrey +Vassilievitch who was present glance anxiously through the window at +the For<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>est and then gravely check himself and look at me nervously to +see whether I had noticed. The men afterwards fell into a strange kind +of apathy. We sent them off to Mittövo in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>I want now to remember as exactly as possible a strange conversation I +had this evening with Semyonov. I came up when it was getting dusk to +the bedroom. One of the Austrian batteries was spitting away over the +hill but we were not replying. Everything this afternoon has looked as +though they were preparing for a heavy attack. Our little window was +open and the sky beyond was a sort of very pale green, and against +this you could see a flush of colour rising and falling like the +opening and shutting of a door. Everything quite silent except the +Austrian cannon and a soldier, delirious, downstairs, singing.</p> + +<p>The Forest was deep black, but you could see the soldiers' fires +gleaming here and there like beasts' eyes. Our room was almost dark +and I was very startled to find Semyonov sitting on his bed and +staring in front of him. He looked like a wooden figure sitting there, +and he didn't move as I came in. I'm glad that although I'm still +awkward and clumsy with him (as I am, and always will be, I suppose, +with every one) I'm not afraid of him any more. The room was so dark +that he looked like a shadow. I had intended to fetch something and go +away, but instead of that I sat down on my bed, feeling suddenly very +tired and lethargic.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr.," he said in the ironical voice he always uses to me.</p> + +<p>(I would wish now to repeat if I can every word of our conversation.)</p> + +<p>"Krylov has been again," I said. "He told Nikitin that we ought to go +to-night. Nikitin asked him whether the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> Division had plenty of wagons +and Krylov admitted that there weren't nearly enough. He agreed that +it would make a lot of difference if we could keep this place going +until to-morrow night—all the same he advised us to leave."</p> + +<p>"We'll stay until some one orders us to go," said Semyonov. "It will +make a difference to a hundred men or more probably. If they do start +firing on to this place we can get the men off in the wagons in time."</p> + +<p>"And what if the wagons have left for Mittövo?"</p> + +<p>"We'll have to wait until they come back," he answered.</p> + +<p>We sat there listening to the cannon. Then Semyonov said very quietly +and not at all ironically, "I wish to ask you—I have wished +before—tell me. You blame me for her death?"</p> + +<p>I thought for a moment, then I replied:</p> + +<p>"I did so at first. Now I do not think that it had anything to do with +you or with me or with any one—except herself."</p> + +<p>"Except herself?" he said. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"She wished it, I think."</p> + +<p>His irony returned. "You believe in the power of others, Mr., too +much. You should believe more in your own."</p> + +<p>"I believe in her power. She was stronger than you," I answered.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure that you like to think so," he said laughing.</p> + +<p>"She is still stronger than you...."</p> + +<p>"So you are a mystic, Mr.," he said. "Of course, with your romantic +mind that is only natural. You believe, I suppose, that she is with us +here in the room?"</p> + +<p>"It cannot be of interest to you," I answered quietly, "what I +believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is of interest," he replied in a voice that was friendly and +humorously indulgent, as though he spoke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> to a child. "I find it +strange—I have found it strange for many weeks now—that I should +think so frequently of you. You are not a man who would naturally be +interesting to me. You are an Englishman and I am not interested in +Englishmen. You are sentimental, you have no idea of life as it is, +you like dull things, dull safe things, you believe always in what you +are told. You have no sense of humour.... You should be of no interest +to me, and yet during these last weeks I have not been able to get rid +of you."</p> + +<p>"That is not my fault," I said. "I have not been so anxious for your +company."</p> + +<p>"No," he said, speaking rather thoughtfully, as though he were +seriously thinking something out, "you regard me, of course, as a very +bad character. I have no desire to defend myself to you. But the point +is that I have found myself often thinking of you, that I have even +taken trouble sometimes to be with you."</p> + +<p>He waited as though he expected me to say something, but I was silent.</p> + +<p>"It was perhaps that I saw that Marie Ivanovna cared for you. She gave +you up to the end something that she never gave to me. That I suppose +was tiresome to me."</p> + +<p>"You thought you knew her," I said, hoping to hurt him. "You did not +know her at all."</p> + +<p>"That may be," he answered. "I certainly did not understand her, but +that was attractive to me. And so, Mr., you thought that <i>you</i> +understood her?"</p> + +<p>But I did not answer him. My head ached frantically, I was wretchedly +in want of sleep. I jumped to my feet, standing in front of him:</p> + +<p>"Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" I cried. "Let us part. I am nothing +to you—you despise me and laugh at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> me—you have from the first done +so. It was because you laughed at me that she began to laugh. If you +had not been there she might have continued to love me—she was very +inexperienced. And now that she is gone I am of no more importance to +you—let me be! For God's sake, let me be!"</p> + +<p>"You are free," he said. "You can return to Mittövo in an hour's time +when the wagons go."</p> + +<p>I did not speak.</p> + +<p>"No, you will not go," he went on, "because you think that she is +here. She died here—and you believe that she is not dead. I also will +not go—for my own reasons."</p> + +<p>Then he jumped off his bed, stood upright against me, his clothes +touching mine. He put his hand on my shoulder.</p> + +<p>"No, Mr., we will remain together. I find you really rather charming. +And you are changed, you know. You are not the silly fool you were +when you first came to us!"</p> + +<p>I moved away from him. I could not bear the touch of his hand on my +shoulder. I had, I repeat, no fear of him. He might laugh at me or no +as he pleased, but I did not want his kindness.</p> + +<p>"My beliefs seem to you the beliefs of a child," I said, trying to +speak more calmly. "Well, then, leave me to them. They at least do you +no harm. I love her now as I loved her when I first saw her. I cannot +believe that I shall never be with her again. But that is my own +affair and matters to no one but myself!"</p> + +<p>He answered me: "You have a simple fashion of looking at things which +I envy you. I assure you that I am not laughing at you. You believe, +if I understand you, that after your death you will meet her again. +You are afraid that if I die before you she will belong to me, but +that if you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> die first you will be with her again as you were 'at the +beginning'?... Is not that so?"</p> + +<p>I did not answer him.</p> + +<p>"I swear to you," he continued, "that I am not mocking you. What my +own thoughts may be does not interest you, but I have not, in my life, +found many things or persons that are worth one's devotion, and she +was worthy of being loved as you love her. Such days as these in such +a place as this must bring strange thoughts to any man. When we return +to Mittövo to-morrow night I assure you that you will see everything +differently."</p> + +<p>He felt, I suppose, that he had been speaking too seriously because +the ironic humour with which he always treated me returned.</p> + +<p>"Here, Mr., at any rate we are. I'm sorry for you—tiresome to be tied +to some one as uncongenial as myself—but be a little sorry for me, +too. You're not, you know, the ideal companion I would have chosen."</p> + +<p>"Why did you come?" I asked him. "Durward was here—we were doing very +well—"</p> + +<p>"Without me"—he caught me up. "Yes, I suppose so. But your +fascination is so strong that—" He broke off laughing, then continued +almost sharply: "Here we are anyway. To-night and to-morrow we are +going to be lively enough if I know anything about it. I'll do you the +justice, Mr., of saying you've worked admirably here. I wouldn't have +believed it of you. Let us both of us drop our romantic fancies. We've +no time to spare." Then, turning at the door, he ended: "And you +needn't hate me so badly, you know. She cared for you in a way that +she never gave <i>me</i>. Perhaps, after all, in the end, you will win—"</p> + +<p>He gave me one last word:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All the same I don't give her up to you," he said.</p> + +<p>When I came downstairs again it was to find confusion and noise. In +the first place little Andrey Vassilievitch was quarrelling loudly +with Nikitin. He was speaking Russian very fast and I did not discover +his complaint. There was something comic in the sight of his small +body towering to a perfect tempest of rage, his plump hands +gesticulating and always his eyes, anxious and self-important, doing +their best to look after his dignity. Nikitin explained to me that he +had been urging Andrey Vassilievitch to return to Mittövo with the +wagons. "There's no need," he said, "for us all to stay. It's only +taking unnecessary risks—and somebody should take charge of the +wagons."</p> + +<p>"There's Feodor Constantinovitch," said Andrey, naming a feldscher and +stammering in his rage. "He's re-responsible enough." Then, seeing +that he was creating something of a scene, he relapsed into a would-be +dignified sulkiness, finally said he would not go, and strutted away.</p> + +<p>There were many other disturbances, men coming and going, one of the +battery officers appearing for a moment dirty and dishevelled, and +always the wounded drowsy or in delirium, watching with dull eyes the +evening shadows, talking excitedly in their sleep. Semyonov called me +to help in the operating room. Within the next two hours he had +carried out two amputations with admirable cool composure. During the +second one, when the man's arm tumbled off into the basin and lay +there amongst the filthy rags with the dirty white fingers curved, +their nails dead and grey, I suddenly felt violently sick.</p> + +<p>A sanitar took my place and I went out into the cool of the forest, +where a silver pattern of stars swung now above the branches and a +full moon, red and cold, was rising be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>yond the hill. After a time I +felt better and, finding that I was not needed for a time, I wrote +this diary.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday, August 17th.</i> It is just six o'clock—a most lovely evening. +Strangely enough everything is utterly quiet—not a sound anywhere. +You might fancy yourself in the depths of England somewhere. However, +considering what has happened to-day and what they expect will happen +now at any moment, the strain on our nerves is pretty severe, and as +usual at such times I will fill in my diary. This is probably the last +time that I write it here as we move as soon as the wagons return, +which should be in about two hours from now.</p> + +<p>All our things are packed and I shall slip this book into my bag as +soon as I have written this entry; but I have probably two or three +hours clear for writing, as everything is ready for departure. +Meanwhile I am wonderfully tranquil and at peace, able, too, to think +clearly and rationally for the first time since Marie's death. I want +to give an account of the events since my last entry minutely and as +truthfully as my memory allows me.</p> + +<p>At about half-past eleven last night Semyonov and I went up to our +bedroom to sleep, Nikitin being on duty. There was not much noise, the +cannon sounding a considerable distance away, but the flashlights and +rockets against the night-sky were wonderful, and when we had blown +out the candle our dark little room leapt up and down or turned round +and round, the window flashing into vision and out again. Semyonov was +almost immediately asleep, but I lay on my back and, of course, as +usual, thought of Marie. My headache of the evening still raged +furiously and I was in desperately low spirits. I had been able to eat +nothing during the preceding day. I lay there half asleep, half awake, +for, I suppose, a long time, hearing the window rat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>tle sometimes when +the cannon was noisy and feeling under the jerky reflections on the +wall as though I were in an old shambling cab driving along a dark +road, I thought a good deal about that talk with Semyonov that I had. +What a strange man! But then I do not understand him at all. I don't +think I understand any Russian, such a mixture of hardness and +softness as they are, kind and then indifferent, cruel and then +sentimental. But I understand people very little, and in all my years +at Polchester there was never one single person whom I knew. Semyonov +is perfectly right, I suppose, from his point of view to think me a +fool. I lay there thinking of Semyonov. He was sleeping on his back, +looking very big under the clothes, his beard square and stiff, lit up +by the flashing light and then sinking into darkness again. I thought +of him and of myself and of the strange contrast that we were, and how +queer it was that the same woman should have cared for both of us. And +I know that, although I did not hate him at all, I would give almost +anything for him not to have been there, never to have been there. +Whilst he was there I knew that I had no chance. Marie had not laughed +at me during those days at Petrograd; she had believed in me then and +I had been worth believing in. If people had believed in me more I +might be a very different man now.</p> + +<p>I was almost asleep, scarcely conscious of the room, when suddenly I +heard a voice cry, "Marie! Marie! Marie!" three times. It was a voice +that I had never heard before, strong but also tender, full of pain, +with a note in it too of a struggling self-control that would break in +a moment and overwhelm its possessor. As I look back at it I remember +that I felt the passion and strength in it so violently that I seemed +to shrink into myself, as though I were witnessing something that no +man should see, and as though also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> I were conscious of my own +weakness and insignificance.</p> + +<p>It was Semyonov. The flashlight flashed into the room, shining for an +instant upon him. He was sitting up in bed, his shirt open and his +chest bare. His eyes were fixed upon the window, but he was fast +asleep. He seemed to me a new man. I had grown so accustomed to his +sarcasm, his irony, that I had almost persuaded myself that he had +never truly loved Marie, but had felt some sensual attraction for her +that would, by realisation, have been at once satisfied. This was +another man. Here was a struggle, an agony that was not for such men +as I.</p> + +<p>He cried again, "Marie! Marie!" then got up out of bed, walked on his +naked feet in his shirt to the window, stood there and waited. The +moonlight had, by this, struck our room and flooded it. He turned +suddenly and faced me. I could not believe that he did not see me, but +I could not endure the unhappiness in his eyes and I turned, looking +down. I did not look at him again but I heard his feet patter back to +the bed; then he stood there, his whole body strung to meet some +overmastering crisis. He whispered her name as though she had come to +him since his first call. "Ah, Marie, my darling," he whispered.</p> + +<p>I could not bear that. I crept from my bed, slipped away, closed the +door softly behind me and stole downstairs.</p> + +<p>I cannot write at length of what followed. It was the crisis of +everything that has happened to me since I left Petrograd. Every +experience that I had had was suddenly flung into this moment. I was +in our sitting-room now, pitch dark because shutters had been placed +outside the windows to guard against bullets. I stood there in my +shirt and drawers: shuddering, shivering with hatred of myself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +shivering with fear of Semyonov, shivering above all, with a +desperate, agonising, torturing hunger for Marie. Semyonov's voice had +appalled me. I hadn't realised before how strongly I had relied on his +not truly caring for her. Everything in the man had seemed to persuade +me of this, and I had even flattered myself on my miserable +superiority to him, that I was the true faithful lover and he the +vulgar sensualist. How small now I seemed beside him!—and how I +feared him! Then I was at sudden fierce grip with the beast!... At +grips at last!</p> + +<p>I had once before, on another night, been tempted to kill myself, but +that had been nothing to this. Now sick and ill, faint for food, I +swayed there on the floor, hearing always in my ear—"Give way! Give +way!... You'll be in front of him, you'll have left him behind you, he +can do nothing ... a moment more and you can be with her—and he +cannot reach you!"</p> + +<p>I do not know how long I fought there. I was not fighting with an evil +devil, a fearful beast as in my dreams I had always imagined it—I was +fighting myself: every weakness in the past to which I had ever +surrendered, every little scrap of personal history, every slackness +and cowardice and lethargy was there on the floor against me.</p> + +<p>I don't know what it was that prevented me stealing back to my room, +fetching my revolver and so ending it. I could see Marie close to me, +to be reached by the stretching of a finger. I could see myself living +on, always conscious of Semyonov, his thick beastly confident body +always there between myself and her.</p> + +<p>I sank into the last depths of self-despair and degradation. No fine +thing saved me, no help from noble principles, nothing fine. The whole +was as sordid as possible. I knew, even as I struggled, that I was a +silly figure there, with my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> bony ugliness, in my shirt and drawers, +my hair on end and my teeth chattering. But I responded, I suppose, to +some little pulse of manly obstinacy that beat somewhere in me. I +would <i>not</i> be beaten by the Creature. Even in the middle of it I +realised that this was the hardest tussle of my life and worth +fighting. I know too that some thought of Nikitin came to me as +though, in some way, my failure would damage <i>him</i>. I remembered that +night of the Retreat when he had helped me and, as though he were +appealing visibly to me there in the room, I responded; I seemed to +feel that he was fighting some battle of his own and that my victory +would fortify him. I stood with him beside me. So I fought it, fought +it with the sweat dripping down my nose and my tongue dry. "No!" +something suddenly cried in me. "If she's his, she's his—I will not +take her this way!"—then in a snivelling, miserable fashion I began +to cry, simply from exhaustion and nerves and headache. I slipped down +into a chair. I sat there feeling utterly beaten and yet in some dim +way, as one hears a trumpet sounding behind a range of hills, I was +triumphant. There with my head on the table and my nose, I believe, in +a plate left from some one's last night's supper, I slept a heavy, +dreamless sleep.</p> + +<p>I woke and heard a clock in the room strike three. I got up, stretched +my arms, yawned and knew that my head was clear and my brain at peace. +I can't describe my feelings better than by saying that it was as +though I had put my brain and my heart and all my fears and terrors +under a good stiff pump of cold water. I felt a different man from +four hours before, although still desperately tired and physically +weak.</p> + +<p>I went softly upstairs. The light of a most lovely summer morning +flooded the room. Semyonov was lying, sleep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>ing like a child, his head +pillowed on his arm. Very cautiously I dressed, then went downstairs +again. I did not understand now—the peace and happiness in my heart. +All the time I was saying to myself: "Why am I so happy? Why am I so +happy?"...</p> + +<p>The world was marvellously fresh, with little white glittering clouds +above the trees, the grass wet and shining, and the sky a high dome of +blue light, like the inside of a glass bell that has the sun behind +it. Here and there on the outskirts of the Forest fires were still +dimly burning, pale and dim yellow shadows beneath the sun. Men +wrapped in their coats were sleeping in little groups under the trees. +Horses cropped at the grass; soldiers were moving with buckets of +water. Two men, at the very edge of the Forest, stripped to the waist, +were washing in a pool that was like a blue handkerchief in the great +forest of green. I found a little glade, very bright and fresh, under +a group of silver birch, and there I lay down on my back, my hands +behind my head, looking up into the little dancing atoms of blue +between the trees and the golden stars of sunlight that flashed and +sparkled there.</p> + +<p>Happiness and peace wrapped me round. I cannot pretend to disentangle +and produce in proper sequence all the thoughts and memories that +floated into my vision and away again, but I know that whereas before +thoughts had attacked me as though they were foul animals biting at my +brain, now I seemed myself gently to invite my memories.</p> + +<p>Many scenes from my Polchester days that I had long forgotten came +back to me. I was indeed startled by the clearness with which I saw +that earlier figure—the very awkward, careless, ugly boy, listening +lazily to other people's plans, taking shelter from life under a vague +love of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> beauty and an idle imagination; the man, awkward and ugly, +sensitive because of his own self-consciousness, wasting his hours +through his own self-contempt which paralysed all effort, still +trusting to his idle love of beauty to pull him through to some +superior standard, complaining of life, but never trying to get the +better of it; then the man who came to Russia at the beginning of the +war, still self-centred, always given up to timid self-analysis, but +responding now a little to the new scenes, the new temperament, the +new chances. Then this man, feeling that at last he was rid of all the +tiresome encumbrances of the earlier years, lets himself go, falls in +love, worships, dreams for a few days a wonderful dream—then for the +first time in his life, begins to fight.</p> + +<p>I saw all the steps so clearly and I saw every little thought, every +little action, every little opportunity missed or taken, accumulating +until the moment of climax four hours before. I seemed to have brought +Polchester on my back to the war, and I could see quite clearly how +each of us—Marie, Semyonov, Nikitin, Durward, every one of us—had +brought <i>their</i> private histories and scenes with <i>them</i>. War is made +up, I believe, not of shells and bullets, not of German defeats and +victories, Russian triumphs or surrenders, English and French battles +by sea and land, not of smoke and wounds and blood, but of a million +million past thoughts, past scenes, streets of little country towns, +lonely hills, dark sheltered valleys, the wide space of the sea, the +crowded traffic of New York, London, Berlin, yes, and of smaller +things than that, of little quarrels, of dances at Christmas time, of +walks at night, of dressing for dinner, of waking in the morning, of +meeting old friends, of sicknesses, theatres, church services, +prostitutes, slums, cricket-matches, children, rides on a tram, baths +on a hot morn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>ing, sudden unpleasant truth from a friend, momentary +consciousness of God....</p> + +<p>Death too.... How clear now it was to me! During these weeks I had +wondered, pursued the thought of Death. Was it this? Was it that? Was +it pain? Was it terror? I had feared it, as for instance when I had +seen the dead bodies in the Forest, or stood under the rain at +Nijnieff. I had laughed at it as when I had gone with the sanitars. I +had cursed it as when Marie Ivanovna had died. I had sought it as I +had done last night—and always, as I drew closer and closer to it, +fancied it some fine allegorical figure, something terrible, +appalling, devastating.... How, when I was, as I believed, at last +face to face with it, I saw that one was simply face to face with +oneself.</p> + +<p>Four hours I have been writing, and no sign of the wagons.... I am +writing everything down as I remember it, because these things are so +clear to me now and yet I know that afterwards they will be changed, +twisted.</p> + +<p>I was drowsy. I saw Polchester High Street, Garth in Roselands, +Clinton, Truxe, best of all Rafiel. I went down the high white hill, +deep into the valley, then along the road beside the stream where the +houses begin, the hideous Wesleyan Chapel on my right, "Ebenezer +Villa" on my left, then the cottages with the gardens, then the little +street, the post-office, the butcher's, the turn of the road and, +suddenly, the bay with the fishing boats riding at anchor and beyond +the sea.... England and Russia! to their strong and confident union I +thought that I would give every drop of my blood, every beat of my +heart, and as I lay there I seemed to see on one side the deep green +lanes at Rafiel and on the other the shining canals, the little wooden +houses, the cobbler and the tufted trees of Petrograd, the sea coast +beyond Truxe and the wide snow-covered plains beyond<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> Moscow, the +cathedral at Polchester and the Kremlin, breeding their children, to +the hundredth generation, for the same hopes, the same beliefs, the +same desires.</p> + +<p>I slept in the sun and had happy dreams.</p> + +<p>I have re-read these last pages and I find some very fine stuff +about—"giving every drop of blood," etc., etc. Of course I am not +that kind of man. Men, like Durward and myself—he resembles me in +many ways, although he is stronger than I am, and doesn't care what +people think of him—are too analytical and self-critical to give much +of their blood to anybody or to make their blood of very much value if +they did.</p> + +<p>I only meant that I would do my best.</p> + +<p>Later in the morning the firing began again pretty close. Andrey +Vassilievitch came to me and wanted to talk to me. I was rather short +with him because I was busy. He wanted to tell me that he hoped I +hadn't misunderstood his quarrel with Nikitin last night. It had been +nothing at all. His nerves had been rather out of order. He was very +much better to-day, felt quite another man. He <i>looked</i> another man +and I said so. He said that I did.... Strange, but I felt as I looked +at him that he was sickening for some bad illness. One feels that +sometimes about people without being able to name a cause.</p> + +<p>I have an affection for the little man—but he's an awful fool. Well, +so am I. But fools never respect fools.... Strange to see Semyonov. I +had expected him for some reason to be different to-day. Just the +same, of course, very sarcastic to me. I had a hole in one of my +pockets and was always forgetting and putting money and things into +it. This seemed to annoy him. But to-day nothing matters. Even the +flies do not worry me. All the morning Marie has seemed so close to +me. I have a strange excite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>ment, the feeling that one has when one is +in a train that approaches the place where some one whom one loves is +waiting.... I feel exactly as though I were going on a journey....</p> + +<p>Since three o'clock we've had a lively time. The attack began about +five minutes to three, by a shell splashing into the Forest near our +battery. No one killed, fortunately. They've simply stormed away since +then. I don't seem to be able to realise it and have been sitting in +my room writing as though they were a hundred miles away. One so used +to the noise. Everything is ready. We've got all the wounded prepared. +If only the wagons would come.... Hallo! a shell in the +garden—cracked one of these windows. I must go down to see whether +any one's touched.... I put this in my bag. To-morrow ... and I am so +happy that...</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The end of Trenchard's diary.</p> + +<p>These are the last words in Trenchard's journal. It fills about half +the second exercise book. The last pages are written in a hand very +much clearer and steadier than the earlier ones.</p> + +<p>I would like now to make my account as brief as possible.</p> + +<p>Upon the afternoon of August 16 we were all at Mittövo, extremely +anxious about our friends. Molozov was in a great state of alarm. The +sanitars with the wagons that arrived at about four o'clock in the +afternoon told us that a violent attack in the intermediate +neighbourhood of our white house was expected at any moment. The +wagons were to return as quickly as possible, and bring every one +away. They left about five o'clock in charge of Molozov and Goga, who +were bursting with excitement. I knew that they could not be with us +again until at any rate nine o'clock, but I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> was so nervous that at +about seven I walked out to the cross and watched.</p> + +<p>It was a very dark night, but the sky was simply on fire with +searchlights and rockets, very fine behind the Forest and reflected in +the river. The cannonade was incessant but one could not tell how +close it was. At last, at about half-past eight, I could endure my +ignorance no longer and I went down the hill towards the bridge. I had +not been there more than ten minutes and had just seen a shell burst +with a magnificent spurt of fire high in the wood opposite, when our +wagons suddenly clattered up out of the darkness. I saw at once that +something was wrong. The horses were being driven furiously although +there was now no need, as I thought, for haste. I could just see +Semyonov in the half light and he shouted something to me. I caught +one of the wagons as it passed and nearly crushed Goga.</p> + +<p>We were making so much noise that I had to shout to him.</p> + +<p>"Well?" I cried.</p> + +<p>Then I saw that he was crying, his arms folded about his face, sobbing +like a little boy.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" I shouted.</p> + +<p>"Mr...." he said, "Andrey Vassilievitch...." I looked round. One of +the sanitars nodded.</p> + +<p>Then there followed a nightmare of which I can remember very little. +It seems that at about four in the afternoon the Austrians made a +furious attack. At about seven our men retreated and broke. They were +gradually beaten back towards the river. Then, out of Mittövo, the +"Moskovsky Polk" made a magnificent counter-attack, rallied the other +Division and finally drove the Austrians right back to their original +trenches. From nine o'clock until twelve we were in the thick of it. +After midnight all was quiet again. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> will not give you details of +our experiences as they are not all to my present purpose.</p> + +<p>At about half-past one in the morning I found Nikitin standing in the +garden, looking in front of him across the river, over which a very +faint light was beginning to break....</p> + +<p>I touched him on the arm and he started, as though he had been very +far away.</p> + +<p>"How did Trenchard die?"</p> + +<p>He answered at once, very readily: "About three o'clock the shells +were close. The wagons arrived a little before seven so we had fully +four anxious hours. We had had everything ready all the afternoon and, +of course, just then we couldn't go out to fetch the wounded and I +think that the army sanitars were working in another direction, so +that we had nothing to do—which was pretty trying. I didn't see Mr. +until just before seven. He had been busy upstairs about something and +then at the sound of the wagons he came out. I had noticed that all +day he had seemed very much quieter and more cheerful. He had been in +a wretched condition on the earlier days, nervous and over-strained, +and I was very glad to see him so much better. We were all working +then, moving the wounded from the house to the wagons. We couldn't +hear one another speak, the noise was so terrific. Andrey and Mr. were +directing the sanitars near the house. Semyonov and I were near the +wagons. I had looked up and shouted something to Andrey when suddenly +I heard a shell that seemed as though it would break right over me. I +braced myself, as one does, to meet it. For a moment I heard nothing +but the noise; my nostrils were choked with the smell and my eyes +blinded with dust. But I knew that I had not been hit, and I stood +there, rather stupidly, wondering. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> cleared. I saw that all the +right corner of the house was gone, and that Semyonov had run forward +and was kneeling on the ground. With all the shouting and firing it +was very difficult to realise anything. I ran to Semyonov. Andrey ... +but I won't ... I can't ... he must have been right under the thing +and was blown to pieces. Mr., strangely enough, lying there with his +arms spread out, seemed to have been scarcely touched. But I saw at +once when I came to him that he had only a few moments to live, He had +a terrible stomach wound but was suffering no pain, I think. Semyonov +was kneeling, with his arm behind his head, looking straight into his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"'Mr., Mr.,' he said several times, as though he wanted to rouse him +to consciousness. Then, quite suddenly, Mr. seemed to realise. He +looked at Semyonov and smiled, one of those rather timid, shy smiles +that were so customary with him. His eyes though were not timid. They +were filled with the strangest look of triumph and expectation.</p> + +<p>"The two men looked at one another and I, seeing that nothing was to +be done, waited. Semyonov then, speaking as though he and Mr. were +alone in all this world of noise and confusion, said:</p> + +<p>"'You've won, Mr.... You've won!' He repeated this several times as +though it was of the utmost importance that Mr. should realise his +words.</p> + +<p>"Mr., smiling, looked at Semyonov, gave a little sigh, and died.</p> + +<p>"I can hear now the tones of Semyonov's voice. There was something so +strange in its mixture of irony, bitterness and kindness—just that +rather contemptible, patronising kindness that is so especially his.</p> + +<p>"We had no time to wait after that. We got the wagons<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> out by a +miracle without losing a man. Semyonov was marvellous in his +self-control and coolness...."</p> + +<p>We were both silent for a long time. Nikitin only once again. +"Andrey!... My God, how I will miss him!" he said—and I, who knew how +often he had cursed the little man and been impatient with his +importunities, understood. "I have lost more—far more—than Andrey," +he said. "I talked to you once, Ivan Andreievitch. You will understand +that I have no one now who can bring her to me. I think that she will +never come to me alone. I never needed her as he did, No more +dreams...."</p> + +<p>We were interrupted by Semyonov, who, carrying a lantern, passed us. +He saw us and turned back.</p> + +<p>"We must be ready by seven," he said sharply. "A general retirement. +Ivan Andreievitch, do you know whether Mr. had friends or relations to +whom we can write?"</p> + +<p>"I heard of nobody," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Nobody?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody."</p> + +<p>Just before he turned my eyes met his. He appeared to me as a man who, +with all his self-control, was compelling himself to meet the onset of +an immeasurable devastating loss.</p> + +<p>He gave us a careless nod and vanished into the darkness.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dark Forest, by Hugh Walpole + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DARK FOREST *** + +***** This file should be named 19614-h.htm or 19614-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/6/1/19614/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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