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diff --git a/4761-0.txt b/4761-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9b3595e --- /dev/null +++ b/4761-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7723 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cossacks, by Leo Tolstoy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Cossacks + A Tale of 1852 + +Author: Leo Tolstoy + +Translators: Louise and Aylmer Maude + +Release Date: March 13, 2002 [eBook #4761] +[Most recently updated: May 7, 2023] + +Language: English + +Produced by: Steve Harris, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COSSACKS *** + + + + +THE COSSACKS + +A Tale of 1852 + +By Leo Tolstoy + + +Translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude + + + + +CONTENTS + + Chapter I + Chapter II + Chapter III + Chapter IV + Chapter V + Chapter VI + Chapter VII + Chapter VIII + Chapter IX + Chapter X + Chapter XI + Chapter XII + Chapter XIII + Chapter XIV + Chapter XV + Chapter XVI + Chapter XVII + Chapter XVIII + Chapter XIX + Chapter XX + Chapter XXI + Chapter XXII + Chapter XXIII + Chapter XXIV + Chapter XXV + Chapter XXVI + Chapter XXVII + Chapter XXVIII + Chapter XXIX + Chapter XXX + Chapter XXXI + Chapter XXXII + Chapter XXXIII + Chapter XXXIV + Chapter XXXV + Chapter XXXVI + Chapter XXXVII + Chapter XXXVIII + Chapter XXXIX + Chapter XL + Chapter XLI + Chapter XLII + + + + +Chapter I + + +All is quiet in Moscow. The squeak of wheels is seldom heard in the +snow-covered street. There are no lights left in the windows and the +street lamps have been extinguished. Only the sound of bells, borne +over the city from the church towers, suggests the approach of morning. +The streets are deserted. At rare intervals a night-cabman’s sledge +kneads up the snow and sand in the street as the driver makes his way +to another corner where he falls asleep while waiting for a fare. An +old woman passes by on her way to church, where a few wax candles burn +with a red light reflected on the gilt mountings of the icons. Workmen +are already getting up after the long winter night and going to their +work—but for the gentlefolk it is still evening. + +From a window in Chevalier’s Restaurant a light—illegal at that hour—is +still to be seen through a chink in the shutter. At the entrance a +carriage, a sledge, and a cabman’s sledge, stand close together with +their backs to the curbstone. A three-horse sledge from the +post-station is there also. A yard-porter muffled up and pinched with +cold is sheltering behind the corner of the house. + +“And what’s the good of all this jawing?” thinks the footman who sits +in the hall weary and haggard. “This always happens when I’m on duty.” +From the adjoining room are heard the voices of three young men, +sitting there at a table on which are wine and the remains of supper. +One, a rather plain, thin, neat little man, sits looking with tired +kindly eyes at his friend, who is about to start on a journey. Another, +a tall man, lies on a sofa beside a table on which are empty bottles, +and plays with his watch-key. A third, wearing a short, fur-lined coat, +is pacing up and down the room stopping now and then to crack an almond +between his strong, rather thick, but well-tended fingers. He keeps +smiling at something and his face and eyes are all aglow. He speaks +warmly and gesticulates, but evidently does not find the words he wants +and those that occur to him seem to him inadequate to express what has +risen to his heart. + +“Now I can speak out fully,” said the traveller. “I don’t want to +defend myself, but I should like you at least to understand me as I +understand myself, and not look at the matter superficially. You say I +have treated her badly,” he continued, addressing the man with the +kindly eyes who was watching him. + +“Yes, you are to blame,” said the latter, and his look seemed to +express still more kindliness and weariness. + +“I know why you say that,” rejoined the one who was leaving. “To be +loved is in your opinion as great a happiness as to love, and if a man +obtains it, it is enough for his whole life.” + +“Yes, quite enough, my dear fellow, more than enough!” confirmed the +plain little man, opening and shutting his eyes. + +“But why shouldn’t the man love too?” said the traveller thoughtfully, +looking at his friend with something like pity. “Why shouldn’t one +love? Because love doesn’t come ... No, to be beloved is a misfortune. +It is a misfortune to feel guilty because you do not give something you +cannot give. O my God!” he added, with a gesture of his arm. “If it all +happened reasonably, and not all topsy-turvy—not in our way but in a +way of its own! Why, it’s as if I had stolen that love! You think so +too, don’t deny it. You must think so. But will you believe it, of all +the horrid and stupid things I have found time to do in my life—and +there are many—this is one I do not and cannot repent of. Neither at +the beginning nor afterwards did I lie to myself or to her. It seemed +to me that I had at last fallen in love, but then I saw that it was an +involuntary falsehood, and that that was not the way to love, and I +could not go on, but she did. Am I to blame that I couldn’t? What was I +to do?” + +“Well, it’s ended now!” said his friend, lighting a cigar to master his +sleepiness. “The fact is that you have not yet loved and do not know +what love is.” + +The man in the fur-lined coat was going to speak again, and put his +hands to his head, but could not express what he wanted to say. + +“Never loved! ... Yes, quite true, I never have! But after all, I have +within me a desire to love, and nothing could be stronger than that +desire! But then, again, does such love exist? There always remains +something incomplete. Ah well! What’s the use of talking? I’ve made an +awful mess of life! But anyhow it’s all over now; you are quite right. +And I feel that I am beginning a new life.” + +“Which you will again make a mess of,” said the man who lay on the sofa +playing with his watch-key. But the traveller did not listen to him. + +“I am sad and yet glad to go,” he continued. “Why I am sad I don’t +know.” + +And the traveller went on talking about himself, without noticing that +this did not interest the others as much as it did him. A man is never +such an egotist as at moments of spiritual ecstasy. At such times it +seems to him that there is nothing on earth more splendid and +interesting than himself. + +“Dmítri Andréich! The coachman won’t wait any longer!” said a young +serf, entering the room in a sheepskin coat, with a scarf tied round +his head. “The horses have been standing since twelve, and it’s now +four o’clock!” + +Dmítri Andréich looked at his serf, Vanyúsha. The scarf round +Vanyúsha’s head, his felt boots and sleepy face, seemed to be calling +his master to a new life of labour, hardship, and activity. + +“True enough! Good-bye!” said he, feeling for the unfastened hook and +eye on his coat. + +In spite of advice to mollify the coachman by another tip, he put on +his cap and stood in the middle of the room. The friends kissed once, +then again, and after a pause, a third time. The man in the fur-lined +coat approached the table and emptied a champagne glass, then took the +plain little man’s hand and blushed. + +“Ah well, I will speak out all the same ... I must and will be frank +with you because I am fond of you ... Of course you love her—I always +thought so—don’t you?” + +“Yes,” answered his friend, smiling still more gently. + +“And perhaps...” + +“Please sir, I have orders to put out the candles,” said the sleepy +attendant, who had been listening to the last part of the conversation +and wondering why gentlefolk always talk about one and the same thing. +“To whom shall I make out the bill? To you, sir?” he added, knowing +whom to address and turning to the tall man. + +“To me,” replied the tall man. “How much?” + +“Twenty-six rubles.” + +The tall man considered for a moment, but said nothing and put the bill +in his pocket. + +The other two continued their talk. + +“Good-bye, you are a capital fellow!” said the short plain man with the +mild eyes. Tears filled the eyes of both. They stepped into the porch. + +“Oh, by the by,” said the traveller, turning with a blush to the tall +man, “will you settle Chevalier’s bill and write and let me know?” + +“All right, all right!” said the tall man, pulling on his gloves. “How +I envy you!” he added quite unexpectedly when they were out in the +porch. + +The traveller got into his sledge, wrapped his coat about him, and +said: “Well then, come along!” He even moved a little to make room in +the sledge for the man who said he envied him—his voice trembled. + +“Good-bye, Mítya! I hope that with God’s help you...” said the tall +one. But his wish was that the other would go away quickly, and so he +could not finish the sentence. + +They were silent a moment. Then someone again said, “Good-bye,” and a +voice cried, “Ready,” and the coachman touched up the horses. + +“Hy, Elisár!” One of the friends called out, and the other coachman and +the sledge-drivers began moving, clicking their tongues and pulling at +the reins. Then the stiffened carriage-wheels rolled squeaking over the +frozen snow. + +“A fine fellow, that Olénin!” said one of the friends. “But what an +idea to go to the Caucasus—as a cadet, too! I wouldn’t do it for +anything. ... Are you dining at the club tomorrow?” + +“Yes.” + +They separated. + +The traveller felt warm, his fur coat seemed too hot. He sat on the +bottom of the sledge and unfastened his coat, and the three shaggy +post-horses dragged themselves out of one dark street into another, +past houses he had never before seen. It seemed to Olénin that only +travellers starting on a long journey went through those streets. All +was dark and silent and dull around him, but his soul was full of +memories, love, regrets, and a pleasant tearful feeling. + + + + + Chapter II + + +“I’m fond of them, very fond! ... First-rate fellows! ... Fine!” he +kept repeating, and felt ready to cry. But why he wanted to cry, who +were the first-rate fellows he was so fond of—was more than he quite +knew. Now and then he looked round at some house and wondered why it +was so curiously built; sometimes he began wondering why the post-boy +and Vanyúsha, who were so different from himself, sat so near, and +together with him were being jerked about and swayed by the tugs the +side-horses gave at the frozen traces, and again he repeated: “First +rate ... very fond!” and once he even said: “And how it seizes one ... +excellent!” and wondered what made him say it. “Dear me, am I drunk?” +he asked himself. He had had a couple of bottles of wine, but it was +not the wine alone that was having this effect on Olénin. He remembered +all the words of friendship heartily, bashfully, spontaneously (as he +believed) addressed to him on his departure. He remembered the clasp of +hands, glances, the moments of silence, and the sound of a voice +saying, “Good-bye, Mítya!” when he was already in the sledge. He +remembered his own deliberate frankness. And all this had a touching +significance for him. Not only friends and relatives, not only people +who had been indifferent to him, but even those who did not like him, +seemed to have agreed to become fonder of him, or to forgive him, +before his departure, as people do before confession or death. “Perhaps +I shall not return from the Caucasus,” he thought. And he felt that he +loved his friends and some one besides. He was sorry for himself. But +it was not love for his friends that so stirred and uplifted his heart +that he could not repress the meaningless words that seemed to rise of +themselves to his lips; nor was it love for a woman (he had never yet +been in love) that had brought on this mood. Love for himself, love +full of hope—warm young love for all that was good in his own soul (and +at that moment it seemed to him that there was nothing but good in +it)—compelled him to weep and to mutter incoherent words. + +Olénin was a youth who had never completed his university course, never +served anywhere (having only a nominal post in some government office +or other), who had squandered half his fortune and had reached the age +of twenty-four without having done anything or even chosen a career. He +was what in Moscow society is termed _un jeune homme_. + +At the age of eighteen he was free—as only rich young Russians in the +’forties who had lost their parents at an early age could be. Neither +physical nor moral fetters of any kind existed for him; he could do as +he liked, lacking nothing and bound by nothing. Neither relatives, nor +fatherland, nor religion, nor wants, existed for him. He believed in +nothing and admitted nothing. But although he believed in nothing he +was not a morose or blase young man, nor self-opinionated, but on the +contrary continually let himself be carried away. He had come to the +conclusion that there is no such thing as love, yet his heart always +overflowed in the presence of any young and attractive woman. He had +long been aware that honours and position were nonsense, yet +involuntarily he felt pleased when at a ball Prince Sergius came up and +spoke to him affably. But he yielded to his impulses only in so far as +they did not limit his freedom. As soon as he had yielded to any +influence and became conscious of its leading on to labour and +struggle, he instinctively hastened to free himself from the feeling or +activity into which he was being drawn and to regain his freedom. In +this way he experimented with society-life, the civil service, farming, +music—to which at one time he intended to devote his life—and even with +the love of women in which he did not believe. He meditated on the use +to which he should devote that power of youth which is granted to man +only once in a lifetime: that force which gives a man the power of +making himself, or even—as it seemed to him—of making the universe, +into anything he wishes: should it be to art, to science, to love of +woman, or to practical activities? It is true that some people are +devoid of this impulse, and on entering life at once place their necks +under the first yoke that offers itself and honestly labour under it +for the rest of their lives. But Olénin was too strongly conscious of +the presence of that all-powerful God of Youth—of that capacity to be +entirely transformed into an aspiration or idea—the capacity to wish +and to do—to throw oneself headlong into a bottomless abyss without +knowing why or wherefore. He bore this consciousness within himself, +was proud of it and, without knowing it, was happy in that +consciousness. Up to that time he had loved only himself, and could not +help loving himself, for he expected nothing but good of himself and +had not yet had time to be disillusioned. On leaving Moscow he was in +that happy state of mind in which a young man, conscious of past +mistakes, suddenly says to himself, “That was not the real thing.” All +that had gone before was accidental and unimportant. Till then he had +not really tried to live, but now with his departure from Moscow a new +life was beginning—a life in which there would be no mistakes, no +remorse, and certainly nothing but happiness. + +It is always the case on a long journey that till the first two or +three stages have been passed imagination continues to dwell on the +place left behind, but with the first morning on the road it leaps to +the end of the journey and there begins building castles in the air. So +it happened to Olénin. + +After leaving the town behind, he gazed at the snowy fields and felt +glad to be alone in their midst. Wrapping himself in his fur coat, he +lay at the bottom of the sledge, became tranquil, and fell into a doze. +The parting with his friends had touched him deeply, and memories of +that last winter spent in Moscow and images of the past, mingled with +vague thoughts and regrets, rose unbidden in his imagination. + +He remembered the friend who had seen him off and his relations with +the girl they had talked about. The girl was rich. “How could he love +her knowing that she loved me?” thought he, and evil suspicions crossed +his mind. “There is much dishonesty in men when one comes to reflect.” +Then he was confronted by the question: “But really, how is it I have +never been in love? Every one tells me that I never have. Can it be +that I am a moral monstrosity?” And he began to recall all his +infatuations. He recalled his entry into society, and a friend’s sister +with whom he spent several evenings at a table with a lamp on it which +lit up her slender fingers busy with needlework, and the lower part of +her pretty delicate face. He recalled their conversations that dragged +on like the game in which one passes on a stick which one keeps alight +as long as possible, and the general awkwardness and restraint and his +continual feeling of rebellion at all that conventionality. Some voice +had always whispered: “That’s not it, that’s not it,” and so it had +proved. Then he remembered a ball and the mazurka he danced with the +beautiful D——. “How much in love I was that night and how happy! And +how hurt and vexed I was next morning when I woke and felt myself still +free! Why does not love come and bind me hand and foot?” thought he. +“No, there is no such thing as love! That neighbour who used to tell +me, as she told Dubróvin and the Marshal, that she loved the stars, was +not _it_ either.” + +And now his farming and work in the country recurred to his mind, and +in those recollections also there was nothing to dwell on with +pleasure. “Will they talk long of my departure?” came into his head; +but who “they” were he did not quite know. Next came a thought that +made him wince and mutter incoherently. It was the recollection of M. +Cappele the tailor, and the six hundred and seventy-eight rubles he +still owed him, and he recalled the words in which he had begged him to +wait another year, and the look of perplexity and resignation which had +appeared on the tailor’s face. “Oh, my God, my God!” he repeated, +wincing and trying to drive away the intolerable thought. “All the same +and in spite of everything she loved me,” thought he of the girl they +had talked about at the farewell supper. “Yes, had I married her I +should not now be owing anything, and as it is I am in debt to +Vasílyev.” Then he remembered the last night he had played with +Vasílyev at the club (just after leaving her), and he recalled his +humiliating requests for another game and the other’s cold refusal. “A +year’s economizing and they will all be paid, and the devil take +them!”... But despite this assurance he again began calculating his +outstanding debts, their dates, and when he could hope to pay them off. +“And I owe something to Morell as well as to Chevalier,” thought he, +recalling the night when he had run up so large a debt. It was at a +carousel at the gipsies arranged by some fellows from Petersburg: +Sáshka B——, an aide-de-camp to the Tsar, Prince D——, and that pompous +old——. “How is it those gentlemen are so self-satisfied?” thought he, +“and by what right do they form a clique to which they think others +must be highly flattered to be admitted? Can it be because they are on +the Emperor’s staff? Why, it’s awful what fools and scoundrels they +consider other people to be! But I showed them that I at any rate, on +the contrary, do not at all want their intimacy. All the same, I fancy +Andrew, the steward, would be amazed to know that I am on familiar +terms with a man like Sáshka B——, a colonel and an aide-de-camp to the +Tsar! Yes, and no one drank more than I did that evening, and I taught +the gipsies a new song and everyone listened to it. Though I have done +many foolish things, all the same I am a very good fellow,” thought he. + +Morning found him at the third post-stage. He drank tea, and himself +helped Vanyúsha to move his bundles and trunks and sat down among them, +sensible, erect, and precise, knowing where all his belongings were, +how much money he had and where it was, where he had put his passport +and the post-horse requisition and toll-gate papers, and it all seemed +to him so well arranged that he grew quite cheerful and the long +journey before him seemed an extended pleasure-trip. + +All that morning and noon he was deep in calculations of how many +versts he had travelled, how many remained to the next stage, how many +to the next town, to the place where he would dine, to the place where +he would drink tea, and to Stavrópol, and what fraction of the whole +journey was already accomplished. He also calculated how much money he +had with him, how much would be left over, how much would pay off all +his debts, and what proportion of his income he would spend each month. +Towards evening, after tea, he calculated that to Stavrópol there still +remained seven-elevenths of the whole journey, that his debts would +require seven months’ economy and one-eighth of his whole fortune; and +then, tranquillized, he wrapped himself up, lay down in the sledge, and +again dozed off. His imagination was now turned to the future: to the +Caucasus. All his dreams of the future were mingled with pictures of +Amalat-Beks, Circassian women, mountains, precipices, terrible +torrents, and perils. All these things were vague and dim, but the love +of fame and the danger of death furnished the interest of that future. +Now, with unprecedented courage and a strength that amazed everyone, he +slew and subdued an innumerable host of hillsmen; now he was himself a +hillsman and with them was maintaining their independence against the +Russians. As soon as he pictured anything definite, familiar Moscow +figures always appeared on the scene. Sáshka B—— fights with the +Russians or the hillsmen against him. Even the tailor Cappele in some +strange way takes part in the conqueror’s triumph. Amid all this he +remembered his former humiliations, weaknesses, and mistakes, and the +recollection was not disagreeable. It was clear that there among the +mountains, waterfalls, fair Circassians, and dangers, such mistakes +could not recur. Having once made full confession to himself there was +an end of it all. One other vision, the sweetest of them all, mingled +with the young man’s every thought of the future—the vision of a woman. +And there, among the mountains, she appeared to his imagination as a +Circassian slave, a fine figure with a long plait of hair and deep +submissive eyes. He pictured a lonely hut in the mountains, and on the +threshold _she_ stands awaiting him when, tired and covered with dust, +blood, and fame, he returns to her. He is conscious of her kisses, her +shoulders, her sweet voice, and her submissiveness. She is enchanting, +but uneducated, wild, and rough. In the long winter evenings he begins +her education. She is clever and gifted and quickly acquires all the +knowledge essential. Why not? She can quite easily learn foreign +languages, read the French masterpieces and understand them: _Notre +Dame de Paris_, for instance, is sure to please her. She can also speak +French. In a drawing-room she can show more innate dignity than a lady +of the highest society. She can sing, simply, powerfully, and +passionately.... “Oh, what nonsense!” said he to himself. But here they +reached a post-station and he had to change into another sledge and +give some tips. But his fancy again began searching for the “nonsense” +he had relinquished, and again fair Circassians, glory, and his return +to Russia with an appointment as aide-de-camp and a lovely wife rose +before his imagination. “But there’s no such thing as love,” said he to +himself. “Fame is all rubbish. But the six hundred and seventy-eight +rubles?... And the conquered land that will bring me more wealth than I +need for a lifetime? It will not be right though to keep all that +wealth for myself. I shall have to distribute it. But to whom? Well, +six hundred and seventy-eight rubles to Cappele and then we’ll see.” +... Quite vague visions now cloud his mind, and only Vanyúsha’s voice +and the interrupted motion of the sledge break his healthy youthful +slumber. Scarcely conscious, he changes into another sledge at the next +stage and continues his journey. + +Next morning everything goes on just the same: the same kind of +post-stations and tea-drinking, the same moving horses’ cruppers, the +same short talks with Vanyúsha, the same vague dreams and drowsiness, +and the same tired, healthy, youthful sleep at night. + + + + + Chapter III + + +The farther Olénin travelled from Central Russia the farther he left +his memories behind, and the nearer he drew to the Caucasus the lighter +his heart became. “I’ll stay away for good and never return to show +myself in society,” was a thought that sometimes occurred to him. +“These people whom I see here are _not_ people. None of them know me +and none of them can ever enter the Moscow society I was in or find out +about my past. And no one in that society will ever know what I am +doing, living among these people.” And quite a new feeling of freedom +from his whole past came over him among the rough beings he met on the +road whom he did not consider to be _people_ in the sense that his +Moscow acquaintances were. + +The rougher the people and the fewer the signs of civilization the +freer he felt. Stavrópol, through which he had to pass, irked him. The +signboards, some of them even in French, ladies in carriages, cabs in +the marketplace, and a gentleman wearing a fur cloak and tall hat who +was walking along the boulevard and staring at the passersby, quite +upset him. “Perhaps these people know some of my acquaintances,” he +thought; and the club, his tailor, cards, society ... came back to his +mind. But after Stavrópol everything was satisfactory—wild and also +beautiful and warlike, and Olénin felt happier and happier. All the +Cossacks, post-boys, and post-station masters seemed to him simple folk +with whom he could jest and converse simply, without having to consider +to what class they belonged. They all belonged to the human race which, +without his thinking about it, all appeared dear to Olénin, and they +all treated him in a friendly way. + +Already in the province of the Don Cossacks his sledge had been +exchanged for a cart, and beyond Stavrópol it became so warm that +Olénin travelled without wearing his fur coat. It was already spring—an +unexpected joyous spring for Olénin. At night he was no longer allowed +to leave the Cossack villages, and they said it was dangerous to travel +in the evening. Vanyúsha began to be uneasy, and they carried a loaded +gun in the cart. Olénin became still happier. At one of the +post-stations the post-master told of a terrible murder that had been +committed recently on the high road. They began to meet armed men. “So +this is where it begins!” thought Olénin, and kept expecting to see the +snowy mountains of which mention was so often made. Once, towards +evening, the Nogáy driver pointed with his whip to the mountains +shrouded in clouds. Olénin looked eagerly, but it was dull and the +mountains were almost hidden by the clouds. Olénin made out something +grey and white and fleecy, but try as he would he could find nothing +beautiful in the mountains of which he had so often read and heard. The +mountains and the clouds appeared to him quite alike, and he thought +the special beauty of the snow peaks, of which he had so often been +told, was as much an invention as Bach’s music and the love of women, +in which he did not believe. So he gave up looking forward to seeing +the mountains. But early next morning, being awakened in his cart by +the freshness of the air, he glanced carelessly to the right. The +morning was perfectly clear. Suddenly he saw, about twenty paces away +as it seemed to him at first glance, pure white gigantic masses with +delicate contours, the distinct fantastic outlines of their summits +showing sharply against the far-off sky. When he had realized the +distance between himself and them and the sky and the whole immensity +of the mountains, and felt the infinitude of all that beauty, he became +afraid that it was but a phantasm or a dream. He gave himself a shake +to rouse himself, but the mountains were still the same. + +“What’s that! What is it?” he said to the driver. + +“Why, the mountains,” answered the Nogáy driver with indifference. + +“And I too have been looking at them for a long while,” said Vanyúsha. +“Aren’t they fine? They won’t believe it at home.” + +The quick progress of the three-horsed cart along the smooth road +caused the mountains to appear to be running along the horizon, while +their rosy crests glittered in the light of the rising sun. At first +Olénin was only astonished at the sight, then gladdened by it; but +later on, gazing more and more intently at that snow-peaked chain that +seemed to rise not from among other black mountains, but straight out +of the plain, and to glide away into the distance, he began by slow +degrees to be penetrated by their beauty and at length to _feel_ the +mountains. From that moment all he saw, all he thought, and all he +felt, acquired for him a new character, sternly majestic like the +mountains! All his Moscow reminiscences, shame, and repentance, and his +trivial dreams about the Caucasus, vanished and did not return. “Now it +has begun,” a solemn voice seemed to say to him. The road and the +Térek, just becoming visible in the distance, and the Cossack villages +and the people, all no longer appeared to him as a joke. He looked at +himself or Vanyúsha, and again thought of the mountains. ... Two +Cossacks ride by, their guns in their cases swinging rhythmically +behind their backs, the white and bay legs of their horses mingling +confusedly ... and the mountains! Beyond the Térek rises the smoke from +a Tartar village... and the mountains! The sun has risen and glitters +on the Térek, now visible beyond the reeds ... and the mountains! From +the village comes a Tartar wagon, and women, beautiful young women, +pass by... and the mountains! “_Abreks_ canter about the plain, and +here am I driving along and do not fear them! I have a gun, and +strength, and youth... and the mountains!” + + + + + Chapter IV + + +That whole part of the Térek line (about fifty miles) along which lie +the villages of the Grebénsk Cossacks is uniform in character both as +to country and inhabitants. The Térek, which separates the Cossacks +from the mountaineers, still flows turbid and rapid though already +broad and smooth, always depositing greyish sand on its low reedy right +bank and washing away the steep, though not high, left bank, with its +roots of century-old oaks, its rotting plane trees, and young +brushwood. On the right bank lie the villages of pro-Russian, though +still somewhat restless, Tartars. Along the left bank, back half a mile +from the river and standing five or six miles apart from one another, +are Cossack villages. In olden times most of these villages were +situated on the banks of the river; but the Térek, shifting northward +from the mountains year by year, washed away those banks, and now there +remain only the ruins of the old villages and of the gardens of pear +and plum trees and poplars, all overgrown with blackberry bushes and +wild vines. No one lives there now, and one only sees the tracks of the +deer, the wolves, the hares, and the pheasants, who have learned to +love these places. From village to village runs a road cut through the +forest as a cannon-shot might fly. Along the roads are cordons of +Cossacks and watch-towers with sentinels in them. Only a narrow strip +about seven hundred yards wide of fertile wooded soil belongs to the +Cossacks. To the north of it begin the sand-drifts of the Nogáy or +Mozdók steppes, which fetch far to the north and run, Heaven knows +where, into the Trukhmén, Astrakhán, and Kirghíz-Kaisátsk steppes. To +the south, beyond the Térek, are the Great Chéchnya river, the +Kochkálov range, the Black Mountains, yet another range, and at last +the snowy mountains, which can just be seen but have never yet been +scaled. In this fertile wooded strip, rich in vegetation, has dwelt as +far back as memory runs the fine warlike and prosperous Russian tribe +belonging to the sect of Old Believers, and called the Grebénsk +Cossacks. + +Long long ago their Old Believer ancestors fled from Russia and settled +beyond the Térek among the Chéchens on the Grebén, the first range of +wooded mountains of Chéchnya. Living among the Chéchens the Cossacks +intermarried with them and adopted the manners and customs of the hill +tribes, though they still retained the Russian language in all its +purity, as well as their Old Faith. A tradition, still fresh among +them, declares that Tsar Iván the Terrible came to the Térek, sent for +their Elders, and gave them the land on this side of the river, +exhorting them to remain friendly to Russia and promising not to +enforce his rule upon them nor oblige them to change their faith. Even +now the Cossack families claim relationship with the Chéchens, and the +love of freedom, of leisure, of plunder and of war, still form their +chief characteristics. Only the harmful side of Russian influence shows +itself—by interference at elections, by confiscation of church bells, +and by the troops who are quartered in the country or march through it. + +A Cossack is inclined to hate less the _dzhigit_ hillsman who maybe has +killed his brother, than the soldier quartered on him to defend his +village, but who has defiled his hut with tobacco-smoke. He respects +his enemy the hillsman and despises the soldier, who is in his eyes an +alien and an oppressor. In reality, from a Cossack’s point of view a +Russian peasant is a foreign, savage, despicable creature, of whom he +sees a sample in the hawkers who come to the country and in the +Ukrainian immigrants whom the Cossack contemptuously calls +“woolbeaters”. For him, to be smartly dressed means to be dressed like +a Circassian. The best weapons are obtained from the hillsmen and the +best horses are bought, or stolen, from them. A dashing young Cossack +likes to show off his knowledge of Tartar, and when carousing talks +Tartar even to his fellow Cossack. + +In spite of all these things this small Christian clan stranded in a +tiny corner of the earth, surrounded by half-savage Mohammedan tribes +and by soldiers, considers itself highly advanced, acknowledges none +but Cossacks as human beings, and despises everybody else. The Cossack +spends most of his time in the cordon, in action, or in hunting and +fishing. He hardly ever works at home. When he stays in the village it +is an exception to the general rule and then he is holiday-making. All +Cossacks make their own wine, and drunkenness is not so much a general +tendency as a rite, the non-fulfilment of which would be considered +apostasy. The Cossack looks upon a woman as an instrument for his +welfare; only the unmarried girls are allowed to amuse themselves. A +married woman has to work for her husband from youth to very old age: +his demands on her are the Oriental ones of submission and labour. In +consequence of this outlook women are strongly developed both +physically and mentally, and though they are—as everywhere in the +East—nominally in subjection, they possess far greater influence and +importance in family-life than Western women. Their exclusion from +public life and inurement to heavy male labour give the women all the +more power and importance in the household. A Cossack, who before +strangers considers it improper to speak affectionately or needlessly +to his wife, when alone with her is involuntarily conscious of her +superiority. His house and all his property, in fact the entire +homestead, has been acquired and is kept together solely by her labour +and care. Though firmly convinced that labour is degrading to a Cossack +and is only proper for a Nogáy labourer or a woman, he is vaguely aware +of the fact that all he makes use of and calls his own is the result of +that toil, and that it is in the power of the woman (his mother or his +wife) whom he considers his slave, to deprive him of all he possesses. +Besides, the continuous performance of man’s heavy work and the +responsibilities entrusted to her have endowed the Grebénsk women with +a peculiarly independent masculine character and have remarkably +developed their physical powers, common sense, resolution, and +stability. The women are in most cases stronger, more intelligent, more +developed, and handsomer than the men. A striking feature of a Grebénsk +woman’s beauty is the combination of the purest Circassian type of face +with the broad and powerful build of Northern women. Cossack women wear +the Circassian dress: a Tartar smock, _beshmet_, and soft slippers; but +they tie their kerchiefs round their heads in the Russian fashion. +Smartness, cleanliness and elegance in dress and in the arrangement of +their huts, are with them a custom and a necessity. In their relations +with men the women, and especially the unmarried girls, enjoy perfect +freedom. + +Novomlínsk village was considered the very heart of Grebénsk +Cossackdom. In it more than elsewhere the customs of the old Grebénsk +population have been preserved, and its women have from time immemorial +been renowned all over the Caucasus for their beauty. A Cossack’s +livelihood is derived from vineyards, fruit-gardens, water melon and +pumpkin plantations, from fishing, hunting, maize and millet growing, +and from war plunder. Novomlínsk village lies about two and a half +miles away from the Térek, from which it is separated by a dense +forest. On one side of the road which runs through the village is the +river; on the other, green vineyards and orchards, beyond which are +seen the driftsands of the Nogáy Steppe. The village is surrounded by +earth-banks and prickly bramble hedges, and is entered by tall gates +hung between posts and covered with little reed-thatched roofs. Beside +them on a wooden gun-carriage stands an unwieldy cannon captured by the +Cossacks at some time or other, and which has not been fired for a +hundred years. A uniformed Cossack sentinel with dagger and gun +sometimes stands, and sometimes does not stand, on guard beside the +gates, and sometimes presents arms to a passing officer and sometimes +does not. + +Below the roof of the gateway is written in black letters on a white +board: “Houses 266: male inhabitants 897: female 1012.” The Cossacks’ +houses are all raised on pillars two and a half feet from the ground. +They are carefully thatched with reeds and have large carved gables. If +not new they are at least all straight and clean, with high porches of +different shapes; and they are not built close together but have ample +space around them, and are all picturesquely placed along broad streets +and lanes. In front of the large bright windows of many of the houses, +beyond the kitchen gardens, dark green poplars and acacias with their +delicate pale verdure and scented white blossoms overtop the houses, +and beside them grow flaunting yellow sunflowers, creepers, and grape +vines. In the broad open square are three shops where drapery, +sunflower and pumpkin seeds, locust beans and gingerbreads are sold; +and surrounded by a tall fence, loftier and larger than the other +houses, stands the Regimental Commander’s dwelling with its casement +windows, behind a row of tall poplars. Few people are to be seen in the +streets of the village on weekdays, especially in summer. The young men +are on duty in the cordons or on military expeditions; the old ones are +fishing or helping the women in the orchards and gardens. Only the very +old, the sick, and the children, remain at home. + + + + + Chapter V + + +It was one of those wonderful evenings that occur only in the Caucasus. +The sun had sunk behind the mountains but it was still light. The +evening glow had spread over a third of the sky, and against its +brilliancy the dull white immensity of the mountains was sharply +defined. The air was rarefied, motionless, and full of sound. The +shadow of the mountains reached for several miles over the steppe. The +steppe, the opposite side of the river, and the roads, were all +deserted. If very occasionally mounted men appeared, the Cossacks in +the cordon and the Chéchens in their _aouls_ (villages) watched them +with surprised curiosity and tried to guess who those questionable men +could be. + +At nightfall people from fear of one another flock to their dwellings, +and only birds and beasts fearless of man prowl in those deserted +spaces. Talking merrily, the women who have been tying up the vines +hurry away from the gardens before sunset. The vineyards, like all the +surrounding district, are deserted, but the villages become very +animated at that time of the evening. From all sides, walking, riding, +or driving in their creaking carts, people move towards the village. +Girls with their smocks tucked up and twigs in their hands run chatting +merrily to the village gates to meet the cattle that are crowding +together in a cloud of dust and mosquitoes which they bring with them +from the steppe. The well-fed cows and buffaloes disperse at a run all +over the streets and Cossack women in coloured _beshmets_ go to and fro +among them. You can hear their merry laughter and shrieks mingling with +the lowing of the cattle. There an armed and mounted Cossack, on leave +from the cordon, rides up to a hut and, leaning towards the window, +knocks. In answer to the knock the handsome head of a young woman +appears at the window and you can hear caressing, laughing voices. +There a tattered Nogáy labourer, with prominent cheekbones, brings a +load of reeds from the steppes, turns his creaking cart into the +Cossack captain’s broad and clean courtyard, and lifts the yoke off the +oxen that stand tossing their heads while he and his master shout to +one another in Tartar. Past a puddle that reaches nearly across the +street, a barefooted Cossack woman with a bundle of firewood on her +back makes her laborious way by clinging to the fences, holding her +smock high and exposing her white legs. A Cossack returning from +shooting calls out in jest: “Lift it higher, shameless thing!” and +points his gun at her. The woman lets down her smock and drops the +wood. An old Cossack, returning home from fishing with his trousers +tucked up and his hairy grey chest uncovered, has a net across his +shoulder containing silvery fish that are still struggling; and to take +a short cut climbs over his neighbour’s broken fence and gives a tug to +his coat which has caught on the fence. There a woman is dragging a dry +branch along and from round the corner comes the sound of an axe. +Cossack children, spinning their tops wherever there is a smooth place +in the street, are shrieking; women are climbing over fences to avoid +going round. From every chimney rises the odorous _kisyak_ smoke. From +every homestead comes the sound of increased bustle, precursor to the +stillness of night. + +Granny Ulítka, the wife of the Cossack cornet who is also teacher in +the regimental school, goes out to the gates of her yard like the other +women, and waits for the cattle which her daughter Maryánka is driving +along the street. Before she has had time fully to open the wattle gate +in the fence, an enormous buffalo cow surrounded by mosquitoes rushes +up bellowing and squeezes in. Several well-fed cows slowly follow her, +their large eyes gazing with recognition at their mistress as they +swish their sides with their tails. + +The beautiful and shapely Maryánka enters at the gate and throwing away +her switch quickly slams the gate to and rushes with all the speed of +her nimble feet to separate and drive the cattle into their sheds. +“Take off your slippers, you devil’s wench!” shouts her mother, “you’ve +worn them into holes!” Maryánka is not at all offended at being called +a “devil’s wench”, but accepting it as a term of endearment cheerfully +goes on with her task. Her face is covered with a kerchief tied round +her head. She is wearing a pink smock and a green _beshmet_. She +disappears inside the lean-to shed in the yard, following the big fat +cattle; and from the shed comes her voice as she speaks gently and +persuasively to the buffalo: “Won’t she stand still? What a creature! +Come now, come old dear!” Soon the girl and the old woman pass from the +shed to the dairy carrying two large pots of milk, the day’s yield. +From the dairy chimney rises a thin cloud of _kisyak_ smoke: the milk +is being used to make into clotted cream. The girl makes up the fire +while her mother goes to the gate. Twilight has fallen on the village. +The air is full of the smell of vegetables, cattle, and scented +_kisyak_ smoke. From the gates and along the streets Cossack women come +running, carrying lighted rags. From the yards one hears the snorting +and quiet chewing of the cattle eased of their milk, while in the +street only the voices of women and children sound as they call to one +another. It is rare on a week-day to hear the drunken voice of a man. + +One of the Cossack wives, a tall, masculine old woman, approaches +Granny Ulítka from the homestead opposite and asks her for a light. In +her hand she holds a rag. + +“Have you cleared up, Granny?” + +“The girl is lighting the fire. Is it fire you want?” says Granny +Ulítka, proud of being able to oblige her neighbour. + +Both women enter the hut, and coarse hands unused to dealing with small +articles tremblingly lift the lid of a matchbox, which is a rarity in +the Caucasus. The masculine-looking new-comer sits down on the doorstep +with the evident intention of having a chat. + +“And is your man at the school, Mother?” she asked. + +“He’s always teaching the youngsters, Mother. But he writes that he’ll +come home for the holidays,” said the cornet’s wife. + +“Yes, he’s a clever man, one sees; it all comes useful.” + +“Of course it does.” + +“And my Lukáshka is at the cordon; they won’t let him come home,” said +the visitor, though the cornet’s wife had known all this long ago. She +wanted to talk about her Lukáshka whom she had lately fitted out for +service in the Cossack regiment, and whom she wished to marry to the +cornet’s daughter, Maryánka. + +“So he’s at the cordon?” + +“He is, Mother. He’s not been home since last holidays. The other day I +sent him some shirts by Fómushkin. He says he’s all right, and that his +superiors are satisfied. He says they are looking out for _abreks_ +again. Lukáshka is quite happy, he says.” + +“Ah well, thank God,” said the cornet’s wife. “‘Snatcher’ is certainly +the only word for him.” Lukáshka was surnamed “the Snatcher” because of +his bravery in snatching a boy from a watery grave, and the cornet’s +wife alluded to this, wishing in her turn to say something agreeable to +Lukáshka’s mother. + +“I thank God, Mother, that he’s a good son! He’s a fine fellow, +everyone praises him,” says Lukáshka’s mother. “All I wish is to get +him married; then I could die in peace.” + +“Well, aren’t there plenty of young women in the village?” answered the +cornet’s wife slyly as she carefully replaced the lid of the matchbox +with her horny hands. + +“Plenty, Mother, plenty,” remarked Lukáshka’s mother, shaking her head. +“There’s your girl now, your Maryánka—that’s the sort of girl! You’d +have to search through the whole place to find such another!” The +cornet’s wife knows what Lukáshka’s mother is after, but though she +believes him to be a good Cossack she hangs back: first because she is +a cornet’s wife and rich, while Lukáshka is the son of a simple Cossack +and fatherless, secondly because she does not want to part with her +daughter yet, but chiefly because propriety demands it. + +“Well, when Maryánka grows up she’ll be marriageable too,” she answers +soberly and modestly. + +“I’ll send the matchmakers to you—I’ll send them! Only let me get the +vineyard done and then we’ll come and make our bows to you,” says +Lukáshka’s mother. “And we’ll make our bows to Elias Vasílich too.” + +“Elias, indeed!” says the cornet’s wife proudly. “It’s to me you must +speak! All in its own good time.” + +Lukáshka’s mother sees by the stern face of the cornet’s wife that it +is not the time to say anything more just now, so she lights her rag +with the match and says, rising: “Don’t refuse us, think of my words. +I’ll go, it is time to light the fire.” + +As she crosses the road swinging the burning rag, she meets Maryánka, +who bows. + +“Ah, she’s a regular queen, a splendid worker, that girl!” she thinks, +looking at the beautiful maiden. “What need for her to grow any more? +It’s time she was married and to a good home; married to Lukáshka!” + +But Granny Ulítka had her own cares and she remained sitting on the +threshold thinking hard about something, till the girl called her. + + + + + Chapter VI + + +The male population of the village spend their time on military +expeditions and in the cordon—or “at their posts”, as the Cossacks say. +Towards evening, that same Lukáshka the Snatcher, about whom the old +women had been talking, was standing on a watch-tower of the +Nízhni-Protótsk post situated on the very banks of the Térek. Leaning +on the railing of the tower and screwing up his eyes, he looked now far +into the distance beyond the Térek, now down at his fellow Cossacks, +and occasionally he addressed the latter. The sun was already +approaching the snowy range that gleamed white above the fleecy clouds. +The clouds undulating at the base of the mountains grew darker and +darker. The clearness of evening was noticeable in the air. A sense of +freshness came from the woods, though round the post it was still hot. +The voices of the talking Cossacks vibrated more sonorously than +before. The moving mass of the Térek’s rapid brown waters contrasted +more vividly with its motionless banks. The waters were beginning to +subside and here and there the wet sands gleamed drab on the banks and +in the shallows. The other side of the river, just opposite the cordon, +was deserted; only an immense waste of low-growing reeds stretched far +away to the very foot of the mountains. On the low bank, a little to +one side, could be seen the flat-roofed clay houses and the +funnel-shaped chimneys of a Chéchen village. The sharp eyes of the +Cossack who stood on the watch-tower followed, through the evening +smoke of the pro-Russian village, the tiny moving figures of the +Chéchen women visible in the distance in their red and blue garments. + +Although the Cossacks expected _abreks_ to cross over and attack them +from the Tartar side at any moment, especially as it was May when the +woods by the Térek are so dense that it is difficult to pass through +them on foot and the river is shallow enough in places for a horseman +to ford it, and despite the fact that a couple of days before a Cossack +had arrived with a circular from the commander of the regiment +announcing that spies had reported the intention of a party of some +eight men to cross the Térek, and ordering special vigilance—no special +vigilance was being observed in the cordon. The Cossacks, unarmed and +with their horses unsaddled just as if they were at home, spent their +time some in fishing, some in drinking, and some in hunting. Only the +horse of the man on duty was saddled, and with its feet hobbled was +moving about by the brambles near the wood, and only the sentinel had +his Circassian coat on and carried a gun and sword. The corporal, a +tall thin Cossack with an exceptionally long back and small hands and +feet, was sitting on the earth-bank of a hut with his _beshmet_ +unbuttoned. On his face was the lazy, bored expression of a superior, +and having shut his eyes he dropped his head upon the palm first of one +hand and then of the other. An elderly Cossack with a broad +greyish-black beard was lying in his shirt, girdled with a black strap, +close to the river and gazing lazily at the waves of the Térek as they +monotonously foamed and swirled. Others, also overcome by the heat and +half naked, were rinsing clothes in the Térek, plaiting a fishing line, +or humming tunes as they lay on the hot sand of the river bank. One +Cossack, with a thin face much burnt by the sun, lay near the hut +evidently dead drunk, by a wall which though it had been in shadow some +two hours previously was now exposed to the sun’s fierce slanting rays. + +Lukáshka, who stood on the watch-tower, was a tall handsome lad about +twenty years old and very like his mother. His face and whole build, in +spite of the angularity of youth, indicated great strength, both +physical and moral. Though he had only lately joined the Cossacks at +the front, it was evident from the expression of his face and the calm +assurance of his attitude that he had already acquired the somewhat +proud and warlike bearing peculiar to Cossacks and to men generally who +continually carry arms, and that he felt he was a Cossack and fully +knew his own value. His ample Circassian coat was torn in some places, +his cap was on the back of his head Chéchen fashion, and his leggings +had slipped below his knees. His clothing was not rich, but he wore it +with that peculiar Cossack foppishness which consists in imitating the +Chéchen brave. Everything on a real brave is ample, ragged, and +neglected, only his weapons are costly. But these ragged clothes and +these weapons are belted and worn with a certain air and matched in a +certain manner, neither of which can be acquired by everybody and which +at once strike the eye of a Cossack or a hillsman. Lukáshka had this +resemblance to a brave. With his hands folded under his sword, and his +eyes nearly closed, he kept looking at the distant Tartar village. +Taken separately his features were not beautiful, but anyone who saw +his stately carriage and his dark-browed intelligent face would +involuntarily say, “What a fine fellow!” + +“Look at the women, what a lot of them are walking about in the +village,” said he in a sharp voice, languidly showing his brilliant +white teeth and not addressing anyone in particular. + +Nazárka who was lying below immediately lifted his head and remarked: + +“They must be going for water.” + +“Supposing one scared them with a gun?” said Lukáshka, laughing, +“Wouldn’t they be frightened?” + +“It wouldn’t reach.” + +“What! Mine would carry beyond. Just wait a bit, and when their feast +comes round I’ll go and visit Giréy Khan and drink _buza_ there,” said +Lukáshka, angrily swishing away the mosquitoes which attached +themselves to him. + +A rustling in the thicket drew the Cossack’s attention. A pied mongrel +half-setter, searching for a scent and violently wagging its scantily +furred tail, came running to the cordon. Lukáshka recognized the dog as +one belonging to his neighbour, Uncle Eróshka, a hunter, and saw, +following it through the thicket, the approaching figure of the hunter +himself. + +Uncle Eróshka was a gigantic Cossack with a broad, snow-white beard and +such broad shoulders and chest that in the wood, where there was no one +to compare him with, he did not look particularly tall, so well +proportioned were his powerful limbs. He wore a tattered coat and, over +the bands with which his legs were swathed, sandals made of undressed +deer’s hide tied on with strings; while on his head he had a rough +little white cap. He carried over one shoulder a screen to hide behind +when shooting pheasants, and a bag containing a hen for luring hawks, +and a small falcon; over the other shoulder, attached by a strap, was a +wild cat he had killed; and stuck in his belt behind were some little +bags containing bullets, gunpowder, and bread, a horse’s tail to swish +away the mosquitoes, a large dagger in a torn scabbard smeared with old +bloodstains, and two dead pheasants. Having glanced at the cordon he +stopped. + +“Hy, Lyam!” he called to the dog in such a ringing bass that it awoke +an echo far away in the wood; and throwing over his shoulder his big +gun, of the kind the Cossacks call a “flint”, he raised his cap. + +“Had a good day, good people, eh?” he said, addressing the Cossacks in +the same strong and cheerful voice, quite without effort, but as loudly +as if he were shouting to someone on the other bank of the river. + +“Yes, yes, Uncle!” answered from all sides the voices of the young +Cossacks. + +“What have you seen? Tell us!” shouted Uncle Eróshka, wiping the sweat +from his broad red face with the sleeve of his coat. + +“Ah, there’s a vulture living in the plane tree here, Uncle. As soon as +night comes he begins hovering round,” said Nazárka, winking and +jerking his shoulder and leg. + +“Come, come!” said the old man incredulously. + +“Really, Uncle! You must keep watch,” replied Nazárka with a laugh. + +The other Cossacks began laughing. + +The wag had not seen any vulture at all, but it had long been the +custom of the young Cossacks in the cordon to tease and mislead Uncle +Eróshka every time he came to them. + +“Eh, you fool, always lying!” exclaimed Lukáshka from the tower to +Nazárka. + +Nazárka was immediately silenced. + +“It must be watched. I’ll watch,” answered the old man to the great +delight of all the Cossacks. “But have you seen any boars?” + +“Watching for boars, are you?” said the corporal, bending forward and +scratching his back with both hands, very pleased at the chance of some +distraction. “It’s _abreks_ one has to hunt here and not boars! You’ve +not heard anything, Uncle, have you?” he added, needlessly screwing up +his eyes and showing his close-set white teeth. + +“_Abreks_,” said the old man. “No, I haven’t. I say, have you any +_chikhir?_ Let me have a drink, there’s a good man. I’m really quite +done up. When the time comes I’ll bring you some fresh meat, I really +will. Give me a drink!” he added. + +“Well, and are you going to watch?” inquired the corporal, as though he +had not heard what the other said. + +“I did mean to watch tonight,” replied Uncle Eróshka. “Maybe, with +God’s help, I shall kill something for the holiday. Then you shall have +a share, you shall indeed!” + +“Uncle! Hallo, Uncle!” called out Lukáshka sharply from above, +attracting everybody’s attention. All the Cossacks looked up at him. +“Just go to the upper water-course, there’s a fine herd of boars there. +I’m not inventing, really! The other day one of our Cossacks shot one +there. I’m telling you the truth,” added he, readjusting the musket at +his back and in a tone that showed he was not joking. + +“Ah! Lukáshka the Snatcher is here!” said the old man, looking up. +“Where has he been shooting?” + +“Haven’t you seen? I suppose you’re too young!” said Lukáshka. “Close +by the ditch,” he went on seriously with a shake of the head. “We were +just going along the ditch when all at once we heard something +crackling, but my gun was in its case. Elias fired suddenly ... But +I’ll show you the place, it’s not far. You just wait a bit. I know +every one of their footpaths ... Daddy Mósev,” said he, turning +resolutely and almost commandingly to the corporal, “it’s time to +relieve guard!” and holding aloft his gun he began to descend from the +watch-tower without waiting for the order. + +“Come down!” said the corporal, after Lukáshka had started, and glanced +round. “Is it your turn, Gúrka? Then go ... True enough your Lukáshka +has become very skilful,” he went on, addressing the old man. “He keeps +going about just like you, he doesn’t stay at home. The other day he +killed a boar.” + + + + + Chapter VII + + +The sun had already set and the shades of night were rapidly spreading +from the edge of the wood. The Cossacks finished their task round the +cordon and gathered in the hut for supper. Only the old man still +stayed under the plane tree watching for the vulture and pulling the +string tied to the falcon’s leg, but though a vulture was really +perching on the plane tree it declined to swoop down on the lure. +Lukáshka, singing one song after another, was leisurely placing nets +among the very thickest brambles to trap pheasants. In spite of his +tall stature and big hands every kind of work, both rough and delicate, +prospered under Lukáshka’s fingers. + +“Hallo, Luke!” came Nazárka’s shrill, sharp voice calling him from the +thicket close by. “The Cossacks have gone in to supper.” + +Nazárka, with a live pheasant under his arm, forced his way through the +brambles and emerged on the footpath. + +“Oh!” said Lukáshka, breaking off in his song, “where did you get that +cock pheasant? I suppose it was in my trap?” + +Nazárka was of the same age as Lukáshka and had also only been at the +front since the previous spring. + +He was plain, thin and puny, with a shrill voice that rang in one’s +ears. They were neighbours and comrades. Lukáshka was sitting on the +grass cross-legged like a Tartar, adjusting his nets. + +“I don’t know whose it was—yours, I expect.” + +“Was it beyond the pit by the plane tree? Then it is mine! I set the +nets last night.” + +Lukáshka rose and examined the captured pheasant. After stroking the +dark burnished head of the bird, which rolled its eyes and stretched +out its neck in terror, Lukáshka took the pheasant in his hands. + +“We’ll have it in a pilau tonight. You go and kill and pluck it.” + +“And shall we eat it ourselves or give it to the corporal?” + +“He has plenty!” + +“I don’t like killing them,” said Nazárka. + +“Give it here!” + +Lukáshka drew a little knife from under his dagger and gave it a swift +jerk. The bird fluttered, but before it could spread its wings the +bleeding head bent and quivered. + +“That’s how one should do it!” said Lukáshka, throwing down the +pheasant. “It will make a fat pilau.” + +Nazárka shuddered as he looked at the bird. + +“I say, Lukáshka, that fiend will be sending us to the ambush again +tonight,” he said, taking up the bird. (He was alluding to the +corporal.) “He has sent Fómushkin to get wine, and it ought to be his +turn. He always puts it on us.” + +Lukáshka went whistling along the cordon. + +“Take the string with you,” he shouted. + +Nazirka obeyed. + +“I’ll give him a bit of my mind today, I really will,” continued +Nazárka. “Let’s say we won’t go; we’re tired out and there’s an end of +it! No, really, you tell him, he’ll listen to you. It’s too bad!” + +“Get along with you! What a thing to make a fuss about!” said Lukáshka, +evidently thinking of something else. “What bosh! If he made us turn +out of the village at night now, that would be annoying: there one can +have some fun, but here what is there? It’s all one whether we’re in +the cordon or in ambush. What a fellow you are!” + +“And are you going to the village?” + +“I’ll go for the holidays.” + +“Gúrka says your Dunáyka is carrying on with Fómushkin,” said Nazárka +suddenly. + +“Well, let her go to the devil,” said Lukáshka, showing his regular +white teeth, though he did not laugh. “As if I couldn’t find another!” + +“Gúrka says he went to her house. Her husband was out and there was +Fómushkin sitting and eating pie. Gúrka stopped awhile and then went +away, and passing by the window he heard her say, ‘He’s gone, the +fiend.... Why don’t you eat your pie, my own? You needn’t go home for +the night,’ she says. And Gúrka under the window says to himself, +‘That’s fine!’” + +“You’re making it up.” + +“No, quite true, by Heaven!” + +“Well, if she’s found another let her go to the devil,” said Lukáshka, +after a pause. “There’s no lack of girls and I was sick of her anyway.” + +“Well, see what a devil you are!” said Nazárka. “You should make up to +the cornet’s girl, Maryánka. Why doesn’t she walk out with any one?” + +Lukáshka frowned. “What of Maryánka? They’re all alike,” said he. + +“Well, you just try...” + +“What do you think? Are girls so scarce in the village?” + +And Lukáshka recommenced whistling, and went along the cordon pulling +leaves and branches from the bushes as he went. Suddenly, catching +sight of a smooth sapling, he drew the knife from the handle of his +dagger and cut it down. “What a ramrod it will make,” he said, swinging +the sapling till it whistled through the air. + +The Cossacks were sitting round a low Tartar table on the earthen floor +of the clay-plastered outer room of the hut, when the question of whose +turn it was to lie in ambush was raised. “Who is to go tonight?” +shouted one of the Cossacks through the open door to the corporal in +the next room. + +“Who is to go?” the corporal shouted back. “Uncle Burlák has been and +Fómushkin too,” said he, not quite confidently. “You two had better go, +you and Nazárka,” he went on, addressing Lukáshka. “And Ergushóv must +go too; surely he has slept it off?” + +“You don’t sleep it off yourself so why should he?” said Nazárka in a +subdued voice. + +The Cossacks laughed. + +Ergushóv was the Cossack who had been lying drunk and asleep near the +hut. He had only that moment staggered into the room rubbing his eyes. + +Lukáshka had already risen and was getting his gun ready. + +“Be quick and go! Finish your supper and go!” said the corporal; and +without waiting for an expression of consent he shut the door, +evidently not expecting the Cossack to obey. “Of course,” thought he, +“if I hadn’t been ordered to I wouldn’t send anyone, but an officer +might turn up at any moment. As it is, they say eight _abreks_ have +crossed over.” + +“Well, I suppose I must go,” remarked Ergushóv, “it’s the regulation. +Can’t be helped! The times are such. I say, we must go.” + +Meanwhile Lukáshka, holding a big piece of pheasant to his mouth with +both hands and glancing now at Nazárka, now at Ergushóv, seemed quite +indifferent to what passed and only laughed at them both. Before the +Cossacks were ready to go into ambush. Uncle Eróshka, who had been +vainly waiting under the plane tree till night fell, entered the dark +outer room. + +“Well, lads,” his loud bass resounded through the low-roofed room +drowning all the other voices, “I’m going with you. You’ll watch for +Chéchens and I for boars!” + + + + + Chapter VIII + + +It was quite dark when Uncle Eróshka and the three Cossacks, in their +cloaks and shouldering their guns, left the cordon and went towards the +place on the Térek where they were to lie in ambush. Nazárka did not +want to go at all, but Lukáshka shouted at him and they soon started. +After they had gone a few steps in silence the Cossacks turned aside +from the ditch and went along a path almost hidden by reeds till they +reached the river. On its bank lay a thick black log cast up by the +water. The reeds around it had been recently beaten down. + +“Shall we lie here?” asked Nazárka. + +“Why not?” answered Lukáshka. “Sit down here and I’ll be back in a +minute. I’ll only show Daddy where to go.” + +“This is the best place; here we can see and not be seen,” said +Ergushóv, “so it’s here we’ll lie. It’s a first-rate place!” + +Nazárka and Ergushóv spread out their cloaks and settled down behind +the log, while Lukáshka went on with Uncle Eróshka. + +“It’s not far from here. Daddy,” said Lukáshka, stepping softly in +front of the old man; “I’ll show you where they’ve been—I’m the only +one that knows, Daddy.” + +“Show me! You’re a fine fellow, a regular Snatcher!” replied the old +man, also whispering. + +Having gone a few steps Lukáshka stopped, stooped down over a puddle, +and whistled. “That’s where they come to drink, d’you see?” He spoke in +a scarcely audible voice, pointing to fresh hoof-prints. + +“Christ bless you,” answered the old man. “The boar will be in the +hollow beyond the ditch,” he added. “I’ll watch, and you can go.” + +Lukáshka pulled his cloak up higher and walked back alone, throwing +swift glances now to the left at the wall of reeds, now to the Térek +rushing by below the bank. “I daresay he’s watching or creeping along +somewhere,” thought he of a possible Chéchen hillsman. Suddenly a loud +rustling and a splash in the water made him start and seize his musket. +From under the bank a boar leapt up—his dark outline showing for a +moment against the glassy surface of the water and then disappearing +among the reeds. Lukáshka pulled out his gun and aimed, but before he +could fire the boar had disappeared in the thicket. Lukáshka spat with +vexation and went on. On approaching the ambuscade he halted again and +whistled softly. His whistle was answered and he stepped up to his +comrades. + +Nazárka, all curled up, was already asleep. Ergushóv sat with his legs +crossed and moved slightly to make room for Lukáshka. + +“How jolly it is to sit here! It’s really a good place,” said he. “Did +you take him there?” + +“Showed him where,” answered Lukáshka, spreading out his cloak. “But +what a big boar I roused just now close to the water! I expect it was +the very one! You must have heard the crash?” + +“I did hear a beast crashing through. I knew at once it was a beast. I +thought to myself: ‘Lukáshka has roused a beast,’” Ergushóv said, +wrapping himself up in his cloak. “Now I’ll go to sleep,” he added. +“Wake me when the cocks crow. We must have discipline. I’ll lie down +and have a nap, and then you will have a nap and I’ll watch—that’s the +way.” + +“Luckily I don’t want to sleep,” answered Lukáshka. + +The night was dark, warm, and still. Only on one side of the sky the +stars were shining, the other and greater part was overcast by one huge +cloud stretching from the mountaintops. The black cloud, blending in +the absence of any wind with the mountains, moved slowly onwards, its +curved edges sharply defined against the deep starry sky. Only in front +of him could the Cossack discern the Térek and the distance beyond. +Behind and on both sides he was surrounded by a wall of reeds. +Occasionally the reeds would sway and rustle against one another +apparently without cause. Seen from down below, against the clear part +of the sky, their waving tufts looked like the feathery branches of +trees. Close in front at his very feet was the bank, and at its base +the rushing torrent. A little farther on was the moving mass of glassy +brown water which eddied rhythmically along the bank and round the +shallows. Farther still, water, banks, and cloud all merged together in +impenetrable gloom. Along the surface of the water floated black +shadows, in which the experienced eyes of the Cossack detected trees +carried down by the current. Only very rarely sheet-lightning, mirrored +in the water as in a black glass, disclosed the sloping bank opposite. +The rhythmic sounds of night—the rustling of the reeds, the snoring of +the Cossacks, the hum of mosquitoes, and the rushing water, were every +now and then broken by a shot fired in the distance, or by the gurgling +of water when a piece of bank slipped down, the splash of a big fish, +or the crashing of an animal breaking through the thick undergrowth in +the wood. Once an owl flew past along the Térek, flapping one wing +against the other rhythmically at every second beat. Just above the +Cossack’s head it turned towards the wood and then, striking its wings +no longer after every other flap but at every flap, it flew to an old +plane tree where it rustled about for a long time before settling down +among the branches. At every one of these unexpected sounds the +watching Cossack listened intently, straining his hearing, and screwing +up his eyes while he deliberately felt for his musket. + +The greater part of the night was past. The black cloud that had moved +westward revealed the clear starry sky from under its torn edge, and +the golden upturned crescent of the moon shone above the mountains with +a reddish light. The cold began to be penetrating. Nazárka awoke, spoke +a little, and fell asleep again. Lukáshka feeling bored got up, drew +the knife from his dagger-handle and began to fashion his stick into a +ramrod. His head was full of the Chéchens who lived over there in the +mountains, and of how their brave lads came across and were not afraid +of the Cossacks, and might even now be crossing the river at some other +spot. He thrust himself out of his hiding-place and looked along the +river but could see nothing. And as he continued looking out at +intervals upon the river and at the opposite bank, now dimly +distinguishable from the water in the faint moonlight, he no longer +thought about the Chéchens but only of when it would be time to wake +his comrades, and of going home to the village. In the village he +imagined Dunáyka, his “little soul”, as the Cossacks call a man’s +mistress, and thought of her with vexation. Silvery mists, a sign of +coming morning, glittered white above the water, and not far from him +young eagles were whistling and flapping their wings. At last the +crowing of a cock reached him from the distant village, followed by the +long-sustained note of another, which was again answered by yet other +voices. + +“Time to wake them,” thought Lukáshka, who had finished his ramrod and +felt his eyes growing heavy. Turning to his comrades he managed to make +out which pair of legs belonged to whom, when it suddenly seemed to him +that he heard something splash on the other side of the Térek. He +turned again towards the horizon beyond the hills, where day was +breaking under the upturned crescent, glanced at the outline of the +opposite bank, at the Térek, and at the now distinctly visible +driftwood upon it. For one instant it seemed to him that he was moving +and that the Térek with the drifting wood remained stationary. Again he +peered out. One large black log with a branch particularly attracted +his attention. The tree was floating in a strange way right down the +middle of the stream, neither rocking nor whirling. It even appeared +not to be floating altogether with the current, but to be crossing it +in the direction of the shallows. Lukáshka stretching out his neck +watched it intently. The tree floated to the shallows, stopped, and +shifted in a peculiar manner. Lukáshka thought he saw an arm stretched +out from beneath the tree. + +“Supposing I killed an _abrek_ all by myself!” he thought, and seized +his gun with a swift, unhurried movement, putting up his gun-rest, +placing the gun upon it, and holding it noiselessly in position. +Cocking the trigger, with bated breath he took aim, still peering out +intently. + +“I won’t wake them,” he thought. But his heart began beating so fast +that he remained motionless, listening. Suddenly the trunk gave a +plunge and again began to float across the stream towards our bank. + +“Suppose I miss?...” thought he, and now by the faint light of the moon +he caught a glimpse of a Tartar’s head in front of the floating wood. +He aimed straight at the head which appeared to be quite near—just at +the end of his rifle’s barrel. He glanced cross. “Right enough it is an +_abrek!_” he thought joyfully, and suddenly rising to his knees he +again took aim. Having found the sight, barely visible at the end of +the long gun, he said: “In the name of the Father and of the Son,” in +the Cossack way learnt in his childhood, and pulled the trigger. A +flash of lightning lit up for an instant the reeds and the water, and +the sharp, abrupt report of the shot was carried across the river, +changing into a prolonged roll somewhere in the far distance. The piece +of driftwood now floated not across, but with the current, rocking and +whirling. + +“Stop, I say!” exclaimed Ergushóv, seizing his musket and raising +himself behind the log near which he was lying. + +“Shut up, you devil!” whispered Lukáshka, grinding his teeth. +“_Abreks!_” + +“Whom have you shot?” asked Nazárka. “Who was it, Lukáshka?” + +Lukáshka did not answer. He was reloading his gun and watching the +floating wood. A little way off it stopped on a sand-bank, and from +behind it something large that rocked in the water came into view. + +“What did you shoot? Why don’t you speak?” insisted the Cossacks. + +“_Abreks_, I tell you!” said Lukáshka. + +“Don’t humbug! Did the gun go off? ...” + +“I’ve killed an _abrek_, that’s what I fired at,” muttered Lukáshka in +a voice choked by emotion, as he jumped to his feet. “A man was +swimming...” he said, pointing to the sandbank. “I killed him. Just +look there.” + +“Have done with your humbugging!” said Ergushóv again, rubbing his +eyes. + +“Have done with what? Look there,” said Lukáshka, seizing him by the +shoulders and pulling him with such force that Ergushóv groaned. + +He looked in the direction in which Lukáshka pointed, and discerning a +body immediately changed his tone. + +“O Lord! But I say, more will come! I tell you the truth,” said he +softly, and began examining his musket. “That was a scout swimming +across: either the others are here already or are not far off on the +other side—I tell you for sure!” Lukáshka was unfastening his belt and +taking off his Circassian coat. + +“What are you up to, you idiot?” exclaimed Ergushóv. “Only show +yourself and you’ve lost all for nothing, I tell you true! If you’ve +killed him he won’t escape. Let me have a little powder for my +musket-pan—you have some? Nazárka, you go back to the cordon and look +alive; but don’t go along the bank or you’ll be killed—I tell you +true.” + +“Catch me going alone! Go yourself!” said Nazárka angrily. + +Having taken off his coat, Lukáshka went down to the bank. + +“Don’t go in, I tell you!” said Ergushóv, putting some powder on the +pan. “Look, he’s not moving. I can see. It’s nearly morning; wait till +they come from the cordon. You go, Nazárka. You’re afraid! Don’t be +afraid, I tell you.” + +“Luke, I say, Lukáshka! Tell us how you did it!” said Nazárka. + +Lukáshka changed his mind about going into the water just then. “Go +quick to the cordon and I will watch. Tell the Cossacks to send out the +patrol. If the _abreks_ are on this side they must be caught,” said he. + +“That’s what I say. They’ll get off,” said Ergushóv, rising. “True, +they must be caught!” + +Ergushóv and Nazárka rose and, crossing themselves, started off for the +cordon—not along the riverbank but breaking their way through the +brambles to reach a path in the wood. + +“Now mind, Lukáshka—they may cut you down here, so you’d best keep a +sharp look-out, I tell you!” + +“Go along; I know,” muttered Lukáshka; and having examined his gun +again he sat down behind the log. + +He remained alone and sat gazing at the shallows and listening for the +Cossacks; but it was some distance to the cordon and he was tormented +by impatience. He kept thinking that the other _abreks_ who were with +the one he had killed would escape. He was vexed with the _abreks_ who +were going to escape just as he had been with the boar that had escaped +the evening before. He glanced round and at the opposite bank, +expecting every moment to see a man, and having arranged his gun-rest +he was ready to fire. The idea that he might himself be killed never +entered his head. + + + + + Chapter IX + + +It was growing light. The Chéchen’s body which was gently rocking in +the shallow water was now clearly visible. Suddenly the reeds rustled +not far from Luke and he heard steps and saw the feathery tops of the +reeds moving. He set his gun at full cock and muttered: “In the name of +the Father and of the Son,” but when the cock clicked the sound of +steps ceased. + +“Hallo, Cossacks! Don’t kill your Daddy!” said a deep bass voice +calmly; and moving the reeds apart Daddy Eróshka came up close to Luke. + +“I very nearly killed you, by God I did!” said Lukáshka. + +“What have you shot?” asked the old man. + +His sonorous voice resounded through the wood and downward along the +river, suddenly dispelling the mysterious quiet of night around the +Cossack. It was as if everything had suddenly become lighter and more +distinct. + +“There now. Uncle, you have not seen anything, but I’ve killed a +beast,” said Lukáshka, uncocking his gun and getting up with unnatural +calmness. + +The old man was staring intently at the white back, now clearly +visible, against which the Térek rippled. + +“He was swimming with a log on his back. I spied him out! ... Look +there. There! He’s got blue trousers, and a gun I think.... Do you +see?” inquired Luke. + +“How can one help seeing?” said the old man angrily, and a serious and +stern expression appeared on his face. “You’ve killed a brave,” he +said, apparently with regret. + +“Well, I sat here and suddenly saw something dark on the other side. I +spied him when he was still over there. It was as if a man had come +there and fallen in. Strange! And a piece of driftwood, a good-sized +piece, comes floating, not with the stream but across it; and what do I +see but a head appearing from under it! Strange! I stretched out of the +reeds but could see nothing; then I rose and he must have heard, the +beast, and crept out into the shallow and looked about. ‘No, you +don’t!’ I said, as soon as he landed and looked round, ‘you won’t get +away!’ Oh, there was something choking me! I got my gun ready but did +not stir, and looked out. He waited a little and then swam out again; +and when he came into the moonlight I could see his whole back. ‘In the +name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost’... and through +the smoke I see him struggling. He moaned, or so it seemed to me. ‘Ah,’ +I thought, ‘the Lord be thanked, I’ve killed him!’ And when he drifted +onto the sand-bank I could see him distinctly: he tried to get up but +couldn’t. He struggled a bit and then lay down. Everything could be +seen. Look, he does not move—he must be dead! The Cossacks have gone +back to the cordon in case there should be any more of them.” + +“And so you got him!” said the old man. “He is far away now, my lad! +...” And again he shook his head sadly. + +Just then the sound reached them of breaking bushes and the loud voices +of Cossacks approaching along the bank on horseback and on foot. “Are +you bringing the skiff?” shouted Lukáshka. + +“You’re a trump, Luke! Lug it to the bank!” shouted one of the +Cossacks. + +Without waiting for the skiff Lukáshka began to undress, keeping an eye +all the while on his prey. + +“Wait a bit, Nazárka is bringing the skiff,” shouted the corporal. + +“You fool! Maybe he is alive and only pretending! Take your dagger with +you!” shouted another Cossack. + +“Get along,” cried Luke, pulling off his trousers. He quickly undressed +and, crossing himself, jumped, plunging with a splash into the river. +Then with long strokes of his white arms, lifting his back high out of +the water and breathing deeply, he swam across the current of the Térek +towards the shallows. A crowd of Cossacks stood on the bank talking +loudly. Three horsemen rode off to patrol. The skiff appeared round a +bend. Lukáshka stood up on the sandbank, leaned over the body, and gave +it a couple of shakes. + +“Quite dead!” he shouted in a shrill voice. + +The Chéchen had been shot in the head. He had on a pair of blue +trousers, a shirt, and a Circassian coat, and a gun and dagger were +tied to his back. Above all these a large branch was tied, and it was +this which at first had misled Lukáshka. + +“What a carp you’ve landed!” cried one of the Cossacks who had +assembled in a circle, as the body, lifted out of the skiff, was laid +on the bank, pressing down the grass. + +“How yellow he is!” said another. + +“Where have our fellows gone to search? I expect the rest of them are +on the other bank. If this one had not been a scout he would not have +swum that way. Why else should he swim alone?” said a third. + +“Must have been a smart one to offer himself before the others; a +regular brave!” said Lukáshka mockingly, shivering as he wrung out his +clothes that had got wet on the bank. + +“His beard is dyed and cropped.” + +“And he has tied a bag with a coat in it to his back.” + +“That would make it easier for him to swim,” said some one. + +“I say, Lukáshka,” said the corporal, who was holding the dagger and +gun taken from the dead man. “Keep the dagger for yourself and the coat +too; but I’ll give you three rubles for the gun. You see it has a hole +in it,” said he, blowing into the muzzle. “I want it just for a +souvenir.” + +Lukáshka did not answer. Evidently this sort of begging vexed him but +he knew it could not be avoided. + +“See, what a devil!” said he, frowning and throwing down the Chéchen’s +coat. “If at least it were a good coat, but it’s a mere rag.” + +“It’ll do to fetch firewood in,” said one of the Cossacks. + +“Mósev, I’ll go home,” said Lukáshka, evidently forgetting his vexation +and wishing to get some advantage out of having to give a present to +his superior. + +“All right, you may go!” + +“Take the body beyond the cordon, lads,” said the corporal, still +examining the gun, “and put a shelter over him from the sun. Perhaps +they’ll send from the mountains to ransom it.” + +“It isn’t hot yet,” said someone. + +“And supposing a jackal tears him? Would that be well?” remarked +another Cossack. + +“We’ll set a watch; if they should come to ransom him it won’t do for +him to have been torn.” + +“Well, Lukáshka, whatever you do you must stand a pail of vodka for the +lads,” said the corporal gaily. + +“Of course! That’s the custom,” chimed in the Cossacks. “See what luck +God has sent you! Without ever having seen anything of the kind before, +you’ve killed a brave!” + +“Buy the dagger and coat and don’t be stingy, and I’ll let you have the +trousers too,” said Lukáshka. “They’re too tight for me; he was a thin +devil.” + +One Cossack bought the coat for a ruble and another gave the price of +two pails of vodka for the dagger. + +“Drink, lads! I’ll stand you a pail!” said Luke. “I’ll bring it myself +from the village.” + +“And cut up the trousers into kerchiefs for the girls!” said Nazárka. + +The Cossacks burst out laughing. + +“Have done laughing!” said the corporal. “And take the body away. Why +have you put the nasty thing by the hut?” + +“What are you standing there for? Haul him along, lads!” shouted +Lukáshka in a commanding voice to the Cossacks, who reluctantly took +hold of the body, obeying him as though he were their chief. After +dragging the body along for a few steps the Cossacks let fall the legs, +which dropped with a lifeless jerk, and stepping apart they then stood +silent for a few moments. Nazárka came up and straightened the head, +which was turned to one side so that the round wound above the temple +and the whole of the dead man’s face were visible. “See what a mark he +has made right in the brain,” he said. “He won’t get lost. His owners +will always know him!” No one answered, and again the Angel of Silence +flew over the Cossacks. + +The sun had risen high and its diverging beams were lighting up the +dewy grass. Near by, the Térek murmured in the awakened wood and, +greeting the morning, the pheasants called to one another. The Cossacks +stood still and silent around the dead man, gazing at him. The brown +body, with nothing on but the wet blue trousers held by a girdle over +the sunken stomach, was well shaped and handsome. The muscular arms lay +stretched straight out by his sides; the blue, freshly shaven, round +head with the clotted wound on one side of it was thrown back. The +smooth tanned forehead contrasted sharply with the shaven part of the +head. The open glassy eyes with lowered pupils stared upwards, seeming +to gaze past everything. Under the red trimmed moustache the fine lips, +drawn at the corners, seemed stiffened into a smile of good-natured +subtle raillery. The fingers of the small hands covered with red hairs +were bent inward, and the nails were dyed red. + +Lukáshka had not yet dressed. He was wet. His neck was redder and his +eyes brighter than usual, his broad jaws twitched, and from his healthy +body a hardly perceptible steam rose in the fresh morning air. + +“He too was a man!” he muttered, evidently admiring the corpse. + +“Yes, if you had fallen into his hands you would have had short +shrift,” said one of the Cossacks. + +The Angel of Silence had taken wing. The Cossacks began bustling about +and talking. Two of them went to cut brushwood for a shelter, others +strolled towards the cordon. Luke and Nazárka ran to get ready to go to +the village. + +Half an hour later they were both on their way homewards, talking +incessantly and almost running through the dense woods which separated +the Térek from the village. + +“Mind, don’t tell her I sent you, but just go and find out if her +husband is at home,” Luke was saying in his shrill voice. + +“And I’ll go round to Yámka too,” said the devoted Nazárka. “We’ll have +a spree, shall we?” + +“When should we have one if not today?” replied Luke. + +When they reached the village the two Cossacks drank, and lay down to +sleep till evening. + + + + + Chapter X + + +On the third day after the events above described, two companies of a +Caucasian infantry regiment arrived at the Cossack village of +Novomlínsk. The horses had been unharnessed and the companies’ wagons +were standing in the square. The cooks had dug a pit, and with logs +gathered from various yards (where they had not been sufficiently +securely stored) were now cooking the food; the pay-sergeants were +settling accounts with the soldiers. The Service Corps men were driving +piles in the ground to which to tie the horses, and the quartermasters +were going about the streets just as if they were at home, showing +officers and men to their quarters. Here were green ammunition boxes in +a line, the company’s carts, horses, and cauldrons in which buckwheat +porridge was being cooked. + +Here were the captain and the lieutenant and the sergeant-major, Onisim +Mikháylovich, and all this was in the Cossack village where it was +reported that the companies were ordered to take up their quarters: +therefore they were at home here. + +But why they were stationed there, who the Cossacks were, and whether +they wanted the troops to be there, and whether they were Old Believers +or not—was all quite immaterial. Having received their pay and been +dismissed, tired out and covered with dust, the soldiers noisily and in +disorder, like a swarm of bees about to settle, spread over the squares +and streets. + +Quite regardless of the Cossacks’ ill will, chattering merrily and with +their muskets clinking, by twos and threes they entered the huts and +hung up their accoutrements, unpacked their bags, and bantered the +women. At their favourite spot, round the porridge-cauldrons, a large +group of soldiers assembled and with little pipes between their teeth +they gazed, now at the smoke which rose into the hot sky, becoming +visible when it thickened into white clouds as it rose, and now at the +camp fires which were quivering in the pure air like molten glass, and +bantered and made fun of the Cossack men and women because they do not +live at all like Russians. In all the yards one could see soldiers and +hear their laughter and the exasperated and shrill cries of Cossack +women defending their houses and refusing to give the soldiers water or +cooking utensils. Little boys and girls, clinging to their mothers and +to each other, followed all the movements of the troopers (never before +seen by them) with frightened curiosity, or ran after them at a +respectful distance. + +The old Cossacks came out silently and dismally and sat on the earthen +embankments of their huts, and watched the soldiers’ activity with an +air of leaving it all to the will of God without understanding what +would come of it. + +Olénin, who had joined the Caucasian Army as a cadet three months +before, was quartered in one of the best houses in the village, the +house of the cornet, Elias Vasílich—that is to say at Granny Ulítka’s. + +“Goodness knows what it will be like, Dmítri Andréich,” said the +panting Vanyúsha to Olénin, who, dressed in a Circassian coat and +mounted on a Kabardá horse which he had bought in Gróznoe, was after a +five-hours’ march gaily entering the yard of the quarters assigned to +him. + +“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked, caressing his horse and looking +merrily at the perspiring, dishevelled, and worried Vanyúsha, who had +arrived with the baggage wagons and was unpacking. + +Olénin looked quite a different man. In place of his clean-shaven lips +and chin he had a youthful moustache and a small beard. Instead of a +sallow complexion, the result of nights turned into day, his cheeks, +his forehead, and the skin behind his ears were now red with healthy +sunburn. In place of a clean new black suit he wore a dirty white +Circassian coat with a deeply pleated skirt, and he bore arms. Instead +of a freshly starched collar, his neck was tightly clasped by the red +band of his silk _beshmet_. He wore Circassian dress but did not wear +it well, and anyone would have known him for a Russian and not a Tartar +brave. It was the thing—but not the real thing. But for all that, his +whole person breathed health, joy, and satisfaction. + +“Yes, it seems funny to you,” said Vanyúsha, “but just try to talk to +these people yourself: they set themselves against one and there’s an +end of it. You can’t get as much as a word out of them.” Vanyúsha +angrily threw down a pail on the threshold. “Somehow they don’t seem +like Russians.” + +“You should speak to the Chief of the Village!” + +“But I don’t know where he lives,” said Vanyúsha in an offended tone. + +“Who has upset you so?” asked Olénin, looking round. + +“The devil only knows. Faugh! There is no real master here. They say he +has gone to some kind of _kriga_, and the old woman is a real devil. +God preserve us!” answered Vanyúsha, putting his hands to his head. +“How we shall live here I don’t know. They are worse than Tartars, I do +declare—though they consider themselves Christians! A Tartar is bad +enough, but all the same he is more noble. Gone to the _kriga_ indeed! +What this _kriga_ they have invented is, I don’t know!” concluded +Vanyúsha, and turned aside. + +“It’s not as it is in the serfs’ quarters at home, eh?” chaffed Olénin +without dismounting. + +“Please sir, may I have your horse?” said Vanyúsha, evidently perplexed +by this new order of things but resigning himself to his fate. + +“So a Tartar is more noble, eh, Vanyúsha?” repeated Olénin, dismounting +and slapping the saddle. + +“Yes, you’re laughing! You think it funny,” muttered Vanyúsha angrily. + +“Come, don’t be angry, Vanyúsha,” replied Olénin, still smiling. “Wait +a minute, I’ll go and speak to the people of the house; you’ll see I +shall arrange everything. You don’t know what a jolly life we shall +have here. Only don’t get upset.” + +Vanyúsha did not answer. Screwing up his eyes he looked contemptuously +after his master, and shook his head. Vanyúsha regarded Olénin as only +his master, and Olénin regarded Vanyúsha as only his servant; and they +would both have been much surprised if anyone had told them that they +were friends, as they really were without knowing it themselves. +Vanyúsha had been taken into his proprietor’s house when he was only +eleven and when Olénin was the same age. When Olénin was fifteen he +gave Vanyúsha lessons for a time and taught him to read French, of +which the latter was inordinately proud; and when in specially good +spirits he still let off French words, always laughing stupidly when he +did so. + +Olénin ran up the steps of the porch and pushed open the door of the +hut. Maryánka, wearing nothing but a pink smock, as all Cossack women +do in the house, jumped away from the door, frightened, and pressing +herself against the wall covered the lower part of her face with the +broad sleeve of her Tartar smock. Having opened the door wider, Olénin +in the semi-darkness of the passage saw the whole tall, shapely figure +of the young Cossack girl. With the quick and eager curiosity of youth +he involuntarily noticed the firm maidenly form revealed by the fine +print smock, and the beautiful black eyes fixed on him with childlike +terror and wild curiosity. + +“This is _she_,” thought Olénin. “But there will be many others like +her” came at once into his head, and he opened the inner door. + +Old Granny Ulítka, also dressed only in a smock, was stooping with her +back turned to him, sweeping the floor. + + +“Good-day to you. Mother! I’ve come about my lodgings,” he began. + +The Cossack woman, without unbending, turned her severe but still +handsome face towards him. + +“What have you come here for? Want to mock at us, eh? I’ll teach you to +mock; may the black plague seize you!” she shouted, looking askance +from under her frowning brow at the new-comer. + +Olénin had at first imagined that the way-worn, gallant Caucasian Army +(of which he was a member) would be everywhere received joyfully, and +especially by the Cossacks, our comrades in the war; and he therefore +felt perplexed by this reception. Without losing presence of mind +however he tried to explain that he meant to pay for his lodgings, but +the old woman would not give him a hearing. + +“What have you come for? Who wants a pest like you, with your scraped +face? You just wait a bit; when the master returns he’ll show you your +place. I don’t want your dirty money! A likely thing—just as if we had +never seen any! You’ll stink the house out with your beastly tobacco +and want to put it right with money! Think we’ve never seen a pest! May +you be shot in your bowels and your heart!” shrieked the old woman in a +piercing voice, interrupting Olénin. + +“It seems Vanyúsha was right!” thought Olénin. “‘A Tartar would be +nobler’,” and followed by Granny Ulítka’s abuse he went out of the hut. +As he was leaving, Maryánka, still wearing only her pink smock, but +with her forehead covered down to her eyes by a white kerchief, +suddenly slipped out from the passage past him. Pattering rapidly down +the steps with her bare feet she ran from the porch, stopped, and +looking round hastily with laughing eyes at the young man, vanished +round the corner of the hut. + +Her firm youthful step, the untamed look of the eyes glistening from +under the white kerchief, and the firm stately build of the young +beauty, struck Olénin even more powerfully than before. “Yes, it must +be _she_,” he thought, and troubling his head still less about the +lodgings, he kept looking round at Maryánka as he approached Vanyúsha. + +“There you see, the girl too is quite savage, just like a wild filly!” +said Vanyúsha, who though still busy with the luggage wagon had now +cheered up a bit. “_La fame!_” he added in a loud triumphant voice and +burst out laughing. + + + + + Chapter XI + + +Towards evening the master of the house returned from his fishing, and +having learnt that the cadet would pay for the lodging, pacified the +old woman and satisfied Vanyúsha’s demands. + +Everything was arranged in the new quarters. Their hosts moved into the +winter hut and let their summer hut to the cadet for three rubles a +month. Olénin had something to eat and went to sleep. Towards evening +he woke up, washed and made himself tidy, dined, and having lit a +cigarette sat down by the window that looked onto the street. It was +cooler. The slanting shadow of the hut with its ornamental gables fell +across the dusty road and even bent upwards at the base of the wall of +the house opposite. The steep reed-thatched roof of that house shone in +the rays of the setting sun. The air grew fresher. Everything was +peaceful in the village. The soldiers had settled down and become +quiet. The herds had not yet been driven home and the people had not +returned from their work. + +Olénin’s lodging was situated almost at the end of the village. At rare +intervals, from somewhere far beyond the Térek in those parts whence +Olénin had just come (the Chéchen or the Kumýtsk plain), came muffled +sounds of firing. Olénin was feeling very well contented after three +months of bivouac life. His newly washed face was fresh and his +powerful body clean (an unaccustomed sensation after the campaign) and +in all his rested limbs he was conscious of a feeling of tranquillity +and strength. His mind, too, felt fresh and clear. He thought of the +campaign and of past dangers. He remembered that he had faced them no +worse than other men, and that he was accepted as a comrade among +valiant Caucasians. His Moscow recollections were left behind Heaven +knows how far! The old life was wiped out and a quite new life had +begun in which there were as yet no mistakes. Here as a new man among +new men he could gain a new and good reputation. He was conscious of a +youthful and unreasoning joy of life. Looking now out of the window at +the boys spinning their tops in the shadow of the house, now round his +neat new lodging, he thought how pleasantly he would settle down to +this new Cossack village life. Now and then he glanced at the mountains +and the blue sky, and an appreciation of the solemn grandeur of nature +mingled with his reminiscences and dreams. His new life had begun, not +as he imagined it would when he left Moscow, but unexpectedly well. +“The mountains, the mountains, the mountains!” they permeated all his +thoughts and feelings. + +“He’s kissed his dog and licked the jug! ... Daddy Eróshka has kissed +his dog!” suddenly the little Cossacks who had been spinning their tops +under the window shouted, looking towards the side street. “He’s drunk +his bitch, and his dagger!” shouted the boys, crowding together and +stepping backwards. + +These shouts were addressed to Daddy Eróshka, who with his gun on his +shoulder and some pheasants hanging at his girdle was returning from +his shooting expedition. + +“I have done wrong, lads, I have!” he said, vigorously swinging his +arms and looking up at the windows on both sides of the street. “I have +drunk the bitch; it was wrong,” he repeated, evidently vexed but +pretending not to care. + +Olénin was surprised by the boys’ behavior towards the old hunter, but +was still more struck by the expressive, intelligent face and the +powerful build of the man whom they called Daddy Eróshka. + +“Here Daddy, here Cossack!” he called. “Come here!” + +The old man looked into the window and stopped. + +“Good evening, good man,” he said, lifting his little cap off his +cropped head. + +“Good evening, good man,” replied Olénin. “What is it the youngsters +are shouting at you?” + +Daddy Eróshka came up to the window. “Why, they’re teasing the old man. +No matter, I like it. Let them joke about their old daddy,” he said +with those firm musical intonations with which old and venerable people +speak. “Are you an army commander?” he added. + +“No, I am a cadet. But where did you kill those pheasants?” asked +Olénin. + +“I dispatched these three hens in the forest,” answered the old man, +turning his broad back towards the window to show the hen pheasants +which were hanging with their heads tucked into his belt and staining +his coat with blood. “Haven’t you seen any?” he asked. “Take a brace if +you like! Here you are,” and he handed two of the pheasants in at the +window. “Are you a sportsman yourself?” he asked. + +“I am. During the campaign I killed four myself.” + +“Four? What a lot!” said the old man sarcastically. “And are you a +drinker? Do you drink _chikhir?_” + +“Why not? I like a drink.” + +“Ah, I see you are a trump! We shall be _kunaks_, you and I,” said +Daddy Eróshka. + +“Step in,” said Olénin. “We’ll have a drop of _chikhir_.” + +“I might as well,” said the old man, “but take the pheasants.” The old +man’s face showed that he liked the cadet. He had seen at once that he +could get free drinks from him, and that therefore it would be all +right to give him a brace of pheasants. + +Soon Daddy Eróshka’s figure appeared in the doorway of the hut, and it +was only then that Olénin became fully conscious of the enormous size +and sturdy build of this man, whose red-brown face with its perfectly +white broad beard was all furrowed by deep lines produced by age and +toil. For an old man, the muscles of his legs, arms, and shoulders were +quite exceptionally large and prominent. There were deep scars on his +head under the short-cropped hair. His thick sinewy neck was covered +with deep intersecting folds like a bull’s. His horny hands were +bruised and scratched. He stepped lightly and easily over the +threshold, unslung his gun and placed it in a corner, and casting a +rapid glance round the room noted the value of the goods and chattels +deposited in the hut, and with out-turned toes stepped softly, in his +sandals of raw hide, into the middle of the room. He brought with him a +penetrating but not unpleasant smell of _chikhir_ wine, vodka, +gunpowder, and congealed blood. + +Daddy Eróshka bowed down before the icons, smoothed his beard, and +approaching Olénin held out his thick brown hand. “_Koshkildy_,” said +he; “That is Tartar for ‘Good-day’—‘Peace be unto you,’ it means in +their tongue.” + +“_Koshkildy_, I know,” answered Olénin, shaking hands. + +“Eh, but you don’t, you won’t know the right order! Fool!” said Daddy +Eróshka, shaking his head reproachfully. “If anyone says ‘_Koshkildy_’ +to you, you must say ‘_Allah rasi bo sun_,’ that is, ‘God save you.’ +That’s the way, my dear fellow, and not ‘_Koshkildy_.’ But I’ll teach +you all about it. We had a fellow here, Elias Mósevich, one of your +Russians, he and I were _kunaks_. He was a trump, a drunkard, a thief, +a sportsman—and what a sportsman! I taught him everything.” + +“And what will you teach me?” asked Olénin, who was becoming more and +more interested in the old man. + +“I’ll take you hunting and teach you to fish. I’ll show you Chéchens +and find a girl for you, if you like—even that! That’s the sort I am! +I’m a wag!”—and the old man laughed. “I’ll sit down. I’m tired. +_Karga?_” he added inquiringly. + +“And what does ‘_Karga_’ mean?” asked Olénin. + +“Why, that means ‘All right’ in Georgian. But I say it just so. It is a +way I have, it’s my favourite word. _Karga_, _Karga_. I say it just so; +in fun I mean. Well, lad, won’t you order the _chikhir?_ You’ve got an +orderly, haven’t you?” + +“Yes.” + +“Hey, Iván!” shouted the old man. “All your soldiers are Iváns. Is +yours Iván?” + +“True enough, his name is Iván—Vanyúsha. Here Vanyúsha! Please get some +_chikhir_ from our landlady and bring it here.” + +“Iván or Vanyúsha, that’s all one. Why are all your soldiers Iváns? +Iván, old fellow,” said the old man, “you tell them to give you some +from the barrel they have begun. They have the best _chikhir_ in the +village. But don’t give more than thirty kopeks for the quart, mind, +because that witch would be only too glad.... Our people are anathema +people; stupid people,” Daddy Eróshka continued in a confidential tone +after Vanyúsha had gone out. “They do not look upon you as on men, you +are worse than a Tartar in their eyes. ‘Worldly Russians’ they say. But +as for me, though you are a soldier you are still a man, and have a +soul in you. Isn’t that right? Elias Mósevich was a soldier, yet what a +treasure of a man he was! Isn’t that so, my dear fellow? That’s why our +people don’t like me; but I don’t care! I’m a merry fellow, and I like +everybody. I’m Eróshka; yes, my dear fellow.” + +And the old Cossack patted the young man affectionately on the +shoulder. + + + + + Chapter XII + + +Vanyúsha, who meanwhile had finished his housekeeping arrangements and +had even been shaved by the company’s barber and had pulled his +trousers out of his high boots as a sign that the company was stationed +in comfortable quarters, was in excellent spirits. He looked +attentively but not benevolently at Eróshka, as at a wild beast he had +never seen before, shook his head at the floor which the old man had +dirtied and, having taken two bottles from under a bench, went to the +landlady. + +“Good evening, kind people,” he said, having made up his mind to be +very gentle. “My master has sent me to get some _chikhir_. Will you +draw some for me, good folk?” + +The old woman gave no answer. The girl, who was arranging the kerchief +on her head before a little Tartar mirror, looked round at Vanyúsha in +silence. + +“I’ll pay money for it, honoured people,” said Vanyúsha, jingling the +coppers in his pocket. “Be kind to us and we, too will be kind to you,” +he added. + +“How much?” asked the old woman abruptly. “A quart.” + +“Go, my own, draw some for them,” said Granny Ulítka to her daughter. +“Take it from the cask that’s begun, my precious.” + +The girl took the keys and a decanter and went out of the hut with +Vanyúsha. + +“Tell me, who is that young woman?” asked Olénin, pointing to Maryánka, +who was passing the window. The old man winked and nudged the young man +with his elbow. + +“Wait a bit,” said he and reached out of the window. “Khm,” he coughed, +and bellowed, “Maryánka dear. Hallo, Maryánka, my girlie, won’t you +love me, darling? I’m a wag,” he added in a whisper to Olénin. The +girl, not turning her head and swinging her arms regularly and +vigorously, passed the window with the peculiarly smart and bold gait +of a Cossack woman and only turned her dark shaded eyes slowly towards +the old man. + +“Love me and you’ll be happy,” shouted Eróshka, winking, and he looked +questioningly at the cadet. + +“I’m a fine fellow, I’m a wag!” he added. “She’s a regular queen, that +girl. Eh?” + +“She is lovely,” said Olénin. “Call her here!” + +“No, no,” said the old man. “For that one a match is being arranged +with Lukáshka, Luke, a fine Cossack, a brave, who killed an _abrek_ the +other day. I’ll find you a better one. I’ll find you one that will be +all dressed up in silk and silver. Once I’ve said it I’ll do it. I’ll +get you a regular beauty!” + +“You, an old man—and say such things,” replied Olénin. “Why, it’s a +sin!” + +“A sin? Where’s the sin?” said the old man emphatically. “A sin to look +at a nice girl? A sin to have some fun with her? Or is it a sin to love +her? Is that so in your parts? ... No, my dear fellow, it’s not a sin, +it’s salvation! God made you and God made the girl too. He made it all; +so it is no sin to look at a nice girl. That’s what she was made for; +to be loved and to give joy. That’s how I judge it, my good fellow.” + +Having crossed the yard and entered a cool dark storeroom filled with +barrels, Maryánka went up to one of them and repeating the usual prayer +plunged a dipper into it. Vanyúsha standing in the doorway smiled as he +looked at her. He thought it very funny that she had only a smock on, +close-fitting behind and tucked up in front, and still funnier that she +wore a necklace of silver coins. He thought this quite un-Russian and +that they would all laugh in the serfs’ quarters at home if they saw a +girl like that. “_La fille comme c’est tres bien_, for a change,” he +thought. “I’ll tell that to my master.” + +“What are you standing in the light for, you devil!” the girl suddenly +shouted. “Why don’t you pass me the decanter!” + +Having filled the decanter with cool red wine, Maryánka handed it to +Vanyúsha. + +“Give the money to Mother,” she said, pushing away the hand in which he +held the money. + +Vanyúsha laughed. + +“Why are you so cross, little dear?” he said good-naturedly, +irresolutely shuffling with his feet while the girl was covering the +barrel. + +She began to laugh. + +“And you! Are you kind?” + +“We, my master and I, are very kind,” Vanyúsha answered decidedly. “We +are so kind that wherever we have stayed our hosts were always very +grateful. It’s because he’s generous.” + +The girl stood listening. + +“And is your master married?” she asked. + +“No. The master is young and unmarried, because noble gentlemen can +never marry young,” said Vanyúsha didactically. + +“A likely thing! See what a fed-up buffalo he is—and too young to +marry! Is he the chief of you all?” she asked. + +“My master is a cadet; that means he’s not yet an officer, but he’s +more important than a general—he’s an important man! Because not only +our colonel, but the Tsar himself, knows him,” proudly explained +Vanyúsha. “We are not like those other beggars in the line regiment, +and our papa himself was a Senator. He had more than a thousand serfs, +all his own, and they send us a thousand rubles at a time. That’s why +everyone likes us. Another may be a captain but have no money. What’s +the use of that?” + +“Go away. I’ll lock up,” said the girl, interrupting him. + +Vanyúsha brought Olénin the wine and announced that “_La fille c’est +tres joulie_,” and, laughing stupidly, at once went out. + + + + + Chapter XIII + + +Meanwhile the tattoo had sounded in the village square. The people had +returned from their work. The herd lowed as in clouds of golden dust it +crowded at the village gate. The girls and the women hurried through +the streets and yards, turning in their cattle. The sun had quite +hidden itself behind the distant snowy peaks. One pale bluish shadow +spread over land and sky. Above the darkened gardens stars just +discernible were kindling, and the sounds were gradually hushed in the +village. The cattle having been attended to and left for the night, the +women came out and gathered at the corners of the streets and, cracking +sunflower seeds with their teeth, settled down on the earthen +embankments of the houses. Later on Maryánka, having finished milking +the buffalo and the other two cows, also joined one of these groups. + +The group consisted of several women and girls and one old Cossack man. + +They were talking about the _abrek_ who had been killed. + +The Cossack was narrating and the women questioning him. + +“I expect he’ll get a handsome reward,” said one of the women. + +“Of course. It’s said that they’ll send him a cross.” + +“Mósev did try to wrong him. Took the gun away from him, but the +authorities at Kizlyár heard of it.” + +“A mean creature that Mósev is!” + +“They say Lukáshka has come home,” remarked one of the girls. + +“He and Nazárka are merry-making at Yámka’s.” (Yámka was an unmarried, +disreputable Cossack woman who kept an illicit pot-house.) “I heard say +they had drunk half a pailful.” + +“What luck that Snatcher has,” somebody remarked. “A real snatcher. But +there’s no denying he’s a fine lad, smart enough for anything, a +right-minded lad! His father was just such another. Daddy Kiryák was: +he takes after his father. When he was killed the whole village howled. +Look, there they are,” added the speaker, pointing to the Cossacks who +were coming down the street towards them. + +“And Ergushóv has managed to come along with them too! The drunkard!” + +Lukáshka, Nazárka, and Ergushóv, having emptied half a pail of vodka, +were coming towards the girls. The faces of all three, but especially +that of the old Cossack, were redder than usual. Ergushóv was reeling +and kept laughing and nudging Nazárka in the ribs. + +“Why are you not singing?” he shouted to the girls. “Sing to our +merry-making, I tell you!” + +They were welcomed with the words, “Had a good day? Had a good day?” + +“Why sing? It’s not a holiday,” said one of the women. “You’re tight, +so you go and sing.” + +Ergushóv roared with laughter and nudged Nazárka. “You’d better sing. +And I’ll begin too. I’m clever, I tell you.” + +“Are you asleep, fair ones?” said Nazárka. “We’ve come from the cordon +to drink your health. We’ve already drunk Lukáshka’s health.” + +Lukáshka, when he reached the group, slowly raised his cap and stopped +in front of the girls. His broad cheekbones and neck were red. He stood +and spoke softly and sedately, but in his tranquillity and sedateness +there was more of animation and strength than in all Nazárka’s +loquacity and bustle. He reminded one of a playful colt that with a +snort and a flourish of its tail suddenly stops short and stands as +though nailed to the ground with all four feet. Lukáshka stood quietly +in front of the girls, his eyes laughed, and he spoke but little as he +glanced now at his drunken companions and now at the girls. When +Maryánka joined the group he raised his cap with a firm deliberate +movement, moved out of her way and then stepped in front of her with +one foot a little forward and with his thumbs in his belt, fingering +his dagger. Maryánka answered his greeting with a leisurely bow of her +head, settled down on the earth-bank, and took some seeds out of the +bosom of her smock. Lukáshka, keeping his eyes fixed on Maryánka, +slowly cracked seeds and spat out the shells. All were quiet when +Maryánka joined the group. + +“Have you come for long?” asked a woman, breaking the silence. + +“Till tomorrow morning,” quietly replied Lukáshka. + +“Well, God grant you get something good,” said the Cossack; “I’m glad +of it, as I’ve just been saying.” + +“And I say so too,” put in the tipsy Ergushóv, laughing. “What a lot of +visitors have come,” he added, pointing to a soldier who was passing +by. “The soldiers’ vodka is good—I like it.” + +“They’ve sent three of the devils to us,” said one of the women. +“Grandad went to the village Elders, but they say nothing can be done.” + +“Ah, ha! Have you met with trouble?” said Ergushóv. + +“I expect they have smoked you out with their tobacco?” asked another +woman. “Smoke as much as you like in the yard, I say, but we won’t +allow it inside the hut. Not if the Elder himself comes, I won’t allow +it. Besides, they may rob you. He’s not quartered any of them on +himself, no fear, that devil’s son of an Elder.” + +“You don’t like it?” Ergushóv began again. + +“And I’ve also heard say that the girls will have to make the soldiers’ +beds and offer them _chikhir_ and honey,” said Nazárka, putting one +foot forward and tilting his cap like Lukáshka. + +Ergushóv burst into a roar of laughter, and seizing the girl nearest to +him, he embraced her. “I tell you true.” + +“Now then, you black pitch!” squealed the girl, “I’ll tell your old +woman.” + +“Tell her,” shouted he. “That’s quite right what Nazárka says; a +circular has been sent round. He can read, you know. Quite true!” And +he began embracing the next girl. + +“What are you up to, you beast?” squealed the rosy, round-faced +Ústenka, laughing and lifting her arm to hit him. + +The Cossack stepped aside and nearly fell. + +“There, they say girls have no strength, and you nearly killed me.” + +“Get away, you black pitch, what devil has brought you from the +cordon?” said Ústenka, and turning away from him she again burst out +laughing. “You were asleep and missed the _abrek_, didn’t you? Suppose +he had done for you it would have been all the better.” + +“You’d have howled, I expect,” said Nazárka, laughing. + +“Howled! A likely thing.” + +“Just look, she doesn’t care. She’d howl, Nazárka, eh? Would she?” said +Ergushóv. + +Lukáshka all this time had stood silently looking at Maryánka. His gaze +evidently confused the girl. + +“Well, Maryánka! I hear they’ve quartered one of the chiefs on you?” he +said, drawing nearer. + +Maryánka, as was her wont, waited before she replied, and slowly +raising her eyes looked at the Cossack. Lukáshka’s eyes were laughing +as if something special, apart from what was said, was taking place +between himself and the girl. + +“Yes, it’s all right for them as they have two huts,” replied an old +woman on Maryánka’s behalf, “but at Fómushkin’s now they also have one +of the chiefs quartered on them and they say one whole corner is packed +full with his things, and the family have no room left. Was such a +thing ever heard of as that they should turn a whole horde loose in the +village?” she said. “And what the plague are they going to do here?” + +“I’ve heard say they’ll build a bridge across the Térek,” said one of +the girls. + +“And I’ve been told that they will dig a pit to put the girls in +because they don’t love the lads,” said Nazárka, approaching Ústenka; +and he again made a whimsical gesture which set everybody laughing, and +Ergushóv, passing by Maryánka, who was next in turn, began to embrace +an old woman. + +“Why don’t you hug Maryánka? You should do it to each in turn,” said +Nazárka. + +“No, my old one is sweeter,” shouted the Cossack, kissing the +struggling old woman. + +“You’ll throttle me,” she screamed, laughing. + +The tramp of regular footsteps at the other end of the street +interrupted their laughter. Three soldiers in their cloaks, with their +muskets on their shoulders, were marching in step to relieve guard by +the ammunition wagon. + +The corporal, an old cavalry man, looked angrily at the Cossacks and +led his men straight along the road where Lukáshka and Nazárka were +standing, so that they should have to get out of the way. Nazárka +moved, but Lukáshka only screwed up his eyes and turned his broad back +without moving from his place. + +“People are standing here, so you go round,” he muttered, half turning +his head and tossing it contemptuously in the direction of the +soldiers. + +The soldiers passed by in silence, keeping step regularly along the +dusty road. + +Maryánka began laughing and all the other girls chimed in. + +“What swells!” said Nazárka, “Just like long-skirted choristers,” and +he walked a few steps down the road imitating the soldiers. + +Again everyone broke into peals of laughter. + +Lukáshka came slowly up to Maryánka. + +“And where have you put up the chief?” he asked. + +Maryánka thought for a moment. + +“We’ve let him have the new hut,” she said. + +“And is he old or young,” asked Lukáshka, sitting down beside her. + +“Do you think I’ve asked?” answered the girl. “I went to get him some +_chikhir_ and saw him sitting at the window with Daddy Eróshka. +Red-headed he seemed. They’ve brought a whole cartload of things.” + +And she dropped her eyes. + +“Oh, how glad I am that I got leave from the cordon!” said Lukáshka, +moving closer to the girl and looking straight in her eyes all the +time. + +“And have you come for long?” asked Maryánka, smiling slightly. + +“Till the morning. Give me some sunflower seeds,” he said, holding out +his hand. + +Maryánka now smiled outright and unfastened the neckband of her smock. + +“Don’t take them all,” she said. + +“Really I felt so dull all the time without you, I swear I did,” he +said in a calm, restrained whisper, helping himself to some seeds out +of the bosom of the girl’s smock, and stooping still closer over her he +continued with laughing eyes to talk to her in low tones. + +“I won’t come, I tell you,” Maryánka suddenly said aloud, leaning away +from him. + +“No really ... what I wanted to say to you, ...” whispered Lukáshka. +“By the Heavens! Do come!” + +Maryánka shook her head, but did so with a smile. + +“Nursey Maryánka! Hallo Nursey! Mammy is calling! Supper time!” shouted +Maryánka’s little brother, running towards the group. + +“I’m coming,” replied the girl. “Go, my dear, go alone—I’ll come in a +minute.” + +Lukáshka rose and raised his cap. + +“I expect I had better go home too, that will be best,” he said, trying +to appear unconcerned but hardly able to repress a smile, and he +disappeared behind the corner of the house. + +Meanwhile night had entirely enveloped the village. Bright stars were +scattered over the dark sky. The streets became dark and empty. Nazárka +remained with the women on the earth-bank and their laughter was still +heard, but Lukáshka, having slowly moved away from the girls, crouched +down like a cat and then suddenly started running lightly, holding his +dagger to steady it: not homeward, however, but towards the cornet’s +house. Having passed two streets he turned into a lane and lifting the +skirt of his coat sat down on the ground in the shadow of a fence. “A +regular cornet’s daughter!” he thought about Maryánka. “Won’t even have +a lark—the devil! But just wait a bit.” + +The approaching footsteps of a woman attracted his attention. He began +listening, and laughed all by himself. Maryánka with bowed head, +striking the pales of the fences with a switch, was walking with rapid +regular strides straight towards him. Lukáshka rose. Maryánka started +and stopped. + +“What an accursed devil! You frightened me! So you have not gone home?” +she said, and laughed aloud. + +Lukáshka put one arm round her and with the other hand raised her face. +“What I wanted to tell you, by Heaven!” his voice trembled and broke. + +“What are you talking of, at night time!” answered Maryánka. “Mother is +waiting for me, and you’d better go to your sweetheart.” + +And freeing herself from his arms she ran away a few steps. When she +had reached the wattle fence of her home she stopped and turned to the +Cossack who was running beside her and still trying to persuade her to +stay a while with him. + +“Well, what do you want to say, midnight-gadabout?” and she again began +laughing. + +“Don’t laugh at me, Maryánka! By the Heaven! Well, what if I have a +sweetheart? May the devil take her! Only say the word and now I’ll love +you—I’ll do anything you wish. Here they are!” and he jingled the money +in his pocket. “Now we can live splendidly. Others have pleasures, and +I? I get no pleasure from you, Maryánka dear!” + +The girl did not answer. She stood before him breaking her switch into +little bits with a rapid movement of her fingers. + +Lukáshka suddenly clenched his teeth and fists. + +“And why keep waiting and waiting? Don’t I love you, darling? You can +do what you like with me,” said he suddenly, frowning angrily and +seizing both her hands. + +The calm expression of Maryánka’s face and voice did not change. + +“Don’t bluster, Lukáshka, but listen to me,” she answered, not pulling +away her hands but holding the Cossack at arm’s length. “It’s true I am +a girl, but you listen to me! It does not depend on me, but if you love +me I’ll tell you this. Let go my hands, I’ll tell you without.—I’ll +marry you, but you’ll never get any nonsense from me,” said Maryánka +without turning her face. + +“What, you’ll marry me? Marriage does not depend on us. Love me +yourself, Maryánka dear,” said Lukáshka, from sullen and furious +becoming again gentle, submissive, and tender, and smiling as he looked +closely into her eyes. + +Maryánka clung to him and kissed him firmly on the lips. + +“Brother dear!” she whispered, pressing him convulsively to her. Then, +suddenly tearing herself away, she ran into the gate of her house +without looking round. + +In spite of the Cossack’s entreaties to wait another minute to hear +what he had to say, Maryánka did not stop. + +“Go,” she cried, “you’ll be seen! I do believe that devil, our lodger, +is walking about the yard.” + +“Cornet’s daughter,” thought Lukáshka. “She will marry me. Marriage is +all very well, but you just love me!” + +He found Nazárka at Yámka’s house, and after having a spree with him +went to Dunáyka’s house, where, in spite of her not being faithful to +him, he spent the night. + + + + + Chapter XIV + + +It was quite true that Olénin had been walking about the yard when +Maryánka entered the gate, and had heard her say, “That devil, our +lodger, is walking about.” He had spent that evening with Daddy Eróshka +in the porch of his new lodging. He had had a table, a samovar, wine, +and a candle brought out, and over a cup of tea and a cigar he listened +to the tales the old man told seated on the threshold at his feet. +Though the air was still, the candle dripped and flickered: now +lighting up the post of the porch, now the table and crockery, now the +cropped white head of the old man. Moths circled round the flame and, +shedding the dust of their wings, fluttered on the table and in the +glasses, flew into the candle flame, and disappeared in the black space +beyond. Olénin and Eróshka had emptied five bottles of _chikhir_. +Eróshka filled the glasses every time, offering one to Olénin, drinking +his health, and talking untiringly. He told of Cossack life in the old +days: of his father, “The Broad”, who alone had carried on his back a +boar’s carcass weighing three hundredweight, and drank two pails of +_chikhir_ at one sitting. He told of his own days and his chum Gírchik, +with whom during the plague he used to smuggle felt cloaks across the +Térek. He told how one morning he had killed two deer, and about his +“little soul” who used to run to him at the cordon at night. He told +all this so eloquently and picturesquely that Olénin did not notice how +time passed. “Ah yes, my dear fellow, you did not know me in my golden +days; then I’d have shown you things. Today it’s ‘Eróshka licks the +jug’, but then Eróshka was famous in the whole regiment. Whose was the +finest horse? Who had a Gurda sword? To whom should one go to get a +drink? With whom go on the spree? Who should be sent to the mountains +to kill Ahmet Khan? Why, always Eróshka! Whom did the girls love? +Always Eróshka had to answer for it. Because I was a real brave: a +drinker, a thief (I used to seize herds of horses in the mountains), a +singer; I was a master of every art! There are no Cossacks like that +nowadays. It’s disgusting to look at them. When they’re that high +(Eróshka held his hand three feet from the ground) they put on idiotic +boots and keep looking at them—that’s all the pleasure they know. Or +they’ll drink themselves foolish, not like men but all wrong. And who +was I? I was Eróshka, the thief; they knew me not only in this village +but up in the mountains. Tartar princes, my _kunaks_, used to come to +see me! I used to be everybody’s _kunak_. If he was a Tartar—with a +Tartar; an Armenian—with an Armenian; a soldier—with a soldier; an +officer—with an officer! I didn’t care as long as he was a drinker. He +says you should cleanse yourself from intercourse with the world, not +drink with soldiers, not eat with a Tartar.” + +“Who says all that?” asked Olénin. + +“Why, our teacher! But listen to a Mullah or a Tartar Cadi. He says, +‘You unbelieving Giaours, why do you eat pig?’ That shows that everyone +has his own law. But I think it’s all one. God has made everything for +the joy of man. There is no sin in any of it. Take example from an +animal. It lives in the Tartar’s reeds or in ours. Wherever it happens +to go, there is its home! Whatever God gives it, that it eats! But our +people say we have to lick red-hot plates in hell for that. And I think +it’s all a fraud,” he added after a pause. + +“What is a fraud?” asked Olénin. + +“Why, what the preachers say. We had an army captain in Chervlëna who +was my _kunak:_ a fine fellow just like me. He was killed in Chéchnya. +Well, he used to say that the preachers invent all that out of their +own heads. ‘When you die the grass will grow on your grave and that’s +all!’” The old man laughed. “He was a desperate fellow.” + +“And how old are you?” asked Olénin. + +“The Lord only knows! I must be about seventy. When a Tsaritsa reigned +in Russia I was no longer very small. So you can reckon it out. I must +be seventy.” + +“Yes you must, but you are still a fine fellow.” + +“Well, thank Heaven I am healthy, quite healthy, except that a woman, a +witch, has harmed me....” + +“How?” + +“Oh, just harmed me.” + +“And so when you die the grass will grow?” repeated Olénin. + +Eróshka evidently did not wish to express his thought clearly. He was +silent for a while. + +“And what did you think? Drink!” he shouted suddenly, smiling and +handing Olénin some wine. + + + + + Chapter XV + + +“Well, what was I saying?” he continued, trying to remember. “Yes, +that’s the sort of man I am. I am a hunter. There is no hunter to equal +me in the whole army. I will find and show you any animal and any bird, +and what and where. I know it all! I have dogs, and two guns, and nets, +and a screen and a hawk. I have everything, thank the Lord! If you are +not bragging but are a real sportsman, I’ll show you everything. Do you +know what a man I am? When I have found a track—I know the animal. I +know where he will lie down and where he’ll drink or wallow. I make +myself a perch and sit there all night watching. What’s the good of +staying at home? One only gets into mischief, gets drunk. And here +women come and chatter, and boys shout at me—enough to drive one mad + +“It’s a different matter when you go out at nightfall, choose yourself +a place, press down the reeds and sit there and stay waiting, like a +jolly fellow. One knows everything that goes on in the woods. One looks +up at the sky: the stars move, you look at them and find out from them +how the time goes. One looks round—the wood is rustling; one goes on +waiting, now there comes a crackling—a boar comes to rub himself; one +listens to hear the young eaglets screech and then the cocks give voice +in the village, or the geese. When you hear the geese you know it is +not yet midnight. And I know all about it! Or when a gun is fired +somewhere far away, thoughts come to me. One thinks, who is that +firing? Is it another Cossack like myself who has been watching for +some animal? And has he killed it? Or only wounded it so that now the +poor thing goes through the reeds smearing them with its blood all for +nothing? I don’t like that! Oh, how I dislike it! Why injure a beast? +You fool, you fool! Or one thinks, ‘Maybe an _abrek_ has killed some +silly little Cossack.’ All this passes through one’s mind. And once as +I sat watching by the river I saw a cradle floating down. It was sound +except for one corner which was broken off. Thoughts did come that +time! I thought some of your soldiers, the devils, must have got into a +Tartar village and seized the Chéchen women, and one of the devils has +killed the little one: taken it by its legs, and hit its head against a +wall. Don’t they do such things? Sh! Men have no souls! And thoughts +came to me that filled me with pity. I thought: they’ve thrown away the +cradle and driven the wife out, and her brave has taken his gun and +come across to our side to rob us. One watches and thinks. And when one +hears a litter breaking through the thicket, something begins to knock +inside one. Dear one, come this way! ‘They’ll scent me,’ one thinks; +and one sits and does not stir while one’s heart goes dun! dun! dun! +and simply lifts you. Once this spring a fine litter came near me, I +saw something black. ‘In the name of the Father and of the Son,’ and I +was just about to fire when she grunts to her pigs: ‘Danger, children,’ +she says, ‘there’s a man here,’ and off they all ran, breaking through +the bushes. And she had been so close I could almost have bitten her.” + +“How could a sow tell her brood that a man was there?” asked Olénin. + +“What do you think? You think the beast’s a fool? No, he is wiser than +a man though you do call him a pig! He knows everything. Take this for +instance. A man will pass along your track and not notice it; but a pig +as soon as it gets onto your track turns and runs at once: that shows +there is wisdom in him, since he scents your smell and you don’t. And +there is this to be said too: you wish to kill it and it wishes to go +about the woods alive. You have one law and it has another. It is a +pig, but it is no worse than you—it too is God’s creature. Ah, dear! +Man is foolish, foolish, foolish!” The old man repeated this several +times and then, letting his head drop, he sat thinking. + +Olénin also became thoughtful, and descending from the porch with his +hands behind his back began pacing up and down the yard. + +Eróshka, rousing himself, raised his head and began gazing intently at +the moths circling round the flickering flame of the candle and burning +themselves in it. + +“Fool, fool!” he said. “Where are you flying to? Fool, fool!” He rose +and with his thick fingers began to drive away the moths. + +“You’ll burn, little fool! Fly this way, there’s plenty of room.” He +spoke tenderly, trying to catch them delicately by their wings with his +thick fingers and then letting them fly again. “You are killing +yourself and I am sorry for you!” + +He sat a long time chattering and sipping out of the bottle. Olénin +paced up and down the yard. Suddenly he was struck by the sound of +whispering outside the gate. Involuntarily holding his breath, he heard +a woman’s laughter, a man’s voice, and the sound of a kiss. +Intentionally rustling the grass under his feet he crossed to the +opposite side of the yard, but after a while the wattle fence creaked. +A Cossack in a dark Circassian coat and a white sheepskin cap passed +along the other side of the fence (it was Luke), and a tall woman with +a white kerchief on her head went past Olénin. “You and I have nothing +to do with one another” was what Maryánka’s firm step gave him to +understand. He followed her with his eyes to the porch of the hut, and +he even saw her through the window take off her kerchief and sit down. +And suddenly a feeling of lonely depression and some vague longings and +hopes, and envy of someone or other, overcame the young man’s soul. + +The last lights had been put out in the huts. The last sounds had died +away in the village. The wattle fences and the cattle gleaming white in +the yards, the roofs of the houses and the stately poplars, all seemed +to be sleeping the labourers’ healthy peaceful sleep. Only the +incessant ringing voices of frogs from the damp distance reached the +young man. In the east the stars were growing fewer and fewer and +seemed to be melting in the increasing light, but overhead they were +denser and deeper than before. The old man was dozing with his head on +his hand. A cock crowed in the yard opposite, but Olénin still paced up +and down thinking of something. The sound of a song sung by several +voices reached him and he stepped up to the fence and listened. The +voices of several young Cossacks carolled a merry song, and one voice +was distinguishable among them all by its firm strength. + +“Do you know who is singing there?” said the old man, rousing himself. +“It is the Brave, Lukáshka. He has killed a Chéchen and now he +rejoices. And what is there to rejoice at? ... The fool, the fool!” + +“And have you ever killed people?” asked Olénin. + +“You devil!” shouted the old man. “What are you asking? One must not +talk so. It is a serious thing to destroy a human being ... Ah, a very +serious thing! Good-bye, my dear fellow. I’ve eaten my fill and am +drunk,” he said rising. “Shall I come tomorrow to go shooting?” + +“Yes, come!” + +“Mind, get up early; if you oversleep you will be fined!” + +“Never fear, I’ll be up before you,” answered Olénin. + +The old man left. The song ceased, but one could hear footsteps and +merry talk. A little later the singing broke out again but farther +away, and Eróshka’s loud voice chimed in with the other. “What people, +what a life!” thought Olénin with a sigh as he returned alone to his +hut. + + + + + Chapter XVI + + +Daddy Eróshka was a superannuated and solitary Cossack: twenty years +ago his wife had gone over to the Orthodox Church and run away from him +and married a Russian sergeant-major, and he had no children. He was +not bragging when he spoke of himself as having been the boldest +dare-devil in the village when he was young. Everybody in the regiment +knew of his old-time prowess. The death of more than one Russian, as +well as Chéchen, lay on his conscience. He used to go plundering in the +mountains, and robbed the Russians too; and he had twice been in +prison. The greater part of his life was spent in the forests, hunting. +There he lived for days on a crust of bread and drank nothing but +water. But on the other hand, when he was in the village he made merry +from morning to night. After leaving Olénin he slept for a couple of +hours and awoke before it was light. He lay on his bed thinking of the +man he had become acquainted with the evening before. Olénin’s +“simplicity” (simplicity in the sense of not grudging him a drink) +pleased him very much, and so did Olénin himself. He wondered why the +Russians were all “simple” and so rich, and why they were educated, and +yet knew nothing. He pondered on these questions and also considered +what he might get out of Olénin. + +Daddy Eróshka’s hut was of a good size and not old, but the absence of +a woman was very noticeable in it. Contrary to the usual cleanliness of +the Cossacks, the whole of this hut was filthy and exceedingly untidy. +A blood-stained coat had been thrown on the table, half a dough-cake +lay beside a plucked and mangled crow with which to feed the hawk. +Sandals of raw hide, a gun, a dagger, a little bag, wet clothes, and +sundry rags lay scattered on the benches. In a corner stood a tub with +stinking water, in which another pair of sandals were being steeped, +and near by was a gun and a hunting-screen. On the floor a net had been +thrown down and several dead pheasants lay there, while a hen tied by +its leg was walking about near the table pecking among the dirt. In the +unheated oven stood a broken pot with some kind of milky liquid. On the +top of the oven a falcon was screeching and trying to break the cord by +which it was tied, and a moulting hawk sat quietly on the edge of the +oven, looking askance at the hen and occasionally bowing its head to +right and left. Daddy Eróshka himself, in his shirt, lay on his back on +a short bed rigged up between the wall and the oven, with his strong +legs raised and his feet on the oven. He was picking with his thick +fingers at the scratches left on his hands by the hawk, which he was +accustomed to carry without wearing gloves. The whole room, especially +near the old man, was filled with that strong but not unpleasant +mixture of smells that he always carried about with him. + +“_Uyde-ma_, Daddy?” (Is Daddy in?) came through the window in a sharp +voice, which he at once recognized as Lukáshka’s. + +“_Uyde, Uyde, Uyde_. I am in!” shouted the old man. “Come in, neighbour +Mark, Luke Mark. Come to see Daddy? On your way to the cordon?” + +At the sound of his master’s shout the hawk flapped his wings and +pulled at his cord. + +The old man was fond of Lukáshka, who was the only man he excepted from +his general contempt for the younger generation of Cossacks. Besides +that, Lukáshka and his mother, as near neighbours, often gave the old +man wine, clotted cream, and other home produce which Eróshka did not +possess. Daddy Eróshka, who all his life had allowed himself to get +carried away, always explained his infatuations from a practical point +of view. “Well, why not?” he used to say to himself. “I’ll give them +some fresh meat, or a bird, and they won’t forget Daddy: they’ll +sometimes bring a cake or a piece of pie.” + +“Good morning, Mark! I am glad to see you,” shouted the old man +cheerfully, and quickly putting down his bare feet he jumped off his +bed and walked a step or two along the creaking floor, looked down at +his out-turned toes, and suddenly, amused by the appearance of his +feet, smiled, stamped with his bare heel on the ground, stamped again, +and then performed a funny dance-step. “That’s clever, eh?” he asked, +his small eyes glistening. Lukáshka smiled faintly. “Going back to the +cordon?” asked the old man. + +“I have brought the _chikhir_ I promised you when we were at the +cordon.” + +“May Christ save you!” said the old man, and he took up the extremely +wide trousers that were lying on the floor, and his _beshmet_, put them +on, fastened a strap round his waist, poured some water from an +earthenware pot over his hands, wiped them on the old trousers, +smoothed his beard with a bit of comb, and stopped in front of +Lukáshka. “Ready,” he said. + +Lukáshka fetched a cup, wiped it and filled it with wine, and then +handed it to the old man. + +“Your health! To the Father and the Son!” said the old man, accepting +the wine with solemnity. “May you have what you desire, may you always +be a hero, and obtain a cross.” + +Lukáshka also drank a little after repeating a prayer, and then put the +wine on the table. The old man rose and brought out some dried fish +which he laid on the threshold, where he beat it with a stick to make +it tender; then, having put it with his horny hands on a blue plate +(his only one), he placed it on the table. + +“I have all I want. I have victuals, thank God!” he said proudly. +“Well, and what of Mósev?” he added. + +Lukáshka, evidently wishing to know the old man’s opinion, told him how +the officer had taken the gun from him. + +“Never mind the gun,” said the old man. “If you don’t give the gun you +will get no reward.” + +“But they say, Daddy, it’s little reward a fellow gets when he is not +yet a mounted Cossack; and the gun is a fine one, a Crimean, worth +eighty rubles.” + +“Eh, let it go! I had a dispute like that with an officer, he wanted my +horse. ‘Give it me and you’ll be made a cornet,’ says he. I wouldn’t, +and I got nothing!” + +“Yes, Daddy, but you see I have to buy a horse; and they say you can’t +get one the other side of the river under fifty rubles, and mother has +not yet sold our wine.” + +“Eh, we didn’t bother,” said the old man; “when Daddy Eróshka was your +age he already stole herds of horses from the Nogáy folk and drove them +across the Térek. Sometimes we’d give a fine horse for a quart of vodka +or a cloak.” + +“Why so cheap?” asked Lukáshka. + +“You’re a fool, a fool, Mark,” said the old man contemptuously. “Why, +that’s what one steals for, so as not to be stingy! As for you, I +suppose you haven’t so much as seen how one drives off a herd of +horses? Why don’t you speak?” + +“What’s one to say, Daddy?” replied Lukáshka. “It seems we are not the +same sort of men as you were.” + +“You’re a fool, Mark, a fool! ‘Not the same sort of men!’” retorted the +old man, mimicking the Cossack lad. “I was not that sort of Cossack at +your age.” + +“How’s that?” asked Lukáshka. + +The old man shook his head contemptuously. + +“Daddy Eróshka was _simple;_ he did not grudge anything! That’s why I +was _kunak_ with all Chéchnya. A _kunak_ would come to visit me and I’d +make him drunk with vodka and make him happy and put him to sleep with +me, and when I went to see him I’d take him a present—a dagger! That’s +the way it is done, and not as you do nowadays: the only amusement lads +have now is to crack seeds and spit out the shells!” the old man +finished contemptuously, imitating the present-day Cossacks cracking +seeds and spitting out the shells. + +“Yes, I know,” said Lukáshka; “that’s so!” + +“If you wish to be a fellow of the right sort, be a brave and not a +peasant! Because even a peasant can buy a horse—pay the money and take +the horse.” + +They were silent for a while. + +“Well, of course it’s dull both in the village and the cordon, Daddy: +but there’s nowhere one can go for a bit of sport. All our fellows are +so timid. Take Nazárka. The other day when we went to the Tartar +village, Giréy Khan asked us to come to Nogáy to take some horses, but +no one went, and how was I to go alone?” + +“And what of Daddy? Do you think I am quite dried up? ... No, I’m not +dried up. Let me have a horse and I’ll be off to Nogáy at once.” + +“What’s the good of talking nonsense!” said Luke. “You’d better tell me +what to do about Giréy Khan. He says, ‘Only bring horses to the Térek, +and then even if you bring a whole stud I’ll find a place for them.’ +You see he’s also a shaven-headed Tartar—how’s one to believe him?” + +“You may trust Giréy Khan, all his kin were good people. His father too +was a faithful _kunak_. But listen to Daddy and I won’t teach you +wrong: make him take an oath, then it will be all right. And if you go +with him, have your pistol ready all the same, especially when it comes +to dividing up the horses. I was nearly killed that way once by a +Chéchen. I wanted ten rubles from him for a horse. Trusting is all +right, but don’t go to sleep without a gun.” Lukáshka listened +attentively to the old man. + +“I say, Daddy, have you any stone-break grass?” he asked after a pause. + +“No, I haven’t any, but I’ll teach you how to get it. You’re a good lad +and won’t forget the old man.... Shall I tell you?” + +“Tell me, Daddy.” + +“You know a tortoise? She’s a devil, the tortoise is!” + +“Of course I know!” + +“Find her nest and fence it round so that she can’t get in. Well, +she’ll come, go round it, and then will go off to find the stone-break +grass and will bring some along and destroy the fence. Anyhow next +morning come in good time, and where the fence is broken there you’ll +find the stone-break grass lying. Take it wherever you like. No lock +and no bar will be able to stop you.” + +“Have you tried it yourself, Daddy?” + +“As for trying, I have not tried it, but I was told of it by good +people. I used only one charm: that was to repeat the Pilgrim rhyme +when mounting my horse; and no one ever killed me!” + +“What is the Pilgrim rhyme, Daddy?” + +“What, don’t you know it? Oh, what people! You’re right to ask Daddy. +Well, listen, and repeat after me: + +“Hail! Ye, living in Sion, +This is your King, +Our steeds we shall sit on, +Sophonius is weeping. +Zacharias is speaking, +Father Pilgrim, +Mankind ever loving.” + + +“Kind ever loving,” the old man repeated. “Do you know it now? Try it.” + +Lukáshka laughed. + +“Come, Daddy, was it that that hindered their killing you? Maybe it +just happened so!” + +“You’ve grown too clever! You learn it all, and say it. It will do you +no harm. Well, suppose you have sung ‘Pilgrim’, it’s all right,” and +the old man himself began laughing. “But just one thing, Luke, don’t +you go to Nogáy!” + +“Why?” + +“Times have changed. You are not the same men. You’ve become rubbishy +Cossacks! And see how many Russians have come down on us! You’d get to +prison. Really, give it up! Just as if you could! Now Gírchik and I, we +used...” + +And the old man was about to begin one of his endless tales, but +Lukáshka glanced at the window and interrupted him. + +“It is quite light. Daddy. It’s time to be off. Look us up some day.” + +“May Christ save you! I’ll go to the officer; I promised to take him +out shooting. He seems a good fellow.” + + + + + Chapter XVII + + +From Eróshka’s hut Lukáshka went home. As he returned, the dewy mists +were rising from the ground and enveloped the village. In various +places the cattle, though out of sight, could be heard beginning to +stir. The cocks called to one another with increasing frequency and +insistence. The air was becoming more transparent, and the villagers +were getting up. Not till he was close to it could Lukáshka discern the +fence of his yard, all wet with dew, the porch of the hut, and the open +shed. From the misty yard he heard the sound of an axe chopping wood. +Lukáshka entered the hut. His mother was up, and stood at the oven +throwing wood into it. His little sister was still lying in bed asleep. + +“Well, Lukáshka, had enough holiday-making?” asked his mother softly. +“Where did you spend the night?” + +“I was in the village,” replied her son reluctantly, reaching for his +musket, which he drew from its cover and examined carefully. + +His mother swayed her head. + +Lukáshka poured a little gunpowder onto the pan, took out a little bag +from which he drew some empty cartridge cases which he began filling, +carefully plugging each one with a ball wrapped in a rag. Then, having +tested the loaded cartridges with his teeth and examined them, he put +down the bag. + +“I say, Mother, I told you the bags wanted mending; have they been +done?” he asked. + +“Oh yes, our dumb girl was mending something last night. Why, is it +time for you to be going back to the cordon? I haven’t seen anything of +you!” + +“Yes, as soon as I have got ready I shall have to go,” answered +Lukáshka, tying up the gunpowder. “And where is our dumb one? Outside?” + +“Chopping wood, I expect. She kept fretting for you. ‘I shall not see +him at all!’ she said. She puts her hand to her face like this, and +clicks her tongue and presses her hands to her heart as much as to +say—‘sorry.’ Shall I call her in? She understood all about the +_abrek_.” + +“Call her,” said Lukáshka. “And I had some tallow there; bring it: I +must grease my sword.” + +The old woman went out, and a few minutes later Lukáshka’s dumb sister +came up the creaking steps and entered the hut. She was six years older +than her brother and would have been extremely like him had it not been +for the dull and coarsely changeable expression (common to all deaf and +dumb people) of her face. She wore a coarse smock all patched; her feet +were bare and muddy, and on her head she had an old blue kerchief. Her +neck, arms, and face were sinewy like a peasant’s. Her clothing and her +whole appearance indicated that she always did the hard work of a man. +She brought in a heap of logs which she threw down by the oven. Then +she went up to her brother, and with a joyful smile which made her +whole face pucker up, touched him on the shoulder and began making +rapid signs to him with her hands, her face, and whole body. + +“That’s right, that’s right, Stëpka is a trump!” answered the brother, +nodding. “She’s fetched everything and mended everything, she’s a +trump! Here, take this for it!” He brought out two pieces of +gingerbread from his pocket and gave them to her. + +The dumb woman’s face flushed with pleasure, and she began making a +weird noise for joy. Having seized the gingerbread she began to +gesticulate still more rapidly, frequently pointing in one direction +and passing her thick finger over her eyebrows and her face. Lukáshka +understood her and kept nodding, while he smiled slightly. She was +telling him to give the girls dainties, and that the girls liked him, +and that one girl, Maryánka—the best of them all—loved him. She +indicated Maryánka by rapidly pointing in the direction of Maryánka’s +home and to her own eyebrows and face, and by smacking her lips and +swaying her head. “Loves” she expressed by pressing her hands to her +breast, kissing her hand, and pretending to embrace someone. Their +mother returned to the hut, and seeing what her dumb daughter was +saying, smiled and shook her head. Her daughter showed her the +gingerbread and again made the noise which expressed joy. + +“I told Ulítka the other day that I’d send a matchmaker to them,” said +the mother. “She took my words well.” + +Lukáshka looked silently at his mother. + +“But how about selling the wine, mother? I need a horse.” + +“I’ll cart it when I have time. I must get the barrels ready,” said the +mother, evidently not wishing her son to meddle in domestic matters. +“When you go out you’ll find a bag in the passage. I borrowed from the +neighbours and got something for you to take back to the cordon; or +shall I put it in your saddle-bag?” + +“All right,” answered Lukáshka. “And if Giréy Khan should come across +the river send him to me at the cordon, for I shan’t get leave again +for a long time now; I have some business with him.” + +He began to get ready to start. + +“I will send him on,” said the old woman. “It seems you have been +spreeing at Yámka’s all the time. I went out in the night to see the +cattle, and I think it was your voice I heard singing songs.” + +Lukáshka did not reply, but went out into the passage, threw the bags +over his shoulder, tucked up the skirts of his coat, took his musket, +and then stopped for a moment on the threshold. + +“Good-bye, mother!” he said as he closed the gate behind him. “Send me +a small barrel with Nazárka. I promised it to the lads, and he’ll call +for it.” + +“May Christ keep you, Lukáshka. God be with you! I’ll send you some, +some from the new barrel,” said the old woman, going to the fence: “But +listen,” she added, leaning over the fence. + +The Cossack stopped. + +“You’ve been making merry here; well, that’s all right. Why should not +a young man amuse himself? God has sent you luck and that’s good. But +now look out and mind, my son. Don’t you go and get into mischief. +Above all, satisfy your superiors: one has to! And I will sell the wine +and find money for a horse and will arrange a match with the girl for +you.” + +“All right, all right!” answered her son, frowning. + +His deaf sister shouted to attract his attention. She pointed to her +head and the palm of her hand, to indicate the shaved head of a +Chéchen. Then she frowned, and pretending to aim with a gun, she +shrieked and began rapidly humming and shaking her head. This meant +that Lukáshka should kill another Chéchen. + +Lukáshka understood. He smiled, and shifting the gun at his back under +his cloak stepped lightly and rapidly, and soon disappeared in the +thick mist. + +The old woman, having stood a little while at the gate, returned +silently to the hut and immediately began working. + + + + + Chapter XVIII + + +Lukasha returned to the cordon and at the same time Daddy Eróshka +whistled to his dogs and, climbing over his wattle fence, went to +Olénin’s lodging, passing by the back of the houses (he disliked +meeting women before going out hunting or shooting). He found Olénin +still asleep, and even Vanyúsha, though awake, was still in bed and +looking round the room considering whether it was not time to get up, +when Daddy Eróshka, gun on shoulder and in full hunter’s trappings, +opened the door. + +“A cudgel!” he shouted in his deep voice. “An alarm! The Chéchens are +upon us! Iván! Get the samovar ready for your master, and get up +yourself—quick,” cried the old man. “That’s our way, my good man! Why +even the girls are already up! Look out of the window. See, she’s going +for water and you’re still sleeping!” + +Olénin awoke and jumped up, feeling fresh and lighthearted at the sight +of the old man and at the sound of his voice. + +“Quick, Vanyúsha, quick!” he cried. + +“Is that the way you go hunting?” said the old man. “Others are having +their breakfast and you are asleep! Lyam! Here!” he called to his dog. +“Is your gun ready?” he shouted, as loud as if a whole crowd were in +the hut. + +“Well, it’s true I’m guilty, but it can’t be helped! The powder, +Vanyúsha, and the wads!” said Olénin. + +“A fine!” shouted the old man. + +“_Du tay voulay vou?_” asked Vanyúsha, grinning. + +“You’re not one of us—your gabble is not like our speech, you devil!” +the old man shouted at Vanyúsha, showing the stumps of his teeth. + +“A first offence must be forgiven,” said Olénin playfully, drawing on +his high boots. + +“The first offence shall be forgiven,” answered Eróshka, “but if you +oversleep another time you’ll be fined a pail of _chikhir_. When it +gets warmer you won’t find the deer.” + +“And even if we do find him he is wiser than we are,” said Olénin, +repeating the words spoken by the old man the evening before, “and you +can’t deceive him!” + +“Yes, laugh away! You kill one first, and then you may talk. Now then, +hurry up! Look, there’s the master himself coming to see you,” added +Eróshka, looking out of the window. “Just see how he’s got himself up. +He’s put on a new coat so that you should see that he’s an officer. Ah, +these people, these people!” + +Sure enough Vanyúsha came in and announced that the master of the house +wished to see Olénin. + +“_L’arjan!_” he remarked profoundly, to forewarn his master of the +meaning of this visitation. Following him, the master of the house in a +new Circassian coat with an officer’s stripes on the shoulders and with +polished boots (quite exceptional among Cossacks) entered the room, +swaying from side to side, and congratulated his lodger on his safe +arrival. + +The cornet, Elias Vasílich, was an _educated_ Cossack. He had been to +Russia proper, was a regimental schoolteacher, and above all he was +noble. He wished to appear noble, but one could not help feeling +beneath his grotesque pretence of polish, his affectation, his +self-confidence, and his absurd way of speaking, he was just the same +as Daddy Eróshka. This could also be clearly seen by his sunburnt face +and his hands and his red nose. Olénin asked him to sit down. + +“Good morning, Father Elias Vasílich,” said Eróshka, rising with (or so +it seemed to Olénin) an ironically low bow. + +“Good morning. Daddy. So you’re here already,” said the cornet, with a +careless nod. + +The cornet was a man of about forty, with a grey pointed beard, skinny +and lean, but handsome and very fresh-looking for his age. Having come +to see Olénin he was evidently afraid of being taken for an ordinary +Cossack, and wanted to let Olénin feel his importance from the first. + +“That’s our Egyptian Nimrod,” he remarked, addressing Olénin and +pointing to the old man with a self-satisfied smile. “A mighty hunter +before the Lord! He’s our foremost man on every hand. You’ve already +been pleased to get acquainted with him.” + +Daddy Eróshka gazed at his feet in their shoes of wet raw hide and +shook his head thoughtfully at the cornet’s ability and learning, and +muttered to himself: “Gyptian Nimvrod! What things he invents!” + +“Yes, you see we mean to go hunting,” answered Olénin. + +“Yes, sir, exactly,” said the cornet, “but I have a small business with +you.” + +“What do you want?” + +“Seeing that you are a gentleman,” began the cornet, “and as I may +understand myself to be in the rank of an officer too, and therefore we +may always progressively negotiate, as gentlemen do.” (He stopped and +looked with a smile at Olénin and at the old man.) “But if you have the +desire with my consent, then, as my wife is a foolish woman of our +class, she could not quite comprehend your words of yesterday’s date. +Therefore my quarters might be let for six rubles to the Regimental +Adjutant, without the stables; but I can always avert that from myself +free of charge. But, as you desire, therefore I, being myself of an +officer’s rank, can come to an agreement with you in everything +personally, as an inhabitant of this district, not according to our +customs, but can maintain the conditions in every way....” + +“Speaks clearly!” muttered the old man. + +The cornet continued in the same strain for a long time. At last, not +without difficulty, Olénin gathered that the cornet wished to let his +rooms to him, Olénin, for six rubles a month. The latter gladly agreed +to this, and offered his visitor a glass of tea. The cornet declined +it. + +“According to our silly custom we consider it a sort of sin to drink +out of a ‘worldly’ tumbler,” he said. “Though, of course, with my +education I may understand, but my wife from her human weakness...” + +“Well then, will you have some tea?” + +“If you will permit me, I will bring my own particular glass,” answered +the cornet, and stepped out into the porch. + +“Bring me my glass!” he cried. + +In a few minutes the door opened and a young sunburnt arm in a print +sleeve thrust itself in, holding a tumbler in the hand. The cornet went +up, took it, and whispered something to his daughter. Olénin poured tea +for the cornet into the latter’s own “particular” glass, and for +Eróshka into a “worldly” glass. + +“However, I do not desire to detain you,” said the cornet, scalding his +lips and emptying his tumbler. “I too have a great liking for fishing, +and I am here, so to say, only on leave of absence for recreation from +my duties. I too have the desire to tempt fortune and see whether some +_Gifts of the Térek_ may not fall to my share. I hope you too will come +and see us and have a drink of our wine, according to the custom of our +village,” he added. + +The cornet bowed, shook hands with Olénin, and went out. While Olénin +was getting ready, he heard the cornet giving orders to his family in +an authoritative and sensible tone, and a few minutes later he saw him +pass by the window in a tattered coat with his trousers rolled up to +his knees and a fishing net over his shoulder. + +“A rascal!” said Daddy Eróshka, emptying his “worldly” tumbler. “And +will you really pay him six rubles? Was such a thing ever heard of? +They would let you the best hut in the village for two rubles. What a +beast! Why, I’d let you have mine for three!” + +“No, I’ll remain here,” said Olénin. + +“Six rubles!... Clearly it’s a fool’s money. Eh, eh, eh!” answered the +old man. “Let’s have some _chikhir_, Iván!” + +Having had a snack and a drink of vodka to prepare themselves for the +road, Olénin and the old man went out together before eight o’clock. + +At the gate they came up against a wagon to which a pair of oxen were +harnessed. With a white kerchief tied round her head down to her eyes, +a coat over her smock, and wearing high boots, Maryánka with a long +switch in her hand was dragging the oxen by a cord tied to their horns. + +“Mammy,” said the old man, pretending that he was going to seize her. + +Maryánka flourished her switch at him and glanced merrily at them both +with her beautiful eyes. + +Olénin felt still more light-hearted. + +“Now then, come on, come on,” he said, throwing his gun on his shoulder +and conscious of the girl’s eyes upon him. + +“Gee up!” sounded Maryánka’s voice behind them, followed by the creak +of the moving wagon. + +As long as their road lay through the pastures at the back of the +village Eróshka went on talking. He could not forget the cornet and +kept on abusing him. + +“Why are you so angry with him?” asked Olénin. + +“He’s stingy. I don’t like it,” answered the old man. “He’ll leave it +all behind when he dies! Then who’s he saving up for? He’s built two +houses, and he’s got a second garden from his brother by a law-suit. +And in the matter of papers what a dog he is! They come to him from +other villages to fill up documents. As he writes it out, exactly so it +happens. He gets it quite exact. But who is he saving for? He’s only +got one boy and the girl; when she’s married who’ll be left?” + +“Well then, he’s saving up for her dowry,” said Olénin. + +“What dowry? The girl is sought after, she’s a fine girl. But he’s such +a devil that he must yet marry her to a rich fellow. He wants to get a +big price for her. There’s Luke, a Cossack, a neighbour and a nephew of +mine, a fine lad. It’s he who killed the Chéchen—he has been wooing her +for a long time, but he hasn’t let him have her. He’s given one excuse, +and another, and a third. ‘The girl’s too young,’ he says. But I know +what he is thinking. He wants to keep them bowing to him. He’s been +acting shamefully about that girl. Still, they will get her for +Lukáshka, because he is the best Cossack in the village, a brave, who +has killed an _abrek_ and will be rewarded with a cross.” + +“But how about this? When I was walking up and down the yard last +night, I saw my landlord’s daughter and some Cossack kissing,” said +Olénin. + +“You’re pretending!” cried the old man, stopping. + +“On my word,” said Olénin. + +“Women are the devil,” said Eróshka pondering. “But what Cossack was +it?” + +“I couldn’t see.” + +“Well, what sort of a cap had he, a white one?” + +“Yes.” + +“And a red coat? About your height?” + +“No, a bit taller.” + +“It’s he!” and Eróshka burst out laughing. “It’s himself, it’s Mark. He +is Luke, but I call him Mark for a joke. His very self! I love him. I +was just such a one myself. What’s the good of minding them? My +sweetheart used to sleep with her mother and her sister-in-law, but I +managed to get in. She used to sleep upstairs; that witch her mother +was a regular demon; it’s awful how she hated me. Well, I used to come +with a chum, Gírchik his name was. We’d come under her window and I’d +climb on his shoulders, push up the window and begin groping about. She +used to sleep just there on a bench. Once I woke her up and she nearly +called out. She hadn’t recognized me. ‘Who is there?’ she said, and I +could not answer. Her mother was even beginning to stir, but I took off +my cap and shoved it over her mouth; and she at once knew it by a seam +in it, and ran out to me. I used not to want anything then. She’d bring +along clotted cream and grapes and everything,” added Eróshka (who +always explained things practically), “and she wasn’t the only one. It +was a life!” + +“And what now?” + +“Now we’ll follow the dog, get a pheasant to settle on a tree, and then +you may fire.” + +“Would you have made up to Maryánka?” + +“Attend to the dogs. I’ll tell you tonight,” said the old man, pointing +to his favourite dog, Lyam. + +After a pause they continued talking, while they went about a hundred +paces. Then the old man stopped again and pointed to a twig that lay +across the path. + +“What do you think of that?” he said. “You think it’s nothing? It’s bad +that this stick is lying so.” + +“Why is it bad?” + +He smiled. + +“Ah, you don’t know anything. Just listen to me. When a stick lies like +that don’t you step across it, but go round it or throw it off the path +this way, and say ‘Father and Son and Holy Ghost,’ and then go on with +God’s blessing. Nothing will happen to you. That’s what the old men +used to teach me.” + +“Come, what rubbish!” said Olénin. “You’d better tell me more about +Maryánka. Does she carry on with Lukáshka?” + +“Hush ... be quiet now!” the old man again interrupted in a whisper: +“just listen, we’ll go round through the forest.” + +And the old man, stepping quietly in his soft shoes, led the way by a +narrow path leading into the dense, wild, overgrown forest. Now and +again with a frown he turned to look at Olénin, who rustled and +clattered with his heavy boots and, carrying his gun carelessly, +several times caught the twigs of trees that grew across the path. + +“Don’t make a noise. Step softly, soldier!” the old man whispered +angrily. + +There was a feeling in the air that the sun had risen. The mist was +dissolving but it still enveloped the tops of the trees. The forest +looked terribly high. At every step the aspect changed: what had +appeared like a tree proved to be a bush, and a reed looked like a +tree. + + + + + Chapter XIX + + +The mist had partly lifted, showing the wet reed thatches, and was now +turning into dew that moistened the road and the grass beside the +fence. Smoke rose everywhere in clouds from the chimneys. The people +were going out of the village, some to their work, some to the river, +and some to the cordon. The hunters walked together along the damp, +grass-grown path. The dogs, wagging their tails and looking at their +masters, ran on both sides of them. Myriads of gnats hovered in the air +and pursued the hunters, covering their backs, eyes, and hands. The air +was fragrant with the grass and with the dampness of the forest. Olénin +continually looked round at the ox-cart in which Maryánka sat urging on +the oxen with a long switch. + +It was calm. The sounds from the village, audible at first, now no +longer reached the sportsmen. Only the brambles cracked as the dogs ran +under them, and now and then birds called to one another. Olénin knew +that danger lurked in the forest, that _abreks_ always hid in such +places. But he knew too that in the forest, for a man on foot, a gun is +a great protection. Not that he was afraid, but he felt that another in +his place might be; and looking into the damp misty forest and +listening to the rare and faint sounds with strained attention, he +changed his hold on his gun and experienced a pleasant feeling that was +new to him. Daddy Eróshka went in front, stopping and carefully +scanning every puddle where an animal had left a double track, and +pointing it out to Olénin. He hardly spoke at all and only occasionally +made remarks in a whisper. The track they were following had once been +made by wagons, but the grass had long overgrown it. The elm and +plane-tree forest on both sides of them was so dense and overgrown with +creepers that it was impossible to see anything through it. Nearly +every tree was enveloped from top to bottom with wild grape vines, and +dark bramble bushes covered the ground thickly. Every little glade was +overgrown with blackberry bushes and grey feathery reeds. In places, +large hoof-prints and small funnel-shaped pheasant-trails led from the +path into the thicket. The vigour of the growth of this forest, +untrampled by cattle, struck Olénin at every turn, for he had never +seen anything like it. This forest, the danger, the old man and his +mysterious whispering, Maryánka with her virile upright bearing, and +the mountains—all this seemed to him like a dream. + +“A pheasant has settled,” whispered the old man, looking round and +pulling his cap over his face—“Cover your mug! A pheasant!” he waved +his arm angrily at Olénin and pushed forward almost on all fours. “He +don’t like a man’s mug.” + +Olénin was still behind him when the old man stopped and began +examining a tree. A cock-pheasant on the tree clucked at the dog that +was barking at it, and Olénin saw the pheasant; but at that moment a +report, as of a cannon, came from Eróshka’s enormous gun, the bird +fluttered up and, losing some feathers, fell to the ground. Coming up +to the old man Olénin disturbed another, and raising his gun he aimed +and fired. The pheasant flew swiftly up and then, catching at the +branches as he fell, dropped like a stone to the ground. + +“Good man!” the old man (who could not hit a flying bird) shouted, +laughing. + +Having picked up the pheasants they went on. Olénin, excited by the +exercise and the praise, kept addressing remarks to the old man. + +“Stop! Come this way,” the old man interrupted. “I noticed the track of +deer here yesterday.” + +After they had turned into the thicket and gone some three hundred +paces they scrambled through into a glade overgrown with reeds and +partly under water. Olénin failed to keep up with the old huntsman and +presently Daddy Eróshka, some twenty paces in front, stooped down, +nodding and beckoning with his arm. On coming up with him Olénin saw a +man’s footprint to which the old man was pointing. + +“D’you see?” + +“Yes, well?” said Olénin, trying to speak as calmly as he could. “A +man’s footstep!” + +Involuntarily a thought of Cooper’s _Pathfinder_ and of _abreks_ +flashed through Olénin’s mind, but noticing the mysterious manner with +which the old man moved on, he hesitated to question him and remained +in doubt whether this mysteriousness was caused by fear of danger or by +the sport. + +“No, it’s my own footprint,” the old man said quietly, and pointed to +some grass under which the track of an animal was just perceptible. + +The old man went on, and Olénin kept up with him. Descending to lower +ground some twenty paces farther on they came upon a spreading +pear-tree, under which, on the black earth, lay the fresh dung of some +animal. + +The spot, all covered over with wild vines, was like a cosy arbour, +dark and cool. + +“He’s been here this morning,” said the old man with a sigh; “the lair +is still damp, quite fresh.” + +Suddenly they heard a terrible crash in the forest some ten paces from +where they stood. They both started and seized their guns, but they +could see nothing and only heard the branches breaking. The rhythmical +rapid thud of galloping was heard for a moment and then changed into a +hollow rumble which resounded farther and farther off, re-echoing in +wider and wider circles through the forest. Olénin felt as though +something had snapped in his heart. He peered carefully but vainly into +the green thicket and then turned to the old man. Daddy Eróshka with +his gun pressed to his breast stood motionless; his cap was thrust +backwards, his eyes gleamed with an unwonted glow, and his open mouth, +with its worn yellow teeth, seemed to have stiffened in that position. + +“A horned stag!” he muttered, and throwing down his gun in despair he +began pulling at his grey beard, “Here it stood. We should have come +round by the path.... Fool! fool!” and he gave his beard an angry tug. +“Fool! Pig!” he repeated, pulling painfully at his own beard. Through +the forest something seemed to fly away in the mist, and ever farther +and farther off was heard the sound of the flight of the stag. + +It was already dusk when, hungry, tired, but full of vigour, Olénin +returned with the old man. Dinner was ready. He ate and drank with the +old man till he felt warm and merry. Olénin then went out into the +porch. Again, to the west, the mountains rose before his eyes. Again +the old man told his endless stories of hunting, of _abreks_, of +sweethearts, and of all that free and reckless life. Again the fair +Maryánka went in and out and across the yard, her beautiful powerful +form outlined by her smock. + + + + + Chapter XX + + +The next day Olénin went alone to the spot where he and the old man +startled the stag. Instead of passing round through the gate he climbed +over the prickly hedge, as everybody else did, and before he had had +time to pull out the thorns that had caught in his coat, his dog, which +had run on in front, started two pheasants. He had hardly stepped among +the briers when the pheasants began to rise at every step (the old man +had not shown him that place the day before as he meant to keep it for +shooting from behind the screen). Olénin fired twelve times and killed +five pheasants, but clambering after them through the briers he got so +fatigued that he was drenched with perspiration. He called off his dog, +uncocked his gun, put in a bullet above the small shot, and brushing +away the mosquitoes with the wide sleeve of his Circassian coat he went +slowly to the spot where they had been the day before. It was however +impossible to keep back the dog, who found trails on the very path, and +Olénin killed two more pheasants, so that after being detained by this +it was getting towards noon before he began to find the place he was +looking for. + +The day was perfectly clear, calm, and hot. The morning moisture had +dried up even in the forest, and myriads of mosquitoes literally +covered his face, his back, and his arms. His dog had turned from black +to grey, its back being covered with mosquitoes, and so had Olénin’s +coat through which the insects thrust their stings. Olénin was ready to +run away from them and it seemed to him that it was impossible to live +in this country in the summer. He was about to go home, but remembering +that other people managed to endure such pain he resolved to bear it +and gave himself up to be devoured. And strange to say, by noontime the +feeling became actually pleasant. He even felt that without this +mosquito-filled atmosphere around him, and that mosquito-paste mingled +with perspiration which his hand smeared over his face, and that +unceasing irritation all over his body, the forest would lose for him +some of its character and charm. These myriads of insects were so well +suited to that monstrously lavish wild vegetation, these multitudes of +birds and beasts which filled the forest, this dark foliage, this hot +scented air, these runlets filled with turbid water which everywhere +soaked through from the Térek and gurgled here and there under the +overhanging leaves, that the very thing which had at first seemed to +him dreadful and intolerable now seemed pleasant. After going round the +place where yesterday they had found the animal and not finding +anything, he felt inclined to rest. The sun stood right above the +forest and poured its perpendicular rays down on his back and head +whenever he came out into a glade or onto the road. The seven heavy +pheasants dragged painfully at his waist. Having found the traces of +yesterday’s stag he crept under a bush into the thicket just where the +stag had lain, and lay down in its lair. He examined the dark foliage +around him, the place marked by the stag’s perspiration and yesterday’s +dung, the imprint of the stag’s knees, the bit of black earth it had +kicked up, and his own footprints of the day before. He felt cool and +comfortable and did not think of or wish for anything. And suddenly he +was overcome by such a strange feeling of causeless joy and of love for +everything, that from an old habit of his childhood he began crossing +himself and thanking someone. Suddenly, with extraordinary clearness, +he thought: “Here am I, Dmítri Olénin, a being quite distinct from +every other being, now lying all alone Heaven only knows where—where a +stag used to live—an old stag, a beautiful stag who perhaps had never +seen a man, and in a place where no human being has ever sat or thought +these thoughts. Here I sit, and around me stand old and young trees, +one of them festooned with wild grape vines, and pheasants are +fluttering, driving one another about and perhaps scenting their +murdered brothers.” He felt his pheasants, examined them, and wiped the +warm blood off his hand onto his coat. “Perhaps the jackals scent them +and with dissatisfied faces go off in another direction: above me, +flying in among the leaves which to them seem enormous islands, +mosquitoes hang in the air and buzz: one, two, three, four, a hundred, +a thousand, a million mosquitoes, and all of them buzz something or +other and each one of them is separate from all else and is just such a +separate Dmítri Olénin as I am myself.” He vividly imagined what the +mosquitoes buzzed: “This way, this way, lads! Here’s some one we can +eat!” They buzzed and stuck to him. And it was clear to him that he was +not a Russian nobleman, a member of Moscow society, the friend and +relation of so-and-so and so-and-so, but just such a mosquito, or +pheasant, or deer, as those that were now living all around him. “Just +as they, just as Daddy Eróshka, I shall live awhile and die, and as he +says truly: ‘grass will grow and nothing more’.” + +“But what though the grass does grow?” he continued thinking. “Still I +must live and be happy, because happiness is all I desire. Never mind +what I am—an animal like all the rest, above whom the grass will grow +and nothing more; or a frame in which a bit of the one God has been +set,—still I must live in the very best way. How then must I live to be +happy, and why was I not happy before?” And he began to recall his +former life and he felt disgusted with himself. He appeared to himself +to have been terribly exacting and selfish, though he now saw that all +the while he really needed nothing for himself. And he looked round at +the foliage with the light shining through it, at the setting sun and +the clear sky, and he felt just as happy as before. “Why am I happy, +and what used I to live for?” thought he. “How much I exacted for +myself; how I schemed and did not manage to gain anything but shame and +sorrow! and, there now, I require nothing to be happy;” and suddenly a +new light seemed to reveal itself to him. “Happiness is this!” he said +to himself. “Happiness lies in living for others. That is evident. The +desire for happiness is innate in every man; therefore it is +legitimate. When trying to satisfy it selfishly—that is, by seeking for +oneself riches, fame, comforts, or love—it may happen that +circumstances arise which make it impossible to satisfy these desires. +It follows that it is these desires that are illegitimate, but not the +need for happiness. But what desires can always be satisfied despite +external circumstances? What are they? Love, self-sacrifice.” He was so +glad and excited when he had discovered this, as it seemed to him, new +truth, that he jumped up and began impatiently seeking some one to +sacrifice himself for, to do good to and to love. “Since one wants +nothing for oneself,” he kept thinking, “why not live for others?” He +took up his gun with the intention of returning home quickly to think +this out and to find an opportunity of doing good. He made his way out +of the thicket. When he had come out into the glade he looked around +him; the sun was no longer visible above the tree-tops. It had grown +cooler and the place seemed to him quite strange and not like the +country round the village. Everything seemed changed—the weather and +the character of the forest; the sky was wrapped in clouds, the wind +was rustling in the tree-tops, and all around nothing was visible but +reeds and dying broken-down trees. He called to his dog who had run +away to follow some animal, and his voice came back as in a desert. And +suddenly he was seized with a terrible sense of weirdness. He grew +frightened. He remembered the _abreks_ and the murders he had been told +about, and he expected every moment that an _abrek_ would spring from +behind every bush and he would have to defend his life and die, or be a +coward. He thought of God and of the future life as for long he had not +thought about them. And all around was that same gloomy stern wild +nature. “And is it worth while living for oneself,” thought he, “when +at any moment you may die, and die without having done any good, and so +that no one will know of it?” He went in the direction where he fancied +the village lay. Of his shooting he had no further thought; but he felt +tired to death and peered round at every bush and tree with particular +attention and almost with terror, expecting every moment to be called +to account for his life. After having wandered about for a considerable +time he came upon a ditch down which was flowing cold sandy water from +the Térek, and, not to go astray any longer, he decided to follow it. +He went on without knowing where the ditch would lead him. Suddenly the +reeds behind him crackled. He shuddered and seized his gun, and then +felt ashamed of himself: the over-excited dog, panting hard, had thrown +itself into the cold water of the ditch and was lapping it! + +He too had a drink, and then followed the dog in the direction it +wished to go, thinking it would lead him to the village. But despite +the dog’s company everything around him seemed still more dreary. The +forest grew darker and the wind grew stronger and stronger in the tops +of the broken old trees. Some large birds circled screeching round +their nests in those trees. The vegetation grew poorer and he came +oftener and oftener upon rustling reeds and bare sandy spaces covered +with animal footprints. To the howling of the wind was added another +kind of cheerless monotonous roar. Altogether his spirits became +gloomy. Putting his hand behind him he felt his pheasants, and found +one missing. It had broken off and was lost, and only the bleeding head +and beak remained sticking in his belt. He felt more frightened than he +had ever done before. He began to pray to God, and feared above all +that he might die without having done anything good or kind; and he so +wanted to live, and to live so as to perform a feat of self-sacrifice. + + + + + Chapter XXI + + +Suddenly it was as though the sun had shone into his soul. He heard +Russian being spoken, and also heard the rapid smooth flow of the +Térek, and a few steps farther in front of him saw the brown moving +surface of the river, with the dim-coloured wet sand of its banks and +shallows, the distant steppe, the cordon watch-tower outlined above the +water, a saddled and hobbled horse among the brambles, and then the +mountains opening out before him. The red sun appeared for an instant +from under a cloud and its last rays glittered brightly along the river +over the reeds, on the watch-tower, and on a group of Cossacks, among +whom Lukáshka’s vigorous figure attracted Olénin’s involuntary +attention. + +Olénin felt that he was again, without any apparent cause, perfectly +happy. He had come upon the Nízhni-Protótsk post on the Térek, opposite +a pro-Russian Tartar village on the other side of the river. He +accosted the Cossacks, but not finding as yet any excuse for doing +anyone a kindness, he entered the hut; nor in the hut did he find any +such opportunity. The Cossacks received him coldly. On entering the mud +hut he lit a cigarette. The Cossacks paid little attention to him, +first because he was smoking a cigarette, and secondly because they had +something else to divert them that evening. Some hostile Chéchens, +relatives of the _abrek_ who had been killed, had come from the hills +with a scout to ransom the body; and the Cossacks were waiting for +their Commanding Officer’s arrival from the village. The dead man’s +brother, tall and well shaped with a short cropped beard which was dyed +red, despite his very tattered coat and cap was calm and majestic as a +king. His face was very like that of the dead _abrek_. He did not deign +to look at anyone, and never once glanced at the dead body, but sitting +on his heels in the shade he spat as he smoked his short pipe, and +occasionally uttered some few guttural sounds of command, which were +respectfully listened to by his companion. He was evidently a brave who +had met Russians more than once before in quite other circumstances, +and nothing about them could astonish or even interest him. Olénin was +about to approach the dead body and had begun to look at it when the +brother, looking up at him from under his brows with calm contempt, +said something sharply and angrily. The scout hastened to cover the +dead man’s face with his coat. Olénin was struck by the dignified and +stern expression of the brave’s face. He began to speak to him, asking +from what village he came, but the Chéchen, scarcely giving him a +glance, spat contemptuously and turned away. Olénin was so surprised at +the Chéchen not being interested in him that he could only put it down +to the man’s stupidity or ignorance of Russian; so he turned to the +scout, who also acted as interpreter. The scout was as ragged as the +other, but instead of being red-haired he was black-haired, restless, +with extremely white gleaming teeth and sparkling black eyes. The scout +willingly entered into conversation and asked for a cigarette. + +“There were five brothers,” began the scout in his broken Russian. +“This is the third brother the Russians have killed, only two are left. +He is a brave, a great brave!” he said, pointing to the Chéchen. “When +they killed Ahmet Khan (the dead brave) this one was sitting on the +opposite bank among the reeds. He saw it all. Saw him laid in the skiff +and brought to the bank. He sat there till the night and wished to kill +the old man, but the others would not let him.” + +Lukáshka went up to the speaker, and sat down. “Of what village?” asked +he. + +“From there in the hills,” replied the scout, pointing to the misty +bluish gorge beyond the Térek. “Do you know Suuk-su? It is about eight +miles beyond that.” + +“Do you know Giréy Khan in Suuk-su?” asked Lukáshka, evidently proud of +the acquaintance. “He is my _kunak_.” + +“He is my neighbour,” answered the scout. + +“He’s a trump!” and Lukáshka, evidently much interested, began talking +to the scout in Tartar. + +Presently a Cossack captain, with the head of the village, arrived on +horseback with a suite of two Cossacks. The captain—one of the new type +of Cossack officers—wished the Cossacks “Good health,” but no one +shouted in reply, “Hail! Good health to your honour,” as is customary +in the Russian Army, and only a few replied with a bow. Some, and among +them Lukáshka, rose and stood erect. The corporal replied that all was +well at the outposts. All this seemed ridiculous: it was as if these +Cossacks were playing at being soldiers. But these formalities soon +gave place to ordinary ways of behaviour, and the captain, who was a +smart Cossack just like the others, began speaking fluently in Tartar +to the interpreter. They filled in some document, gave it to the scout, +and received from him some money. Then they approached the body. + +“Which of you is Luke Gavrílov?” asked the captain. + +Lukáshka took off his cap and came forward. + +“I have reported your exploit to the Commander. I don’t know what will +come of it. I have recommended you for a cross; you’re too young to be +made a sergeant. Can you read?” + +“I can’t.” + +“But what a fine fellow to look at!” said the captain, again playing +the commander. “Put on your cap. Which of the Gavrílovs does he come +of? ... the Broad, eh?” + +“His nephew,” replied the corporal. + +“I know, I know. Well, lend a hand, help them,” he said, turning to the +Cossacks. + +Lukáshka’s face shone with joy and seemed handsomer than usual. He +moved away from the corporal, and having put on his cap sat down beside +Olénin. + +When the body had been carried to the skiff the brother Chéchen +descended to the bank. The Cossacks involuntarily stepped aside to let +him pass. He jumped into the boat and pushed off from the bank with his +powerful leg, and now, as Olénin noticed, for the first time threw a +rapid glance at all the Cossacks and then abruptly asked his companion +a question. The latter answered something and pointed to Lukáshka. The +Chéchen looked at him and, turning slowly away, gazed at the opposite +bank. That look expressed not hatred but cold contempt. He again made +some remark. + +“What is he saying?” Olénin asked of the fidgety scout. + +“Yours kill ours, ours slay yours. It’s always the same,” replied the +scout, evidently inventing, and he smiled, showing his white teeth, as +he jumped into the skiff. + +The dead man’s brother sat motionless, gazing at the opposite bank. He +was so full of hatred and contempt that there was nothing on this side +of the river that moved his curiosity. The scout, standing up at one +end of the skiff and dipping his paddle now on one side now on the +other, steered skilfully while talking incessantly. The skiff became +smaller and smaller as it moved obliquely across the stream, the voices +became scarcely audible, and at last, still within sight, they landed +on the opposite bank where their horses stood waiting. There they +lifted out the corpse and (though the horse shied) laid it across one +of the saddles, mounted, and rode at a foot-pace along the road past a +Tartar village from which a crowd came out to look at them. The +Cossacks on the Russian side of the river were highly satisfied and +jovial. Laughter and jokes were heard on all sides. The captain and the +head of the village entered the mud hut to regale themselves. Lukáshka, +vainly striving to impart a sedate expression to his merry face, sat +down with his elbows on his knees beside Olénin and whittled away at a +stick. + +“Why do you smoke?” he said with assumed curiosity. “Is it good?” + +He evidently spoke because he noticed Olénin felt ill at ease and +isolated among the Cossacks. + +“It’s just a habit,” answered Olénin. “Why?” + +“H’m, if one of us were to smoke there would be a row! Look there now, +the mountains are not far off,” continued Lukáshka, “yet you can’t get +there! How will you get back alone? It’s getting dark. I’ll take you, +if you like. You ask the corporal to give me leave.” + +“What a fine fellow!” thought Olénin, looking at the Cossack’s bright +face. He remembered Maryánka and the kiss he had heard by the gate, and +he was sorry for Lukáshka and his want of culture. “What confusion it +is,” he thought. “A man kills another and is happy and satisfied with +himself as if he had done something excellent. Can it be that nothing +tells him that it is not a reason for any rejoicing, and that happiness +lies not in killing, but in sacrificing oneself?” + +“Well, you had better not meet him again now, mate!” said one of the +Cossacks who had seen the skiff off, addressing Lukáshka. “Did you hear +him asking about you?” + +Lukáshka raised his head. + +“My godson?” said Lukáshka, meaning by that word the dead Chéchen. + +“Your godson won’t rise, but the red one is the godson’s brother!” + +“Let him thank God that he got off whole himself,” replied Lukáshka. + +“What are you glad about?” asked Olénin. “Supposing your brother had +been killed; would you be glad?” + +The Cossack looked at Olénin with laughing eyes. He seemed to have +understood all that Olénin wished to say to him, but to be above such +considerations. + +“Well, that happens too! Don’t our fellows get killed sometimes?” + + + + + Chapter XXII + + +The Captain and the head of the village rode away, and Olénin, to +please Lukáshka as well as to avoid going back alone through the dark +forest, asked the corporal to give Lukáshka leave, and the corporal did +so. Olénin thought that Lukáshka wanted to see Maryánka and he was also +glad of the companionship of such a pleasant-looking and sociable +Cossack. Lukáshka and Maryánka he involuntarily united in his mind, and +he found pleasure in thinking about them. “He loves Maryánka,” thought +Olénin, “and I could love her,” and a new and powerful emotion of +tenderness overcame him as they walked homewards together through the +dark forest. Lukáshka too felt happy; something akin to love made +itself felt between these two very different young men. Every time they +glanced at one another they wanted to laugh. + +“By which gate do you enter?” asked Olénin. + +“By the middle one. But I’ll see you as far as the marsh. After that +you have nothing to fear.” + +Olénin laughed. + +“Do you think I am afraid? Go back, and thank you. I can get on alone.” + +“It’s all right! What have I to do? And how can you help being afraid? +Even we are afraid,” said Lukáshka to set Olénin’s self-esteem at rest, +and he laughed too. + +“Then come in with me. We’ll have a talk and a drink and in the morning +you can go back.” + +“Couldn’t I find a place to spend the night?” laughed Lukáshka. “But +the corporal asked me to go back.” + +“I heard you singing last night, and also saw you.” + +“Every one...” and Luke swayed his head. + +“Is it true you are getting married?” asked Olénin. + +“Mother wants me to marry. But I have not got a horse yet.” + +“Aren’t you in the regular service?” + +“Oh dear no! I’ve only just joined, and have not got a horse yet, and +don’t know how to get one. That’s why the marriage does not come off.” + +“And what would a horse cost?” + +“We were bargaining for one beyond the river the other day and they +would not take sixty rubles for it, though it is a Nogáy horse.” + +“Will you come and be my drabánt?” (A drabánt was a kind of orderly +attached to an officer when campaigning.) “I’ll get it arranged and +will give you a horse,” said Olénin suddenly. “Really now, I have two +and I don’t want both.” + +“How—don’t want it?” Lukáshka said, laughing. “Why should you make me a +present? We’ll get on by ourselves by God’s help.” + +“No, really! Or don’t you want to be a drabánt?” said Olénin, glad that +it had entered his head to give a horse to Lukáshka, though, without +knowing why, he felt uncomfortable and confused and did not know what +to say when he tried to speak. + +Lukáshka was the first to break the silence. + +“Have you a house of your own in Russia?” he asked. + +Olénin could not refrain from replying that he had not only one, but +several houses. + +“A good house? Bigger than ours?” asked Lukáshka good-naturedly. + +“Much bigger; ten times as big and three storeys high,” replied Olénin. + +“And have you horses such as ours?” + +“I have a hundred horses, worth three or four hundred rubles each, but +they are not like yours. They are trotters, you know.... But still, I +like the horses here best.” + +“Well, and did you come here of your own free will, or were you sent?” +said Lukáshka, laughing at him. “Look! that’s where you lost your way,” +he added, “you should have turned to the right.” + +“I came by my own wish,” replied Olénin. “I wanted to see your parts +and to join some expeditions.” + +“I would go on an expedition any day,” said Lukáshka. “D’you hear the +jackals howling?” he added, listening. + +“I say, don’t you feel any horror at having killed a man?” asked +Olénin. + +“What’s there to be frightened about? But I should like to join an +expedition,” Lukáshka repeated. “How I want to! How I want to!” + +“Perhaps we may be going together. Our company is going before the +holidays, and your ‘hundred’ too.” + +“And what did you want to come here for? You’ve a house and horses and +serfs. In your place I’d do nothing but make merry! And what is your +rank?” + +“I am a cadet, but have been recommended for a commission.” + +“Well, if you’re not bragging about your home, if I were you I’d never +have left it! Yes, I’d never have gone away anywhere. Do you find it +pleasant living among us?” + +“Yes, very pleasant,” answered Olénin. + +It had grown quite dark before, talking in this way, they approached +the village. They were still surrounded by the deep gloom of the +forest. The wind howled through the tree-tops. The jackals suddenly +seemed to be crying close beside them, howling, chuckling, and sobbing; +but ahead of them in the village the sounds of women’s voices and the +barking of dogs could already be heard; the outlines of the huts were +clearly to be seen; lights gleamed and the air was filled with the +peculiar smell of _kisyak_ smoke. Olénin felt keenly, that night +especially, that here in this village was his home, his family, all his +happiness, and that he never had and never would live so happily +anywhere as he did in this Cossack village. He was so fond of everybody +and especially of Lukáshka that night. On reaching home, to Lukáshka’s +great surprise, Olénin with his own hands led out of the shed a horse +he had bought in Gróznoe—it was not the one he usually rode but +another—not a bad horse though no longer young, and gave it to +Lukáshka. + +“Why should you give me a present?” said Lukáshka, “I have not yet done +anything for you.” + +“Really it is nothing,” answered Olénin. “Take it, and you will give me +a present, and we’ll go on an expedition against the enemy together.” + +Lukáshka became confused. + +“But what d’you mean by it? As if a horse were of little value,” he +said without looking at the horse. + +“Take it, take it! If you don’t you will offend me. Vanyúsha! Take the +grey horse to his house.” + +Lukáshka took hold of the halter. + +“Well then, thank you! This is something unexpected, undreamt of.” + +Olénin was as happy as a boy of twelve. + +“Tie it up here. It’s a good horse. I bought it in Gróznoe; it gallops +splendidly! Vanyúsha, bring us some _chikhir_. Come into the hut.” + +The wine was brought. Lukáshka sat down and took the wine-bowl. + +“God willing I’ll find a way to repay you,” he said, finishing his +wine. “How are you called?” + +“Dmítri Andréich.” + +“Well, ’Mitry Andréich, God bless you. We will be _kunaks_. Now you +must come to see us. Though we are not rich people still we can treat a +_kunak_, and I will tell mother in case you need anything—clotted cream +or grapes—and if you come to the cordon I’m your servant to go hunting +or to go across the river, anywhere you like! There now, only the other +day, what a boar I killed, and I divided it among the Cossacks, but if +I had only known, I’d have given it to you.” + +“That’s all right, thank you! But don’t harness the horse, it has never +been in harness.” + +“Why harness the horse? And there is something else I’ll tell you if +you like,” said Lukáshka, bending his head. “I have a _kunak_, Giréy +Khan. He asked me to lie in ambush by the road where they come down +from the mountains. Shall we go together? I’ll not betray you. I’ll be +your _murid_.” + +“Yes, we’ll go; we’ll go some day.” + +Lukáshka seemed quite to have quieted down and to have understood +Olénin’s attitude towards him. His calmness and the ease of his +behaviour surprised Olénin, and he did not even quite like it. They +talked long, and it was late when Lukáshka, not tipsy (he never was +tipsy) but having drunk a good deal, left Olénin after shaking hands. + +Olénin looked out of the window to see what he would do. Lukáshka went +out, hanging his head. Then, having led the horse out of the gate, he +suddenly shook his head, threw the reins of the halter over its head, +sprang onto its back like a cat, gave a wild shout, and galloped down +the street. Olénin expected that Lukáshka would go to share his joy +with Maryánka, but though he did not do so Olénin still felt his soul +more at ease than ever before in his life. He was as delighted as a +boy, and could not refrain from telling Vanyúsha not only that he had +given Lukáshka the horse, but also why he had done it, as well as his +new theory of happiness. + +Vanyúsha did not approve of his theory, and announced that “_l’argent +il n’y a pas!_” and that therefore it was all nonsense. + +Lukáshka rode home, jumped off the horse, and handed it over to his +mother, telling her to let it out with the communal Cossack herd. He +himself had to return to the cordon that same night. His deaf sister +undertook to take the horse, and explained by signs that when she saw +the man who had given the horse, she would bow down at his feet. The +old woman only shook her head at her son’s story, and decided in her +own mind that he had stolen it. She therefore told the deaf girl to +take it to the herd before daybreak. + +Lukáshka went back alone to the cordon pondering over Olénin’s action. +Though he did not consider the horse a good one, yet it was worth at +least forty rubles and Lukáshka was very glad to have the present. But +why it had been given him he could not at all understand, and therefore +he did not experience the least feeling of gratitude. On the contrary, +vague suspicions that the cadet had some evil intentions filled his +mind. What those intentions were he could not decide, but neither could +he admit the idea that a stranger would give him a horse worth forty +rubles for nothing, just out of kindness; it seemed impossible. Had he +been drunk one might understand it! He might have wished to show off. +But the cadet had been sober, and therefore must have wished to bribe +him to do something wrong. “Eh, humbug!” thought Lukáshka. “Haven’t I +got the horse and we’ll see later on. I’m not a fool myself and we +shall see who’ll get the better of the other,” he thought, feeling the +necessity of being on his guard, and therefore arousing in himself +unfriendly feelings towards Olénin. He told no one how he had got the +horse. To some he said he had bought it, to others he replied +evasively. However, the truth soon got about in the village, and +Lukáshka’s mother and Maryánka, as well as Elias Vasílich and other +Cossacks, when they heard of Olénin’s unnecessary gift, were perplexed, +and began to be on their guard against the cadet. But despite their +fears his action aroused in them a great respect for his simplicity and +wealth. + +“Have you heard,” said one, “that the cadet quartered on Elias Vasílich +has thrown a fifty-ruble horse at Lukáshka? He’s rich! ...” + +“Yes, I heard of it,” replied another profoundly, “he must have done +him some great service. We shall see what will come of this cadet. Eh! +what luck that Snatcher has!” + +“Those cadets are crafty, awfully crafty,” said a third. “See if he +don’t go setting fire to a building, or doing something!” + + + + + Chapter XXIII + + +Olénin’s life went on with monotonous regularity. He had little +intercourse with the commanding officers or with his equals. The +position of a rich cadet in the Caucasus was peculiarly advantageous in +this respect. He was not sent out to work, or for training. As a reward +for going on an expedition he was recommended for a commission, and +meanwhile he was left in peace. The officers regarded him as an +aristocrat and behaved towards him with dignity. Cardplaying and the +officers’ carousals accompanied by the soldier-singers, of which he had +had experience when he was with the detachment, did not seem to him +attractive, and he also avoided the society and life of the officers in +the village. The life of officers stationed in a Cossack village has +long had its own definite form. Just as every cadet or officer when in +a fort regularly drinks porter, plays cards, and discusses the rewards +given for taking part in the expeditions, so in the Cossack villages he +regularly drinks _chikhir_ with his hosts, treats the girls to +sweet-meats and honey, dangles after the Cossack women, and falls in +love, and occasionally marries there. Olénin always took his own path +and had an unconscious objection to the beaten tracks. And here, too, +he did not follow the ruts of a Caucasian officer’s life. + +It came quite naturally to him to wake up at daybreak. After drinking +tea and admiring from his porch the mountains, the morning, and +Maryánka, he would put on a tattered ox-hide coat, sandals of soaked +raw hide, buckle on a dagger, take a gun, put cigarettes and some lunch +in a little bag, call his dog, and soon after five o’clock would start +for the forest beyond the village. Towards seven in the evening he +would return tired and hungry with five or six pheasants hanging from +his belt (sometimes with some other animal) and with his bag of food +and cigarettes untouched. If the thoughts in his head had lain like the +lunch and cigarettes in the bag, one might have seen that during all +those fourteen hours not a single thought had moved in it. He returned +morally fresh, strong, and perfectly happy, and he could not tell what +he had been thinking about all the time. Were they ideas, memories, or +dreams that had been flitting through his mind? They were frequently +all three. He would rouse himself and ask what he had been thinking +about; and would see himself as a Cossack working in a vineyard with +his Cossack wife, or an _abrek_ in the mountains, or a boar running +away from himself. And all the time he kept peering and watching for a +pheasant, a boar, or a deer. + +In the evening Daddy Eróshka would be sure to be sitting with him. +Vanyúsha would bring a jug of _chikhir_, and they would converse +quietly, drink, and separate to go quite contentedly to bed. The next +day he would again go shooting, again be healthily weary, again they +would sit conversing and drink their fill, and again be happy. +Sometimes on a holiday or day of rest Olénin spent the whole day at +home. Then his chief occupation was watching Maryánka, whose every +movement, without realizing it himself, he followed greedily from his +window or his porch. He regarded Maryánka and loved her (so he thought) +just as he loved the beauty of the mountains and the sky, and he had no +thought of entering into any relations with her. It seemed to him that +between him and her such relations as there were between her and the +Cossack Lukáshka could not exist, and still less such as often existed +between rich officers and other Cossack girls. It seemed to him that if +he tried to do as his fellow officers did, he would exchange his +complete enjoyment of contemplation for an abyss of suffering, +disillusionment, and remorse. Besides, he had already achieved a +triumph of self-sacrifice in connexion with her which had given him +great pleasure, and above all he was in a way afraid of Maryánka and +would not for anything have ventured to utter a word of love to her +lightly. + +Once during the summer, when Olénin had not gone out shooting but was +sitting at home, quite unexpectedly a Moscow acquaintance, a very young +man whom he had met in society, came in. + +“Ah, _mon cher_, my dear fellow, how glad I was when I heard that you +were here!” he began in his Moscow French, and he went on intermingling +French words in his remarks. “They said, ‘Olénin’. What Olénin? and I +was so pleased.... Fancy fate bringing us together here! Well, and how +are you? How? Why?” and Prince Belétski told his whole story: how he +had temporarily entered the regiment, how the Commander-in-Chief had +offered to take him as an adjutant, and how he would take up the post +after this campaign although personally he felt quite indifferent about +it. + +“Living here in this hole one must at least make a career—get a +cross—or a rank—be transferred to the Guards. That is quite +indispensable, not for myself but for the sake of my relations and +friends. The prince received me very well; he is a very decent fellow,” +said Belétski, and went on unceasingly. “I have been recommended for +the St. Anna Cross for the expedition. Now I shall stay here a bit +until we start on the campaign. It’s capital here. What women! Well, +and how are you getting on? I was told by our captain, Stártsev you +know, a kind-hearted stupid creature.... Well, he said you were living +like an awful savage, seeing no one! I quite understand you don’t want +to be mixed up with the set of officers we have here. I am so glad now +you and I will be able to see something of one another. I have put up +at the Cossack corporal’s house. There is such a girl there. Ústenka! I +tell you she’s just charming.” + +And more and more French and Russian words came pouring forth from that +world which Olénin thought he had left for ever. The general opinion +about Belétski was that he was a nice, good-natured fellow. Perhaps he +really was; but in spite of his pretty, good-natured face, Olénin +thought him extremely unpleasant. He seemed just to exhale that +filthiness which Olénin had forsworn. What vexed him most was that he +could not—had not the strength—abruptly to repulse this man who came +from that world: as if that old world he used to belong to had an +irresistible claim on him. Olénin felt angry with Belétski and with +himself, yet against his wish he introduced French phrases into his own +conversation, was interested in the Commander-in-Chief and in their +Moscow acquaintances, and because in this Cossack village he and +Belétski both spoke French, he spoke contemptuously of their fellow +officers and of the Cossacks, and was friendly with Belétski, promising +to visit him and inviting him to drop in to see him. Olénin however did +not himself go to see Belétski. Vanyúsha for his part approved of +Belétski, remarking that he was a real gentleman. + +Belétski at once adopted the customary life of a rich officer in a +Cossack village. Before Olénin’s eyes, in one month he came to be like +an old resident of the village; he made the old men drunk, arranged +evening parties, and himself went to parties arranged by the +girls—bragged of his conquests, and even got so far that, for some +unknown reason, the women and girls began calling him grandad, and the +Cossacks, to whom a man who loved wine and women was clearly +understandable, got used to him and even liked him better than they did +Olénin, who was a puzzle to them. + + + + + Chapter XXIV + + +It was five in the morning. Vanyúsha was in the porch heating the +samovar, and using the leg of a long boot instead of bellows. Olénin +had already ridden off to bathe in the Térek. (He had recently invented +a new amusement: to swim his horse in the river.) His landlady was in +her outhouse, and the dense smoke of the kindling fire rose from the +chimney. The girl was milking the buffalo cow in the shed. “Can’t keep +quiet, the damned thing!” came her impatient voice, followed by the +rhythmical sound of milking. + +From the street in front of the house horses’ hoofs were heard +clattering briskly, and Olénin, riding bareback on a handsome dark-grey +horse which was still wet and shining, rode up to the gate. Maryánka’s +handsome head, tied round with a red kerchief, appeared from the shed +and again disappeared. Olénin was wearing a red silk shirt, a white +Circassian coat girdled with a strap which carried a dagger, and a tall +cap. He sat his well-fed wet horse with a slightly conscious elegance +and, holding his gun at his back, stooped to open the gate. His hair +was still wet, and his face shone with youth and health. He thought +himself handsome, agile, and like a brave; but he was mistaken. To any +experienced Caucasian he was still only a soldier. When he noticed that +the girl had put out her head he stooped with particular smartness, +threw open the gate and, tightening the reins, swished his whip and +entered the yard. “Is tea ready, Vanyúsha?” he cried gaily, not looking +at the door of the shed. He felt with pleasure how his fine horse, +pressing down its flanks, pulling at the bridle and with every muscle +quivering and with each foot ready to leap over the fence, pranced on +the hard clay of the yard. _“C’est prêt_,” answered Vanyúsha. Olénin +felt as if Maryánka’s beautiful head was still looking out of the shed +but he did not turn to look at her. As he jumped down from his horse he +made an awkward movement and caught his gun against the porch, and +turned a frightened look towards the shed, where there was no one to be +seen and whence the sound of milking could still be heard. + +Soon after he had entered the hut he came out again and sat down with +his pipe and a book on the side of the porch which was not yet exposed +to the rays of the sun. He meant not to go anywhere before dinner that +day, and to write some long-postponed letters; but somehow he felt +disinclined to leave his place in the porch, and he was as reluctant to +go back into the hut as if it had been a prison. The housewife had +heated her oven, and the girl, having driven the cattle, had come back +and was collecting _kisyak_ and heaping it up along the fence. Olénin +went on reading, but did not understand a word of what was written in +the book that lay open before him. He kept lifting his eyes from it and +looking at the powerful young woman who was moving about. Whether she +stepped into the moist morning shadow thrown by the house, or went out +into the middle of the yard lit up by the joyous young light, so that +the whole of her stately figure in its bright coloured garment gleamed +in the sunshine and cast a black shadow—he always feared to lose any +one of her movements. It delighted him to see how freely and gracefully +her figure bent: into what folds her only garment, a pink smock, draped +itself on her bosom and along her shapely legs; how she drew herself up +and her tight-drawn smock showed the outline of her heaving bosom, how +the soles of her narrow feet in her worn red slippers rested on the +ground without altering their shape; how her strong arms with the +sleeves rolled up, exerting the muscles, used the spade almost as if in +anger, and how her deep dark eyes sometimes glanced at him. Though the +delicate brows frowned, yet her eyes expressed pleasure and a knowledge +of her own beauty. + +“I say, Olénin, have you been up long?” said Belétski as he entered the +yard dressed in the coat of a Caucasian officer. + +“Ah, Belétski,” replied Olénin, holding out his hand. “How is it you +are out so early?” + +“I had to. I was driven out; we are having a ball tonight. Maryánka, of +course you’ll come to Ústenka’s?” he added, turning to the girl. + +Olénin felt surprised that Belétski could address this woman so easily. +But Maryánka, as though she had not heard him, bent her head, and +throwing the spade across her shoulder went with her firm masculine +tread towards the outhouse. + +“She’s shy, the wench is shy,” Belétski called after her. “Shy of you,” +he added as, smiling gaily, he ran up the steps of the porch. + +“How is it you are having a ball and have been driven out?” + +“It’s at Ústenka’s, at my landlady’s, that the ball is, and you two are +invited. A ball consists of a pie and a gathering of girls.” + +“What should we do there?” + +Belétski smiled knowingly and winked, jerking his head in the direction +of the outhouse into which Maryánka had disappeared. + +Olénin shrugged his shoulders and blushed. + +“Well, really you are a strange fellow!” said he. + +“Come now, don’t pretend” + +Olénin frowned, and Belétski noticing this smiled insinuatingly. “Oh, +come, what do you mean?” he said, “living in the same house—and such a +fine girl, a splendid girl, a perfect beauty—” + +“Wonderfully beautiful! I never saw such a woman before,” replied +Olénin. + +“Well then?” said Belétski, quite unable to understand the situation. + +“It may be strange,” replied Olénin, “but why should I not say what is +true? Since I have lived here women don’t seem to exist for me. And it +is so good, really! Now what can there be in common between us and +women like these? Eróshka—that’s a different matter! He and I have a +passion in common—sport.” + +“There now! In common! And what have I in common with Amália Ivánovna? +It’s the same thing! You may say they’re not very clean—that’s another +matter... _À la guerre, comme à la guerre!_...” + +“But I have never known any Amália Ivánovas, and have never known how +to behave with women of that sort,” replied Olénin. “One cannot respect +them, but these I do respect.” + +“Well go on respecting them! Who wants to prevent you?” + +Olénin did not reply. He evidently wanted to complete what he had begun +to say. It was very near his heart. + +“I know I am an exception...” He was visibly confused. “But my life has +so shaped itself that I not only see no necessity to renounce my rules, +but I could not live here, let alone live as happily as I am doing, +were I to live as you do. Therefore I look for something quite +different from what you look for.” + +Belétski raised his eyebrows incredulously. “Anyhow, come to me this +evening; Maryánka will be there and I will make you acquainted. Do +come, please! If you feel dull you can go away. Will you come?” + +“I would come, but to speak frankly I am afraid of being seriously +carried away.” + +“Oh, oh, oh!” shouted Belétski. “Only come, and I’ll see that you +aren’t. Will you? On your word?” + +“I would come, but really I don’t understand what we shall do; what +part we shall play!” + +“Please, I beg of you. You will come?” + +“Yes, perhaps I’ll come,” said Olénin. + +“Really now! Charming women such as one sees nowhere else, and to live +like a monk! What an idea! Why spoil your life and not make use of what +is at hand? Have you heard that our company is ordered to +Vozdvízhensk?” + +“Hardly. I was told the 8th Company would be sent there,” said Olénin. + +“No. I have had a letter from the adjutant there. He writes that the +Prince himself will take part in the campaign. I am very glad I shall +see something of him. I’m beginning to get tired of this place.” + +“I hear we shall start on a raid soon.” + +“I have not heard of it; but I have heard that Krinovítsin has received +the Order of St. Anna for a raid. He expected a lieutenancy,” said +Belétski laughing. “He was let in! He has set off for headquarters.” + +It was growing dusk and Olénin began thinking about the party. The +invitation he had received worried him. He felt inclined to go, but +what might take place there seemed strange, absurd, and even rather +alarming. He knew that neither Cossack men nor older women, nor anyone +besides the girls, were to be there. What was going to happen? How was +he to behave? What would they talk about? What connexion was there +between him and those wild Cossack girls? Belétski had told him of such +curious, cynical, and yet rigid relations. It seemed strange to think +that he would be there in the same hut with Maryánka and perhaps might +have to talk to her. It seemed to him impossible when he remembered her +majestic bearing. But Belétski spoke of it as if it were all perfectly +simple. “Is it possible that Belétski will treat Maryánka in the same +way? That is interesting,” thought he. “No, better not go. It’s all so +horrid, so vulgar, and above all—it leads to nothing!” But again he was +worried by the question of what would take place; and besides he felt +as if bound by a promise. He went out without having made up his mind +one way or the other, but he walked as far as Belétski’s, and went in +there. + +The hut in which Belétski lived was like Olénin’s. It was raised nearly +five feet from the ground on wooden piles, and had two rooms. In the +first (which Olénin entered by the steep flight of steps) feather beds, +rugs, blankets, and cushions were tastefully and handsomely arranged, +Cossack fashion, along the main wall. On the side wall hung brass +basins and weapons, while on the floor, under a bench, lay watermelons +and pumpkins. In the second room there was a big brick oven, a table, +and sectarian icons. It was here that Belétski was quartered, with his +camp-bed and his pack and trunks. His weapons hung on the wall with a +little rug behind them, and on the table were his toilet appliances and +some portraits. A silk dressing-gown had been thrown on the bench. +Belétski himself, clean and good-looking, lay on the bed in his +underclothing, reading _Les Trois Mousquetaires_. + +He jumped up. + +“There, you see how I have arranged things. Fine! Well, it’s good that +you have come. They are working furiously. Do you know what the pie is +made of? Dough with a stuffing of pork and grapes. But that’s not the +point. You just look at the commotion out there!” + +And really, on looking out of the window they saw an unusual bustle +going on in the hut. Girls ran in and out, now for one thing and now +for another. + +“Will it soon be ready?” cried Belétski. + +“Very soon! Why? Is Grandad hungry?” and from the hut came the sound of +ringing laughter. + +Ústenka, plump, small, rosy, and pretty, with her sleeves turned up, +ran into Belétski’s hut to fetch some plates. + +“Get away or I shall smash the plates!” she squeaked, escaping from +Belétski. “You’d better come and help,” she shouted to Olénin, +laughing. “And don’t forget to get some refreshments for the girls.” +(“Refreshments” meaning spicebread and sweets.) + +“And has Maryánka come?” + +“Of course! She brought some dough.” + +“Do you know,” said Belétski, “if one were to dress Ústenka up and +clean and polish her up a bit, she’d be better than all our beauties. +Have you ever seen that Cossack woman who married a colonel; she was +charming! Bórsheva? What dignity! Where do they get it...” + +“I have not seen Bórsheva, but I think nothing could be better than the +costume they wear here.” + +“Ah, I’m first-rate at fitting into any kind of life,” said Belétski +with a sigh of pleasure. “I’ll go and see what they are up to.” + +He threw his dressing-gown over his shoulders and ran out, shouting, +“And you look after the ‘refreshments’.” + +Olénin sent Belétski’s orderly to buy spice-bread and honey; but it +suddenly seemed to him so disgusting to give money (as if he were +bribing someone) that he gave no definite reply to the orderly’s +question: “How much spice-bread with peppermint, and how much with +honey?” + +“Just as you please.” + +“Shall I spend all the money,” asked the old soldier impressively. “The +peppermint is dearer. It’s sixteen kopeks.” + +“Yes, yes, spend it all,” answered Olénin and sat down by the window, +surprised that his heart was thumping as if he were preparing himself +for something serious and wicked. + +He heard screaming and shrieking in the girls’ hut when Belétski went +there, and a few moments later saw how he jumped out and ran down the +steps, accompanied by shrieks, bustle, and laughter. + +“Turned out,” he said. + +A little later Ústenka entered and solemnly invited her visitors to +come in: announcing that all was ready. + +When they came into the room they saw that everything was really ready. +Ústenka was rearranging the cushions along the wall. On the table, +which was covered by a disproportionately small cloth, was a decanter +of _chikhir_ and some dried fish. The room smelt of dough and grapes. +Some half dozen girls in smart tunics, with their heads not covered as +usual with kerchiefs, were huddled together in a corner behind the +oven, whispering, giggling, and spluttering with laughter. + +“I humbly beg you to do honour to my patron saint,” said Ústenka, +inviting her guests to the table. + +Olénin noticed Maryánka among the group of girls, who without exception +were all handsome, and he felt vexed and hurt that he met her in such +vulgar and awkward circumstances. He felt stupid and awkward, and made +up his mind to do what Belétski did. Belétski stepped to the table +somewhat solemnly yet with confidence and ease, drank a glass of wine +to Ústenka’s health, and invited the others to do the same. Ústenka +announced that girls don’t drink. + +“We might with a little honey,” exclaimed a voice from among the group +of girls. + +The orderly, who had just returned with the honey and spice-cakes, was +called in. He looked askance (whether with envy or with contempt) at +the gentlemen, who in his opinion were on the spree; and carefully and +conscientiously handed over to them a piece of honeycomb and the cakes +wrapped up in a piece of greyish paper, and began explaining +circumstantially all about the price and the change, but Belétski sent +him away. + +Having mixed honey with wine in the glasses, and having lavishly +scattered the three pounds of spice-cakes on the table, Belétski +dragged the girls from their corners by force, made them sit down at +the table, and began distributing the cakes among them. Olénin +involuntarily noticed how Maryánka’s sunburnt but small hand closed on +two round peppermint nuts and one brown one, and that she did not know +what to do with them. The conversation was halting and constrained, in +spite of Ústenka’s and Belétski’s free and easy manner and their wish +to enliven the company. Olénin faltered, and tried to think of +something to say, feeling that he was exciting curiosity and perhaps +provoking ridicule and infecting the others with his shyness. He +blushed, and it seemed to him that Maryánka in particular was feeling +uncomfortable. “Most likely they are expecting us to give them some +money,” thought he. “How are we to do it? And how can we manage +quickest to give it and get away?” + + + + + Chapter XXV + + +“How is it you don’t know your own lodger?” said Belétski, addressing +Maryánka. + +“How is one to know him if he never comes to see us?” answered +Maryánka, with a look at Olénin. + +Olénin felt frightened, he did not know of what. He flushed and, hardly +knowing what he was saying, remarked: “I’m afraid of your mother. She +gave me such a scolding the first time I went in.” + +Maryánka burst out laughing. “And so you were frightened?” she said, +and glanced at him and turned away. + +It was the first time Olénin had seen the whole of her beautiful face. +Till then he had seen her with her kerchief covering her to the eyes. +It was not for nothing that she was reckoned the beauty of the village. +Ústenka was a pretty girl, small, plump, rosy, with merry brown eyes, +and red lips which were perpetually smiling and chattering. Maryánka on +the contrary was certainly not pretty but beautiful. Her features might +have been considered too masculine and almost harsh had it not been for +her tall stately figure, her powerful chest and shoulders, and +especially the severe yet tender expression of her long dark eyes which +were darkly shadowed beneath their black brows, and for the gentle +expression of her mouth and smile. She rarely smiled, but her smile was +always striking. She seemed to radiate virginal strength and health. +All the girls were good-looking, but they themselves and Belétski, and +the orderly when he brought in the spice-cakes, all involuntarily gazed +at Maryánka, and anyone addressing the girls was sure to address her. +She seemed a proud and happy queen among them. + +Belétski, trying to keep up the spirit of the party, chattered +incessantly, made the girls hand round _chikhir_, fooled about with +them, and kept making improper remarks in French about Maryánka’s +beauty to Olénin, calling her “yours” (_la vôtre_), and advising him to +behave as he did himself. Olénin felt more and more uncomfortable. He +was devising an excuse to get out and run away when Belétski announced +that Ústenka, whose saint’s day it was, must offer _chikhir_ to +everybody with a kiss. She consented on condition that they should put +money on her plate, as is the custom at weddings. + +“What fiend brought me to this disgusting feast?” thought Olénin, +rising to go away. + +“Where are you off to?” + +“I’ll fetch some tobacco,” he said, meaning to escape, but Belétski +seized his hand. + +“I have some money,” he said to him in French. + +“One can’t go away, one has to pay here,” thought Olénin bitterly, +vexed at his own awkwardness. “Can’t I really behave like Belétski? I +ought not to have come, but once I am here I must not spoil their fun. +I must drink like a Cossack,” and taking the wooden bowl (holding about +eight tumblers) he almost filled it with _chikhir_ and drank it almost +all. The girls looked at him, surprised and almost frightened, as he +drank. It seemed to them strange and not right. Ústenka brought them +another glass each, and kissed them both. “There girls, now we’ll have +some fun,” she said, clinking on the plate the four rubles the men had +put there. + +Olénin no longer felt awkward, but became talkative. + +“Now, Maryánka, it’s your turn to offer us wine and a kiss,” said +Belétski, seizing her hand. + +“Yes, I’ll give you such a kiss!” she said playfully, preparing to +strike at him. + +“One can kiss Grandad without payment,” said another girl. + +“There’s a sensible girl,” said Belétski, kissing the struggling girl. +“No, you must offer it,” he insisted, addressing Maryánka. “Offer a +glass to your lodger.” + +And taking her by the hand he led her to the bench and sat her down +beside Olénin. + +“What a beauty,” he said, turning her head to see it in profile. + +Maryánka did not resist but proudly smiling turned her long eyes +towards Olénin. + +“A beautiful girl,” repeated Belétski. + +“Yes, see what a beauty I am,” Maryánka’s look seemed to endorse. +Without considering what he was doing Olénin embraced Maryánka and was +going to kiss her, but she suddenly extricated herself, upsetting +Belétski and pushing the top off the table, and sprang away towards the +oven. There was much shouting and laughter. Then Belétski whispered +something to the girls and suddenly they all ran out into the passage +and locked the door behind them. + +“Why did you kiss Belétski and won’t kiss me?” asked Olénin. + +“Oh, just so. I don’t want to, that’s all!” she answered, pouting and +frowning. “He’s Grandad,” she added with a smile. She went to the door +and began to bang at it. “Why have you locked the door, you devils?” + +“Well, let them be there and us here,” said Olénin, drawing closer to +her. + +She frowned, and sternly pushed him away with her hand. And again she +appeared so majestically handsome to Olénin that he came to his senses +and felt ashamed of what he was doing. He went to the door and began +pulling at it himself. + +“Belétski! Open the door! What a stupid joke!” + +Maryánka again gave a bright happy laugh. “Ah, you’re afraid of me?” +she said. + +“Yes, you know you’re as cross as your mother.” + +“Spend more of your time with Eróshka; that will make the girls love +you!” And she smiled, looking straight and close into his eyes. + +He did not know what to reply. “And if I were to come to see you—” he +let fall. + +“That would be a different matter,” she replied, tossing her head. + +At that moment Belétski pushed the door open, and Maryánka sprang away +from Olénin and in doing so her thigh struck his leg. + +“It’s all nonsense what I have been thinking about—love and +self-sacrifice and Lukáshka. Happiness is the one thing. He who is +happy is right,” flashed through Olénin’s mind, and with a strength +unexpected to himself he seized and kissed the beautiful Maryánka on +her temple and her cheek. Maryánka was not angry, but only burst into a +loud laugh and ran out to the other girls. + +That was the end of the party. Ústenka’s mother, returned from her +work, gave all the girls a scolding, and turned them all out. + + + + + Chapter XXVI + + +“Yes,” thought Olénin, as he walked home. “I need only slacken the +reins a bit and I might fall desperately in love with this Cossack +girl.” He went to bed with these thoughts, but expected it all to blow +over and that he would continue to live as before. + +But the old life did not return. His relations to Maryánka were +changed. The wall that had separated them was broken down. Olénin now +greeted her every time they met. + +The master of the house having returned to collect the rent, on hearing +of Olénin’s wealth and generosity invited him to his hut. The old woman +received him kindly, and from the day of the party onwards Olénin often +went in of an evening and sat with them till late at night. He seemed +to be living in the village just as he used to, but within him +everything had changed. He spent his days in the forest, and towards +eight o’clock, when it began to grow dusk, he would go to see his +hosts, alone or with Daddy Eróshka. They grew so used to him that they +were surprised when he stayed away. He paid well for his wine and was a +quiet fellow. Vanyúsha would bring him his tea and he would sit down in +a corner near the oven. The old woman did not mind him but went on with +her work, and over their tea or their _chikhir_ they talked about +Cossack affairs, about the neighbours, or about Russia: Olénin relating +and the others inquiring. Sometimes he brought a book and read to +himself. Maryánka crouched like a wild goat with her feet drawn up +under her, sometimes on the top of the oven, sometimes in a dark +corner. She did not take part in the conversations, but Olénin saw her +eyes and face and heard her moving or cracking sunflower seeds, and he +felt that she listened with her whole being when he spoke, and was +aware of his presence while he silently read to himself. Sometimes he +thought her eyes were fixed on him, and meeting their radiance he +involuntarily became silent and gazed at her. Then she would instantly +hide her face and he would pretend to be deep in conversation with the +old woman, while he listened all the time to her breathing and to her +every movement and waited for her to look at him again. In the presence +of others she was generally bright and friendly with him, but when they +were alone together she was shy and rough. Sometimes he came in before +Maryánka had returned home. Suddenly he would hear her firm footsteps +and catch a glimmer of her blue cotton smock at the open door. Then she +would step into the middle of the hut, catch sight of him, and her eyes +would give a scarcely perceptible kindly smile, and he would feel happy +and frightened. + +He neither sought for nor wished for anything from her, but every day +her presence became more and more necessary to him. + +Olénin had entered into the life of the Cossack village so fully that +his past seemed quite foreign to him. As to the future, especially a +future outside the world in which he was now living, it did not +interest him at all. When he received letters from home, from relatives +and friends, he was offended by the evident distress with which they +regarded him as a lost man, while he in his village considered those as +lost who did not live as he was living. He felt sure he would never +repent of having broken away from his former surroundings and of having +settled down in this village to such a solitary and original life. When +out on expeditions, and when quartered at one of the forts, he felt +happy too; but it was here, from under Daddy Eróshka’s wing, from the +forest and from his hut at the end of the village, and especially when +he thought of Maryánka and Lukáshka, that he seemed to see the +falseness of his former life. That falseness used to rouse his +indignation even before, but now it seemed inexpressibly vile and +ridiculous. Here he felt freer and freer every day and more and more of +a man. The Caucasus now appeared entirely different to what his +imagination had painted it. He had found nothing at all like his +dreams, nor like the descriptions of the Caucasus he had heard and +read. “There are none of all those chestnut steeds, precipices, Amalet +Beks, heroes or villains,” thought he. “The people live as nature +lives: they die, are born, unite, and more are born—they fight, eat and +drink, rejoice and die, without any restrictions but those that nature +imposes on sun and grass, on animal and tree. They have no other laws.” +Therefore these people, compared to himself, appeared to him beautiful, +strong, and free, and the sight of them made him feel ashamed and sorry +for himself. Often it seriously occurred to him to throw up everything, +to get registered as a Cossack, to buy a hut and cattle and marry a +Cossack woman (only not Maryánka, whom he conceded to Lukáshka), and to +live with Daddy Eróshka and go shooting and fishing with him, and go +with the Cossacks on their expeditions. “Why ever don’t I do it? What +am I waiting for?” he asked himself, and he egged himself on and shamed +himself. “Am I afraid of doing what I hold to be reasonable and right? +Is the wish to be a simple Cossack, to live close to nature, not to +injure anyone but even to do good to others, more stupid than my former +dreams, such as those of becoming a minister of state or a colonel?” +but a voice seemed to say that he should wait, and not take any +decision. He was held back by a dim consciousness that he could not +live altogether like Eróshka and Lukáshka because he had a different +idea of happiness—he was held back by the thought that happiness lies +in self-sacrifice. What he had done for Lukáshka continued to give him +joy. He kept looking for occasions to sacrifice himself for others, but +did not meet with them. Sometimes he forgot this newly discovered +recipe for happiness and considered himself capable of identifying his +life with Daddy Eróshka’s, but then he quickly bethought himself and +promptly clutched at the idea of conscious self-sacrifice, and from +that basis looked calmly and proudly at all men and at their happiness. + + + + + Chapter XXVII + + +Just before the vintage Lukáshka came on horseback to see Olénin. He +looked more dashing than ever. + +“Well? Are you getting married?” asked Olénin, greeting him merrily. + +Lukáshka gave no direct reply. + +“There, I’ve exchanged your horse across the river. This _is_ a horse! +A Kabardá horse from the Lov stud. I know horses.” + +They examined the new horse and made him caracole about the yard. The +horse really was an exceptionally fine one, a broad and long gelding, +with glossy coat, thick silky tail, and the soft fine mane and crest of +a thoroughbred. He was so well fed that “you might go to sleep on his +back” as Lukáshka expressed it. His hoofs, eyes, teeth, were +exquisitely shaped and sharply outlined, as one only finds them in very +pure-bred horses. Olénin could not help admiring the horse, he had not +yet met with such a beauty in the Caucasus. + +“And how it goes!” said Lukáshka, patting its neck. “What a step! And +so clever—he simply runs after his master.” + +“Did you have to add much to make the exchange?” asked Olénin. + +“I did not count it,” answered Lukáshka with a smile. “I got him from a +_kunak_.” + +“A wonderfully beautiful horse! What would you take for it?” asked +Olénin. + +“I have been offered a hundred and fifty rubles for it, but I’ll give +it you for nothing,” said Lukáshka, merrily. “Only say the word and +it’s yours. I’ll unsaddle it and you may take it. Only give me some +sort of a horse for my duties.” + +“No, on no account.” + +“Well then, here is a dagger I’ve brought you,” said Lukáshka, +unfastening his girdle and taking out one of the two daggers which hung +from it. “I got it from across the river.” + +“Oh, thank you!” + +“And mother has promised to bring you some grapes herself.” + +“That’s quite unnecessary. We’ll balance up some day. You see I don’t +offer you any money for the dagger!” + +“How could you? We are _kunaks_. It’s just the same as when Giréy Khan +across the river took me into his home and said, ‘Choose what you +like!’ So I took this sword. It’s our custom.” + +They went into the hut and had a drink. + +“Are you staying here awhile?” asked Olénin. + +“No, I have come to say good-bye. They are sending me from the cordon +to a company beyond the Térek. I am going tonight with my comrade +Nazárka.” + +“And when is the wedding to be?” + +“I shall be coming back for the betrothal, and then I shall return to +the company again,” Lukáshka replied reluctantly. + +“What, and see nothing of your betrothed?” + +“Just so—what is the good of looking at her? When you go on campaign +ask in our company for Lukáshka the Broad. But what a lot of boars +there are in our parts! I’ve killed two. I’ll take you.” + +“Well, good-bye! Christ save you.” + +Lukáshka mounted his horse, and without calling on Maryánka, rode +caracoling down the street, where Nazárka was already awaiting him. + +“I say, shan’t we call round?” asked Nazárka, winking in the direction +of Yámka’s house. + +“That’s a good one!” said Lukáshka. “Here, take my horse to her and if +I don’t come soon give him some hay. I shall reach the company by the +morning anyway.” + +“Hasn’t the cadet given you anything more?” + +“I am thankful to have paid him back with a dagger—he was going to ask +for the horse,” said Lukáshka, dismounting and handing over the horse +to Nazárka. + +He darted into the yard past Olénin’s very window, and came up to the +window of the cornet’s hut. It was already quite dark. Maryánka, +wearing only her smock, was combing her hair preparing for bed. + +“It’s I—” whispered the Cossack. + +Maryánka’s look was severely indifferent, but her face suddenly +brightened up when she heard her name. She opened the window and leant +out, frightened and joyous. + +“What—what do you want?” she said. + +“Open!” uttered Lukáshka. “Let me in for a minute. I am so sick of +waiting! It’s awful!” + +He took hold of her head through the window and kissed her. + +“Really, do open!” + +“Why do you talk nonsense? I’ve told you I won’t! Have you come for +long?” + +He did not answer but went on kissing her, and she did not ask again. + +“There, through the window one can’t even hug you properly,” said +Lukáshka. + +“Maryánka dear!” came the voice of her mother, “who is that with you?” + +Lukáshka took off his cap, which might have been seen, and crouched +down by the window. + +“Go, be quick!” whispered Maryánka. + +“Lukáshka called round,” she answered; “he was asking for Daddy.” + +“Well then send him here!” + +“He’s gone; said he was in a hurry.” + +In fact, Lukáshka, stooping, as with big strides he passed under the +windows, ran out through the yard and towards Yámka’s house unseen by +anyone but Olénin. After drinking two bowls of _chikhir_ he and Nazárka +rode away to the outpost. The night was warm, dark, and calm. They rode +in silence, only the footfall of their horses was heard. Lukáshka +started a song about the Cossack, Mingál, but stopped before he had +finished the first verse, and after a pause, turning to Nazárka, said: + +“I say, she wouldn’t let me in!” + +“Oh?” rejoined Nazárka. “I knew she wouldn’t. D’you know what Yámka +told me? The cadet has begun going to their house. Daddy Eróshka brags +that he got a gun from the cadet for getting him Maryánka.” + +“He lies, the old devil!” said Lukáshka, angrily. “She’s not such a +girl. If he does not look out I’ll wallop that old devil’s sides,” and +he began his favourite song: + +“From the village of Izmáylov, +From the master’s favourite garden, +Once escaped a keen-eyed falcon. +Soon after him a huntsman came a-riding, +And he beckoned to the falcon that had strayed, +But the bright-eyed bird thus answered: +‘In gold cage you could not keep me, +On your hand you could not hold me, +So now I fly to blue seas far away. +There a white swan I will kill, +Of sweet swan-flesh have my fill.’” + + + + + Chapter XXVIII + + +The betrothal was taking place in the cornet’s hut. Lukáshka had +returned to the village, but had not been to see Olénin, and Olénin had +not gone to the betrothal though he had been invited. He was sad as he +had never been since he settled in this Cossack village. He had seen +Lukáshka earlier in the evening and was worried by the question why +Lukáshka was so cold towards him. Olénin shut himself up in his hut and +began writing in his diary as follows: + +“Many things have I pondered over lately and much have I changed,” +wrote he, “and I have come back to the copybook maxim: The one way to +be happy is to love, to love self-denyingly, to love everybody and +everything; to spread a web of love on all sides and to take all who +come into it. In this way I caught Vanyúsha, Daddy Eróshka, Lukáshka, +and Maryánka.” + +As Olénin was finishing this sentence Daddy Eróshka entered the room. + +Eróshka was in the happiest frame of mind. A few evenings before this, +Olénin had gone to see him and had found him with a proud and happy +face deftly skinning the carcass of a boar with a small knife in the +yard. The dogs (Lyam his pet among them) were lying close by watching +what he was doing and gently wagging their tails. The little boys were +respectfully looking at him through the fence and not even teasing him +as was their wont. His women neighbours, who were as a rule not too +gracious towards him, greeted him and brought him, one a jug of +_chikhir_, another some clotted cream, and a third a little flour. The +next day Eróshka sat in his store-room all covered with blood, and +distributed pounds of boar-flesh, taking in payment money from some and +wine from others. His face clearly expressed, “God has sent me luck. I +have killed a boar, so now I am wanted.” Consequently, he naturally +began to drink, and had gone on for four days never leaving the +village. Besides which he had had something to drink at the betrothal. + +He came to Olénin quite drunk: his face red, his beard tangled, but +wearing a new _beshmet_ trimmed with gold braid; and he brought with +him a _balaláyka_ which he had obtained beyond the river. He had long +promised Olénin this treat, and felt in the mood for it, so that he was +sorry to find Olénin writing. + +“Write on, write on, my lad,” he whispered, as if he thought that a +spirit sat between him and the paper and must not be frightened away, +and he softly and silently sat down on the floor. When Daddy Eróshka +was drunk his favourite position was on the floor. Olénin looked round, +ordered some wine to be brought, and continued to write. Eróshka found +it dull to drink by himself and he wished to talk. + +“I’ve been to the betrothal at the cornet’s. But there! They’re +shwine!—Don’t want them!—Have come to you.” + +“And where did you get your _balaláyka?_” asked Olénin, still writing. + +“I’ve been beyond the river and got it there, brother mine,” he +answered, also very quietly. “I’m a master at it. Tartar or Cossack, +squire or soldiers’ songs, any kind you please.” + +Olénin looked at him again, smiled, and went on writing. + +That smile emboldened the old man. + +“Come, leave off, my lad, leave off!” he said with sudden firmness. + +“Well, perhaps I will.” + +“Come, people have injured you but leave them alone, spit at them! +Come, what’s the use of writing and writing, what’s the good?” + +And he tried to mimic Olénin by tapping the floor with his thick +fingers, and then twisted his big face to express contempt. + +“What’s the good of writing quibbles. Better have a spree and show +you’re a man!” + +No other conception of writing found place in his head except that of +legal chicanery. + +Olénin burst out laughing and so did Eróshka. Then, jumping up from the +floor, the latter began to show off his skill on the _balaláyka_ and to +sing Tartar songs. + +“Why write, my good fellow! You’d better listen to what I’ll sing to +you. When you’re dead you won’t hear any more songs. Make merry now!” + +First he sang a song of his own composing accompanied by a dance: + +“Ah, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dim, +Say where did they last see him? +In a booth, at the fair, +He was selling pins, there.” + + +Then he sang a song he had learnt from his former sergeant-major: + +“Deep I fell in love on Monday, +Tuesday nothing did but sigh, +Wednesday I popped the question, +Thursday waited her reply. +Friday, late, it came at last, +Then all hope for me was past! +Saturday my life to take +I determined like a man, +But for my salvation’s sake +Sunday morning changed my plan!” + + +Then he sang again: + +“Oh dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dim, +Say where did they last see him?” + + +And after that, winking, twitching his shoulders, and footing it to the +tune, he sang: + +“I will kiss you and embrace, +Ribbons red twine round you; +And I’ll call you little Grace. +Oh, you little Grace now do +Tell me, do you love me true?” + + +And he became so excited that with a sudden dashing movement he started +dancing around the room accompanying himself the while. + +Songs like “Dee, dee, dee”—“gentlemen’s songs”—he sang for Olénin’s +benefit, but after drinking three more tumblers of _chikhir_ he +remembered old times and began singing real Cossack and Tartar songs. +In the midst of one of his favourite songs his voice suddenly trembled +and he ceased singing, and only continued strumming on the _balaláyka_. + +“Oh, my dear friend!” he said. + +The peculiar sound of his voice made Olénin look round. + +The old man was weeping. Tears stood in his eyes and one tear was +running down his cheek. + +“You are gone, my young days, and will never come back!” he said, +blubbering and halting. “Drink, why don’t you drink!” he suddenly +shouted with a deafening roar, without wiping away his tears. + +There was one Tartar song that specially moved him. It had few words, +but its charm lay in the sad refrain. “Ay day, dalalay!” Eróshka +translated the words of the song: “A youth drove his sheep from the +_aoul_ to the mountains: the Russians came and burnt the _aoul_, they +killed all the men and took all the women into bondage. The youth +returned from the mountains. Where the _aoul_ had stood was an empty +space; his mother not there, nor his brothers, nor his house; one tree +alone was left standing. The youth sat beneath the tree and wept. +‘Alone like thee, alone am I left,’” and Eróshka began singing: “Ay +day, dalalay!” and the old man repeated several times this wailing, +heart-rending refrain. + +When he had finished the refrain Eróshka suddenly seized a gun that +hung on the wall, rushed hurriedly out into the yard and fired off both +barrels into the air. Then again he began, more dolefully, his “Ay day, +dalalay—ah, ah,” and ceased. + +Olénin followed him into the porch and looked up into the starry sky in +the direction where the shots had flashed. In the cornet’s house there +were lights and the sound of voices. In the yard girls were crowding +round the porch and the windows, and running backwards and forwards +between the hut and the outhouse. Some Cossacks rushed out of the hut +and could not refrain from shouting, re-echoing the refrain of Daddy +Eróshka’s song and his shots. + +“Why are you not at the betrothal?” asked Olénin. + +“Never mind them! Never mind them!” muttered the old man, who had +evidently been offended by something there. “Don’t like them, I don’t. +Oh, those people! Come back into the hut! Let them make merry by +themselves and we’ll make merry by ourselves.” + +Olénin went in. + +“And Lukáshka, is he happy? Won’t he come to see me?” he asked. + +“What, Lukáshka? They’ve lied to him and said I am getting his girl for +you,” whispered the old man. “But what’s the girl? She will be ours if +we want her. Give enough money—and she’s ours. I’ll fix it up for you. +Really!” + +“No, Daddy, money can do nothing if she does not love me. You’d better +not talk like that!” + +“We are not loved, you and I. We are forlorn,” said Daddy Eróshka +suddenly, and again he began to cry. + +Listening to the old man’s talk Olénin had drunk more than usual. “So +now my Lukáshka is happy,” thought he; yet he felt sad. The old man had +drunk so much that evening that he fell down on the floor and Vanyúsha +had to call soldiers in to help, and spat as they dragged the old man +out. He was so angry with the old man for his bad behaviour that he did +not even say a single French word. + + + + + Chapter XXIX + + +It was August. For days the sky had been cloudless, the sun scorched +unbearably and from early morning the warm wind raised a whirl of hot +sand from the sand-drifts and from the road, and bore it in the air +through the reeds, the trees, and the village. The grass and the leaves +on the trees were covered with dust, the roads and dried-up salt +marshes were baked so hard that they rang when trodden on. The water +had long since subsided in the Térek and rapidly vanished and dried up +in the ditches. The slimy banks of the pond near the village were +trodden bare by the cattle and all day long you could hear the +splashing of water and the shouting of girls and boys bathing. The +sand-drifts and the reeds were already drying up in the steppes, and +the cattle, lowing, ran into the fields in the day-time. The boars +migrated into the distant reed-beds and to the hills beyond the Térek. +Mosquitoes and gnats swarmed in thick clouds over the low lands and +villages. The snow-peaks were hidden in grey mist. The air was rarefied +and smoky. It was said that _abreks_ had crossed the now shallow river +and were prowling on this side of it. Every night the sun set in a +glowing red blaze. It was the busiest time of the year. The villagers +all swarmed in the melon-fields and the vineyards. The vineyards +thickly overgrown with twining verdure lay in cool, deep shade. +Everywhere between the broad translucent leaves, ripe, heavy, black +clusters peeped out. Along the dusty road from the vineyards the +creaking carts moved slowly, heaped up with black grapes. Clusters of +them, crushed by the wheels, lay in the dirt. Boys and girls in smocks +stained with grape-juice, with grapes in their hands and mouths, ran +after their mothers. On the road you continually came across tattered +labourers with baskets of grapes on their powerful shoulders; Cossack +maidens, veiled with kerchiefs to their eyes, drove bullocks harnessed +to carts laden high with grapes. Soldiers who happened to meet these +carts asked for grapes, and the maidens, clambering up without stopping +their carts, would take an armful of grapes and drop them into the +skirts of the soldiers’ coats. In some homesteads they had already +begun pressing the grapes; and the smell of the emptied skins filled +the air. One saw the blood-red troughs in the pent-houses in the yards +and Nogáy labourers with their trousers rolled up and their legs +stained with the juice. Grunting pigs gorged themselves with the empty +skins and rolled about in them. The flat roofs of the outhouses were +all spread over with the dark amber clusters drying in the sun. Daws +and magpies crowded round the roofs, picking the seeds and fluttering +from one place to another. + +The fruits of the year’s labour were being merrily gathered in, and +this year the fruit was unusually fine and plentiful. + +In the shady green vineyards amid a sea of vines, laughter, songs, +merriment, and the voices of women were to be heard on all sides, and +glimpses of their bright-coloured garments could be seen. + +Just at noon Maryánka was sitting in their vineyard in the shade of a +peach-tree, getting out the family dinner from under an unharnessed +cart. Opposite her, on a spread-out horse-cloth, sat the cornet (who +had returned from the school) washing his hands by pouring water on +them from a little jug. Her little brother, who had just come straight +out of the pond, stood wiping his face with his wide sleeves, and gazed +anxiously at his sister and his mother and breathed deeply, awaiting +his dinner. The old mother, with her sleeves rolled up over her strong +sunburnt arms, was arranging grapes, dried fish, and clotted cream on a +little low, circular Tartar table. The cornet wiped his hands, took off +his cap, crossed himself, and moved nearer to the table. The boy seized +the jug and eagerly began to drink. The mother and daughter crossed +their legs under them and sat down by the table. Even in the shade it +was intolerably hot. The air above the vineyard smelt unpleasant: the +strong warm wind passing amid the branches brought no coolness, but +only monotonously bent the tops of the pear, peach, and mulberry trees +with which the vineyard was sprinkled. The cornet, having crossed +himself once more, took a little jug of _chikhir_ that stood behind him +covered with a vine-leaf, and having had a drink from the mouth of the +jug passed it to the old woman. He had nothing on over his shirt, which +was unfastened at the neck and showed his shaggy muscular chest. His +fine-featured cunning face looked cheerful; neither in his attitude nor +in his words was his usual wiliness to be seen; he was cheerful and +natural. + +“Shall we finish the bit beyond the shed tonight?” he asked, wiping his +wet beard. + +“We’ll manage it,” replied his wife, “if only the weather does not +hinder us. The Dëmkins have not half finished yet,” she added. “Only +Ústenka is at work there, wearing herself out.” + +“What can you expect of them?” said the old man proudly. + +“Here, have a drink, Maryánka dear!” said the old woman, passing the +jug to the girl. “God willing we’ll have enough to pay for the wedding +feast,” she added. + +“That’s not yet awhile,” said the cornet with a slight frown. + +The girl hung her head. + +“Why shouldn’t we mention it?” said the old woman. “The affair is +settled, and the time is drawing near too.” + +“Don’t make plans beforehand,” said the cornet. “Now we have the +harvest to get in.” + +“Have you seen Lukáshka’s new horse?” asked the old woman. “That which +Dmítri Andréich Olénin gave him is gone — he’s exchanged it.” + +“No, I have not; but I spoke with the servant today,” said the cornet, +“and he said his master has again received a thousand rubles.” + +“Rolling in riches, in short,” said the old woman. + +The whole family felt cheerful and contented. + +The work was progressing successfully. The grapes were more abundant +and finer than they had expected. After dinner Maryánka threw some +grass to the oxen, folded her _beshmet_ for a pillow, and lay down +under the wagon on the juicy down-trodden grass. She had on only a red +kerchief over her head and a faded blue print smock, yet she felt +unbearably hot. Her face was burning, and she did not know where to put +her feet, her eyes were moist with sleepiness and weariness, her lips +parted involuntarily, and her chest heaved heavily and deeply. + +The busy time of year had begun a fortnight ago and the continuous +heavy labour had filled the girl’s life. At dawn she jumped up, washed +her face with cold water, wrapped herself in a shawl, and ran out +barefoot to see to the cattle. Then she hurriedly put on her shoes and +her _beshmet_ and, taking a small bundle of bread, she harnessed the +bullocks and drove away to the vineyards for the whole day. There she +cut the grapes and carried the baskets with only an hour’s interval for +rest, and in the evening she returned to the village, bright and not +tired, dragging the bullocks by a rope or driving them with a long +stick. After attending to the cattle, she took some sunflower seeds in +the wide sleeve of her smock and went to the corner of the street to +crack them and have some fun with the other girls. But as soon as it +was dusk she returned home, and after having supper with her parents +and her brother in the dark outhouse, she went into the hut, healthy +and free from care, and climbed onto the oven, where half drowsing she +listened to their lodger’s conversation. As soon as he went away she +would throw herself down on her bed and sleep soundly and quietly till +morning. And so it went on day after day. She had not seen Lukáshka +since the day of their betrothal, but calmly awaited the wedding. She +had got used to their lodger and felt his intent looks with pleasure. + + + + + Chapter XXX + + +Although there was no escape from the heat and the mosquitoes swarmed +in the cool shadow of the wagons, and her little brother tossing about +beside her kept pushing her, Maryánka having drawn her kerchief over +her head was just falling asleep, when suddenly their neighbour Ústenka +came running towards her and, diving under the wagon, lay down beside +her. + +“Sleep, girls, sleep!” said Ústenka, making herself comfortable under +the wagon. “Wait a bit,” she exclaimed, “this won’t do!” + +She jumped up, plucked some green branches, and stuck them through the +wheels on both sides of the wagon and hung her _beshmet_ over them. + +“Let me in,” she shouted to the little boy as she again crept under the +wagon. “Is this the place for a Cossack—with the girls? Go away!” + +When alone under the wagon with her friend, Ústenka suddenly put both +her arms round her, and clinging close to her began kissing her cheeks +and neck. + +“Darling, sweetheart,” she kept repeating, between bursts of shrill, +clear laughter. + +“Why, you’ve learnt it from Grandad,” said Maryánka, struggling. “Stop +it!” + +And they both broke into such peals of laughter that Maryánka’s mother +shouted to them to be quiet. + +“Are you jealous?” asked Ústenka in a whisper. + +“What humbug! Let me sleep. What have you come for?” + +But Ústenka kept on, “I say! But I wanted to tell you such a thing.” + +Maryánka raised herself on her elbow and arranged the kerchief which +had slipped off. + +“Well, what is it?” + +“I know something about your lodger!” + +“There’s nothing to know,” said Maryánka. + +“Oh, you rogue of a girl!” said Ústenka, nudging her with her elbow and +laughing. “Won’t tell anything. Does he come to you?” + +“He does. What of that?” said Maryánka with a sudden blush. + +“Now I’m a simple lass. I tell everybody. Why should I pretend?” said +Ústenka, and her bright rosy face suddenly became pensive. “Whom do I +hurt? I love him, that’s all about it.” + +“Grandad, do you mean?” + +“Well, yes!” + +“And the sin?” + +“Ah, Maryánka! When is one to have a good time if not while one’s still +free? When I marry a Cossack I shall bear children and shall have +cares. There now, when you get married to Lukáshka not even a thought +of joy will enter your head: children will come, and work!” + +“Well? Some who are married live happily. It makes no difference!” +Maryánka replied quietly. + +“Do tell me just this once what has passed between you and Lukáshka?” + +“What has passed? A match was proposed. Father put it off for a year, +but now it’s been settled and they’ll marry us in autumn.” + +“But what did he say to you?” + +Maryánka smiled. + +“What should he say? He said he loved me. He kept asking me to come to +the vineyards with him.” + +“Just see what pitch! But you didn’t go, did you? And what a dare-devil +he has become: the first among the braves. He makes merry out there in +the army too! The other day our Kírka came home; he says: ‘What a horse +Lukáshka’s got in exchange!’ But all the same I expect he frets after +you. And what else did he say?” + +“Must you know everything?” said Maryánka laughing. “One night he came +to my window tipsy, and asked me to let him in.” + +“And you didn’t let him?” + +“Let him, indeed! Once I have said a thing I keep to it firm as a +rock,” answered Maryánka seriously. + +“A fine fellow! If he wanted her, no girl would refuse him.” + +“Well, let him go to the others,” replied Maryánka proudly. + +“You don’t pity him?” + +“I do pity him, but I’ll have no nonsense. It is wrong.” + +Ústenka suddenly dropped her head on her friend’s breast, seized hold +of her, and shook with smothered laughter. “You silly fool!” she +exclaimed, quite out of breath. “You don’t want to be happy,” and she +began tickling Maryánka. + +“Oh, leave off!” said Maryánka, screaming and laughing. “You’ve crushed +Lazútka.” + +“Hark at those young devils! Quite frisky! Not tired yet!” came the old +woman’s sleepy voice from the wagon. + +“Don’t want happiness,” repeated Ústenka in a whisper, insistently. +“But you are lucky, that you are! How they love you! You are so crusty, +and yet they love you. Ah, if I were in your place I’d soon turn the +lodger’s head! I noticed him when you were at our house. He was ready +to eat you with his eyes. What things Grandad has given me! And yours +they say is the richest of the Russians. His orderly says they have +serfs of their own.” + +Maryánka raised herself, and after thinking a moment, smiled. + +“Do you know what he once told me: the lodger I mean?” she said, biting +a bit of grass. “He said, ‘I’d like to be Lukáshka the Cossack, or your +brother Lazútka—.’ What do you think he meant?” + +“Oh, just chattering what came into his head,” answered Ústenka. “What +does mine not say! Just as if he was possessed!” + +Maryánka dropped her hand on her folded _beshmet_, threw her arm over +Ústenka’s shoulder, and shut her eyes. + +“He wanted to come and work in the vineyard today: father invited him,” +she said, and after a short silence she fell asleep. + + + + + Chapter XXXI + + +The sun had come out from behind the pear-tree that had shaded the +wagon, and even through the branches that Ústenka had fixed up it +scorched the faces of the sleeping girls. Maryánka woke up and began +arranging the kerchief on her head. Looking about her, beyond the +pear-tree she noticed their lodger, who with his gun on his shoulder +stood talking to her father. She nudged Ústenka and smilingly pointed +him out to her. + +“I went yesterday and didn’t find a single one,” Olénin was saying as +he looked about uneasily, not seeing Maryánka through the branches. + +“Ah, you should go out there in that direction, go right as by +compasses, there in a disused vineyard denominated as the Waste, hares +are always to be found,” said the cornet, having at once changed his +manner of speech. + +“A fine thing to go looking for hares in these busy times! You had +better come and help us, and do some work with the girls,” the old +woman said merrily. “Now then, girls, up with you!” she cried. + +Maryánka and Ústenka under the cart were whispering and could hardly +restrain their laughter. + +Since it had become known that Olénin had given a horse worth fifty +rubles to Lukáshka, his hosts had become more amiable and the cornet in +particular saw with pleasure his daughter’s growing intimacy with +Olénin. + +“But I don’t know how to do the work,” replied Olénin, trying not to +look through the green branches under the wagon where he had now +noticed Maryánka’s blue smock and red kerchief. + +“Come, I’ll give you some peaches,” said the old woman. + +“It’s only according to the ancient Cossack hospitality. It’s her old +woman’s silliness,” said the cornet, explaining and apparently +correcting his wife’s words. “In Russia, I expect, it’s not so much +peaches as pineapple jam and preserves you have been accustomed to eat +at your pleasure.” + +“So you say hares are to be found in the disused vineyard?” asked +Olénin. “I will go there,” and throwing a hasty glance through the +green branches he raised his cap and disappeared between the regular +rows of green vines. + +The sun had already sunk behind the fence of the vineyards, and its +broken rays glittered through the translucent leaves when Olénin +returned to his host’s vineyard. The wind was falling and a cool +freshness was beginning to spread around. By some instinct Olénin +recognized from afar Maryánka’s blue smock among the rows of vine, and, +picking grapes on his way, he approached her. His highly excited dog +also now and then seized a low-hanging cluster of grapes in his +slobbering mouth. Maryánka, her face flushed, her sleeves rolled up, +and her kerchief down below her chin, was rapidly cutting the heavy +clusters and laying them in a basket. Without letting go of the vine +she had hold of, she stopped to smile pleasantly at him and resumed her +work. Olénin drew near and threw his gun behind his back to have his +hands free. “Where are your people? May God aid you! Are you alone?” he +meant to say but did not say, and only raised his cap in silence. + +He was ill at ease alone with Maryánka, but as if purposely to torment +himself he went up to her. + +“You’ll be shooting the women with your gun like that,” said Maryánka. + +“No, I shan’t shoot them.” + +They were both silent. + +Then after a pause she said: “You should help me.” + +He took out his knife and began silently to cut off the clusters. He +reached from under the leaves low down a thick bunch weighing about +three pounds, the grapes of which grew so close that they flattened +each other for want of space. He showed it to Maryánka. + +“Must they all be cut? Isn’t this one too green?” + +“Give it here.” + +Their hands touched. Olénin took her hand, and she looked at him +smiling. + +“Are you going to be married soon?” he asked. + +She did not answer, but turned away with a stern look. + +“Do you love Lukáshka?” + +“What’s that to you?” + +“I envy him!” + +“Very likely!” + +“No really. You are so beautiful!” + +And he suddenly felt terribly ashamed of having said it, so commonplace +did the words seem to him. He flushed, lost control of himself, and +seized both her hands. + +“Whatever I am, I’m not for you. Why do you make fun of me?” replied +Maryánka, but her look showed how certainly she knew he was not making +fun. + +“Making fun? If you only knew how I—” + +The words sounded still more commonplace, they accorded still less with +what he felt, but yet he continued, “I don’t know what I would not do +for you—” + +“Leave me alone, you pitch!” + +But her face, her shining eyes, her swelling bosom, her shapely legs, +said something quite different. It seemed to him that she understood +how petty were all things he had said, but that she was superior to +such considerations. It seemed to him she had long known all he wished +and was not able to tell her, but wanted to hear how he would say it. +“And how can she help knowing,” he thought, “since I only want to tell +her all that she herself is? But she does not wish to understand, does +not wish to reply.” + +“Hullo!” suddenly came Ústenka’s high voice from behind the vine at no +great distance, followed by her shrill laugh. “Come and help me, Dmítri +Andréich. I am all alone,” she cried, thrusting her round, naïve little +face through the vines. + +Olénin did not answer nor move from his place. + +Maryánka went on cutting and continually looked up at Olénin. He was +about to say something, but stopped, shrugged his shoulders and, having +jerked up his gun, walked out of the vineyard with rapid strides. + + + + + Chapter XXXII + + +He stopped once or twice, listening to the ringing laughter of Maryánka +and Ústenka who, having come together, were shouting something. Olénin +spent the whole evening hunting in the forest and returned home at dusk +without having killed anything. When crossing the road he noticed her +open the door of the outhouse, and her blue smock showed through it. He +called to Vanyúsha very loud so as to let her know that he was back, +and then sat down in the porch in his usual place. His hosts now +returned from the vineyard; they came out of the outhouse and into +their hut, but did not ask him in. Maryánka went twice out of the gate. +Once in the twilight it seemed to him that she was looking at him. He +eagerly followed her every movement, but could not make up his mind to +approach her. When she disappeared into the hut he left the porch and +began pacing up and down the yard, but Maryánka did not come out again. +Olénin spent the whole sleepless night out in the yard listening to +every sound in his hosts’ hut. He heard them talking early in the +evening, heard them having their supper and pulling out their cushions, +and going to bed; he heard Maryánka laughing at something, and then +heard everything growing gradually quiet. + +The cornet and his wife talked a while in whispers, and someone was +breathing. Olénin re-entered his hut. Vanyúsha lay asleep in his +clothes. Olénin envied him, and again went out to pace the yard, always +expecting something, but no one came, no one moved, and he only heard +the regular breathing of three people. He knew Maryánka’s breathing and +listened to it and to the beating of his own heart. In the village +everything was quiet. The waning moon rose late, and the deep-breathing +cattle in the yard became more visible as they lay down and slowly +rose. Olénin angrily asked himself, “What is it I want?” but could not +tear himself away from the enchantment of the night. Suddenly he +thought he distinctly heard the floor creak and the sound of footsteps +in his hosts’ hut. He rushed to the door, but all was silent again +except for the sound of regular breathing, and in the yard the +buffalo-cow, after a deep sigh, again moved, rose on her foreknees and +then on her feet, swished her tail, and something splashed steadily on +the dry clay ground; then she lay down again in the dim moonlight. He +asked himself: “What am I to do?” and definitely decided to go to bed, +but again he heard a sound, and in his imagination there arose the +image of Maryánka coming out into this moonlit misty night, and again +he rushed to her window and again heard the sound of footsteps. Not +till just before dawn did he go up to her window and push at the +shutter and then run to the door, and this time he really heard +Maryánka’s deep breathing and her footsteps. He took hold of the latch +and knocked. The floor hardly creaked under the bare cautious footsteps +which approached the door. The latch clicked, the door creaked, and he +noticed a faint smell of marjoram and pumpkin, and Maryánka’s whole +figure appeared in the doorway. He saw her only for an instant in the +moonlight. She slammed the door and, muttering something, ran lightly +back again. Olénin began rapping softly but nothing responded. He ran +to the window and listened. Suddenly he was startled by a shrill, +squeaky man’s voice. + +“Fine!” exclaimed a rather small young Cossack in a white cap, coming +across the yard close to Olénin. “I saw ... fine!” + +Olénin recognized Nazárka, and was silent, not knowing what to do or +say. + +“Fine! I’ll go and tell them at the office, and I’ll tell her father! +That’s a fine cornet’s daughter! One’s not enough for her.” + +“What do you want of me, what are you after?” uttered Olénin. + +“Nothing; only I’ll tell them at the office.” + +Nazárka spoke very loud, and evidently did so intentionally, adding: +“Just see what a clever cadet!” + +Olénin trembled and grew pale. + +“Come here, here!” He seized the Cossack firmly by the arm and drew him +towards his hut. + +“Nothing happened, she did not let me in, and I too mean no harm. She +is an honest girl—” + +“Eh, discuss—” + +“Yes, but all the same I’ll give you something now. Wait a bit!” + +Nazárka said nothing. Olénin ran into his hut and brought out ten +rubles, which he gave to the Cossack. + +“Nothing happened, but still I was to blame, so I give this!—Only for +God’s sake don’t let anyone know, for nothing happened...” + +“I wish you joy,” said Nazárka laughing, and went away. + +Nazárka had come to the village that night at Lukáshka’s bidding to +find a place to hide a stolen horse, and now, passing by on his way +home, had heard the sound of footsteps. When he returned next morning +to his company he bragged to his chum, and told him how cleverly he had +got ten rubles. Next morning Olénin met his hosts and they knew nothing +about the events of the night. He did not speak to Maryánka, and she +only laughed a little when she looked at him. Next night he also passed +without sleep, vainly wandering about the yard. The day after he +purposely spent shooting, and in the evening he went to see Belétski to +escape from his own thoughts. He was afraid of himself, and promised +himself not to go to his hosts’ hut any more. + +That night he was roused by the sergeant-major. His company was ordered +to start at once on a raid. Olénin was glad this had happened, and +thought he would not again return to the village. + +The raid lasted four days. The commander, who was a relative of +Olénin’s, wished to see him and offered to let him remain with the +staff, but this Olénin declined. He found that he could not live away +from the village, and asked to be allowed to return to it. For having +taken part in the raid he received a soldier’s cross, which he had +formerly greatly desired. Now he was quite indifferent about it, and +even more indifferent about his promotion, the order for which had +still not arrived. Accompanied by Vanyúsha he rode back to the cordon +without any accident several hours in advance of the rest of the +company. He spent the whole evening in his porch watching Maryánka, and +he again walked about the yard, without aim or thought, all night. + + + + + Chapter XXXIII + + +It was late when he awoke the next day. His hosts were no longer in. He +did not go shooting, but now took up a book, and now went out into the +porch, and now again re-entered the hut and lay down on the bed. +Vanyúsha thought he was ill. + +Towards evening Olénin got up, resolutely began writing, and wrote on +till late at night. He wrote a letter, but did not post it because he +felt that no one would have understood what he wanted to say, and +besides it was not necessary that anyone but himself should understand +it. + +This is what he wrote: + +“I receive letters of condolence from Russia. They are afraid that I +shall perish, buried in these wilds. They say about me: ‘He will become +coarse; he will be behind the times in everything; he will take to +drink, and who knows but that he may marry a Cossack girl.’ It was not +for nothing, they say, that Ermólov declared: ‘Anyone serving in the +Caucasus for ten years either becomes a confirmed drunkard or marries a +loose woman.’ How terrible! Indeed it won’t do for me to ruin myself +when I might have the great happiness of even becoming the Countess +B——’s husband, or a Court chamberlain, or a _Maréchal de noblesse_ of +my district. Oh, how repulsive and pitiable you all seem to me! You do +not know what happiness is and what life is! One must taste life once +in all its natural beauty, must see and understand what I see every day +before me—those eternally unapproachable snowy peaks, and a majestic +woman in that primitive beauty in which the first woman must have come +from her creator’s hands—and then it becomes clear who is ruining +himself and who is living truly or falsely—you or I. If you only knew +how despicable and pitiable you, in your delusions, seem to me! When I +picture to myself—in place of my hut, my forests, and my love—those +drawing-rooms, those women with their pomatum-greased hair eked out +with false curls, those unnaturally grimacing lips, those hidden, +feeble, distorted limbs, and that chatter of obligatory drawing-room +conversation which has no right to the name—I feel unendurably +revolted. I then see before me those obtuse faces, those rich eligible +girls whose looks seem to say: ‘It’s all right, you may come near +though I am rich and eligible’—and that arranging and rearranging of +seats, that shameless match-making and that eternal tittle-tattle and +pretence; those rules—with whom to shake hands, to whom only to nod, +with whom to converse (and all this done deliberately with a conviction +of its inevitability), that continual ennui in the blood passing on +from generation to generation. Try to understand or believe just this +one thing: you need only see and comprehend what truth and beauty are, +and all that you now say and think and all your wishes for me and for +yourselves will fly to atoms! + +“Happiness is being with nature, seeing her, and conversing with her. +‘He may even (God forbid) marry a common Cossack girl, and be quite +lost socially’ I can imagine them saying of me with sincere pity! Yet +the one thing I desire is to be quite ‘lost’ in your sense of the word. +I wish to marry a Cossack girl, and dare not because it would be a +height of happiness of which I am unworthy. + +“Three months have passed since I first saw the Cossack girl, Maryánka. +The views and prejudices of the world I had left were still fresh in +me. I did not then believe that I could love that woman. I delighted in +her beauty just as I delighted in the beauty of the mountains and the +sky, nor could I help delighting in her, for she is as beautiful as +they. I found that the sight of her beauty had become a necessity of my +life and I began asking myself whether I did not love her. But I could +find nothing within myself at all like love as I had imagined it to be. +Mine was not the restlessness of loneliness and desire for marriage, +nor was it platonic, still less a carnal love such as I have +experienced. I needed only to see her, to hear her, to know that she +was near—and if I was not happy, I was at peace. + +“After an evening gathering at which I met her and touched her, I felt +that between that woman and myself there existed an indissoluble though +unacknowledged bond against which I could not struggle, yet I did +struggle. I asked myself: ‘Is it possible to love a woman who will +never understand the profoundest interests of my life? Is it possible +to love a woman simply for her beauty, to love the statue of a woman?’ +But I was already in love with her, though I did not yet trust to my +feelings. + +“After that evening when I first spoke to her our relations changed. +Before that she had been to me an extraneous but majestic object of +external nature: but since then she has become a human being. I began +to meet her, to talk to her, and sometimes to go to work for her father +and to spend whole evenings with them, and in this intimate intercourse +she remained still in my eyes just as pure, inaccessible, and majestic. +She always responded with equal calm, pride, and cheerful equanimity. +Sometimes she was friendly, but generally her every look, every word, +and every movement expressed equanimity—not contemptuous, but crushing +and bewitching. Every day with a feigned smile on my lips I tried to +play a part, and with torments of passion and desire in my heart I +spoke banteringly to her. She saw that I was dissembling, but looked +straight at me cheerfully and simply. This position became unbearable. +I wished not to deceive her but to tell her all I thought and felt. I +was extremely agitated. We were in the vineyard when I began to tell +her of my love, in words I am now ashamed to remember. I am ashamed +because I ought not to have dared to speak so to her because she stood +far above such words and above the feeling they were meant to express. +I said no more, but from that day my position has been intolerable. I +did not wish to demean myself by continuing our former flippant +relations, and at the same time I felt that I had not yet reached the +level of straight and simple relations with her. I asked myself +despairingly, ‘What am I to do?’ In foolish dreams I imagined her now +as my mistress and now as my wife, but rejected both ideas with +disgust. To make her a wanton woman would be dreadful. It would be +murder. To turn her into a fine lady, the wife of Dmítri Andréich +Olénin, like a Cossack woman here who is married to one of our +officers, would be still worse. Now could I turn Cossack like Lukáshka, +and steal horses, get drunk on _chikhir_, sing rollicking songs, kill +people, and when drunk climb in at her window for the night without a +thought of who and what I am, it would be different: then we might +understand one another and I might be happy. + +“I tried to throw myself into that kind of life but was still more +conscious of my own weakness and artificiality. I cannot forget myself +and my complex, distorted past, and my future appears to me still more +hopeless. Every day I have before me the distant snowy mountains and +this majestic, happy woman. But not for me is the only happiness +possible in the world; I cannot have this woman! What is most terrible +and yet sweetest in my condition is that I feel that I understand her +but that she will never understand me; not because she is inferior: on +the contrary she ought not to understand me. She is happy, she is like +nature: consistent, calm, and self-contained; and I, a weak distorted +being, want her to understand my deformity and my torments! I have not +slept at night, but have aimlessly passed under her windows not +rendering account to myself of what was happening to me. On the 18th +our company started on a raid, and I spent three days away from the +village. I was sad and apathetic, the usual songs, cards, +drinking-bouts, and talk of rewards in the regiment, were more +repulsive to me than usual. Yesterday I returned home and saw her, my +hut. Daddy Eróshka, and the snowy mountains, from my porch, and was +seized by such a strong, new feeling of joy that I understood it all. I +love this woman; I feel real love for the first and only time in my +life. I know what has befallen me. I do not fear to be degraded by this +feeling, I am not ashamed of my love, I am proud of it. It is not my +fault that I love. It has come about against my will. I tried to escape +from my love by self-renunciation, and tried to devise a joy in the +Cossack Lukáshka’s and Maryánka’s love, but thereby only stirred up my +own love and jealousy. This is not the ideal, the so-called exalted +love which I have known before; not that sort of attachment in which +you admire your own love and feel that the source of your emotion is +within yourself and do everything yourself. I have felt that too. It is +still less a desire for enjoyment: it is something different. Perhaps +in her I love nature: the personification of all that is beautiful in +nature; but yet I am not acting by my own will, but some elemental +force loves through me; the whole of God’s world, all nature, presses +this love into my soul and says, ‘Love her.’ I love her not with my +mind or my imagination, but with my whole being. Loving her I feel +myself to be an integral part of all God’s joyous world. I wrote before +about the new convictions to which my solitary life had brought me, but +no one knows with what labour they shaped themselves within me and with +what joy I realized them and saw a new way of life opening out before +me; nothing was dearer to me than those convictions... Well! ... love +has come and neither they nor any regrets for them remain! It is even +difficult for me to believe that I could prize such a one-sided, cold, +and abstract state of mind. Beauty came and scattered to the winds all +that laborious inward toil, and no regret remains for what has +vanished! Self-renunciation is all nonsense and absurdity! That is +pride, a refuge from well-merited unhappiness, and salvation from the +envy of others’ happiness: ‘Live for others, and do good!’—Why? when in +my soul there is only love for myself and the desire to love her and to +live her life with her? Not for others, not for Lukáshka, I now desire +happiness. I do not now love those others. Formerly I should have told +myself that this is wrong. I should have tormented myself with the +questions: What will become of her, of me, and of Lukáshka? Now I don’t +care. I do not live my own life, there is something stronger than me +which directs me. I suffer; but formerly I was dead and only now do I +live. Today I will go to their house and tell her everything.” + + + + + Chapter XXXIV + + +Late that evening, after writing this letter, Olénin went to his hosts’ +hut. The old woman was sitting on a bench behind the oven unwinding +cocoons. Maryánka with her head uncovered sat sewing by the light of a +candle. On seeing Olénin she jumped up, took her kerchief and stepped +to the oven. + +“Maryánka dear,” said her mother, “won’t you sit here with me a bit?” + +“No, I’m bareheaded,” she replied, and sprang up on the oven. + +Olénin could only see a knee, and one of her shapely legs hanging down +from the oven. He treated the old woman to tea. She treated her guest +to clotted cream which she sent Maryánka to fetch. But having put a +plateful on the table Maryánka again sprang on the oven from whence +Olénin felt her eyes upon him. They talked about household matters. +Granny Ulítka became animated and went into raptures of hospitality. +She brought Olénin preserved grapes and a grape tart and some of her +best wine, and pressed him to eat and drink with the rough yet proud +hospitality of country folk, only found among those who produce their +bread by the labour of their own hands. + +The old woman, who had at first struck Olénin so much by her rudeness, +now often touched him by her simple tenderness towards her daughter. + +“Yes, we need not offend the Lord by grumbling! We have enough of +everything, thank God. We have pressed sufficient _chikhir_ and have +preserved and shall sell three or four barrels of grapes and have +enough left to drink. Don’t be in a hurry to leave us. We will make +merry together at the wedding.” + +“And when is the wedding to be?” asked Olénin, feeling his blood +suddenly rush to his face while his heart beat irregularly and +painfully. + +He heard a movement on the oven and the sound of seeds being cracked. + +“Well, you know, it ought to be next week. We are quite ready,” replied +the old woman, as simply and quietly as though Olénin did not exist. “I +have prepared and have procured everything for Maryánka. We will give +her away properly. Only there’s one thing not quite right. Our Lukáshka +has been running rather wild. He has been too much on the spree! He’s +up to tricks! The other day a Cossack came here from his company and +said he had been to Nogáy.” + +“He must mind he does not get caught,” said Olénin. + +“Yes, that’s what I tell him. ‘Mind, Lukáshka, don’t you get into +mischief. Well, of course, a young fellow naturally wants to cut a +dash. But there’s a time for everything. Well, you’ve captured or +stolen something and killed an _abrek!_ Well, you’re a fine fellow! But +now you should live quietly for a bit, or else there’ll be trouble.’” + +“Yes, I saw him a time or two in the division, he was always +merry-making. He has sold another horse,” said Olénin, and glanced +towards the oven. A pair of large, dark, and hostile eyes glittered as +they gazed severely at him. + +He became ashamed of what he had said. “What of it? He does no one any +harm,” suddenly remarked Maryánka. “He makes merry with his own money,” +and lowering her legs she jumped down from the oven and went out +banging the door. + +Olénin followed her with his eyes as long as she was in the hut, and +then looked at the door and waited, understanding nothing of what +Granny Ulítka was telling him. + +A few minutes later some visitors arrived: an old man, Granny Ulítka’s +brother, with Daddy Eróshka, and following them came Maryánka and +Ústenka. + +“Good evening,” squeaked Ústenka. “Still on holiday?” she added, +turning to Olénin. + +“Yes, still on holiday,” he replied, and felt, he did not know why, +ashamed and ill at ease. + +He wished to go away but could not. It also seemed to him impossible to +remain silent. The old man helped him by asking for a drink, and they +had a drink. Olénin drank with Eróshka, with the other Cossack, and +again with Eróshka, and the more he drank the heavier was his heart. +But the two old men grew merry. The girls climbed onto the oven, where +they sat whispering and looking at the men, who drank till it was late. +Olénin did not talk, but drank more than the others. The Cossacks were +shouting. The old woman would not let them have any more _chikhir_, and +at last turned them out. The girls laughed at Daddy Eróshka, and it was +past ten when they all went out into the porch. The old men invited +themselves to finish their merry-making at Olénin’s. Ústenka ran off +home and Eróshka led the old Cossack to Vanyúsha. The old woman went +out to tidy up the shed. Maryánka remained alone in the hut. Olénin +felt fresh and joyous, as if he had only just woke up. He noticed +everything, and having let the old men pass ahead he turned back to the +hut where Maryánka was preparing for bed. He went up to her and wished +to say something, but his voice broke. She moved away from him, sat +down cross-legged on her bed in the corner, and looked at him silently +with wild and frightened eyes. She was evidently afraid of him. Olénin +felt this. He felt sorry and ashamed of himself, and at the same time +proud and pleased that he aroused even that feeling in her. + +“Maryánka!” he said. “Will you never take pity on me? I can’t tell you +how I love you.” + +She moved still farther away. + +“Just hear how the wine is speaking! ... You’ll get nothing from me!” + +“No, it is not the wine. Don’t marry Lukáshka. I will marry you.” +(“What am I saying,” he thought as he uttered these words. “Shall I be +able to say the same tomorrow?” “Yes, I shall, I am sure I shall, and I +will repeat them now,” replied an inner voice.) + +“Will you marry me?” + +She looked at him seriously and her fear seemed to have passed. + +“Maryánka, I shall go out of my mind! I am not myself. I will do +whatever you command,” and madly tender words came from his lips of +their own accord. + +“Now then, what are you drivelling about?” she interrupted, suddenly +seizing the arm he was stretching towards her. She did not push his arm +away but pressed it firmly with her strong hard fingers. “Do gentlemen +marry Cossack girls? Go away!” + +“But will you? Everything...” + +“And what shall we do with Lukáshka?” said she, laughing. + +He snatched away the arm she was holding and firmly embraced her young +body, but she sprang away like a fawn and ran barefoot into the porch: +Olénin came to his senses and was terrified at himself. He again felt +himself inexpressibly vile compared to her, yet not repenting for an +instant of what he had said he went home, and without even glancing at +the old men who were drinking in his room he lay down and fell asleep +more soundly than he had done for a long time. + + + + + Chapter XXXV + + +The next day was a holiday. In the evening all the villagers, their +holiday clothes shining in the sunset, were out in the street. That +season more wine than usual had been produced, and the people were now +free from their labours. In a month the Cossacks were to start on a +campaign and in many families preparations were being made for +weddings. + +Most of the people were standing in the square in front of the Cossack +Government Office and near the two shops, in one of which cakes and +pumpkin seeds were sold, in the other kerchiefs and cotton prints. On +the earth-embankment of the office-building sat or stood the old men in +sober grey, or black coats without gold trimmings or any kind of +ornament. They conversed among themselves quietly in measured tones, +about the harvest, about the young folk, about village affairs, and +about old times, looking with dignified equanimity at the younger +generation. Passing by them, the women and girls stopped and bent their +heads. The young Cossacks respectfully slackened their pace and raised +their caps, holding them for a while over their heads. The old men then +stopped speaking. Some of them watched the passers-by severely, others +kindly, and in their turn slowly took off their caps and put them on +again. + +The Cossack girls had not yet started dancing their _khorovóds_, but +having gathered in groups, in their bright coloured _beshmets_ with +white kerchiefs on their heads pulled down to their eyes, they sat +either on the ground or on the earth-banks about the huts sheltered +from the oblique rays of the sun, and laughed and chattered in their +ringing voices. Little boys and girls playing in the square sent their +balls high up into the clear sky, and ran about squealing and shouting. +The half-grown girls had started dancing their _khorovóds_, and were +timidly singing in their thin shrill voices. Clerks, lads not in the +service, or home for the holiday, bright-faced and wearing smart white +or new red Circassian gold-trimmed coats, went about arm in arm in twos +or threes from one group of women or girls to another, and stopped to +joke and chat with the Cossack girls. The Armenian shopkeeper, in a +gold-trimmed coat of fine blue cloth, stood at the open door through +which piles of folded bright-coloured kerchiefs were visible and, +conscious of his own importance and with the pride of an Oriental +tradesman, waited for customers. Two red-bearded, barefooted Chéchens, +who had come from beyond the Térek to see the fête, sat on their heels +outside the house of a friend, negligently smoking their little pipes +and occasionally spitting, watching the villagers and exchanging +remarks with one another in their rapid guttural speech. Occasionally a +workaday-looking soldier in an old overcoat passed across the square +among the bright-clad girls. Here and there the songs of tipsy Cossacks +who were merry-making could already be heard. All the huts were closed; +the porches had been scrubbed clean the day before. Even the old women +were out in the street, which was everywhere sprinkled with pumpkin and +melon seed-shells. The air was warm and still, the sky deep and clear. +Beyond the roofs the dead-white mountain range, which seemed very near, +was turning rosy in the glow of the evening sun. Now and then from the +other side of the river came the distant roar of a cannon, but above +the village, mingling with one another, floated all sorts of merry +holiday sounds. + +Olénin had been pacing the yard all that morning hoping to see +Maryánka. But she, having put on holiday clothes, went to Mass at the +chapel and afterwards sat with the other girls on an earth-embankment +cracking seeds; sometimes again, together with her companions, she ran +home, and each time gave the lodger a bright and kindly look. Olénin +felt afraid to address her playfully or in the presence of others. He +wished to finish telling her what he had begun to say the night before, +and to get her to give him a definite answer. He waited for another +moment like that of yesterday evening, but the moment did not come, and +he felt that he could not remain any longer in this uncertainty. She +went out into the street again, and after waiting awhile he too went +out and without knowing where he was going he followed her. He passed +by the corner where she was sitting in her shining blue satin +_beshmet_, and with an aching heart he heard behind him the girls +laughing. + +Belétski’s hut looked out onto the square. As Olénin was passing it he +heard Belétski’s voice calling to him, “Come in,” and in he went. + +After a short talk they both sat down by the window and were soon +joined by Eróshka, who entered dressed in a new _beshmet_ and sat down +on the floor beside them. + +“There, that’s the aristocratic party,” said Belétski, pointing with +his cigarette to a brightly coloured group at the corner. “Mine is +there too. Do you see her? in red. That’s a new _beshmet_. Why don’t +you start the _khorovód?_” he shouted, leaning out of the window. “Wait +a bit, and then when it grows dark let us go too. Then we will invite +them to Ústenka’s. We must arrange a ball for them!” + +“And I will come to Ústenka’s,” said Olénin in a decided tone. “Will +Maryánka be there?” + +“Yes, she’ll be there. Do come!” said Belétski, without the least +surprise. “But isn’t it a pretty picture?” he added, pointing to the +motley crowds. + +“Yes, very!” Olénin assented, trying to appear indifferent. + +“Holidays of this kind,” he added, “always make me wonder why all these +people should suddenly be contented and jolly. Today for instance, just +because it happens to be the fifteenth of the month, everything is +festive. Eyes and faces and voices and movements and garments, and the +air and the sun, are all in a holiday mood. And we no longer have any +holidays!” + +“Yes,” said Belétski, who did not like such reflections. + +“And why are you not drinking, old fellow?” he said, turning to +Eróshka. + +Eróshka winked at Olénin, pointing to Belétski. “Eh, he’s a proud one +that _kunak_ of yours,” he said. + +Belétski raised his glass. + +“_Allah birdy!_” he said, emptying it. (_Allah birdy_, “God has +given!”—the usual greeting of Caucasians when drinking together.) + +“_Sau bul_” (“Your health”), answered Eróshka smiling, and emptied his +glass. + +“Speaking of holidays!” he said, turning to Olénin as he rose and +looked out of the window, “What sort of holiday is that! You should +have seen them make merry in the old days! The women used to come out +in their gold-trimmed _sarafáns_. Two rows of gold coins hanging round +their necks and gold-cloth diadems on their heads, and when they passed +they made a noise, ‘flu, flu,’ with their dresses. Every woman looked +like a princess. Sometimes they’d come out, a whole herd of them, and +begin singing songs so that the air seemed to rumble, and they went on +making merry all night. And the Cossacks would roll out a barrel into +the yards and sit down and drink till break of day, or they would go +hand-in-hand sweeping the village. Whoever they met they seized and +took along with them, and went from house to house. Sometimes they used +to make merry for three days on end. Father used to come home—I still +remember it—quite red and swollen, without a cap, having lost +everything: he’d come and lie down. Mother knew what to do: she would +bring him some fresh caviar and a little _chikhir_ to sober him up, and +would herself run about in the village looking for his cap. Then he’d +sleep for two days! That’s the sort of fellows they were then! But now +what are they?” + +“Well, and the girls in the _sarafáns_, did they make merry all by +themselves?” asked Belétski. + +“Yes, they did! Sometimes Cossacks would come on foot or on horse and +say, ‘Let’s break up the _khorovóds_,’ and they’d go, but the girls +would take up cudgels. Carnival week, some young fellow would come +galloping up, and they’d cudgel his horse and cudgel him too. But he’d +break through, seize the one he loved, and carry her off. And his +sweetheart would love him to his heart’s content! Yes, the girls in +those days, they were regular queens!” + + + + + Chapter XXXVI + + +Just then two men rode out of the side street into the square. One of +them was Nazárka. The other, Lukáshka, sat slightly sideways on his +well-fed bay Kabardá horse which stepped lightly over the hard road +jerking its beautiful head with its fine glossy mane. The well-adjusted +gun in its cover, the pistol at his back, and the cloak rolled up +behind his saddle showed that Lukáshka had not come from a peaceful +place or from one near by. The smart way in which he sat a little +sideways on his horse, the careless motion with which he touched the +horse under its belly with his whip, and especially his half-closed +black eyes, glistening as he looked proudly around him, all expressed +the conscious strength and self-confidence of youth. “Ever seen as fine +a lad?” his eyes, looking from side to side, seemed to say. The elegant +horse with its silver ornaments and trappings, the weapons, and the +handsome Cossack himself attracted the attention of everyone in the +square. Nazárka, lean and short, was much less well dressed. As he rode +past the old men, Lukáshka paused and raised his curly white sheepskin +cap above his closely cropped black head. + +“Well, have you carried off many Nogáy horses?” asked a lean old man +with a frowning, lowering look. + +“Have you counted them, Grandad, that you ask?” replied Lukáshka, +turning away. + +“That’s all very well, but you need not take my lad along with you,” +the old man muttered with a still darker frown. + +“Just see the old devil, he knows everything,” muttered Lukáshka to +himself, and a worried expression came over his face; but then, +noticing a corner where a number of Cossack girls were standing, he +turned his horse towards them. + +“Good evening, girls!” he shouted in his powerful, resonant voice, +suddenly checking his horse. “You’ve grown old without me, you +witches!” and he laughed. + +“Good evening, Lukáshka! Good evening, laddie!” the merry voices +answered. “Have you brought much money? Buy some sweets for the +girls!... Have you come for long? True enough, it’s long since we saw +you....” + +“Nazárka and I have just flown across to make a night of it,” replied +Lukáshka, raising his whip and riding straight at the girls. + +“Why, Maryánka has quite forgotten you,” said Ústenka, nudging Maryánka +with her elbow and breaking into a shrill laugh. + +Maryánka moved away from the horse and throwing back her head calmly +looked at the Cossack with her large sparkling eyes. + +“True enough, you have not been home for a long time! Why are you +trampling us under your horse?” she remarked dryly, and turned away. + +Lukáshka had appeared particularly merry. His face shone with audacity +and joy. Obviously staggered by Maryánka’s cold reply he suddenly +knitted his brow. + +“Step up on my stirrup and I’ll carry you away to the mountains. +Mammy!” he suddenly exclaimed, and as if to disperse his dark thoughts +he caracoled among the girls. Stooping down towards Maryánka, he said, +“I’ll kiss, oh, how I’ll kiss you! ...” + +Maryánka’s eyes met his and she suddenly blushed and stepped back. + +“Oh, bother you! you’ll crush my feet,” she said, and bending her head +looked at her well-shaped feet in their tightly fitting light blue +stockings with clocks and her new red slippers trimmed with narrow +silver braid. + +Lukáshka turned towards Ústenka, and Maryánka sat down next to a woman +with a baby in her arms. The baby stretched his plump little hands +towards the girl and seized a necklace string that hung down onto her +blue _beshmet_. Maryánka bent towards the child and glanced at Lukáshka +from the corner of her eyes. Lukáshka just then was getting out from +under his coat, from the pocket of his black _beshmet_, a bundle of +sweetmeats and seeds. + +“There, I give them to all of you,” he said, handing the bundle to +Ústenka and smiling at Maryánka. + +A confused expression again appeared on the girl’s face. It was as +though a mist gathered over her beautiful eyes. She drew her kerchief +down below her lips, and leaning her head over the fair-skinned face of +the baby that still held her by her coin necklace she suddenly began to +kiss it greedily. The baby pressed his little hands against the girl’s +high breasts, and opening his toothless mouth screamed loudly. + +“You’re smothering the boy!” said the little one’s mother, taking him +away; and she unfastened her _beshmet_ to give him the breast. “You’d +better have a chat with the young fellow.” + +“I’ll only go and put up my horse and then Nazárka and I will come +back; we’ll make merry all night,” said Lukáshka, touching his horse +with his whip and riding away from the girls. + +Turning into a side street, he and Nazárka rode up to two huts that +stood side by side. + +“Here we are all right, old fellow! Be quick and come soon!” called +Lukáshka to his comrade, dismounting in front of one of the huts; then +he carefully led his horse in at the gate of the wattle fence of his +own home. + +“How d’you do, Stëpka?” he said to his dumb sister, who, smartly +dressed like the others, came in from the street to take his horse; and +he made signs to her to take the horse to the hay, but not to unsaddle +it. + +The dumb girl made her usual humming noise, smacked her lips as she +pointed to the horse and kissed it on the nose, as much as to say that +she loved it and that it was a fine horse. + +“How d’you do, Mother? How is it that you have not gone out yet?” +shouted Lukáshka, holding his gun in place as he mounted the steps of +the porch. + +His old mother opened the door. + +“Dear me! I never expected, never thought, you’d come,” said the old +woman. “Why, Kírka said you wouldn’t be here.” + +“Go and bring some _chikhir_, Mother. Nazárka is coming here and we +will celebrate the feast day.” + +“Directly, Lukáshka, directly!” answered the old woman. “Our women are +making merry. I expect our dumb one has gone too.” + +She took her keys and hurriedly went to the outhouse. Nazárka, after +putting up his horse and taking the gun off his shoulder, returned to +Lukáshka’s house and went in. + + + + + Chapter XXXVII + + +“Your health!” said Lukáshka, taking from his mother’s hands a cup +filled to the brim with _chikhir_ and carefully raising it to his bowed +head. + +“A bad business!” said Nazárka. “You heard how Daddy Burlák said, ‘Have +you stolen many horses?’ He seems to know!” + +“A regular wizard!” Lukáshka replied shortly. “But what of it!” he +added, tossing his head. “They are across the river by now. Go and find +them!” + +“Still it’s a bad lookout.” + +“What’s a bad lookout? Go and take some _chikhir_ to him tomorrow and +nothing will come of it. Now let’s make merry. Drink!” shouted +Lukáshka, just in the tone in which old Eróshka uttered the word. +“We’ll go out into the street and make merry with the girls. You go and +get some honey; or no, I’ll send our dumb wench. We’ll make merry till +morning.” + +Nazárka smiled. + +“Are we stopping here long?” he asked. + +“Till we’ve had a bit of fun. Run and get some vodka. Here’s the +money.” + +Nazárka ran off obediently to get the vodka from Yámka’s. + +Daddy Eróshka and Ergushóv, like birds of prey, scenting where the +merry-making was going on, tumbled into the hut one after the other, +both tipsy. + +“Bring us another half-pail,” shouted Lukáshka to his mother, by way of +reply to their greeting. + +“Now then, tell us where did you steal them, you devil?” shouted +Eróshka. “Fine fellow, I’m fond of you!” + +“Fond indeed...” answered Lukáshka laughing, “carrying sweets from +cadets to lasses! Eh, you old...” + +“That’s not true, not true! ... Oh, Mark,” and the old man burst out +laughing. “And how that devil begged me. ‘Go,’ he said, ‘and arrange +it.’ He offered me a gun! But no. I’d have managed it, but I feel for +you. Now tell us where have you been?” And the old man began speaking +in Tartar. + +Lukáshka answered him promptly. + +Ergushóv, who did not know much Tartar, only occasionally put in a word +in Russian: “What I say is he’s driven away the horses. I know it for a +fact,” he chimed in. + +“Giréy and I went together.” (His speaking of Giréy Khan as “Giréy” +was, to the Cossack mind, evidence of his boldness.) “Just beyond the +river he kept bragging that he knew the whole of the steppe and would +lead the way straight, but we rode on and the night was dark, and my +Giréy lost his way and began wandering in a circle without getting +anywhere: couldn’t find the village, and there we were. We must have +gone too much to the right. I believe we wandered about well-nigh till +midnight. Then, thank goodness, we heard dogs howling.” + +“Fools!” said Daddy Eróshka. “There now, we too used to lose our way in +the steppe. (Who the devil can follow it?) But I used to ride up a +hillock and start howling like the wolves, like this!” He placed his +hands before his mouth, and howled like a pack of wolves, all on one +note. “The dogs would answer at once ... Well, go on—so you found +them?” + +“We soon led them away! Nazárka was nearly caught by some Nogáy women, +he was!” + +“Caught indeed,” Nazárka, who had just come back, said in an injured +tone. + +“We rode off again, and again Giréy lost his way and almost landed us +among the sand-drifts. We thought we were just getting to the Térek but +we were riding away from it all the time!” + +“You should have steered by the stars,” said Daddy Eróshka. + +“That’s what I say,” interjected Ergushóv. + +“Yes, steer when all is black; I tried and tried all about... and at +last I put the bridle on one of the mares and let my own horse go +free—thinking he’ll lead us out, and what do you think! he just gave a +snort or two with his nose to the ground, galloped ahead, and led us +straight to our village. Thank goodness! It was getting quite light. We +barely had time to hide them in the forest. Nagím came across the river +and took them away.” + +Ergushóv shook his head. “It’s just what I said. Smart. Did you get +much for them?” + +“It’s all here,” said Lukáshka, slapping his pocket. + +Just then his mother came into the room, and Lukáshka did not finish +what he was saying. + +“Drink!” he shouted. + +“We too, Gírich and I, rode out late one night...” began Eróshka. + +“Oh bother, we’ll never hear the end of you!” said Lukáshka. “I am +going.” And having emptied his cup and tightened the strap of his belt +he went out. + + + + + Chapter XXXVIII + + +It was already dark when Lukáshka went out into the street. The autumn +night was fresh and calm. The full golden moon floated up behind the +tall dark poplars that grew on one side of the square. From the +chimneys of the outhouses smoke rose and spread above the village, +mingling with the mist. Here and there lights shone through the +windows, and the air was laden with the smell of _kisyak_, grape-pulp, +and mist. The sounds of voices, laughter, songs, and the cracking of +seeds mingled just as they had done in the daytime, but were now more +distinct. Clusters of white kerchiefs and caps gleamed through the +darkness near the houses and by the fences. + +In the square, before the shop door which was lit up and open, the +black and white figures of Cossack men and maids showed through the +darkness, and one heard from afar their loud songs and laughter and +talk. The girls, hand in hand, went round and round in a circle +stepping lightly in the dusty square. A skinny girl, the plainest of +them all, set the tune: + +“From beyond the wood, from the forest dark, +From the garden green and the shady park, +There came out one day two young lads so gay. +Young bachelors, hey! brave and smart were they! +And they walked and walked, then stood still, each man, +And they talked and soon to dispute began! +Then a maid came out; as she came along, +Said, ‘To one of you I shall soon belong!’ +’Twas the fair-faced lad got the maiden fair, +Yes, the fair-faced lad with the golden hair! +Her right hand so white in his own took he, +And he led her round for his mates to see! +And said, ‘Have you ever in all your life, +Met a lass as fair as my sweet little wife?’” + + +The old women stood round listening to the songs. The little boys and +girls ran about chasing one another in the dark. The men stood by, +catching at the girls as the latter moved round, and sometimes breaking +the ring and entering it. On the dark side of the doorway stood +Belétski and Olénin, in their Circassian coats and sheepskin caps, and +talked together in a style of speech unlike that of the Cossacks, in +low but distinct tones, conscious that they were attracting attention. + +Next to one another in the _khorovód_ circle moved plump little Ústenka +in her red _beshmet_ and the stately Maryánka in her new smock and +_beshmet_. Olénin and Belétski were discussing how to snatch Ústenka +and Maryánka out of the ring. Belétski thought that Olénin wished only +to amuse himself, but Olénin was expecting his fate to be decided. He +wanted at any cost to see Maryánka alone that very day and to tell her +everything, and ask her whether she could and would be his wife. +Although that question had long been answered in the negative in his +own mind, he hoped he would be able to tell her all he felt, and that +she would understand him. + +“Why did you not tell me sooner?” said Belétski. “I would have got +Ústenka to arrange it for you. You are such a queer fellow! ...” + +“What’s to be done! ... Some day, very soon, I’ll tell you all about +it. Only now, for Heaven’s sake, arrange so that she should come to +Ústenka’s.” + +“All right, that’s easily done! Well, Maryánka, will you belong to the +‘fair-faced lad’, and not to Lukáshka?” said Belétski, speaking to +Maryánka first for propriety’s sake, but having received no reply he +went up to Ústenka and begged her to bring Maryánka home with her. He +had hardly time to finish what he was saying before the leader began +another song and the girls started pulling each other round in the ring +by the hand. + +They sang: + +Past the garden, by the garden, +A young man came strolling down, +Up the street and through the town. +And the first time as he passed +He did wave his strong right hand. +As the second time he passed +Waved his hat with silken band. +But the third time as he went +He stood still: before her bent. + +How is it that thou, my dear, +My reproaches dost not fear? +In the park don’t come to walk +That we there might have a talk? +Come now, answer me, my dear, +Dost thou hold me in contempt? +Later on, thou knowest, dear, +Thou’lt get sober and repent. +Soon to woo thee I will come, +And when we shall married be +Thou wilt weep because of me! + +Though I knew what to reply, +Yet I dared not him deny, +No, I dared not him deny! +So into the park went I, +In the park my lad to meet, +There my dear one I did greet. + +Maiden dear, I bow to thee! +Take this handkerchief from me. +In thy white hand take it, see! +Say I am beloved by thee. +I don’t know at all, I fear, +What I am to give thee, dear! +To my dear I think I will +Of a shawl a present make— +And five kisses for it take. + + +Lukáshka and Nazárka broke into the ring and started walking about +among the girls. Lukáshka joined in the singing, taking seconds in his +clear voice as he walked in the middle of the ring swinging his arms. +“Well, come in, one of you!” he said. The other girls pushed Maryánka, +but she would not enter the ring. The sound of shrill laughter, slaps, +kisses, and whispers mingled with the singing. + +As he went past Olénin, Lukáshka gave a friendly nod. + +“Dmítri Andréich! Have you too come to have a look?” he said. + +“Yes,” answered Olénin dryly. + +Belétski stooped and whispered something into Ústenka’s ear. She had +not time to reply till she came round again, when she said: + +“All right, we’ll come.” + +“And Maryánka too?” + +Olénin stooped towards Maryánka. “You’ll come? Please do, if only for a +minute. I must speak to you.” + +“If the other girls come, I will.” + +“Will you answer my question?” said he, bending towards her. “You are +in good spirits today.” + +She had already moved past him. He went after her. + +“Will you answer?” + +“Answer what?” + +“The question I asked you the other day,” said Olénin, stooping to her +ear. “Will you marry me?” + +Maryánka thought for a moment. + +“I’ll tell you,” said she, “I’ll tell you tonight.” + +And through the darkness her eyes gleamed brightly and kindly at the +young man. + +He still followed her. He enjoyed stooping closer to her. But Lukáshka, +without ceasing to sing, suddenly seized her firmly by the hand and +pulled her from her place in the ring of girls into the middle. Olénin +had only time to say, “Come to Ústenka’s,” and stepped back to his +companion. + +The song came to an end. Lukáshka wiped his lips, Maryánka did the +same, and they kissed. “No, no, kisses five!” said Lukáshka. Chatter, +laughter, and running about, succeeded to the rhythmic movements and +sound. Lukáshka, who seemed to have drunk a great deal, began to +distribute sweetmeats to the girls. + +“I offer them to everyone!” he said with proud, comically pathetic +self-admiration. “But anyone who goes after soldiers goes out of the +ring!” he suddenly added, with an angry glance at Olénin. + +The girls grabbed his sweetmeats from him, and, laughing, struggled for +them among themselves. Belétski and Olénin stepped aside. + +Lukáshka, as if ashamed of his generosity, took off his cap and wiping +his forehead with his sleeve came up to Maryánka and Ústenka. + +“Answer me, my dear, dost thou hold me in contempt?” he said in the +words of the song they had just been singing, and turning to Maryánka +he angrily repeated the words: “Dost thou hold me in contempt? When we +shall married be thou wilt weep because of me!” he added, embracing +Ústenka and Maryánka both together. + +Ústenka tore herself away, and swinging her arm gave him such a blow on +the back that she hurt her hand. + +“Well, are you going to have another turn?” he asked. + +“The other girls may if they like,” answered Ústenka, “but I am going +home and Maryánka was coming to our house too.” + +With his arm still round her, Lukáshka led Maryánka away from the crowd +to the darker corner of a house. + +“Don’t go, Maryánka,” he said, “let’s have some fun for the last time. +Go home and I will come to you!” + +“What am I to do at home? Holidays are meant for merrymaking. I am +going to Ústenka’s,” replied Maryánka. + +“I’ll marry you all the same, you know!” + +“All right,” said Maryánka, “we shall see when the time comes.” + +“So you are going,” said Lukáshka sternly, and, pressing her close, he +kissed her on the cheek. + +“There, leave off! Don’t bother,” and Maryánka, wrenching herself from +his arms, moved away. + +“Ah my girl, it will turn out badly,” said Lukáshka reproachfully and +stood still, shaking his head. “Thou wilt weep because of me...” and +turning away from her he shouted to the other girls: + +“Now then! Play away!” + +What he had said seemed to have frightened and vexed Maryánka. She +stopped, “What will turn out badly?” + +“Why, that!” + +“That what?” + +“Why, that you keep company with a soldier-lodger and no longer care +for me!” + +“I’ll care just as long as I choose. You’re not my father, nor my +mother. What do you want? I’ll care for whom I like!” + +“Well, all right...” said Lukáshka, “but remember!” He moved towards +the shop. “Girls!” he shouted, “why have you stopped? Go on dancing. +Nazárka, fetch some more _chikhir_.” + +“Well, will they come?” asked Olénin, addressing Belétski. + +“They’ll come directly,” replied Belétski. “Come along, we must prepare +the ball.” + + + + + Chapter XXXIX + + +It was already late in the night when Olénin came out of Belétski’s hut +following Maryánka and Ústenka. He saw in the dark street before him +the gleam of the girl’s white kerchief. The golden moon was descending +towards the steppe. A silvery mist hung over the village. All was +still; there were no lights anywhere and one heard only the receding +footsteps of the young women. Olénin’s heart beat fast. The fresh moist +atmosphere cooled his burning face. He glanced at the sky and turned to +look at the hut he had just come out of: the candle was already out. +Then he again peered through the darkness at the girls’ retreating +shadows. The white kerchief disappeared in the mist. He was afraid to +remain alone, he was so happy. He jumped down from the porch and ran +after the girls. + +“Bother you, someone may see...” said Ústenka. + +“Never mind!” + +Olénin ran up to Maryánka and embraced her. + +Maryánka did not resist. + +“Haven’t you kissed enough yet?” said Ústenka. “Marry and then kiss, +but now you’d better wait.” + +“Good-night, Maryánka. Tomorrow I will come to see your father and tell +him. Don’t you say anything.” + +“Why should I!” answered Maryánka. + +Both the girls started running. Olénin went on by himself thinking over +all that had happened. He had spent the whole evening alone with her in +a corner by the oven. Ústenka had not left the hut for a single moment, +but had romped about with the other girls and with Belétski all the +time. Olénin had talked in whispers to Maryánka. + +“Will you marry me?” he had asked. + +“You’d deceive me and not have me,” she replied cheerfully and calmly. + +“But do you love me? Tell me for God’s sake!” + +“Why shouldn’t I love you? You don’t squint,” answered Maryánka, +laughing and with her hard hands squeezing his.... + +“What whi-ite, whi-i-ite, soft hands you’ve got—so like clotted cream,” +she said. + +“I am in earnest. Tell me, will you marry me?” + +“Why not, if father gives me to you?” + +“Well then remember, I shall go mad if you deceive me. Tomorrow I will +tell your mother and father. I shall come and propose.” + +Maryánka suddenly burst out laughing. + +“What’s the matter?” + +“It seems so funny!” + +“It’s true! I will buy a vineyard and a house and will enroll myself as +a Cossack.” + +“Mind you don’t go after other women then. I am severe about that.” + +Olénin joyfully repeated all these words to himself. The memory of them +now gave him pain and now such joy that it took away his breath. The +pain was because she had remained as calm as usual while talking to +him. She did not seem at all agitated by these new conditions. It was +as if she did not trust him and did not think of the future. It seemed +to him that she only loved him for the present moment, and that in her +mind there was no future with him. He was happy because her words +sounded to him true, and she had consented to be his. “Yes,” thought he +to himself, “we shall only understand one another when she is quite +mine. For such love there are no words. It needs life—the whole of +life. Tomorrow everything will be cleared up. I cannot live like this +any longer; tomorrow I will tell everything to her father, to Belétski, +and to the whole village.” + +Lukáshka, after two sleepless nights, had drunk so much at the fête +that for the first time in his life his feet would not carry him, and +he slept in Yámka’s house. + + + + + Chapter XL + + +The next day Olénin awoke earlier than usual, and immediately +remembered what lay before him, and he joyfully recalled her kisses, +the pressure of her hard hands, and her words, “What white hands you +have!” He jumped up and wished to go at once to his hosts’ hut to ask +for their consent to his marriage with Maryánka. The sun had not yet +risen, but it seemed that there was an unusual bustle in the street and +side-street: people were moving about on foot and on horseback, and +talking. He threw on his Circassian coat and hastened out into the +porch. His hosts were not yet up. Five Cossacks were riding past and +talking loudly together. In front rode Lukáshka on his broad-backed +Kabardá horse. + +The Cossacks were all speaking and shouting so that it was impossible +to make out exactly what they were saying. + +“Ride to the Upper Post,” shouted one. + +“Saddle and catch us up, be quick,” said another. + +“It’s nearer through the other gate!” + +“What are you talking about?” cried Lukáshka. “We must go through the +middle gates, of course.” + +“So we must, it’s nearer that way,” said one of the Cossacks who was +covered with dust and rode a perspiring horse. Lukáshka’s face was red +and swollen after the drinking of the previous night and his cap was +pushed to the back of his head. He was calling out with authority as +though he were an officer. + +“What is the matter? Where are you going?” asked Olénin, with +difficulty attracting the Cossacks’ attention. + +“We are off to catch _abreks_. They’re hiding among the sand-drifts. We +are just off, but there are not enough of us yet.” + +And the Cossacks continued to shout, more and more of them joining as +they rode down the street. It occurred to Olénin that it would not look +well for him to stay behind; besides he thought he could soon come +back. He dressed, loaded his gun with bullets, jumped onto his horse +which Vanyúsha had saddled more or less well, and overtook the Cossacks +at the village gates. The Cossacks had dismounted, and filling a wooden +bowl with _chikhir_ from a little cask which they had brought with +them, they passed the bowl round to one another and drank to the +success of their expedition. Among them was a smartly dressed young +cornet, who happened to be in the village and who took command of the +group of nine Cossacks who had joined for the expedition. All these +Cossacks were privates, and although the cornet assumed the airs of a +commanding officer, they only obeyed Lukáshka. Of Olénin they took no +notice at all, and when they had all mounted and started, and Olénin +rode up to the cornet and began asking him what was taking place, the +cornet, who was usually quite friendly, treated him with marked +condescension. It was with great difficulty that Olénin managed to find +out from him what was happening. Scouts who had been sent out to search +for _abreks_ had come upon several hillsmen some six miles from the +village. These _abreks_ had taken shelter in pits and had fired at the +scouts, declaring they would not surrender. A corporal who had been +scouting with two Cossacks had remained to watch the _abreks_, and had +sent one Cossack back to get help. + +The sun was just rising. Three miles beyond the village the steppe +spread out and nothing was visible except the dry, monotonous, sandy, +dismal plain covered with the footmarks of cattle, and here and there +with tufts of withered grass, with low reeds in the flats, and rare, +little-trodden footpaths, and the camps of the nomad Nogáy tribe just +visible far away. The absence of shade and the austere aspect of the +place were striking. The sun always rises and sets red in the steppe. +When it is windy whole hills of sand are carried by the wind from place +to place. + +When it is calm, as it was that morning, the silence, uninterrupted by +any movement or sound, is peculiarly striking. That morning in the +steppe it was quiet and dull, though the sun had already risen. It all +seemed specially soft and desolate. The air was hushed, the footfalls +and the snorting of the horses were the only sounds to be heard, and +even they quickly died away. + +The men rode almost silently. A Cossack always carries his weapons so +that they neither jingle nor rattle. Jingling weapons are a terrible +disgrace to a Cossack. Two other Cossacks from the village caught the +party up and exchanged a few words. Lukáshka’s horse either stumbled or +caught its foot in some grass, and became restive—which is a sign of +bad luck among the Cossacks, and at such a time was of special +importance. The others exchanged glances and turned away, trying not to +notice what had happened. Lukaskha pulled at the reins, frowned +sternly, set his teeth, and flourished his whip above his head. His +good Kabardá horse, prancing from one foot to another not knowing with +which to start, seemed to wish to fly upwards on wings. But Lukáshka +hit its well-fed sides with his whip once, then again, and a third +time, and the horse, showing its teeth and spreading out its tail, +snorted and reared and stepped on its hind legs a few paces away from +the others. + +“Ah, a good steed that!” said the cornet. + +That he said _steed_ instead of _horse_ indicated special praise. + +“A lion of a horse,” assented one of the others, an old Cossack. + +The Cossacks rode forward silently, now at a footpace, then at a trot, +and these changes were the only incidents that interrupted for a moment +the stillness and solemnity of their movements. + +Riding through the steppe for about six miles, they passed nothing but +one Nogáy tent, placed on a cart and moving slowly along at a distance +of about a mile from them. A Nogáy family was moving from one part of +the steppe to another. Afterwards they met two tattered Nogáy women +with high cheekbones, who with baskets on their backs were gathering +dung left by the cattle that wandered over the steppe. The cornet, who +did not know their language well, tried to question them, but they did +not understand him and, obviously frightened, looked at one another. + +Lukáshka rode up to them both, stopped his horse, and promptly uttered +the usual greeting. The Nogáy women were evidently relieved, and began +speaking to him quite freely as to a brother. + +“_Ay-ay, kop abrek!_” they said plaintively, pointing in the direction +in which the Cossacks were going. Olénin understood that they were +saying, “Many _abreks_.” + +Never having seen an engagement of that kind, and having formed an idea +of them only from Daddy Eróshka’s tales, Olénin wished not to be left +behind by the Cossacks, but wanted to see it all. He admired the +Cossacks, and was on the watch, looking and listening and making his +own observations. Though he had brought his sword and a loaded gun with +him, when he noticed that the Cossacks avoided him he decided to take +no part in the action, as in his opinion his courage had already been +sufficiently proved when he was with his detachment, and also because +he was very happy. + +Suddenly a shot was heard in the distance. + +The cornet became excited, and began giving orders to the Cossacks as +to how they should divide and from which side they should approach. But +the Cossacks did not appear to pay any attention to these orders, +listening only to what Lukáshka said and looking to him alone. +Lukáshka’s face and figure were expressive of calm solemnity. He put +his horse to a trot with which the others were unable to keep pace, and +screwing up his eyes kept looking ahead. + +“There’s a man on horseback,” he said, reining in his horse and keeping +in line with the others. + +Olénin looked intently, but could not see anything. The Cossacks soon +distinguished two riders and quietly rode straight towards them. + +“Are those the _abreks?_” asked Olénin. + +The Cossacks did not answer his question, which appeared quite +meaningless to them. The _abreks_ would have been fools to venture +across the river on horseback. + +“That’s friend Ródka waving to us, I do believe,” said Lukáshka, +pointing to the two mounted men who were now clearly visible. “Look, +he’s coming to us.” + +A few minutes later it became plain that the two horsemen were the +Cossack scouts. The corporal rode up to Lukáshka. + + + + + Chapter XLI + + +“Are they far?” was all Lukáshka said. + +Just then they heard a sharp shot some thirty paces off. The corporal +smiled slightly. + +“Our Gúrka is having shots at them,” he said, nodding in the direction +of the shot. + +Having gone a few paces farther they saw Gúrka sitting behind a +sand-hillock and loading his gun. To while away the time he was +exchanging shots with the _abreks_, who were behind another sand-heap. +A bullet came whistling from their side. + +The cornet was pale and grew confused. Lukáshka dismounted from his +horse, threw the reins to one of the other Cossacks, and went up to +Gúrka. Olénin also dismounted and, bending down, followed Lukáshka. +They had hardly reached Gúrka when two bullets whistled above them. + +Lukáshka looked around laughing at Olénin and stooped a little. + +“Look out or they will kill you, Dmítri Andréich,” he said. “You’d +better go away—you have no business here.” But Olénin wanted absolutely +to see the _abreks_. + +From behind the mound he saw caps and muskets some two hundred paces +off. Suddenly a little cloud of smoke appeared from thence, and again a +bullet whistled past. The _abreks_ were hiding in a marsh at the foot +of the hill. Olénin was much impressed by the place in which they sat. +In reality it was very much like the rest of the steppe, but because +the _abreks_ sat there it seemed to detach itself from all the rest and +to have become distinguished. Indeed it appeared to Olénin that it was +the very spot for _abreks_ to occupy. Lukáshka went back to his horse +and Olénin followed him. + +“We must get a hay-cart,” said Lukáshka, “or they will be killing some +of us. There behind that mound is a Nogáy cart with a load of hay.” + +The cornet listened to him and the corporal agreed. The cart of hay was +fetched, and the Cossacks, hiding behind it, pushed it forward. Olénin +rode up a hillock from whence he could see everything. The hay-cart +moved on and the Cossacks crowded together behind it. The Cossacks +advanced, but the Chéchens, of whom there were nine, sat with their +knees in a row and did not fire. + +All was quiet. Suddenly from the Chéchens arose the sound of a mournful +song, something like Daddy Eróshka’s “Ay day, dalalay.” The Chéchens +knew that they could not escape, and to prevent themselves from being +tempted to take to flight they had strapped themselves together, knee +to knee, had got their guns ready, and were singing their death-song. + +The Cossacks with their hay-cart drew closer and closer, and Olénin +expected the firing to begin at any moment, but the silence was only +broken by the _abreks_’ mournful song. Suddenly the song ceased; there +was a sharp report, a bullet struck the front of the cart, and Chéchen +curses and yells broke the silence and shot followed on shot and one +bullet after another struck the cart. The Cossacks did not fire and +were now only five paces distant. + +Another moment passed and the Cossacks with a whoop rushed out on both +sides from behind the cart—Lukáshka in front of them. Olénin heard only +a few shots, then shouting and moans. He thought he saw smoke and +blood, and abandoning his horse and quite beside himself he ran towards +the Cossacks. Horror seemed to blind him. He could not make out +anything, but understood that all was over. Lukáshka, pale as death, +was holding a wounded Chéchen by the arms and shouting, “Don’t kill +him. I’ll take him alive!” The Chéchen was the red-haired man who had +fetched his brother’s body away after Lukáshka had killed him. Lukáshka +was twisting his arms. Suddenly the Chéchen wrenched himself free and +fired his pistol. Lukáshka fell, and blood began to flow from his +stomach. He jumped up, but fell again, swearing in Russian and in +Tartar. More and more blood appeared on his clothes and under him. Some +Cossacks approached him and began loosening his girdle. One of them, +Nazárka, before beginning to help, fumbled for some time, unable to put +his sword in its sheath: it would not go the right way. The blade of +the sword was blood-stained. + +The Chéchens with their red hair and clipped moustaches lay dead and +hacked about. Only the one we know of, who had fired at Lukáshka, +though wounded in many places was still alive. Like a wounded hawk all +covered with blood (blood was flowing from a wound under his right +eye), pale and gloomy, he looked about him with wide-open excited eyes +and clenched teeth as he crouched, dagger in hand, still prepared to +defend himself. The cornet went up to him as if intending to pass by, +and with a quick movement shot him in the ear. The Chéchen started up, +but it was too late, and he fell. + +The Cossacks, quite out of breath, dragged the bodies aside and took +the weapons from them. Each of the red-haired Chéchens had been a man, +and each one had his own individual expression. Lukáshka was carried to +the cart. He continued to swear in Russian and in Tartar. + +“No fear, I’ll strangle him with my hands. _Anna seni!_” he cried, +struggling. But he soon became quiet from weakness. + +Olénin rode home. In the evening he was told that Lukáshka was at +death’s door, but that a Tartar from beyond the river had undertaken to +cure him with herbs. + +The bodies were brought to the village office. The women and the little +boys hastened to look at them. + +It was growing dark when Olénin returned, and he could not collect +himself after what he had seen. But towards night memories of the +evening before came rushing to his mind. He looked out of the window, +Maryánka was passing to and fro from the house to the cowshed, putting +things straight. Her mother had gone to the vineyard and her father to +the office. Olénin could not wait till she had quite finished her work, +but went out to meet her. She was in the hut standing with her back +towards him. Olénin thought she felt shy. + +“Maryánka,” said he, “I say, Maryánka! May I come in?” + +She suddenly turned. There was a scarcely perceptible trace of tears in +her eyes and her face was beautiful in its sadness. She looked at him +in silent dignity. + +Olénin again said: + +“Maryánka, I have come—” + +“Leave me alone!” she said. Her face did not change but the tears ran +down her cheeks. + +“What are you crying for? What is it?” + +“What?” she repeated in a rough voice. “Cossacks have been killed, +that’s what for.” + +“Lukáshka?” said Olénin. + +“Go away! What do you want?” + +“Maryánka!” said Olénin, approaching her. + +“You will never get anything from me!” + +“Maryánka, don’t speak like that,” Olénin entreated. + +“Get away. I’m sick of you!” shouted the girl, stamping her foot, and +moved threateningly towards him. And her face expressed such +abhorrence, such contempt, and such anger that Olénin suddenly +understood that there was no hope for him, and that his first +impression of this woman’s inaccessibility had been perfectly correct. + +Olénin said nothing more, but ran out of the hut. + + + + + Chapter XLII + + +For two hours after returning home he lay on his bed motionless. Then +he went to his company commander and obtained leave to visit the staff. +Without taking leave of anyone, and sending Vanyúsha to settle his +accounts with his landlord, he prepared to leave for the fort where his +regiment was stationed. Daddy Eróshka was the only one to see him off. +They had a drink, and then a second, and then yet another. Again as on +the night of his departure from Moscow, a three-horsed conveyance stood +waiting at the door. But Olénin did not confer with himself as he had +done then, and did not say to himself that all he had thought and done +here was “not it”. He did not promise himself a new life. He loved +Maryánka more than ever, and knew that he could never be loved by her. + +“Well, good-bye, my lad!” said Daddy Eróshka. “When you go on an +expedition, be wise and listen to my words—the words of an old man. +When you are out on a raid or the like (you know I’m an old wolf and +have seen things), and when they begin firing, don’t get into a crowd +where there are many men. When you fellows get frightened you always +try to get close together with a lot of others. You think it is merrier +to be with others, but that’s where it is worst of all! They always aim +at a crowd. Now I used to keep farther away from the others and went +alone, and I’ve never been wounded. Yet what things haven’t I seen in +my day?” + +“But you’ve got a bullet in your back,” remarked Vanyúsha, who was +clearing up the room. + +“That was the Cossacks fooling about,” answered Eróshka. + +“Cossacks? How was that?” asked Olénin. + +“Oh, just so. We were drinking. Vánka Sítkin, one of the Cossacks, got +merry, and puff! he gave me one from his pistol just here.” + +“Yes, and did it hurt?” asked Olénin. “Vanyúsha, will you soon be +ready?” he added. + +“Ah, where’s the hurry! Let me tell you. When he banged into me, the +bullet did not break the bone but remained here. And I say: ‘You’ve +killed me, brother. Eh! What have you done to me? I won’t let you off! +You’ll have to stand me a pailful!’” + +“Well, but did it hurt?” Olénin asked again, scarcely listening to the +tale. + +“Let me finish. He stood a pailful, and we drank it, but the blood went +on flowing. The whole room was drenched and covered with blood. Grandad +Burlák, he says, ‘The lad will give up the ghost. Stand a bottle of the +sweet sort, or we shall have you taken up!’ They bought more drink, and +boozed and boozed—” + +“Yes, but did it hurt you much?” Olénin asked once more. + +“Hurt, indeed! Don’t interrupt: I don’t like it. Let me finish. We +boozed and boozed till morning, and I fell asleep on the top of the +oven, drunk. When I woke in the morning I could not unbend myself +anyhow—” + +“Was it very painful?” repeated Olénin, thinking that now he would at +last get an answer to his question. + +“Did I tell you it was painful? I did not say it was painful, but I +could not bend and could not walk.” + +“And then it healed up?” said Olénin, not even laughing, so heavy was +his heart. + +“It healed up, but the bullet is still there. Just feel it!” And +lifting his shirt he showed his powerful back, where just near the bone +a bullet could be felt and rolled about. + +“Feel how it rolls,” he said, evidently amusing himself with the bullet +as with a toy. “There now, it has rolled to the back.” + +“And Lukáshka, will he recover?” asked Olénin. + +“Heaven only knows! There’s no doctor. They’ve gone for one.” + +“Where will they get one? From Gróznoe?” asked Olénin. + +“No, my lad. Were I the Tsar I’d have hung all your Russian doctors +long ago. Cutting is all they know! There’s our Cossack Bakláshka, no +longer a real man now that they’ve cut off his leg! That shows they’re +fools. What’s Bakláshka good for now? No, my lad, in the mountains +there are real doctors. There was my chum, Vórchik, he was on an +expedition and was wounded just here in the chest. Well, your doctors +gave him up, but one of theirs came from the mountains and cured him! +They understand herbs, my lad!” + +“Come, stop talking rubbish,” said Olénin. “I’d better send a doctor +from head-quarters.” + +“Rubbish!” the old man said mockingly. “Fool, fool! Rubbish. You’ll +send a doctor!—If yours cured people, Cossacks and Chéchens would go to +you for treatment, but as it is your officers and colonels send to the +mountains for doctors. Yours are all humbugs, all humbugs.” + +Olénin did not answer. He agreed only too fully that all was humbug in +the world in which he had lived and to which he was now returning. + +“How is Lukáshka? You’ve been to see him?” he asked. + +“He just lies as if he were dead. He does not eat nor drink. Vodka is +the only thing his soul accepts. But as long as he drinks vodka it’s +well. I’d be sorry to lose the lad. A fine lad—a brave, like me. I too +lay dying like that once. The old women were already wailing. My head +was burning. They had already laid me out under the holy icons. So I +lay there, and above me on the oven little drummers, no bigger than +this, beat the tattoo. I shout at them and they drum all the harder.” +(The old man laughed.) “The women brought our church elder. They were +getting ready to bury me. They said, ‘He defiled himself with worldly +unbelievers; he made merry with women; he ruined people; he did not +fast, and he played the _balaláyka_. Confess,’ they said. So I began to +confess. ‘I’ve sinned!’ I said. Whatever the priest said, I always +answered ‘I’ve sinned.’ He began to ask me about the _balaláyka_. +‘Where is the accursed thing,’ he says. ‘Show it me and smash it.’ But +I say, ‘I’ve not got it.’ I’d hidden it myself in a net in the +outhouse. I knew they could not find it. So they left me. Yet after all +I recovered. When I went for my _balaláyka_—What was I saying?” he +continued. “Listen to me, and keep farther away from the other men or +you’ll get killed foolishly. I feel for you, truly: you are a drinker—I +love you! And fellows like you like riding up the mounds. There was one +who lived here who had come from Russia, he always would ride up the +mounds (he called the mounds so funnily, ‘hillocks’). Whenever he saw a +mound, off he’d gallop. Once he galloped off that way and rode to the +top quite pleased, but a Chéchen fired at him and killed him! Ah, how +well they shoot from their gun-rests, those Chéchens! Some of them +shoot even better than I do. I don’t like it when a fellow gets killed +so foolishly! Sometimes I used to look at your soldiers and wonder at +them. There’s foolishness for you! They go, the poor fellows, all in a +clump, and even sew red collars to their coats! How can they help being +hit! One gets killed, they drag him away and another takes his place! +What foolishness!” the old man repeated, shaking his head. “Why not +scatter, and go one by one? So you just go like that and they won’t +notice you. That’s what you must do.” + +“Well, thank you! Good-bye, Daddy. God willing we may meet again,” said +Olénin, getting up and moving towards the passage. + +The old man, who was sitting on the floor, did not rise. + +“Is that the way one says ‘Good-bye’? Fool, fool!” he began. “Oh dear, +what has come to people? We’ve kept company, kept company for well-nigh +a year, and now ‘Good-bye!’ and off he goes! Why, I love you, and how I +pity you! You are so forlorn, always alone, always alone. You’re +somehow so unsociable. At times I can’t sleep for thinking about you. I +am so sorry for you. As the song has it: + +It is very hard, dear brother, +In a foreign land to live. + + +So it is with you.” + +“Well, good-bye,” said Olénin again. + +The old man rose and held out his hand. Olénin pressed it and turned to +go. + +“Give us your mug, your mug!” + +And the old man took Olénin by the head with both hands and kissed him +three times with wet moustaches and lips, and began to cry. + +“I love you, good-bye!” + +Olénin got into the cart. + +“Well, is that how you’re going? You might give me something for a +remembrance. Give me a gun! What do you want two for?” said the old +man, sobbing quite sincerely. + +Olénin got out a musket and gave it to him. + +“What a lot you’ve given the old fellow,” murmured Vanyúsha, “he’ll +never have enough! A regular old beggar. They are all such irregular +people,” he remarked, as he wrapped himself in his overcoat and took +his seat on the box. + +“Hold your tongue, swine!” exclaimed the old man, laughing. “What a +stingy fellow!” + +Maryánka came out of the cowshed, glanced indifferently at the cart, +bowed and went towards the hut. + +“_La fille!_” said Vanyúsha, with a wink, and burst out into a silly +laugh. + +“Drive on!” shouted Olénin, angrily. + +“Good-bye, my lad! Good-bye. I won’t forget you!” shouted Eróshka. + +Olénin turned round. Daddy Eróshka was talking to Maryánka, evidently +about his own affairs, and neither the old man nor the girl looked at +Olénin. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COSSACKS *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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