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diff --git a/old/61388-h/61388-h.htm b/old/61388-h/61388-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 763fcea..0000000 --- a/old/61388-h/61388-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5338 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sebastopol, by Count Leo Tolstoï. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.ctb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -border:2px solid black;margin:2em auto 2em auto; -max-width:20em;padding:0.5em;} - -.fint {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -margin-top:2em;} - -.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} - -.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-weight:normal;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:120%;font-weight:normal;} - - h3 {margin:2% auto 1% auto;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - - img {border:none;} - -.footnotes {border:dotted 3px gray;margin-top:5%;clear:both;} - -.footnote {width:95%;margin:auto 3% 1% auto;font-size:0.9em;position:relative;} - -.label {position:relative;left:-.5em;top:0;text-align:left;font-size:.8em;} - -.fnanchor {vertical-align:30%;font-size:.8em;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } - -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sebastopol, by Leo Tolstoi - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Sebastopol - -Author: Leo Tolstoi - -Translator: Frank D. Millet - -Release Date: February 12, 2020 [EBook #61388] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEBASTOPOL *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="345" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p class="ctb"> -<a href="#LEO_TOLSTOI">LEO TOLSTOÏ.</a><br /> -<a href="#SEBASTOPOL">SEBASTOPOL.</a><br /> -<a href="#SEBASTOPOL_IN_DECEMBER_1854">SEBASTOPOL IN DECEMBER, 1854.</a><br /> -<a href="#SEBASTOPOL_IN_MAY_1855">SEBASTOPOL IN MAY, 1855.</a><br /> -<a href="#SEBASTOPOL_IN_AUGUST_1855">SEBASTOPOL IN AUGUST, 1855.</a><br /> -</p> - -<p class="c"> -<a href="images/frontispiece_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="405" height="500" alt="[Image: Portrait of Tolstoï -unavailable.]" /></a> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<h1>SEBASTOPOL</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -COUNT LEO TOLSTOÏ<br /><br /> - -<i>TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH</i> -BY<br /> -FRANK D. MILLET<br /><br /> - -WITH INTRODUCTION BY W. D. HOWELLS -<br /><br /> -WITH PORTRAIT<br /><br /> - -NEW YORK<br /> -HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE<br /> -1887</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c">Copyright, 1887, by <span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers</span>.<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><i><a name="LEO_TOLSTOI" id="LEO_TOLSTOI"></a>LEO TOLSTOÏ.</i></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> I read in the excellent essay of M. Ernest Dupuy that “Count Leo N. -Tolstoï was born on the 28th of August, 1828, at Yasnaya Polyana, a -village near Inla, in the government of Inla,” I have a sense of lunar -remoteness in him. It is as if these geographical expressions were -descriptive of localities in the ungazetteered regions of the moon; and -yet this far-fetched Russian nobleman is precisely the human being with -whom at this moment I find myself in the greatest intimacy; not because -I know him, but because I know myself through him; because he has -written more faithfully of the life common to all men, the universal -life which is the most personal life, than any other author whom I have -read. This merit the Russian novelists<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> have each in some degree; -Tolstoï has it in pre-eminent degree, and that is why the reading of -“Peace and War,” “Anna Karenina,” “My Religion,” “Childhood, Boyhood, -and Youth,” “Scenes at the Siege of Sebastopol,” “The Cossacks,” “The -Death of Ivan Illitch,” “Katia,” and “Polikouchka,” forms an epoch for -thoughtful people. In these books you seem to come face to face with -human nature for the first time in fiction. All other fiction at times -<i>seems</i> fiction; these alone seem the very truth always.</p> - -<p>The facts of Tolstoï’s life, as one gathers them from the essays of M. -Dupuy and of M. Melchoir de Voguë, are briefly that he studied Oriental -languages and the law at the University of Kazan; then entered the army, -served in the Crimean war, resigned at its close; gave himself up to -society and literature in St. Petersburg; and finally left the capital -for his estates, where he has since lived the life of lowly usefulness -which he believes to be the true Christian life. The man whose career -was in camps, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> courts, and in salons, now makes shoes for peasants, -and humbly seeks to instruct them and guide them by the little tales he -writes for them in the intervals of his great work of newly translating -the gospels. He married the daughter of a German physician of Moscow, -and his wife and children share his toils and ideals. Not much more is -known of the retirement of this very great man; but I heard that an -American traveller who lately passed a day with him found him steadfast -in the conviction that withdrew him from society—the conviction that -Jesus Christ came into the world to teach men how to live in it, and -that He meant literally what He said when He forbade us luxury, war, -litigation, unchastity, and hypocrisy. His latest book, “Que Faire,” is -a relentlessly searching statement of the facts and reasons which forced -this conviction upon him.</p> - -<p>It is a sorrowful comment on our Christianity that this frank acceptance -of Christ’s message seems eccentric and even mad to the world. But it is -the “increasing pur<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span>pose” which runs through all Tolstoï’s work from -first to last; it is what makes him great above all others who have -written fiction. It does not much matter where you begin with him; you -feel instantly that the man is mighty, and mighty through his -conscience; that he is not trying to surprise or dazzle you with his -art, but that he is trying to make you think clearly and feel rightly -about vital things with which “art” has often dealt with diabolical -indifference or diabolical malevolence.</p> - -<p>I do not know how it is with others to whom these books of Tolstoï’s -have come, but for my own part I cannot think of them as literature in -the artistic sense at all. Some people complain to me, when I praise -them, that they are too long, too diffuse, too confused, that the -characters’ names are hard to pronounce, and that the life they portray -is very sad and not amusing. In the presence of these criticisms I can -only say that I find them nothing of the kind, but that each history of -Tolstoï’s is as clear, as orderly, as brief, as something I have lived<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> -through myself; as for the names, they are necessarily Russian. It is -when some one tells me they are “pessimistic” that I really despair. I -have always supposed pessimism to be the doctrine of the prevalence of -evil, and these books perpetually teach me that the good prevails, and -always will prevail whenever men put self aside, and strive simply and -humbly to be good. We are all so besotted with dreams and vanities that -we have come to think that the right will accomplish itself -spectacularly, splendidly; but Tolstoï makes us know that it never can -do so. He teaches such of us as will hear him that the Right is the sum -of each man’s poor little personal effort to do right, and that the -success of this effort means daily, hourly self-renunciation, -self-abasement, the sinking of one’s pride in absolute squalor before -duty. This is not pleasant; the heroic ideal of righteousness is more -picturesque, more attractive; but is this not the truth? Let any one -try, and see! I cannot think of any service which imaginative literature -has done the race so great as that which Tolstoï<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> has done in his -conception of Karenin at that crucial moment when the cruelly outraged -man sees that he cannot be good with dignity. This leaves all tricks of -fancy, all effects of art, immeasurably behind.</p> - -<p>In fact, Tolstoï brings us back in his fiction, as in his life, to the -Christ ideal. “Except ye become as little children”—that is what he -says in every part of his work; and this work, so incomparably good -æsthetically, to my thinking, is still greater ethically. You will not -find its lessons put at you, any more than you will those of life. No -little traps are sprung for your surprise; no calcium light is thrown -upon this climax or that; no virtue or vice is posed for you; but if you -have ears to hear or eyes to see, listen and look, and you will have the -sense of inexhaustible significance.</p> - -<p>I happened to begin with “The Cossacks”—that epic of nature, and of a -young man’s sorrowful, wandering desire to get into harmony with the -divine scheme of beneficence; then I read “Anna Karenina”—that most -tragical history of loss and ruin to brilliancy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> and loveliness, out of -which the good can alone save itself; then I came to “Peace and War,” -that great assertion of the sufficiency of common men in all crises, and -the insufficiency of heroes; I found some chapters of the “Scenes at the -Siege of Sebastopol,” and I read them with a yet keener sense of this -truth; “Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth” made me acquainted for the first -time in literature with the real heart of the young of our species; “The -Death of Ivan Illitch” expressed the horror and the stress of mortality, -with its final bliss, and made it a part of Nature as I never had -realized it before; “Polikouchka,” slight, broken, almost unconcluded, -was perfect and powerful and infinite in its scope of mercy and -sympathy.</p> - -<p>I know very well that I do not speak of these books in measured terms; I -cannot. As yet my sense of obligation to them is so great that I neither -can make nor wish to make a close accounting with their author, and I am -not disposed to exploit them for the reader’s entertainment. As often as -I have tried to do this their æsthetic interest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> has escaped me. I have -been ashamed to tag them with the tattered old adjectives of praise, and -I have found myself thinking of them on their ethical side. But they -exist increasingly in English and in French, and the best way, the only -way, to get a due sense of them is to read them.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">W. D. Howells.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> </p> - -<h1><a name="SEBASTOPOL" id="SEBASTOPOL"></a>SEBASTOPOL.</h1> - -<h2><a name="SEBASTOPOL_IN_DECEMBER_1854" id="SEBASTOPOL_IN_DECEMBER_1854"></a><i>SEBASTOPOL IN DECEMBER, 1854.</i></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dawn</span> tinges the horizon above Mount Sapouné; the shadows of the night -have left the surface of the sea, which, now dark blue in color, only -awaits the first ray of sunshine to sparkle merrily; a cold wind blows -from the fog-enveloped bay; there is no snow on the ground, the earth is -black, but frost stings the face and cracks underfoot. The quiet of the -morning is disturbed only by the incessant murmuring of the waves, and -is broken at long intervals by the dull roar of cannon. All is silent on -the men-of-war; the hour-glass has just marked the eighth hour. Towards -the north the activity of day replaces little by little the tranquillity -of night. On this side a detachment of soldiers is going to relieve the -guard, and the click of their guns can be heard; a surgeon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> hurries -towards his hospital; a soldier crawls out of his hut, washes his -sunburned face with icy water, turns towards the east, and repeats a -prayer, making rapid signs of the cross. On that side an enormous, heavy -cart with creaking wheels reaches the cemetery where they are going to -bury the corpses heaped almost to the top of the vehicle. Approach the -harbor and you are disagreeably surprised by a mixture of odors; you -smell coal, manure, moisture, meat. There are thousands of different -objects: wood, flour, gabions, beef, thrown in heaps here and there; -soldiers of different regiments, some provided with guns and with bags, -others with neither guns nor bags, crowd together; they smoke, they -quarrel, and they bear loads upon the steamer stationed near the plank -bridge and ready to sail. Small private boats, filled with all sorts of -people—soldiers, sailors, merchants, and women—are constantly arriving -and departing. “This way for Grafskaya!” and two or three retired -sailors rise in their boats and offer you their services. You choose the -nearest one, stride over the half-decomposed body of a black horse lying -in the mud two steps from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> the boat, and seat yourself near the helm. -You push off from the shore; all around you the sea sparkles in the -morning sun; in front of you an old sailor in an overcoat of -camel’s-hair cloth and a lad with blond hair are diligently rowing. You -turn your eyes upon the gigantic ships with scratched hulls scattered -over the harbor, upon the shallops,—black dots on the sparkling azure -of the water—upon the pretty houses of the town, to whose light-colored -tones the rising sun gives a rosy tinge, upon the hostile fleet standing -like light-houses in the crystalline distance of the sea, and, at last, -upon the foaming waves, where play the salt drops which the oars dash -into the air. You hear at the same time the regular sound of voices -which comes over the water, and the grand roar of the cannonade at -Sebastopol, which seems to increase in strength as you listen.</p> - -<p>At the thought that you, you also, are in Sebastopol, your whole soul is -filled with a sentiment of pride and of valor, and your blood runs -quicker in your veins.</p> - -<p>“Straight towards the <i>Constantine</i>, your excellency,” says the old -sailor, turning<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> around to the direction you are giving to the helm.</p> - -<p>“Look! she has still got all her cannons,” remarks the lad with the -blond hair as the boat glides along the side of the ship.</p> - -<p>“She is quite new, she ought to have them. Korniloff lives on board,” -repeats the old man, examining in his turn the man-of-war.</p> - -<p>“There! it has burst!” cries the lad, after a long silence, his eyes -fixed upon a small white cloud of drifting smoke suddenly appearing in -the sky above the south bay, and accompanied by the strident noise of a -shell explosion.</p> - -<p>“They are firing from the new battery to-day,” adds the sailor, calmly -spitting in his hand. “Come along, Nichka; pull away. Let’s pass the -shallop.”</p> - -<p>And the small boat moves rapidly over the undulating surface of the bay, -leaves the heavy shallop behind laden with bags and with soldiers, -unskilful rowers who are pulling awkwardly, and at last lands in the -middle of a great number of boats moored to the shore in the harbor of -Grafskaya. A crowd of soldiers in gray overcoats, sailors<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> in black -jackets, and women in motley gowns comes and goes on the quay. Some -peasants are selling bread; others, seated beside their samovars, offer -to customers warm drink.</p> - -<p>Here, on the upper steps of the landing, are strewn about, pell-mell, -rusty shot, shell, canister, cast-iron cannon of different calibres; -there, farther away, in a great open square, are lying enormous joists, -gun-carriages, sleeping soldiers. On one side are wagons, horses, -cannon, artillery caissons, stacks of muskets; farther on, soldiers, -sailors, officers, women, and children are moving about; carts full of -bread, bags, and barrels, a Cossack on horseback, a general in his -droschky, are crossing the square. A barricade looms up in the street to -the right, and in its embrasures are small cannon, beside which a sailor -is sitting quietly smoking his pipe. On the left stands a pretty house, -on the pediment of which are scrawled numerals, and above can be seen -soldiers and blood-stained stretchers. The dismal traces of a camp in -war-time meet the eye everywhere. Your first impression is, doubtless, a -disagreeable one; the strange amal<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span>gamation of town life with camp life, -of an elegant city and a dirty bivouac, strikes you like a hideous -incongruity. It seems to you that all, overcome by terror, are acting -vacuously; but if you examine the faces of those men who are moving -about you, you will think differently. Look well at this soldier of the -wagon-train who is leading his bay troitka horses to drink, humming -through his teeth, and you shall find that he does not go astray in this -confused crowd, which in fact does not exist for him, for he is full of -his own business, and will do his duty, whatever it is—will lead his -horses to the watering-place or drag a cannon with as much calm and -assured indifference as if he were at Toula or at Saransk. You notice -the same expression on the face of this officer, with his irreproachable -white gloves, who is passing before you, of that sailor who sits on the -barricade smoking, of the soldiers who wait with their stretchers at the -door of what was lately the Assembly Hall, even upon the face of the -young girl who crosses the street, leaping from stone to stone for fear -of soiling her pink dress. Yes, a great deception awaits you on your -arrival at Se<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span>bastopol. In vain you seek to discover upon any face -traces of agitation, fright, indeed even enthusiasm, resignation to -death, resolution; there is nothing of all that. You see the course of -every-day life; see people occupied with their daily toils, so that, in -fact, you blame yourself for your exaggerated exaltation, and doubt not -only the truth of the opinion you have formed from hearsay about the -heroism of the defenders of Sebastopol, but also doubt the accuracy of -the description which has been given you on the north side and the -sinister sounds which fill the air there. Before doubting, however, go -up to a bastion, see the defenders of Sebastopol on the very place of -the defence, or rather enter straight into this house at whose door -stand the stretcher-bearers. You will see there the heroes of the army, -you will see there horrible and heart-rending sights, both sublime and -comic, but wonderful and of a soul-elevating nature. Enter this great -hall, which before the war was the hall of the Assembly. Scarcely have -you opened the door before the odor exhaled from forty or fifty -amputations and severe wounds turns you sick. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> must not yield to the -feeling which keeps you on the threshold of the room, it is an unworthy -feeling; go boldly in, and not blush at having come to look at these -martyrs. You may approach and speak with them. The wretches like to see -a pitying face, to relate their sufferings, and to hear words of charity -and sympathy. Passing down the middle between the beds, you look for the -face which is the least rigid, the least contracted by pain, and on -finding it decide to go near and put a question.</p> - -<p>“Where are you wounded?” you hesitatingly ask an old, emaciated soldier, -seated on his bed, watching you with a kindly look, and apparently -inviting you to approach. You have, I say, put this question -hesitatingly, because the sight of the sufferer inspires not only a -lively pity, but also a sort of dread of hurting his feelings, joined -with a profound respect.</p> - -<p>“On the foot,” replies the soldier; and nevertheless you notice by the -folds of the blanket that his leg has been cut off above the knee.</p> - -<p>“God be praised!” he adds, “I shall be discharged.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Were you wounded long since?”</p> - -<p>“It is the sixth week, your excellency.”</p> - -<p>“Where do you feel badly now?”</p> - -<p>“Nowhere only in my calf when it is bad weather; nothing but that.”</p> - -<p>“How did it happen?”</p> - -<p>“On the fifth bastion, your excellency, in the first bombardment. I had -just sighted the cannon, and was going quietly to the other embrasure, -when suddenly something struck my foot. I thought I had fallen into a -hole. I looked—my leg was gone!”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t have any pain at first, then?”</p> - -<p>“None at all, only just as if I had scalded my leg; that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“And afterwards?”</p> - -<p>“None afterwards, only when they stretched the skin; that was a little -rough. First of all things, your excellency, we mustn’t think. When we -don’t think we don’t feel. When a man thinks, it is the worse for him.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, a woman dressed in gray, with a black kerchief tied around -her head, approaches, joins in the conversation, and begins to give a -detailed account of the sailor: how he has suffered, how his life was -de<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span>spaired of for four weeks, how, when wounded, he made them stop the -stretcher on which he was being carried to the rear in order to watch -the discharge of our battery, and how the grand-dukes had spoken with -him, had given him twenty-five rubles, and how he had replied that, not -being able to serve any more himself, he would like to come back to the -bastion to train the conscripts. The good woman, her eyes sparkling with -enthusiasm, relates this in one breath, looking at you and then at the -sailor, who turns away and pretends not to hear, busy with picking lint -from his pillow.</p> - -<p>“It is my wife, your excellency,” says the sailor at last, with an -intonation of voice which seems to say, “You must excuse her; all that -is woman’s foolish prattle, you know.”</p> - -<p>You then begin to understand what the defenders of Sebastopol are, and -you are ashamed of yourself in the presence of this man. You would have -liked to express all your admiration for him, all your sympathy, but the -words will not come, or those which do come are worthless, and you can -only bow in silence before this unconscious gran<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span>deur, before this -firmness of soul and this exquisite shame of his own merit.</p> - -<p>“Ah, well, may God speedily cure you!” you say, and you stop before -another wounded man lying on the floor, who, suffering horrible pain, -seems to be awaiting his death. He is blond, and his pale face is much -swollen. Stretched on his back, his left hand thrown up, his position -indicates acute suffering. His hissing breath escapes with difficulty -from his dry, half-open mouth. The glassy blue pupils of his eyes are -rolled up under the eyelids, and a mutilated arm, wrapped in bandages, -sticks out from under the tumbled blanket. A nauseating, corpse-like -odor rises to your nostrils, and the fever which burns the sufferer’s -limbs seems to penetrate your own body.</p> - -<p>“Is he unconscious?” you ask of the woman who kindly accompanies you, -and to whom you are no longer a stranger.</p> - -<p>“No; he can still hear, but he is very bad;” and she adds, under her -breath, “I have just made him drink a little tea. He is nothing to me, -only I have pity on him; indeed, he has only been able to swallow a few -mouthfuls.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“How do you feel?” you ask him.</p> - -<p>At the sound of your voice the wounded man’s eyes turn towards you, but -he neither sees nor understands.</p> - -<p>“That burns my heart!” he murmurs.</p> - -<p>A little farther on an old soldier is changing his clothes. His face and -his body are both of the same brown color, and as thin as a skeleton. -One of his arms has been amputated at the shoulder. He is seated on his -bed, he is out of danger, but from his dull, lifeless look, from his -frightful thinness, from his wrinkled face, you see that this creature -has already passed the greater part of his existence in suffering.</p> - -<p>On the opposite bed you see the pale, delicate, pain-shrivelled face of -a woman whose cheeks are flushed with fever.</p> - -<p>“It is a sailor’s wife. A shell hit her on the foot while she was -carrying dinner to her husband in the bastion,” says the guide.</p> - -<p>“Has it been amputated?”</p> - -<p>“Above the knee.”</p> - -<p>Now, if your nerves are strong, enter there at the left. It is the -operating-room. There you see surgeons with pale and serious -countenances, their arms blood-splashed to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> elbows, beside the bed -of a wounded man, who, stretched on his back with open eyes, is -delirious under the influence of chloroform, and utters broken phrases, -some unimportant, some touching. The surgeons are busy with their -repulsive but beneficent task, amputation. You see the curved and keen -blade penetrate the healthy white flesh. The wounded man suddenly comes -to himself with heart-rending cries, with curses. The assistant surgeon -throws the arm into a corner, while another wounded man on a stretcher -who sees the operation turns and groans, more on account of the mental -torture of expectation than from the physical pain he feels. You will -witness these horrible, heart-rending scenes; you will see war without -the brilliant and accurate alignment of troops, without music, without -the drum-roll, without standards flying in the wind, without galloping -generals—you will see it as it is, in blood, in suffering, and in -death! Leaving this house of pain, you will experience a certain -impression of well-being, you will take long breaths of fresh air, and -will be glad to feel yourself in good health; but at the same time the -contemplation of these<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> misfortunes will have convinced you of your own -insignificance, and you will go up into a bastion without hesitation. -What are the sufferings and the death of an atom like me, you will ask -yourself, in comparison with these innumerable sufferings and deaths? -Besides, in a short time the sight of the pure sky, of the bright sun, -of the pretty city, of the open church, of the soldiers coming and going -in all directions, raises your spirits to their normal state. Habitual -indifference, preoccupation with the present and with its petty -interests, resume the ascendant. Perhaps you will meet on your way the -funeral cortege of an officer—a red coffin followed by a band and by -unfurled standards—and perhaps the roar of the cannonade on the bastion -will strike your ear, but your thoughts of a few moments before will not -come back again. The funeral will only be a pretty picture for you, the -growl of the cannon a grand military accompaniment, and there will be -nothing in common between this picture, these sounds, and the clear, -personal impression of suffering and death called up by the sight of the -operating-room.</p> - -<p>Pass the church, the barricade, and you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> enter the most animated, the -liveliest quarter of the city. On both sides of the street are shop -signs, eating-house signs. Here are merchants, women with men’s hats or -with handkerchiefs on their heads, officers in elegant uniforms. -Everything testifies to the courage, the assurance, the safety of the -inhabitants.</p> - -<p>Enter this restaurant on the right. If you want to listen to the -sailors’ and the officers’ talk, you will hear them relate the incidents -of the night before, of the affair of the 24th; hear them grumble at the -high price of the badly cooked cutlets, and mention the comrade recently -killed.</p> - -<p>“Devil take me! we are badly off where we are now,” says the bass voice -of a pale, blond, beardless, newly appointed officer, his neck wrapped -in a green knit scarf.</p> - -<p>“Where is that?” some one asks.</p> - -<p>“In the fourth bastion,” replies the young officer; and at this reply -you attentively look at him, and feel a certain respect for him. His -exaggerated carelessness, his violent gestures, his too loud laughter, -which would shortly before have seemed to you impudent, become in your -eyes the index of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> a certain kind of combative spirit common to all -young people who are exposed to great danger, and you are sure he is -going to explain that it is on account of the shells and the bullets -that they are so badly off in the fourth bastion. Nothing of the kind! -They are badly off there because the mud is deep.</p> - -<p>“Impossible to get up to the battery,” he says, pointing to his boots, -muddied even to the upper-leathers.</p> - -<p>“My best gun captain was instantly killed to-day by a ball in his -forehead,” rejoins a comrade.</p> - -<p>“Who was it? Mituchine?”</p> - -<p>“No, another man.—Look here! are you never going to bring me my chop, -you villain?” says he, speaking to the waiter.—“It was Abrossinoff, as -brave a man as lived. He took part in six sorties.”</p> - -<p>At the other end of the table two infantry officers are eating veal -cutlets with green pease washed down by sour Crimean wine, by courtesy -called Bordeaux. One of them, a young man with red collar and two stars -on his coat, is telling to his neighbor with a black collar and no stars -the details of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> fight on the Alma. The first is a little the worse -for liquor. His frequently interrupted tale, his uncertain look, which -reflects the lack of confidence which his story inspires in his auditor, -the fine part he gives himself, the too high color of his picture, lead -you to guess that he is wandering away from the absolute truth. But you -haven’t anything to do with these tales, which you will hear for a long -time yet in the farthest corners of Russia; you have one wish alone, -that is, to go straight to the fourth bastion, which you have heard so -many and so varied reports about. You will notice that whoever tells you -he has been there says it with pride and satisfaction; that whoever is -getting ready to go there either shows a little emotion or affects an -exaggerated <i>sangfroid</i>. If one man is joking with another, he will -invariably tell him, “Go to the fourth bastion!” If a wounded man on a -stretcher is met, and he is asked where he comes from, he will answer, -almost without fail, “From the fourth bastion!” Two completely different -notions of this terrible earthwork have been circulated; the first by -those who have never put their foot upon it, and for whom<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> it is the -inevitable tomb of its defenders, the second by those who, like the -little blond officer, live there and simply speak of it, saying it is -dry or muddy there, warm or cold.</p> - -<p>During the half hour you have been in the restaurant the weather has -changed and the fog which spread over the sea has risen. Thick, gray, -moist clouds hide the sun. The sky is gloomy, and a fine rain mixed with -snow is falling, wetting the roofs, the sidewalks, and the soldiers’ -overcoats. After passing one more barricade you go along up the broad -street. There are no more shop-signs; the houses are uninhabitable, the -doors fastened up with boards, the windows broken. On this side the -corner of a wall has been carried away, on that side the roof has been -broken in. The buildings look like old veterans tried by grief and -misery, and stare at you with pride, one might say with disdain even. On -the way you stumble over cannon-balls and into holes, filled with water, -which the shells have made in the rocky ground. You pass detachments of -soldiers and officers. You occasionally meet a woman or a child, but -here the woman does not wear a hat. As for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> sailor’s wife, she wears -an old fur cloak, and has soldiers’ boots on her feet. The street now -leads down a gentle declivity, but there are no more houses around you, -nothing but shapeless masses of stones, of boards, of beams, and of -clay. Before you, on a steep hill, stretches a black space, all muddy, -and cut up with ditches. What you are looking at is the fourth bastion.</p> - -<p>Passers become rare, no more women are met. The soldiers walk with rapid -step. A few drops of blood stain the path, and you see coming towards -you four soldiers bearing a stretcher, and on the stretcher a face of a -sallow paleness and a bloody coat. If you ask the bearers where he is -wounded, they will reply, with an irritated tone, without looking at -you, that he has been hit on the arm or on the leg. If his head has been -carried away, if he is dead, they will keep a morose silence.</p> - -<p>The near whiz of balls and shells gives you a disagreeable impression -while you are climbing the hill, and suddenly you have an entirely -different idea from the one you recently had of the meaning of the -cannon-shots heard in the city. I do not know<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> what placid and sweet -souvenir will suddenly shine out in your memory. Your intimate <i>ego</i> -will occupy you so actively that you will no longer think of noticing -your surroundings. You will permit yourself to be overcome by a painful -feeling of irresolution. However, the sight of a soldier who, with -extended arms, is slipping down the hill in the liquid mud, and passes -near you, running and laughing, silences your small inward voice, the -cowardly counsellor which arises in you in the presence of danger. You -straighten up in spite of yourself, you raise your head, and you, in -your turn, scale the slippery slope of the clay hill. You have scarcely -gone a step before musket-balls hum in your ears, and you ask yourself -if it would not be preferable to go under cover of the trench thrown up -parallel with the path. But the trench is full of a yellow, fetid, -liquid mud, so that you are obliged to go on in the path; all the more -since it is the way everybody goes. At the end of two hundred paces you -come out on a place surrounded by gabions, embankments, shelters, -platforms supporting enormous cast-iron cannon, and heaps of -symmetrically<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span> piled cannon-balls. These heaps of things give you the -impression of a strange and aimless disorder. Here on the battery -assembles a group of sailors; there in the middle of the enclosure lies -a dismounted cannon, half buried in the sticky mud, through which an -infantryman, musket in hand, is going to the battery, pulling out with -difficulty first one foot and then the other. Everywhere in this liquid -mud you see broken glass, unexploded shells, cannon-balls—every trace -of camp life. You seem to hear the noise of a cannon-ball falling only -two yards away, and from all sides come the sound of balls, which -sometimes hum like bees, sometimes groan and split the air, which -vibrates like a violin-string, the whole dominated by the sinister -rumbling of cannon, which shakes you from head to foot and fills you -with terror.</p> - -<p>This is, then, the fourth bastion, this really terrible place, you say -to yourself, feeling a little pride and a great deal of repressed fear. -Not at all! You are the sport of an illusion. This is not yet the fourth -bastion; it is the Jason redoubt, a place which, comparatively, is -neither dangerous nor fright<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span>ful. In order to reach the fourth bastion -you enter the narrow trench which the infantryman follows, stooping -over. You will perhaps see more stretchers, sailors, soldiers with -spades, wires leading to the mines, earth-shelters equally muddy, into -which only two men can crawl, and where the battalions of the Black Sea -Sharpshooters live, eat, smoke, and put their boots on and off, in the -midst of the débris of cast-iron of every form thrown here and there. -You will perhaps find here four or five sailors playing cards in the -shelter of the parapet, and a naval officer, who, seeing a new face come -up, and a spectator at that, will be really pleased to initiate you into -the details of the arrangements and give you an explanation of them. -This officer, seated on a cannon, is rolling a cigarette with such -coolness, passes so quietly from one embrasure to another, and talks -with you with such natural calmness, that you recover your own -<i>sangfroid</i>, in spite of the balls which are whistling here in greater -numbers. You ask him questions, and even listen to his tales. The sailor -will describe to you, if you will only ask him, the bombardment of the -5th, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> state of his battery with a single serviceable cannon, his men -reduced to eight, and, moreover, on the morning of the 6th, the battery -fired with every gun. He will tell you also how, on the 5th, a shell -penetrated a bomb-proof and struck down eleven sailors. He will show -you, through the embrasure, the enemy’s trenches and batteries, which -are only thirty or forty fathoms distant. I fear, however, that, leaning -out of the embrasure in order to examine the enemy better, you will see -nothing, or that, if you perceive something, you will be very much -surprised to learn that this white and rocky rampart a few steps away, -and from which are spouting little clouds of smoke, is really the -enemy—“<i>him</i>,” as the soldiers and sailors say.</p> - -<p>It is very possible that the officer, either through vanity or simply, -without reflection, to amuse himself, will be willing to have them fire -for you. At his order the captain of the gun and the men, fourteen -sailors all told, gayly approach the cannon to load it, some chewing -biscuit, others cramming their short pipes in their pockets, while their -hobnailed shoes clatter on the platform. No<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span>tice the faces of these men, -their bearing, their movements, and you will recognize in each of the -wrinkles of their sunburned faces with high cheek-bones, in each muscle, -in the breadth of the shoulders, in the thickness of the feet shod with -colossal boots, in each calm and bold gesture, the principal elements -that make up the strength of Russia—simplicity and obstinacy. You will -also see that danger, misery, and suffering in the war will have -imprinted on these faces the consciousness of their dignity, of high -thoughts, of a sentiment.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a deafening noise makes you quake from head to foot. You hear -at the same instant the shot whistling away, while a thick powder-smoke -envelops the platform and the black figures of sailors moving about. -Listen to their conversation, notice their animation, and you will -discover among them a feeling which you would not expect to meet—that -of hatred of the enemy, of vengeance. “It fell straight into the -embrasure; two killed. Look! they are carrying them away,” and they -shout for joy. “But he is getting angry now, he is going to hit back,” -says a voice, and in truth you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> see at the same instant a flash and -spurting smoke, and the sentinel on the parapet calls, “Cannon!” A ball -whizzes in your ears and buries itself in the ground, digging it up and -casting around a shower of earth and stones. The commander of the -battery gets angry, renews the order to load a second, a third gun. The -enemy replies, and you experience interesting sensations. The sentinel -again calls, “Cannon!” and the same sound, the same blow, and the same -throwing up of earth are repeated. If, on the other hand, he cries, -“Mortar!” you will be struck by a regular, not disagreeable hissing, -which has no connection in your mind with anything terrible. It comes -nearer and with greater rapidity. You see the black ball fall to the -ground, and the bomb-shell burst with a metallic cracking. The pieces -fly in air, whistling and screeching; stones hit each other, and mud -splashes over you. You feel a strange mixture of pleasure and fright at -these different sounds. At the instant the projectile reaches you, you -invariably think it will kill you. But pride keeps you up, and no one -notices the dagger that is digging into your heart. So<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> when it has -passed without grazing you, you live again; for an instant a feeling of -indescribable sweetness possesses you to such a degree that you find a -special charm in danger, in the game of life and death. You would like -to have a ball or a shell fall nearer, very near you. But the sentinel -announces with his strong, full voice, “Mortar!” The hissing, the blow, -the explosion are repeated, but accompanied this time by a human groan. -You go up to the wounded man at the same time with the -stretcher-bearers. He has a strange look, lying in the mud mingled with -his blood. Part of his chest has been carried away. In the first moment -his mud-splashed face expresses only fright and the premature sensation -of pain, a feeling familiar to man in this situation. But when they -bring the stretcher to him, and he unassisted lies down on it on his -uninjured side, an exalted expression, elevated but restrained thoughts, -enliven his features. With brilliant eyes and shut teeth he raises his -head with an effort, and at the moment the stretcher-bearers move he -stops them, and addressing his comrades with trembling voice, says, -“Good-by, brothers!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span>” He would like to say something more, he seems to -be trying to find something touching to say, but he limits himself to -repeating, “Good-by, brothers!” A comrade approaches the wounded man, -puts his cap on his head for him, and turns back to his cannon with a -gesture of perfect indifference. At the sight of your terrified -expression of face the officer, yawning, and rolling between his fingers -a cigarette in yellow paper, says, “So it is every day, up to seven or -eight men.”</p> - -<p>You have just seen the defenders of Sebastopol on the very place of the -defence, and, strange to say, you will retrace your steps without paying -the least attention to the bullets and balls which continue to whistle -the whole length of the road as far as the ruins of the theatre. You -walk with calmness, your soul elevated and strengthened, for you bring -away the consoling conviction that never, and in no place, can the -strength of the Russian people be broken; and you have gained this -conviction not from the solidity of the parapets, from the ingeniously -combined intrenchments, from the number of mines, from the cannon -heaped<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> one on the other, and all of which you have not in the least -understood, but from the eyes, the words, the bearing, from what may be -called the spirit of the defenders of Sebastopol.</p> - -<p>There is so much simplicity and so little effort in what they do that -you are persuaded that they could, if it were necessary, do a hundred -times more, that they could do everything. You judge that the sentiment -that impels them is not the one you have experienced, mean and vain, but -another and more powerful one, which has made men of them, living -tranquilly in the mud, working and watching among the bullets, with a -hundred chances to one of being killed, contrary to the common lot of -their kind. It is not for a cross, for rank; it is not that they are -threatened into submitting to such terrible conditions of existence. -There must be another, a higher motive power. This motive power is found -in a sentiment which rarely shows itself, which is concealed with -modesty, but which is deeply rooted in every Russian heart—patriotism. -It is now only that the tales that circulated during the first period of -the siege<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> of Sebastopol, when there were neither fortifications, nor -troops, nor material possibility of holding out there, and when, -moreover, no one admitted the thought of surrender—it is now only that -the anecdote of Korniloff, that hero worthy of antique Greece, who said -to his troops, “Children, we will die, but we will not surrender -Sebastopol,” and the reply of our brave soldiers, incapable of using set -speeches, “We will die, hurrah!”—it is now only that these stories have -ceased to be to you beautiful historical legends, since they have become -truth, facts. You will easily picture to yourself, in the place of those -you have just seen, the heroes of this period of trial, who never lost -courage, and who joyfully prepared to die, not for the defence of the -city, but for the defence of the country. Russia will long preserve the -sublime traces of the epoch of Sebastopol, of which the Russian people -were the heroes!</p> - -<p>Day closes; the sun, disappearing at the horizon, shines through the -gray clouds which surround it, and lights up with purple rays the -rippling sea with its green reflections, covered with ships and boats, -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> white houses of the city, and the population stirring there. On the -boulevard a regimental band is playing an old waltz, which sounds far -over the water, and to which the cannonade of the bastions forms a -strange and striking accompaniment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span></p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="SEBASTOPOL_IN_MAY_1855" id="SEBASTOPOL_IN_MAY_1855"></a><i>SEBASTOPOL IN MAY, 1855.</i></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Six</span> months had rolled by since the first bomb-shell thrown from the -bastions of Sebastopol ploughed up the soil and cast it upon the enemy’s -works. Since that time millions of bombs, bullets, and balls had never -ceased flying from bastions to trenches, from trenches to bastions, and -the angel of death had constantly hovered over them.</p> - -<p>The self-love of thousands of human beings had been sometimes wounded, -sometimes satisfied, sometimes soothed in the embrace of death! What -numbers of red coffins with coarse palls!—and the bastions still -continued to roar. The French in their camp, moved by an involuntary -feeling of anxiety and terror, examined in the soft evening light the -yellow and burrowed earth of the bastions of Sebastopol, where the black -silhouettes of our sailors came and went; they counted the embrasures -bristling with fierce-looking cannon. On the telegraph tower an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> -under-officer was watching through his field-glass the enemy’s soldiers, -their batteries, their tents, the movements of their troops on the -Mamelon-Vert, and the smoke ascending from the trenches. A crowd -composed of heterogeneous races, moved by quite different desires, -converged from all parts of the world towards this fatal spot. Powder -and blood had not succeeded in solving the question which diplomats -could not settle.</p> - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p>A regimental band was playing in the besieged city of Sebastopol; a -crowd of soldiers and women in Sunday best was promenading in the -avenues. The clear sun of spring had risen upon the English works, had -passed over the fortifications, over the city, and over the Nicholas -barracks, shedding everywhere its just and joyous light; now it was -setting into the blue distance of the sea, which gently rippled, -sparkling with silvery reflections.</p> - -<p>An infantry officer of tall stature and with a slight stoop, busy -putting on gloves of doubtful whiteness, though still presentable, came -out of one of the small sailor-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span>houses built on the left side of Marine -Street. He directed his steps towards the boulevard, fixing his eyes in -a distracted manner on the toe of his boots. The expression of his -ill-favored face did not denote a high intellectual capacity, but traits -of good-fellowship, good sense, honesty, and love of order were to be -plainly recognized there. He was not well-built, and seemed to feel some -confusion at the awkwardness of his own motions. He had a well-worn cap -on his head, and on his shoulders a light cloak of a curious purplish -color, under which could be seen his watch-chain, his trousers with -straps, and his clean and well-polished boots. If his features had not -clearly indicated his pure Russian origin he would have been taken for a -German, for an aide-de-camp, or for a regimental baggage-master—he wore -no spurs, to be sure—or for one of those cavalry officers who have been -exchanged in order to take active service. In fact, he was one of the -latter, and while going up to the boulevard he was thinking of a letter -he had just received from an ex-comrade, now a landholder in <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span>the -Government of F——; he was thinking of his comrade’s wife, pale, -blue-eyed Natacha, his best friend; he was especially recalling the -following passage:</p> - -<p>“When they bring us the <i>Invalide</i>,<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> Poupka (that was the name the -retired uhlan gave his wife) rushes into the antechamber, seizes the -paper, and throws herself upon the sofa in the arbor<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> in the parlor, -where we have passed so many pleasant winter evenings in your company -while your regiment was in garrison in our city. You can’t imagine the -enthusiasm with which she reads the story of your heroic exploits! -‘Mikhailoff,’ she often says in speaking of you, ‘is a pearl of a man, -and I shall throw myself on his neck when I see him again! <i>He is -fighting in the bastions, he is!</i> He will get the cross of St. George, -and the newspapers will be full of him.’ Indeed, I am beginning to be -jealous of you. It takes the papers a very long time to get to us, and -although a thousand bits of news fly from mouth to mouth, we can’t -believe all of them. For example: your good<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> friends the <i>musical girls</i> -related yesterday how Napoleon, taken prisoner by our cossacks, had been -brought to Petersburg—you understand that I couldn’t believe that! Then -one of the officials of the war office, a fine fellow, and a great -addition to society now our little town is deserted, assured us that our -troops had occupied Eupatoria, <i>thus preventing the French from -communicating with Balaklava</i>; that we lost two hundred men in this -business, and they about fifteen thousand. My wife was so much delighted -at this that she celebrated it all night long, and she has a feeling -that you took part in the action and distinguished yourself.”</p> - -<p>In spite of these words, in spite of the expressions which I have put in -italics and the general tone of the letter, Captain Mikhaïloff took a -sweet and sad satisfaction in imagining himself with his pale, -provincial lady friend. He recalled their evening conversations on -<i>sentiment</i> in the parlor arbor, and how his brave comrade, the -ex-uhlan, became vexed and disputed over games of cards with kopek -stakes when they succeeded in starting a game in his study, and how<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> his -wife joked him about it. He recalled the friendship these good people -had shown for him; and perhaps there was something more than friendship -on the side of the pale friend! All these pictures in their familiar -frames arose in his imagination with marvellous softness. He saw them in -a rosy atmosphere, and, smiling at them, he handled affectionately the -letter in the bottom of his pocket.</p> - -<p>These memories brought the captain involuntarily back to his hopes, to -his dreams. “Imagine,” he thought, as he went along the narrow alley, -“Natacha’s joy and astonishment when she reads in the <i>Invalide</i> that I -have been the first to get possession of a cannon, and have received the -Saint George! I shall be promoted to be captain-major: I was proposed -for it a long time ago. It will then be very easy for me to get to be -chief of an army battalion in the course of a year, for many among us -have been killed, and many others will be during this campaign. Then, in -the next battle, when I have made myself well known, they will intrust a -regiment to me, and I shall become lieutenant-colonel, commander of the -Order<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> of Saint Anne—then colonel—” He was already imagining himself -general, honoring with his presence Natacha, his comrade’s widow—for -his friend would, according to the dream, have to die about this -time—when the sound of the band came distinctly to his ears. A crowd of -promenaders attracted his gaze, and he came to himself on the boulevard -as before, second-captain of infantry.</p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>He first approached the pavilion, by the side of which several musicians -were playing. Other soldiers of the same regiment served as music-stands -by holding before them the open music-books, and a small circle -surrounded them, quartermasters, under-officers, nurses, and children, -engaged in watching rather than in listening. Around the pavilion -marines, aides-de-camp, officers in white gloves were standing, were -sitting, or promenading. Farther off in the broad avenue could be seen a -confused crowd of officers of every branch of the service, women of -every class, some with bonnets on, the majority with kerchiefs on their -heads; oth<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span>ers wore neither bonnets nor kerchiefs, but, astonishing to -relate, there were no old women, all were young. Below in fragrant paths -shaded by white acacias were seen isolated groups, seated and walking.</p> - -<p>No one expressed any particular joy at the sight of Captain Mikhaïloff, -with the exception, perhaps, of Objogoff and Souslikoff, captains in his -regiment, who shook his hand warmly. But the first of the two had no -gloves; he wore trousers of camel’s-hair cloth, a shabby coat, and his -red face was covered with perspiration; the second spoke with too loud a -voice, and with shocking freedom of speech. It was not very flattering -to walk with these men, especially in the presence of officers in white -gloves. Among the latter was an aide-de-camp, with whom Mikhaïloff -exchanged salutes, and a staff-officer whom he could have saluted as -well, having seen him a couple of times at the quarters of a common -friend.</p> - -<p>There was positively no pleasure in promenading with these two comrades, -whom he met five or six times a day, and shook hands with them each -time. He did not come to the band concert for that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span></p> - -<p>He would have liked to go up to the aide-de-camp with whom he exchanged -salutes, and to chat with those gentlemen, not in order that Captains -Objogoff, Souslikoff, Lieutenant Paschtezky, and others might see him in -conversation with them, but simply because they were agreeable, -well-informed people who could tell him something.</p> - -<p>Why is Mikhaïloff afraid? and why can’t he make up his mind to go up to -them? It is because he distrustfully asks himself what he will do if -these gentlemen do not return his salute, if they continue to chat -together, pretending not to see him, and if they go away, leaving him -alone among the <i>aristocrats</i>. The word <i>aristocrat</i>, taken in the sense -of a particular group, selected with great care, belonging to every -class of society, has lately gained a great popularity among us in -Russia—where it never ought to have taken root. It has entered into all -the social strata where vanity has crept in—and where does not this -pitiable weakness creep in? Everywhere; among the merchants, the -officials, the quartermasters, the officers; at Saratoff, at Mamadisch, -at Vi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span>nitzy—everywhere, in a word, where men are. Now, since there are -many men in a besieged city like Sebastopol, there is also a great deal -of vanity; that is to say, <i>aristocrats</i> are there in large numbers, -although death, the great leveller, hovers constantly over the head of -each man, be he aristocrat or not.</p> - -<p>To Captain Objogoff, Second-captain Mikhaïloff is an <i>aristocrat</i>; to -Second-captain Mikhaïloff, Aide-de-camp Kalouguine is an <i>aristocrat</i>, -because he is aide-de-camp, and says thee and thou familiarly to other -aides-de-camp; lastly, to Kalouguine, Count Nordoff is an <i>aristocrat</i>, -because he is aide-de-camp of the Emperor.</p> - -<p>Vanity, vanity, nothing but vanity! even in the presence of death, and -among men ready to die for an exalted idea. Is not vanity the -characteristic trait, the destructive ill of our age? Why has this -weakness not been recognized hitherto, just as small-pox or cholera has -been recognized? Why in our time are there only three kinds of -men—those who accept vanity as an existing fact, necessary, and -consequently just, and freely submit to it; those who consider<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> it an -evil element, but one impossible to destroy; and those who act under its -influence with unconscious servility? Why have Homer and Shakespeare -spoken of love, of glory, and of suffering, while the literature of our -century is only the interminable history of snobbery and vanity?</p> - -<p>Mikhaïloff, not able to make up his mind, twice passed in front of the -little group of <i>aristocrats</i>. The third time, making a violent effort, -he approached them. The group was composed of four officers—the -aide-de-camp Kalouguine, whom Mikhaïloff was acquainted with, the -aide-de-camp Prince Galtzine, an <i>aristocrat</i> to Kalouguine himself, -Colonel Neferdoff, one of the <i>Hundred and Twenty-two</i> (a group of -society men who had re-entered the service for this campaign were thus -called), lastly, Captain of Cavalry Praskoukine, who was also among the -Hundred and Twenty-two. Happily for Mikhaïloff, Kalouguine was in -charming spirits; the general had just spoken very confidentially to -him, and Prince Galtzine, fresh from Petersburg, was stopping in his -quarters, so he did not find it compromising to offer his hand to a -second-captain. Praskoukine did<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> not decide to do as much, although he -had often met Mikhaïloff in the bastion, had drunk his wine and his -brandy more than once, and owed him twelve rubles and a half, lost at a -game of preference. Being only slightly acquainted with Prince Galtzine, -he had no wish to call his attention to his intimacy with a simple -second-captain of infantry. He merely saluted slightly.</p> - -<p>“Well, captain,” said Kalouguine, “when are we going back to the little -bastion? You remember our meeting on the Schwartz redoubt? It was warm -there, hey?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it was warm there,” replied Mikhaïloff, remembering that night -when, following the trench in order to reach the bastion, he had met -Kalouguine marching with a grand air, bravely clattering his sword. “I -would not have to return there until to-morrow, but we have an officer -sick.” And he was going on to relate how, although it was not his turn -on duty, he thought he ought to offer to replace Nepchissetzky, because -the commander of the eighth company was ill, and only an ensign -remained, but Kalouguine did not give him time to finish.</p> - -<p>“I have a notion,” said he, turning tow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span>ards Prince Galtzine, “that -something will come off in a day or two.”</p> - -<p>“But why couldn’t something come off to-day?” timidly asked Mikhaïloff, -looking first at Kalouguine and then at Galtzine.</p> - -<p>No one replied. Galtzine made a slight grimace, and looking to one side -over Mikhaïloffs cap, said, after a moment’s silence,</p> - -<p>“What a pretty girl!—yonder, with the red kerchief. Do you know her, -captain?”</p> - -<p>“It is a sailor’s daughter. She lives close by me,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Let’s look at her closer.”</p> - -<p>And Prince Galtzine took Kalouguine by the arm on one side and the -second-captain on the other, sure that by this action he would give the -latter a lively satisfaction. He was not deceived. Mikhaïloff was -superstitious, and to have anything to do with women before going under -fire was in his eyes a great sin. But on that day he was posing for a -libertine. Neither Kalouguine nor Galtzine was deceived by this, -however. The girl with the red kerchief was very much astonished, having -more than once noticed that the captain blushed as he was passing her -window. Praskoukine marched<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> behind and nudged Galtzine, making all -sorts of remarks in French; but the path being too narrow for them to -march four abreast, he was obliged to fall behind, and in the second -file to take Serviaguine’s arm—a naval officer known for his -exceptional bravery, and very anxious to join the group of -<i>aristocrats</i>. This brave man gladly linked his honest and muscular hand -into Praskoukine’s arm, whom he knew, nevertheless, to be not quite -honorable. Explaining to Prince Galtzine his intimacy with the sailor, -Praskoukine whispered that he was a well-known, brave man; but Prince -Galtzine, who had been, the evening before, in the fourth bastion, and -had seen a shell burst twenty paces from him, considered himself equal -in courage to this gentleman; also being convinced that most reputations -were exaggerated, paid no attention to Serviaguine.</p> - -<p>Mikhaïloff was so happy to promenade in this brilliant company that he -thought no more of the dear letter received from F——, nor of the -dismal forebodings that assailed him each time he went to the bastion. -He remained with them there until they had visibly excluded him from -their conversa<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span>tion, avoiding his eye, as if to make him understand that -he could go on his way alone. At last they left him in the lurch. In -spite of that, the second-captain was so satisfied that he was quite -indifferent to the haughty expression with which the yunker<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> Baron -Pesth straightened up and took off his hat before him. This young man -had become very proud since he had passed his first night in the -bomb-proof of the fifth bastion, an experience which, in his own eyes, -transformed him into a hero.</p> - -<h3>III.</h3> - -<p>No sooner had Mikhaïloff crossed his own threshold than entirely -different thoughts came into his mind. He again saw his little room, -where beaten earth took the place of a wooden floor, his warped windows, -in which the broken panes were replaced by paper, his old bed, over -which was nailed to the wall a rug with the design of a figure of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> an -amazon, his pair of Toula pistols, hanging on the head-board, and on one -side a second untidy bed with an Indian coverlet belonging to the -yunker, who shared his quarters. He saw his valet Nikita, who rose from -the ground where he was crouching, scratching his head bristling with -greasy hair. He saw his old cloak, his second pair of boots, and the -bundle prepared for the night in the bastion, wrapped in a cloth from -which protruded the end of a piece of cheese and the neck of a bottle -filled with brandy. Suddenly he remembered he had to lead his company -into the casemates that very night.</p> - -<p>“I shall be killed, I’m sure,” he said to himself; “I feel it. Besides, -I offered to go myself, and one who does that is certain to be killed. -And what is the matter with this sick man, this cursed Nepchissetzky? -Who knows? Perhaps he isn’t sick at all. And, thanks to him, a man will -get killed—he’ll get killed, surely. However, if I am not shot I will -be put on the list for promotion. I noticed the colonel’s satisfaction -when I asked permission to take the place of Nepchissetzky if he was -sick. If I don’t get the rank of major, I shall certainly get the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> -Vladimir Cross. This is the thirteenth time I go on duty in the bastion. -Oh, oh, unlucky number! I shall be killed, I’m sure; I feel it. -Nevertheless, some one must go. The company cannot go with an ensign; -and if anything should happen, the honor of the regiment, the honor of -the army would be assailed. It is my duty to go—yes, my sacred duty. No -matter, I have a presentiment—”</p> - -<p>The captain forgot that he had this presentiment, more or less strong, -every time he went to the bastion, and he did not know that all who go -into action have this feeling, though in very different degrees. His -sense of duty which he had particularly developed calmed him, and he sat -down at his table and wrote a farewell letter to his father. In the -course of ten minutes the letter was finished. He arose with moist eyes, -and began to dress, repeating to himself all the prayers which he knew -by heart. His servant, a dull fellow, three-quarters drunk, helped him -put on his new coat, the old one he was accustomed to wear in the -bastion not being mended.</p> - -<p>“Why hasn’t that coat been mended?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> You can’t do anything but sleep, you -beast!”</p> - -<p>“Sleep!” growled Nikita, “when I am running about like a dog all day -long. I tire myself to death, and after that am not allowed to sleep!”</p> - -<p>“You are drunk again, I see.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t drink with your money; why do you find fault with me?”</p> - -<p>“Silence, fool!” cried the captain, ready to strike him.</p> - -<p>He was already nervous and troubled, and Nikita’s rudeness made him lose -patience. Nevertheless, he was very fond of the fellow, he even spoiled -him, and had kept him with him a dozen years.</p> - -<p>“Fool! fool!” repeated the servant. “Why do you abuse me, sir—and at -this time? It isn’t right to abuse me.”</p> - -<p>Mikhaïloff thought of the place he was going to, and was ashamed of -himself.</p> - -<p>“You would make a saint lose patience, Nikita,” he said, with a softer -voice. “Leave that letter addressed to my father lying on the table. -Don’t touch it,” he added, blushing.</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Nikita, weakening under the influence of the wine he -had taken, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> his own expense, as he said, and blinking his eyes, ready -to weep.</p> - -<p>Then when the captain shouted, on leaving the house, “Good-by, Nikita!” -he burst forth in a violent fit of sobbing, and seizing the hand of his -master, kissed it, howling all the while, and saying, over and over -again, “Good-by, master!”</p> - -<p>An old sailor’s wife at the door, good woman as she was, could not help -taking part in this affecting scene. Rubbing her eyes with her dirty -sleeve, she mumbled something about masters who, on their side, have to -put up with so much, and went on to relate for the hundredth time to the -drunken Nikita how she, poor creature, was left a widow, how her husband -had been killed during the first bombardment and his house ruined, for -the one she lived in now did not belong to her, etc., etc. After his -master was gone, Nikita lighted his pipe, begged the landlord’s daughter -to fetch him some brandy, quickly wiped his tears, and ended up by -quarrelling with the old woman about a little pail he said she had -broken.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I shall only be wounded,” the captain thought at nightfall, -approaching<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span> the bastion at the head of his company. “But where—here or -there?”</p> - -<p>He placed his finger first on his stomach and then on his chest.</p> - -<p>“If it were only here,” he thought, pointing to the upper part of his -thigh, “and if the ball passed round the bone! But if it is a fracture -it’s all over.”</p> - -<p>Mikhaïloff, by following the trenches, reached the casemates safe and -sound. In perfect darkness, assisted by an officer of the sappers, he -put his men to work; then he sat down in a hole in the shelter of the -parapet. They were firing only at intervals; now and again, first on our -side and then on <i>his</i>, a flash blazed forth, and the fuse of a shell -traced a curve of fire on the dark, starlit sky. But the projectiles -fell far off, behind or to the right of the quarters in which the -captain hid at the bottom of a pit. He ate a piece of cheese, drank a -few drops of brandy, lighted a cigarette, and having said his prayers, -tried to sleep.</p> - -<h3>IV.</h3> - -<p>Prince Galtzine, Lieutenant-colonel Neferdorf, and Praskoukine—whom -nobody<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> had invited, and with whom no one chatted, but who followed them -just the same—left the boulevard to go and drink tea at Kalouguine’s -quarters.</p> - -<p>“Finish your story about Vaska Mendel,” said Kalouguine.</p> - -<p>Having thrown off his cloak, he was sitting beside the window in a -stuffed easy-chair, and unbuttoned the collar of his well-starched, fine -Dutch linen shirt.</p> - -<p>“How did he get married again?”</p> - -<p>“It’s worth any amount of money, I tell you! There was a time when there -was nothing else talked about at Petersburg,” replied Prince Galtzine, -laughingly.</p> - -<p>He left the piano where he had been sitting, and drew near the window.</p> - -<p>“It’s worth any amount of money! I know all the details—”</p> - -<p>And gayly and wittily he set about relating the story of an amorous -intrigue, which we will pass over in silence because it offers us little -interest. The striking thing about these gentlemen was, that one of them -seated in the window, another at the piano, and a third on a chair with -his legs doubled up, seemed to be quite different men from what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> they -were a moment before on the boulevard. No more conceit, no more of this -ridiculous affectation towards the infantry officers. Here between -themselves they showed out what they were—good fellows, gay, and in -high spirits. Their conversation continued upon their comrades and their -acquaintances in Petersburg.</p> - -<p>“And Maslovsky?”</p> - -<p>“Which one—the uhlan or the horse-guardsman?”</p> - -<p>“I know them both. In my time the horse-guardsman was only a boy just -out of school. And the oldest, is he a captain?”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, for a long time.”</p> - -<p>“Is he always with his Bohemian girl?”</p> - -<p>“No, he left her—”</p> - -<p>And the talk went on in this tone.</p> - -<p>Prince Galtzine sang in a charming manner a gypsy song, accompanying -himself on the piano. Praskoukine, without being asked, sang second, and -so well too that, to his great delight, they begged him to do it again.</p> - -<p>A servant brought in tea, cream, and rusks on a silver tray.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Give some to the prince,” said Kalouguine.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it strange to think,” said Galtzine, drinking his glass of tea -near the window, “that we are here in a besieged city, that we have a -piano, tea with cream, and all this in lodgings which I would be glad to -live in at Petersburg?”</p> - -<p>“If we didn’t even have that,” said the old lieutenant-colonel, always -discontented, “existence would be intolerable. This continual -expectation of something, or this seeing people killed every day without -stopping, and this living in the mud without the least comfort—”</p> - -<p>“But our infantry officers,” interrupted Kalouguine, “those who live in -the bastion with the soldiers, and share their soup with them in the -bomb-proof, how do they get on?”</p> - -<p>“How do they get on? They don’t change their linen, to be sure, for ten -days at a time, but they are astonishing fellows, true heroes!”</p> - -<p>Just at this moment an infantry officer entered the room.</p> - -<p>“I—I have received an order—to go to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> general—to his Excellency, from -General N——” he said, timidly saluting.</p> - -<p>Kalouguine rose, and without returning the salute of the new-comer, -without inviting him to be seated, begged him with cruel politeness and -an official smile to wait a while; then he went on talking in French -with Galtzine, without paying the slightest attention to the poor -officer, who stood in the middle of the room, and did not know what to -do with himself.</p> - -<p>“I have been sent on an important matter,” he said at last, after a -moment of silence.</p> - -<p>“If that is so, be kind enough to follow me.” Kalouguine threw on his -cloak and turned towards the door. An instant later he came back from -the general’s room.</p> - -<p>“Well, gentlemen, I believe they are going to make it warm to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! what—a sortie?” they all asked together.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, you will see yourselves,” he replied, with an enigmatic -smile.</p> - -<p>“My chief is in the bastion, I must go there,” said Praskoukine, putting -on his sword.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span></p> - -<p>No one replied; he ought to know what he had to do. Praskoukine and -Neferdorf went out to go to their posts.</p> - -<p>“Good-by, gentlemen, <i>au revoir</i>! we will meet again to-night,” cried -Kalouguine through the window, while they set out at a rapid trot, -bending over the pommels of their Cossack saddles. The sound of their -horses’ shoes quickly died away in the dark street.</p> - -<p>“Come, tell me, will there really be something going on to-night?” said -Galtzine, leaning on the window-sill near Kalouguine, whence they were -watching the shells rising over the bastions.</p> - -<p>“I can tell you, you alone. You have been in the bastions, haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>Although Galtzine had only been there once he replied by an affirmative -gesture.</p> - -<p>“Well, opposite our lunette there was a trench”—and Kalouguine, who was -not a specialist, but who was satisfied of the value of his military -opinions, began to explain, mixing himself up and making wrong use of -the terms of fortification, the state of our works, the situation of the -enemy, and the plan of the affair which had been prepared.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span></p> - -<p>“There! there! They have begun to fire heavily on our quarters; is that -coming from our side or from <i>his</i>—the one that has just burst there?” -And the two officers, leaning on the window, watched the lines of fire -which the shells traced crossing each other in the air, the white -powder-smoke, the flashes which preceded each report and illuminated for -a second the blue-black sky; they listened to the roar of the cannonade, -which increased in violence.</p> - -<p>“What a charming panorama!” said Kalouguine, attracting his guest’s -attention to the truly beautiful spectacle. “Do you know that sometimes -one can’t tell a star from a bomb-shell?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is true; I just took that for a star, but it is coming down. -Look! it bursts! And that large star there yonder—what do they call it? -One would say it was a shell!”</p> - -<p>“I am so accustomed to them that when I go back to Russia a starry sky -will seem to me to be sparkling with bomb-shells. One gets so used to -it.”</p> - -<p>“Ought I not to go and take part in this sortie?” said Prince Galtzine, -after a pause.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span></p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, what an idea! Don’t think of it. I won’t let you go; -you will have time enough.”</p> - -<p>“Seriously—do you think I ought not to?”</p> - -<p>At this moment, right in the direction these gentlemen were looking, -could be heard above the roar of artillery the rattle of a terrible -fusillade; a thousand little flames spurted and sparkled along the whole -line.</p> - -<p>“Look, it is in full swing,” said Kalouguine. “I can’t calmly listen to -this fusillade; it stirs my soul! They are shouting ‘Hurrah!’<span class="lftspc">”</span> he added, -stretching his ear towards the bastion, from which arose the distant and -prolonged clamor of thousands of voices.</p> - -<p>“Who is shouting ‘Hurrah’—<i>he</i> or we?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know; but they are surely fighting at the sword’s point, for -the fusillade has stopped.”</p> - -<p>An officer on horseback, followed by a Cossack, galloped up under their -window, stopped, and dismounted.</p> - -<p>“Where do you come from?”</p> - -<p>“From the bastion, to see the general.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Come, what is the matter? Speak!”</p> - -<p>“They have attacked—have taken the quarters. The French have pushed -forward their reserves—ours have been attacked—and there were only two -battalions of them,” said the officer, out of breath.</p> - -<p>It was the same one who had come in the evening, but this time he went -towards the door with confidence.</p> - -<p>“Then we retreated?” asked Galtzine.</p> - -<p>“No,” replied the officer, in a surly tone, “a battalion arrived in -time. We repulsed them, but the chief of the regiment is killed, and -many officers besides. They want reinforcements.”</p> - -<p>So saying, he went with Kalouguine into the general’s room, whither we -will not follow them.</p> - -<p>Five minutes later Kalouguine set out for the bastion on a horse, which -he rode in the Cossack fashion, a kind of riding which seems to give a -particular pleasure to the aides-de-camp. He was the bearer of certain -orders, and had to await the definite result of the affair. As to Prince -Galtzine, he, agitated by the painful emotions which the signs of a -battle in progress usually ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span>cite in the idle spectator, hastily went -out into the street to wander aimlessly to and fro.</p> - -<h3>V.</h3> - -<p>Soldiers carried the wounded on stretchers, and supported others under -the arms. It was very dark in the streets; here and there shone the -lights in the hospital windows or in the quarters of a wakeful officer. -The uninterrupted sound of the cannonade and the fusillade came from the -bastions, and the same fires still lighted up the black sky. From time -to time could be recognized the gallop of a staff-officer, the groan of -a wounded man, the steps and the voices of the stretcher-bearers, the -exclamations of doting women who stood on the thresholds of their houses -and watched in the direction of the firing.</p> - -<p>Among these last we find our acquaintance Nikita, the old sailor’s widow -with whom he had made up, and the little daughter of the latter, a child -of ten years.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my God! holy Virgin and Mother!” murmured the old woman, with a -sigh; and she followed with her eyes the shells which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> flew through -space from one point to another like balls of fire. “What a misfortune! -what a misfortune! The first bombardment was not so hard. Look! one -cursed thing has burst in the outskirts of the town right over our -house!”</p> - -<p>“No, it is farther off; they are falling in Aunt Arina’s garden,” said -the child.</p> - -<p>“Where is my master! where is he now!” groaned Nikita, still drunk, and -drawling his words. “No tongue can tell how I love my master! If, God -forbid, they commit the sin of killing him, I assure you, good aunt, I -won’t be answerable for what I may do! Really, he is such a good master -that—There is no word to express it, you see. I wouldn’t exchange him -for those who are playing cards inside, true. Pooh!” concluded Nikita, -pointing to the captain’s room, in which the yunker Yvatchesky had -arranged with the ensigns a little festival to celebrate the decoration -he had just received.</p> - -<p>“What a lot of shooting-stars there are! what a lot of shooting-stars -there are!” cried the child, breaking the silence which followed -Nikita’s speech. “There! there!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span> another one is falling! What is that -for? Say, mother.”</p> - -<p>“They’ll destroy our cabin!” sighed the old woman, without replying.</p> - -<p>“To-day,” resumed the sing-song voice of the little prattler—“to-day I -saw in uncle’s room, near the wardrobe, an enormous ball; it had come -through the roof and had fallen right into the room. It is so large that -they can’t lift it.”</p> - -<p>“The women who had husbands and money are gone away,” continued the old -woman. “I have only a cabin, and they are destroying that! Look! look -how they are firing, the wretches! Lord, my God!”</p> - -<p>“And just as we were coming out of uncle’s house,” the child went on, “a -bomb-shell came straight down; it burst, and threw the earth on all -sides; one little piece almost struck us!”</p> - -<h3>VI.</h3> - -<p>Prince Galtzine met in constantly increasing numbers wounded men borne -on stretchers, others dragging themselves along on foot or supporting -each other, and talking noisily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span></p> - -<p>“When they fell upon us, brothers,” said the bass voice of a tall -soldier who carried two muskets on his shoulder—“when they fell upon -us, shouting ‘Allah! allah!’<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> they pushed one another on. We killed -the first, and others climbed over them. There was nothing to be done; -there were too many of them—too many of them!”</p> - -<p>“You come from the bastion?” asked Galtzine, interrupting the orator.</p> - -<p>“Yes, your Excellency.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what happened there? Tell me.”</p> - -<p>“This happened, your Excellency—<i>his strength</i> surrounded us; he -climbed on the ramparts and had the best of it, your Excellency.”</p> - -<p>“How? the best of it? But you beat them back?”</p> - -<p>“Ah yes, beat them back! But when all <i>his strength</i> came down upon us, -<i>he</i> killed our men, and no help for it!”</p> - -<p>The soldier was mistaken, for the trenches were ours; but, strange but -well-authenticated fact, a soldier wounded in a battle al<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span>ways believes -it a lost and a terribly bloody one.</p> - -<p>“I was told, nevertheless, that you beat him back,” continued Galtzine, -good-naturedly; “perhaps it was after you came away. Did you leave there -long ago?”</p> - -<p>“This very moment, your Excellency. The trenches must belong to him; -<i>he</i> had the upperhand—”</p> - -<p>“Why, aren’t you ashamed of yourselves? Abandon the trenches! It is -frightful,” said Galtzine, irritated by the indifference of the man.</p> - -<p>“What could be done when <i>he</i> had the <i>strength</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, your Excellency,” said a soldier borne on a stretcher, “why not -abandon them, when he has killed us all? If we had the <i>strength</i> we -would never have abandoned them! But what was to be done? I had just -stuck one of them when I was hit—Oh, softly, brothers, softly! Oh, for -mercy’s sake!” groaned the wounded man.</p> - -<p>“Hold on; far too many are coming back,” said Galtzine, again stopping -the tall soldier with the two muskets. “Why don’t you go back, hey? -Halt!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The soldier obeyed, and took off his cap with his left hand.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going to?” sternly demanded the prince, “and who gave you -permission, good-for—” But coming nearer, he saw that the soldier’s -right arm was covered with blood up to the elbow.</p> - -<p>“I am wounded, your Excellency.”</p> - -<p>“Wounded! where?”</p> - -<p>“Here, by a bullet,” and the soldier showed his arm; “but I don’t know -what hit me a crack there.” He held his head down, and showed on the -back of his neck locks of hair glued together by coagulated blood.</p> - -<p>“Whose gun is this?”</p> - -<p>“It is a French carbine, your Excellency; I brought it away. I wouldn’t -have come away, but I had to lead that small soldier, who might fall -down;” and he pointed to an infantryman who was walking some paces ahead -of them leaning on his gun and dragging his left leg with difficulty.</p> - -<p>Prince Galtzine was cruelly ashamed of his unjust suspicions, and -conscious that he was blushing, turned around. Without questioning or -looking after the wounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span> any more, he directed his steps towards the -field-hospital. Making his way to the entrance with difficulty through -soldiers, litters, stretcher-bearers who came in with the wounded and -went out with the dead, Galtzine entered as far as the first room, took -one look about him, recoiled involuntarily, and precipitately fled into -the street. What he saw there was far too horrible!</p> - -<h3>VII.</h3> - -<p>The great, high, sombre hall, lighted only by four or five candles, -where the surgeons moved about examining the wounded, was literally -crammed with people. Stretcher-bearers continually brought new wounded -and placed them side by side in rows on the ground. The crowd was so -great that the wretches pushed against one another and bathed in their -neighbors’ blood. Pools of stagnant gore stood in the empty places; from -the feverish breath of several hundred men, the perspiration of the -bearers, rose a heavy, thick, fetid atmosphere in which candles burned -dimly in different parts of the hall. A confused murmur of groans,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> -sighs, death-rattles, was interrupted by piercing cries. Sisters of -Charity, whose calm faces did not express woman’s futile and tearful -compassion, but an active and lively interest, glided here and there in -the midst of bloody coats and shirts, sometimes striding over the -wounded, carrying medicines, water, bandages, lint. Surgeons with their -sleeves turned up, on their knees before the wounded, examined and -probed the wounds by the flare of torches held by their assistants, in -spite of the terrible cries and supplications of the patients. Seated at -a little table beside the door a major wrote the number 532.</p> - -<p>“Ivan Bogoïef, private in the third company of the regiment from C——, -<i>fractura femuris complicata</i>!” shouted the surgeon, who was dressing a -broken limb at the other end of the hall. “Turn him over.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, oh, good fathers!” gasped the soldier, begging them to leave him in -peace.</p> - -<p>“<i>Perforatio capites.</i> Simon Neferdof, lieutenant-colonel of the -infantry regiment from N——. Have a little patience, colonel. There is -no way of—I shall be obliged to leave you there,” said a third, who was -fum<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span>bling with a sort of hook in the head of the unfortunate officer.</p> - -<p>“In Heaven’s name, get done quickly!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Perforatio pectoris.</i> Sebastian Sereda, private—what regiment? But it -is no use, don’t write it down. <i>Moritur.</i> Carry him off,” added the -surgeon, leaving the dying man, who with upturned eyes was already -gasping.</p> - -<p>Forty or fifty stretcher-bearers awaited their burdens at the door. The -living were sent to the hospital, the dead to the chapel. They waited in -silence, and sometimes a sigh escaped them as they contemplated this -picture.</p> - -<h3>VIII.</h3> - -<p>Kalouguine met many wounded on his way to the bastion. Knowing by -experience the bad influence of this spectacle on the spirit of a man -who is going under fire, he not only did not stop them to ask questions, -but he tried not to notice those he met. At the foot of the hill he ran -across a staff-officer coming down from the bastion full speed.</p> - -<p>“Zobkine! Zobkine! one moment!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Where do you come from?”</p> - -<p>“From the quarters.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what is going on there? Is it hot?”</p> - -<p>“Terribly!”</p> - -<p>And the officer galloped off. The fusillade seemed to grow less; on the -other hand, the cannonade began again with renewed vigor.</p> - -<p>“Hum—a bad business!” thought Kalouguine. He had an indefinite but very -disagreeable feeling; he had even a presentiment, that is to say, a very -common thought—the thought of death.</p> - -<p>Kalouguine possessed self-love and nerves of steel. He was, in a word, -what is commonly called a brave man. He did not give way to this first -impression; he raised his courage by recalling the story of one of -Napoleon’s aides-de-camp, who came to his chief with his head bloody, -after having carried an order with all speed.</p> - -<p>“Are you wounded?” asked the emperor.</p> - -<p>“I crave pardon, sire, I am dead!” replied the aide-de-camp, and falling -from his horse, died on the spot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span></p> - -<p>This anecdote pleased him. Putting himself in imagination in the place -of the aide-de-camp, he lashed his horse, put on a still more “Cossack” -gait, and rising in his stirrups to cast a look upon the platoon that -followed him on a trot, he reached the place where they had to dismount. -There he found four soldiers sitting on some rocks, smoking their pipes.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing there?” he cried.</p> - -<p>“We have been carrying a wounded man, your Excellency, and we are -resting,” said one of them, hiding his pipe behind his back and taking -off his cap.</p> - -<p>“That’s it—you are resting! Forward! to your post!”</p> - -<p>He put himself at their head and proceeded with them along the trench, -meeting wounded men at every step. On the top of the plateau he turned -to the left and found himself, a few steps farther on, completely -isolated. A piece of a shell whistled near him and buried itself in the -trenches; a mortar-bomb rising in the air seemed to fly straight for his -breast. Seized by a sudden terror, he rushed on several steps and threw -himself down. When the bomb had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> burst some distance off he was very -angry with himself and got up. He looked around to see if any one had -noticed him lying down; no one was near.</p> - -<p>Let fear once get possession of the soul, and it does not readily yield -its place to another sentiment. He who had boasted of never bowing his -head, went along the trenches at a rapid pace, and almost on his hands -and feet.</p> - -<p>“Ah! it is a bad sign,” thought he, as his foot tripped. “I shall be -killed, sure!”</p> - -<p>He breathed with difficulty; he was bathed with sweat, and he was -astonished that he made no effort to overcome his fright. Suddenly, at -the sound of a step which approached, he quickly straightened up, raised -his head, clinked his sabre with a swagger, and lessened his pace. He -met an officer of sappers and a sailor. The former shouted, “Lie down!” -pointing to the luminous point of a bomb-shell, which came nearer, -redoubling its speed and its brightness.</p> - -<p>The projectile struck in the side of the trench. At the cry of the -officer, Kalouguine made a slight, involuntary bow, then continued on -his way without a frown.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span></p> - -<p>“There’s a brave fellow!” said the sailor who coolly watched the fall of -the bomb. His practised eye had calculated that the pieces would not -fall into the trench. “He wouldn’t lie down!”</p> - -<p>In order to reach the bomb-proof occupied by the commander of the -bastion, Kalouguine had only one more open space to pass when he felt -himself again overcome by a stupid fear. His heart beat as if it would -burst, the blood rushed to his head, and it was only by a violent effort -of self-control that he reached the shelter at a run.</p> - -<p>“Why are you so out of breath?” asked the general, after he had -delivered the order he brought.</p> - -<p>“I walked very quickly, Excellency.”</p> - -<p>“Can I offer you a glass of wine?”</p> - -<p>Kalouguine drank a bumper and lit a cigarette. The engagement was -finished, but a violent cannonade continued on both sides. The commander -of the bastion and several officers, among them Praskoukine, were -assembled in the bomb-proof; they were talking over the details of the -affair. The interior, covered with figured paper<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> with a blue ground, -was furnished with a lounge, a bed, a table covered with papers, and -decorated with a clock hanging on the wall and an image, before which -burned a small lamp. Seated in this comfortable room, Kalouguine saw all -the marks of a quiet life; he measured with his eye the great beams of -the ceiling half a yard thick; he heard the noise of the cannonade, -deafened by the bomb-proofs, and he could not understand how he could -have yielded twice to unpardonable attacks of weakness. Angry with -himself, he would have liked to expose himself to danger again to put -his courage to the proof.</p> - -<p>A naval officer with a great mustache and a cross of Saint George on his -staff overcoat came at this moment to beg the general to give him some -workmen to repair two sand-bag embrasures in the battery.</p> - -<p>“I am very glad to see you, captain,” said Kalouguine to the new-comer; -“the general charged me to ask you if your cannon can fire grape into -the trenches.”</p> - -<p>“One single gun,” replied the captain, with a morose air.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Let’s go and look at them!”</p> - -<p>The officer frowned and growled out,</p> - -<p>“I have just passed the whole night there, and I have come in to rest a -little; can’t you go there alone? You will find my second in command, -Lieutenant Kartz, who will show you everything.”</p> - -<p>The captain had commanded this same battery for full six months, and it -was one of the most dangerous posts. He had not left the bastion, -indeed, since the beginning of the siege, and even before the -construction of the bomb-proof shelters. He had gained among the sailors -a reputation for invincible courage. On this account his refusal was a -lively surprise to Kalouguine.</p> - -<p>“That’s what reputations are!” thought the latter. “Then I will go -alone, if you allow me,” he added aloud, in a mocking tone, to which the -officer paid no attention.</p> - -<p>Kalouguine forgot that this man counted six whole months of life in the -bastion, while he, altogether, at different times, had not passed more -than fifty hours there. Vanity, desire to shine, to get a reward, to -make a reputation, even the delight in danger, incited him still more, -while the captain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> had become indifferent to all that. He had also made -a show, had performed courageous deeds, had uselessly risked his life, -had hoped for and had received rewards, had established his reputation -as a brave officer. But to-day these stimulants had lost their power -over him; he looked at things differently. Well understanding that he -had little chance of escaping death after six months in the bastions, he -did not thoughtlessly risk his life, and limited himself to fulfilling -strictly his duty. In fact, the young lieutenant appointed to his -battery only eight days ago, and Kalouguine to whom this lieutenant -showed it in detail, seemed ten times braver than the captain. Rising in -each other’s estimation, these two hung out of the embrasures and -climbed over the ramparts.</p> - -<p>His inspection ended, and as he was returning to the bomb-proof, -Kalouguine ran against the general, who was going to the observation -tower, followed by his staff.</p> - -<p>“Captain Praskoukine,” ordered the general, “go down, I beg, into the -quarters on the right. You will find there the second <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span>battalion from -M—— which is working down there. Order it to stop work, to retire -without noise, and to rejoin its regiment in the reserve force at the -bottom of the hill. You understand? Lead it yourself to the regiment.”</p> - -<p>“I’m off,” replied Praskoukine, and he departed on the run.</p> - -<p>The cannonade diminished in violence.</p> - -<h3>IX.</h3> - -<p>“Are you the second battalion of the regiment from M——?” asked -Praskoukine of a soldier who was carrying sand-bags.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Where is the commander?”</p> - -<p>Mikhaïloff, supposing that the captain of the company was wanted, came -out of his pit, raised his hand to his cap, and approached Praskoukine, -whom he took for a commanding officer.</p> - -<p>“The general orders you—you must—you must retire at once—without any -noise—to the rear; that is, to the reserve force,” said Praskoukine, -stealthily looking in the direction of the enemy’s fire.</p> - -<p>Having recognized his comrade, and having gained an idea of the -manœuvre, Mi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span>khaïloff dropped his hand and gave the order to the -soldiers. They took their muskets, put on their coats, and marched off.</p> - -<p>He who has never felt it cannot appreciate the joy which a man -experiences at leaving, after three hours of bombardment, a place as -dangerous as the quarters were. During these three hours Mikhaïloff, -who, not without reason, was thinking of death as an inevitable thing, -had the time to get accustomed to the notion that he would surely be -killed, and that he no longer belonged to the living world. In spite of -that, it was by a violent effort that he kept from running when he came -out of the quarters at the head of his company, side by side with -Praskoukine.</p> - -<p>“<i>Au revoir! bon voyage!</i>” shouted the major who commanded the battalion -left in the quarters. Mikhaïloff had shared his cheese with him, both of -them seated in a pit in shelter of the parapet.</p> - -<p>“The same to you; good-luck! It seems to me it is getting quieter.”</p> - -<p>But scarcely had he uttered these words than the enemy, who had -doubtless noticed the movement, began to fire his best; our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span> side -replied, and the cannonade began again with violence. The stars were -shining, but with little light, for the night was dark. The shots and -the shell explosions alone lighted for an instant the surrounding -objects. The soldiers marched rapidly and in silence, some hurrying past -the others: only the regular sound of their steps could be heard on the -hardened earth, accompanied by the incessant roar of the cannonade, the -click of bayonets striking one another, the sigh or the prayer of a -soldier: “Lord! Lord!”</p> - -<p>Occasionally a wounded man groaned, and a stretcher was called for. In -the company which Mikhaïloff commanded, the artillery fire had disabled -twenty-six men since the day before.</p> - -<p>A flash illuminated the distant darkness of the horizon; the sentinel on -the bastion cried, “Can—non!” and a ball, whistling over the company, -buried itself in the ground, which it ploughed up, sending the stones -flying about.</p> - -<p>“The devil take them! How slowly they march!” thought Praskoukine, who, -following Mikhaïloff, was looking behind him at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> every step. “I could -run ahead, since I have delivered the order—Indeed, no! they would say -I was a coward! Whatever happens I will march along with them.”</p> - -<p>“Why is he following me?” said Mikhaïloff, on his side. “I always -noticed he brings bad luck. There comes another, straight towards us, -seems to me.”</p> - -<p>A few hundred steps farther on they met Kalouguine on his way to the -quarters, bravely rattling his sword. The general had sent him to ask -how the work went on, but at the sight of Mikhaïloff he said to himself -that, instead of exposing himself to this terrible fire, he could just -as well find out by asking the officer who came from there. Mikhaïloff -gave him, in fact, all the details. Kalouguine accompanied him to the -end of the path, and re-entered the trench which led to the bomb-proof.</p> - -<p>“What’s the news?” asked the officer, who was supping alone in the -earthwork.</p> - -<p>“Nothing. I don’t believe there will be any more fighting.”</p> - -<p>“How! no more fighting? On the contrary, the general has just gone up to -the bastion. A new regiment has arrived. Be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span>sides—listen!—the -fusillade is beginning again. Don’t go. What’s the use of it?” added the -officer, as Kalouguine made a movement.</p> - -<p>“Nevertheless, I ought to go,” said the latter to himself. “However, -haven’t I been exposed to danger long enough to-day? The fusillade is -terrible.”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” he continued aloud, “I had better wait here.”</p> - -<p>Twenty minutes later the general came back, accompanied by his officers, -among whom was the yunker, Baron Pesth, but Praskoukine was not with -them. Our troops had retaken and reoccupied the quarters. After having -heard the details of the affair, Kalouguine went out of the shelter with -Pesth.</p> - -<h3>X.</h3> - -<p>“You have some blood on your overcoat; were you fighting hand-to-hand?” -asked Kalouguine.</p> - -<p>“Oh! it is frightful! Imagine—” And Pesth began to relate how he had -led his company after the death of his chief, how he had killed a -Frenchman, and how, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span>out his assistance, the battle would have been -lost. The foundation of the tale, that is, the death of the chief and -the Frenchman killed by Pesth, was true, but the yunker, elaborating the -details, enlarged on them and boasted.</p> - -<p>He boasted without premeditation. During the whole affair he had lived -in a fantastic mist, so much so that everything that had happened seemed -to him to have taken place vaguely, God knows where or how, and to -belong to some one besides himself. Naturally enough he tried to invent -incidents to his own advantage. However, this is the way the thing -happened:</p> - -<p>The battalion to which he had been detailed to take part in the sortie -remained two hours under the enemy’s fire, then the commander said a few -words, the company chiefs began to move about, the troops left the -shelter of the parapet and were drawn up in columns a hundred paces -farther on. Pesth was ordered to place himself on the flank of the -second company. Neither understanding the situation nor the movement, -the yunker, with restrained breath and a prey to a nervous tremor which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> -ran down his back, placed himself at the post indicated, and gazed -mechanically before him into the distant darkness, expecting something -terrible. However, the sentiment of fear was not the dominating one in -his case, for the firing had ceased. What appeared to him strange, -uncomfortable, was to find himself in the open field outside the -fortifications.</p> - -<p>The commander of the battalion once more pronounced certain words, which -were again repeated in a low voice by the officers, and suddenly the -black wall formed by the first company sank down. The order to lie down -had been given; the second company did the same, and Pesth in lying down -pricked his hand with some sharp thing. The small silhouette of the -captain of the second company alone remained standing, and he brandished -a naked sword without ceasing to talk and to walk back and forth in -front of the soldiers.</p> - -<p>“Attention, children! Show yourselves brave men! No firing! get at the -wretches with the bayonet! When I shout ‘hurrah!’ follow me—closely and -all together—we will show them what we can do. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> won’t cover -ourselves with shame, will we, children? For the Czar, our father!”</p> - -<p>“What’s the name of the company chief?” asked Pesth from a yunker next -to him. “He is a brave one!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he’s always so under fire. He is called Lissinkoffsky.”</p> - -<p>Just at this moment a flame spurted out, followed by a deafening report; -splinters and stones flew in the air. Fifty seconds later one of the -stones fell from a great height and crushed the foot of a soldier. A -shell had fallen in the middle of the company, a proof that the French -had noticed the column.</p> - -<p>“Ah! you are sending us shells now! Let us get at you and you will taste -the Russian bayonet, curse you!”</p> - -<p>The captain shouted so loud that the commander of the battalion ordered -him to be silent.</p> - -<p>The first company rose up, after that the second; the soldiers took up -their muskets and the battalion advanced.</p> - -<p>Pesth, seized by a foolish terror, could not remember whether they -marched far; he went on like a drunken man. Suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> thousands of fires -flashed on all sides, with whizzings and crackings. He gave a yell and -ran forward, because they all yelled and ran; then he tripped and fell -over something. It was the company chief, wounded at the head of his -troops, who took the yunker for a Frenchman and seized his leg. Pesth -pulled his feet away and got up. Some one threw himself on him in the -darkness, and he was almost knocked over again. A voice shouted to him, -“Kill him, then! What are you waiting for?”</p> - -<p>A hand seized his musket, the point of his bayonet buried itself in -something soft.</p> - -<p>“Ah! Dieu!”</p> - -<p>These words were spoken in French, with an accent of pain and fright. -The yunker knew he had just killed a Frenchman. A cold sweat moistened -his whole body; he began to tremble, and threw down his musket. But that -lasted only a second; the thought that he was a hero came to his mind. -Picking up his gun, he left the dead man, running and shouting “Hurrah!” -with the rest. Twenty steps farther on he reached the trench where our -troops and the commander of battalion were.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have killed one!” said he to the latter.</p> - -<p>“You are a brave fellow, baron,” was the reply.</p> - -<h3>XI.</h3> - -<p>“Did you know that Praskoukine is dead?” said Pesth to Kalouguine on the -way back.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t possible!”</p> - -<p>“Why not? I saw him myself.”</p> - -<p>“Good-by; I am in a hurry.”</p> - -<p>“A lucky day!” thought Kalouguine, as he was entering his quarters. “For -the first time I am lucky. It has been a brilliant affair; I have come -out of it safe and sound; there must be recommendations for decoration. -A sword of honor will be the least they can give me. Faith, I have well -deserved it!”</p> - -<p>He made his report to the general, and went to his room. Prince Galtzine -was reading a book at the table, and had been waiting for him a long -time.</p> - -<p>It was with an inexpressible joy that Kalouguine found himself at home, -far from danger. Lying on his bed in his nightshirt, he related to -Galtzine the incidents of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> the fight. These incidents naturally arranged -themselves so as to make it appear how he, Kalouguine, was a brave and -capable officer. He discreetly touched on this because no one could be -ignorant of it, and no one, with the exception of the defunct captain -Praskoukine, had the right to doubt it. The latter, although he felt -very much honored to walk arm-in-arm with the aide-de-camp, had told one -of his friends in his very ear the evening before that Kalouguine—a -very good fellow, however—did not like to walk on the bastions.</p> - -<p>We left Praskoukine coming back with Mikhaïloff. He reached a less -exposed place and began to breathe again, when he perceived, on turning -around, the sudden light of a flash. The sentinel shouted, “Mor—tar!” -And one of the soldiers who followed added, “It is coming straight into -the bastion!” Mikhaïloff looked. The luminous point of the bomb-shell -seemed to stop directly over his head, exactly the moment when it was -impossible to tell what direction it was going to take. That was for the -space of a second. Suddenly, redoubling its speed, the projectile came<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> -nearer and nearer. The sparks of the fuse could be seen flying out, the -dismal hissing was plainly audible. It was going to drop right in the -midst of the battalion. “To earth!” shouted a voice. Mikhaïloff and -Praskoukine obeyed. The latter, with shut eyes, heard the shell fall -somewhere on the hard earth very near him. A second, which appeared to -him an hour, passed, and the shell did not burst. Praskoukine was -frightened; then he asked himself what cause he had for fear. Perhaps it -had fallen farther away, and he wrongly imagined that he heard the fuse -hissing near him. Opening his eyes, he was satisfied to see Mikhaïloff -stretched motionless at his feet; but at the same time he perceived, a -yard off, the lighted fuse of the shell spinning around like a top. A -glacial terror, which stifled every thought, every sentiment, took -possession of his soul. He hid his face in his hands.</p> - -<p>Another second passed, during which a whole world of thoughts, of hopes, -of sensations, and of souvenirs passed through his mind.</p> - -<p>“Whom will it kill? Me or Mikhaïloff,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> or indeed both of us together? If -it is I, where will it hit me? If in the head, it will be all over; if -on the foot, they will cut it off, then I shall insist that they give me -chloroform, and I may get well. Perhaps Mikhaïloff alone will be killed, -and later I will tell how we were close together, and how I was covered -with his blood. No, no! it is nearer me—it will be I!”</p> - -<p>Then he remembered the twelve rubles he owed Mikhaïloff, and another -debt left at Petersburg, which ought to have been paid long ago. A -Bohemian air that he sang the evening before came to his mind. He also -saw in his imagination the lady he was in love with in her lilac trimmed -bonnet; the man who had insulted him five years before, and whom he had -never taken vengeance on. But in the midst of these and many other -souvenirs the present feeling—the expectation of death—did not leave -him. “Perhaps it isn’t going to explode!” he thought, and was on the -point of opening his eyes with desperate boldness. But at this instant a -red fire struck his eyeballs through the closed lids, something hit him -in the middle of the chest with a terri<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span>ble crash. He ran forward at -random, entangled his feet in his sword, stumbled, and fell on his side.</p> - -<p>“God be praised, I am only bruised.”</p> - -<p>This was his first thought, and he wanted to feel of his breast, but his -hands seemed as if they were tied. A vice griped his head, soldiers ran -before his eyes, and he mechanically counted them:</p> - -<p>“One, two, three soldiers, and, besides, an officer who is losing his -cloak!”</p> - -<p>A new light flashed; he wondered what had fired. Was it a mortar or a -cannon? Doubtless a cannon. Another shot, more soldiers—five, six, -seven. They passed in front of him, and suddenly he became terribly -afraid of being crushed by them. He wanted to cry out, to say that he -was bruised, but his lips were dry, his tongue was glued to the roof of -his mouth. He had a burning thirst. He felt that his breast was damp, -and the sensation of this moisture made him think of water.... He would -have liked to drink that which drenched him.</p> - -<p>“I must have knocked the skin off in falling,” he said to himself, more -and more frightened at the idea of being crushed by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> the soldiers who -were running in crowds before him. He tried again to cry out,</p> - -<p>“Take me!—”</p> - -<p>But instead of that he uttered a groan so terrible that he was -frightened at it himself. Then red sparks danced before his eyes; it -seemed as if the soldiers were piling stones on him. The sparks danced -more rapidly, the stones piled on him stifled him more and more. He -stretched himself out, he ceased to see, to hear, to think, to feel. He -had been killed instantly by a piece of shell striking him full in the -breast.</p> - -<h3>XII.</h3> - -<p>Mikhaïloff also threw himself down on seeing the shell. Like -Praskoukine, he thought of a crowd of things during the two seconds -which preceded the explosion. He said his prayers mentally, repeating,</p> - -<p>“May Thy will be done! Why, O Lord, am I a soldier? Why did I exchange -into the infantry to make this campaign? Why did I not remain in the -uhlan regiment, in the province of F——, near my friend Natacha? and -now see what is going to happen to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He began to count—“One, two, three, four,” saying to himself that if -the shell exploded on an even number he would live, if at an odd number -he would be killed.</p> - -<p>“It is all over, I am killed!” he thought, at the sound of the -explosion, without thinking any more of odd or even. Struck on the head, -he felt a terrible pain.</p> - -<p>“Lord, pardon my sins!” he murmured, clasping his hands.</p> - -<p>He tried to rise, and fell unconscious, face downward. His first -sensation when he came to himself was of blood running from his nose. -The pain in his head was much lessened.</p> - -<p>“My soul is departing. What will there be over <i>yonder</i>? My God, receive -my soul in peace! It is nevertheless strange,” he reasoned, “that I am -dying, and I can distinctly hear the footsteps of the soldiers and the -sound of shots!”</p> - -<p>“A stretcher this way! The company chief is killed!” cried a voice which -he recognized, that of the drummer Ignatieff.</p> - -<p>Some one raised him up by the shoulders; he opened his eyes with an -effort and saw the dark-blue sky over his head, myriads of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> stars, and -two shells flying through space as if they were racing with each other. -He saw Ignatieff, soldiers loaded down with stretchers and with muskets, -the slope of the intrenchment, and suddenly he understood he was still -in the world.</p> - -<p>A stone had slightly wounded him on the head. His first impression was -almost a regret. He felt so well, so quietly prepared to go over -<i>yonder</i>, that the return to reality, the sight of the shells, of the -trenches, and of blood, was painful to him. The second impression was an -involuntary joy at feeling himself alive, and the third was the desire -to leave the bastion as quickly as possible. The drummer bandaged his -chief’s head and led him towards the field-hospital, supporting him -under his arm.</p> - -<p>“Where am I going, and what for?” thought the captain, coming to himself -a little. “My duty is to remain with my company—all the more,” -whispered a little voice within him, “since it will shortly be out of -range of the enemy’s fire.”</p> - -<p>“It’s no use, my friend,” he said to the drummer, taking away his arm. -“I won’t go to the field-hospital; I will stay with my company.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You had better let yourself be properly taken care of, your Excellency. -It don’t seem to be anything at first, but it may grow worse. Indeed, -your Excellency—”</p> - -<p>Mikhaïloff stopped, undecided what to do. He would have followed -Ignatieff’s advice, perhaps, but he saw what a number of wounded men -crowded the hospital, almost all of them seriously hurt.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps the doctor will make fun of my scratch,” he said to himself, -and without listening to the drummer’s arguments he went with a firm -step to join his company.</p> - -<p>“Where is officer Praskoukine, who was beside me a short time ago?” he -asked of the sub-lieutenant whom he found at the head of the company.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know; I think he was killed,” hesitatingly replied the latter.</p> - -<p>“Killed or wounded? Why, don’t you know? He was marching with us. Why -didn’t you bring him off?”</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t possible in that furnace.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! why did you abandon a living man, Mikhaïl Ivanitch?” said -Mikhaïloff, with a vexed tone. “If he is dead, we must bring off his -body.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“How can he be alive? Indeed I tell you I went up to him, and I -saw—What would you have? We scarcely had time to bring off our own men. -Ah! the devils, how they are firing shell now!”</p> - -<p>Mikhaïloff sat down, and held his head in his hands. The walk had -increased the violence of the pain.</p> - -<p>“No,” said he, “we must certainly go and get him. Perhaps he is alive. -It is our duty, Mikhaïl Ivanitch.”</p> - -<p>Mikhaïl Ivanitch did not reply.</p> - -<p>“He didn’t think of bringing him off at the time, and now I must detail -men for it. Why send them into this hell-fire, which will kill them, for -nothing?” thought Mikhaïloff.</p> - -<p>“Children, we must go back to get that officer who is wounded yonder in -the ditch,” he said, without raising his voice, and in a tone which had -no authority, for he guessed how disagreeable the execution of this -order would be to the men.</p> - -<p>But since he addressed himself to no one in particular, not one of them -came forward at this call.</p> - -<p>“Who knows? he is dead, perhaps, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> it isn’t worth while to risk our -men uselessly. It is my fault; I ought to have thought of it. I will go -alone; it is my duty. Mikhaïl Ivanitch,” he added, aloud, “lead on the -company, I will overtake you.”</p> - -<p>Gathering up the folds of his cloak with one hand, he touched the image -of St. Mitrophanes with the other. He wore this on his breast as a sign -of special devotion to the blessed one.</p> - -<p>The captain retraced his steps, assured himself that Praskoukine was -really dead, and came back holding in his hand the bandage which had -become unwound from his own head. The battalion was already at the foot -of the hill, and almost out of reach of the balls, when Mikhaïloff -rejoined it. A few stray shells still came in their direction.</p> - -<p>“I must go to-morrow and be registered in the field-hospital,” said the -captain to himself while the surgeon was dressing his wound.</p> - -<h3>XIII.</h3> - -<p>Hundreds of mutilated, freshly bleeding bodies, which two hours before -were full of hopes and of different desires, sublime or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> humble, lay -with stiffened limbs in the flowery and dew-bathed valley which -separated the bastion from the intrenchment, or on the smooth floor of -the little mortuary chapel of Sebastopol. The dry lips of all of these -men murmured prayers, curses, or groans. They crawled, they turned on -their sides, some were abandoned among the corpses of the blossom-strewn -valley, others lay on stretchers, on cots, and on the damp floor of the -field-hospital. Notwithstanding all this, the heavens shed their morning -light over Mount Saponné as on the preceding days, the sparkling stars -grew pale, a white mist rose from the sombre and plaintively swelling -sea, the east grew purple with the dawn, and long, flame-colored clouds -stretched along the blue horizon. As on the days before, the grand torch -mounted slowly, powerful and proud, promising joy, love, and happiness -to the awakened world.</p> - -<h3>XIV.</h3> - -<p>On the following evening the band of the regiment of chasseurs again -played on the boulevard. Around the pavilion officers, yunkers, -soldiers, and young women prom<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span>enaded with a festal air in the paths of -white flowering acacias.</p> - -<p>Kalouguine, Prince Galtzine, and another colonel marched arm-in-arm -along the street, talking of the affair of the day before. The chief -subject of this conversation was, as it always is, not of the affair -itself, but of the part the talkers had taken in it. The expression of -their faces, the sound of their voices, had something serious in it, and -it might have been supposed that the losses profoundly affected them. -But, to tell the truth, since no one among them had lost any one dear to -him, they put on this officially mournful expression for propriety’s -sake. Kalouguine and the colonel, although they were very good fellows, -would have asked nothing better than to be present at a similar -engagement every day, in order to receive each time a sword of honor or -the rank of major-general. When I hear a conqueror who sends to their -destruction millions of men in order to satisfy his personal ambition -called a monster, I always want to laugh. Ask sub-lieutenants Petrouchef -Antonoff, and others, and you will see that each is a little Napoleon, a -monster ready<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> to engage in battle, to kill a hundred men, in order to -obtain one more little star or an increase of pay.</p> - -<p>“I ask pardon,” said the colonel, “the affair began on the left flank. -<i>I was there.</i>”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps so,” replied Kalouguine, “for I was almost all the time on the -right flank. I went there twice, first to seek the general, then simply -of my own accord to look on. It was there it was hot!”</p> - -<p>“If Kalouguine says so it is a fact,” continued the colonel, turning -towards Galtzine. “Do you know that only to-day V—— told me you were a -brave man? Our losses are truly frightful. In my own regiment four -hundred men disabled! I don’t understand how I came out alive.”</p> - -<p>At the other end of the boulevard they saw Mikhaïloff’s bandaged head -arise. He was coming to meet them.</p> - -<p>“Are you wounded, captain?” asked Kalouguine.</p> - -<p>“Slightly—by a stone,” said Mikhaïloff.</p> - -<p>“<i>Le pavillon est il déjà amené?</i>” said Prince Galtzine, looking over -the head of the captain, and addressing himself to no one in -particular.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span></p> - -<p>“<i>Non pas encore</i>,” said Mikhaïloff, very anxious to show that he knew -French.</p> - -<p>“Does the armistice still go on?” asked Galtzine, addressing him -politely in Russian, as if to say to the captain, “I know you speak -French with difficulty, why not simply speak Russian?” Upon this the -aides-de-camp went away from Mikhaïloff, who felt, as on the evening -before, very lonesome. Not wishing to come in contact with some of them, -and not making up his mind to approach others, he limited himself to -saluting certain officers, and sat down near the Kazarsky monument to -smoke a cigarette.</p> - -<p>Baron Pesth also made his appearance on the boulevard. He related that -he had taken part in the negotiations of the armistice, that he had -chatted with the French officers, and that one of them had said to him,</p> - -<p>“If daylight had come an hour later the ambuscades would have been -retaken.”</p> - -<p>To which he had replied,</p> - -<p>“Sir, I don’t say they would not have been, so that I shall not -contradict you,” and his answer had filled him with pride.</p> - -<p>In reality, although he had been present at the conclusion of the -armistice, and had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> been very desirous of talking with the French, he -had said nothing remarkable. The yunker simply promenaded for a long -time in front of the lines, asking the nearest Frenchmen,</p> - -<p>“What regiment do you belong to?”</p> - -<p>They answered him, and that was all. As he advanced a little beyond the -neutral zone, a French sentinel, who did not imagine that the Russian -understood his language, flung a formidable curse at him.</p> - -<p>“He is coming to examine our works, this damned—”</p> - -<p>Indeed, after that the yunker returned home, composing along the road -the French phrases he had just retailed to his acquaintances.</p> - -<p>Captain Zobkine was also seen on the promenade, shouting with a loud -voice; Captain Objogoff, with his torn uniform; the captain of -artillery, who asked no favors of any one; the yunker, in love—in a -word, all the personages of the day before, swayed by the same eternal -moving forces. Praskoukine, Neferdoff, and several others were alone -absent. Nobody thought of them. Nevertheless, their bodies were neither -washed, nor dressed, nor buried in the earth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span></p> - -<h3>XV.</h3> - -<p>White flags are flying on our fortifications and in the French -intrenchments. In the blossom-covered valley mutilated bodies, clothed -in blue or in gray, with bare feet, lie in heaps, and the men are -carrying them off to place them in carts. The air is poisoned by the -odor of the corpses. Crowds of people pour out of Sebastopol and out of -the French camp to witness this spectacle. The different sides meet each -other on this ground with eager and kindly curiosity.</p> - -<p>Listen to the words exchanged between them. On this side, in a small -group of French and Russians, a young officer is examining a -cartridge-box. Although he speaks bad French, he can make himself -understood.</p> - -<p>“And why that—that bird?” he asks.</p> - -<p>“Because it is the cartridge-box of a regiment of the guard, sir. It is -ornamented with the imperial eagle.”</p> - -<p>“And you—you belong to the guard?”</p> - -<p>“Pardon, sir, to the sixth regiment of the line.”</p> - -<p>“And this—where was this bought?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span>” The officer points to the little -wooden mouth-piece which holds the Frenchman’s cigarette.</p> - -<p>“At Balaklava, sir. It is only palm-wood.”</p> - -<p>“Pretty,” replies the officer, obliged to make use of the few words he -knew, and which, <i>nolens volens,</i> intruded themselves into the -conversation.</p> - -<p>“You will oblige me if you will keep that as a souvenir of this -meeting.”</p> - -<p>The Frenchman throws away his cigarette, blows in the mouth-piece, and -politely presents it to the officer with a salute. The latter gives him -his in exchange. All the French and Russian by-standers smile and seem -delighted.</p> - -<p>Here comes a shrewd-looking infantryman in a red shirt, his overcoat -thrown over his shoulders. His face is full of good spirits and -curiosity. Accompanied by two comrades, their hands behind their backs, -he approaches and asks a Frenchman for a light. The latter blows into -his pipe, shakes it, and offers a light to the Russian.</p> - -<p>“<i>Tabac bonn!</i>” says the soldier in the red shirt, and the by-standers -smile.</p> - -<p>“Yes, good tobacco—Turkish tobacco!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span>” answers the Frenchman; “and with -you Russian tobacco good?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Rouss bonn!</i>” repeats the soldier in the red shirt, and this time the -spectators burst out laughing.</p> - -<p>“<i>Français pas bonn, bonn jour, mousiou!</i>” continues the soldier, making -a show of all he knew in French, laughing, and tapping on the stomach of -the man who was talking with him. The Frenchmen also laugh.</p> - -<p>“They are not pretty, these Russian B——,” said a Zouave.</p> - -<p>“What are they laughing at?” asks another, with an Italian accent.</p> - -<p>“<i>Le caftan bonn!</i>” the bold soldier begins again, examining the -embroidered uniform of the Zouave.</p> - -<p>“To your places, <i>sacré nom</i>!” shouts a French corporal at this instant.</p> - -<p>The soldiers sulkily disperse.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, our young cavalry lieutenant is strutting in a group of -the enemy’s officers.</p> - -<p>“I knew Count Sasonoff well,” says one of the latter. “He is one of the -true Russian counts, such as we like.”</p> - -<p>“I also knew a Sasonoff,” replies the cav<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span>alry officer, “but he wasn’t a -count, as far as I know. He is a small, dark man about your age.”</p> - -<p>“That’s it, sir—that’s he. Oh, how I would like to see the dear count! -If you see him, give him my regards. Captain Latour,” he adds, bowing.</p> - -<p>“What a miserable business we are carrying on! It was hot last night, -wasn’t it?” continues the cavalry officer, anxious to keep up the -conversation, and pointing to the corpses.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir, it is frightful. But what fine fellows your soldiers are! It -is a pleasure to fight with fine fellows like that.”</p> - -<p>“It must be confessed that your fellows are up to snuff also,” replies -the Russian horseman, with a salute, satisfied that he has given him a -good answer.</p> - -<p>But enough on this subject. Let us watch that ten-year-old boy, with an -old worn cap on his head which doubtless belonged to his father, and -with naked legs and large shoes on his feet, dressed in a pair of cotton -trousers, held up by a single brace. He came out of the fortifications -at the beginning of the truce. He has been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> walking about ever since on -the low ground, examining with stupid curiosity the French soldiers and -the dead bodies lying on the ground. He is gathering the little blue -field-flowers with which the valley is strewn. He retraces his steps -with a great bouquet, holding his nose so as not to smell the fetid odor -that comes on the wind. Stopping near a heap of corpses, he looks a long -time at a headless, hideous, dead man. After an examination, he goes -near and touches with his foot the arm stretched stiffly in the air. As -he presses harder on it the arm moves and falls into place. The boy -gives a cry, hides his face in the flowers, and enters the -fortifications, running at full speed.</p> - -<p>Yes, flags of truce float over the bastions and on the intrenchments; -the brilliantly shining sun is setting into the blue sea, which ripples -and sparkles under the golden rays. Thousands of people assemble, look -at each other, chat, laugh. These people, who are Christians, who -profess to obey the great law of love and devotion, are looking at their -work without throwing themselves down in repentance at the knees of Him -who gave them life, and with life the fear of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> death, the love of the -good and the beautiful. They do not embrace each other like brothers, -and shed tears of joy and happiness! We must at least take consolation -in the thought that we did not begin the war, that we are only defending -our country, our native land. The white flags are lowered; the engines -of death and of suffering thunder once more; again a flood of innocent -blood is shed, and groans and curses can be heard.</p> - -<p>I have said what I have wanted to say for this time at least, but a -painful doubt overwhelms me. It would have been better, perhaps, to have -kept silent, for possibly what I have uttered is among those pernicious -truths obscurely hidden away in every one’s soul, and which, in order to -remain harmless, must not be expressed; just as old wine must not be -disturbed lest the sediment rise and make the liquid turbid. Where, -then, in my tale do we see the evil we must avoid, and the good towards -which we must strive to go? Where is the traitor? Where is the hero? All -are good and all are bad. It is not Kalouguine with his brilliant -courage, his gentlemanly bravado, and his vanity—the chief motive power -of all his actions; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> is not Praskoukine, an inoffensive cipher, -although he fell on the battle-field for his faith, his ruler, and his -country; nor timid Mikhaïloff; nor Pesth, that child with no conviction -and no moral sense, who can pass for traitors or for heroes.</p> - -<p>No; the hero of my tale, the one I love with all the power of my soul, -the one I have tried to reproduce in all his beauty, just as he has -been, is, and always will be beautiful, is Truth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="SEBASTOPOL_IN_AUGUST_1855" id="SEBASTOPOL_IN_AUGUST_1855"></a><i>SEBASTOPOL IN AUGUST, 1855.</i></h2> - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Towards</span> the end of the month of August there was slowly moving along the -stony Sebastopol road between Douvanka<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a> and Baktchisaraï an officer’s -carriage of peculiar form, unknown elsewhere, which held a middle place -in construction between a basket-wagon, a Jewish britchka, and a Russian -cart.</p> - -<p>In this carriage a servant, dressed in linen, with a soft and shapeless -officer’s cap on his head, held the reins. Seated behind him, on parcels -and bags covered with a soldier’s overcoat, was an officer in a summer -cloak, small in stature, as well as could be judged from the position he -was in, who was less remarkable for the massive squareness of his -shoulders than for the thickness of his body between his chest and his -back. His neck from the nape to the shoulder was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> heavy and largely -developed, and the muscles were firmly extended. What is commonly spoken -of as a waist did not exist, nor the stomach either, although he was far -from being fat; and his face, upon which was spread a layer of yellow -and unhealthy sunburn, was noticeable by its thinness. It would have -passed for an attractive one if it had not been for a certain bloating -of the flesh and a skin furrowed by deep wrinkles, which, interweaving, -distorted the features, took away all freshness, and gave a brutal -expression. His small, brown, extraordinarily keen eyes had an almost -impudent look. His very thick mustache, which he was in the habit of -biting, did not extend much in breadth. His cheeks and his chin, which -he had not shaved for two days, were covered with a black and thick -beard. Wounded on the head by a piece of shell on the 10th of May, and -still wearing a bandage, he felt, nevertheless, entirely cured, and left -the hospital at Sympheropol to join his regiment, posted somewhere there -in the direction where shots could be heard; but he had not been able to -find out whether it was at Sebastopol itself or at Severnaïa or at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span> -Inkerman. The cannonade was distinctly heard, and seemed very near when -the hills did not cut off the sound which was brought by the wind. -Occasionally a tremendous explosion shook the air and made you tremble -in spite of yourself. Now and then less violent noises, like a -drum-beat, followed each other at short intervals, intermingled with a -deafening rumble; or perhaps all was confounded in a hubbub of prolonged -rolls, like peals of thunder at the height of a storm when the rain -begins to fall. Every one said, and indeed it could be heard, that the -violence of the bombardment was terrible. The officer urged his servant -to hasten. They met a line of carts driven by Russian peasants, who had -carried provisions to Sebastopol, and who were on their way back, -bringing sick and wounded soldiers in gray overcoats, sailors in black -pilot-coats, volunteers in red fez caps, and bearded militiamen. The -officer’s carriage was forced to stop, and he, grimacing and squinting -his eyes in the impenetrable and motionless cloud of dust raised by the -carts, which flew into the eyes and ears on all sides, examined the -faces as they passed by.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span></p> - -<p>“There is a sick soldier of our company,” said the servant, turning -towards his master and pointing to a wounded man.</p> - -<p>Seated sidewise on the front of his cart a Russian peasant, wearing his -whole beard, a felt cap on his head, was tying a knot in an enormous -whip, which he held by the handle under his elbow. He turned his back to -four or five soldiers shaken and tossed about in the vehicle. One of -them, his arm tied up, his overcoat thrown on over his shirt, seated -erect and firm, although somewhat pale and thin, occupied the middle -place. Perceiving the officer, he instinctively raised his hand to his -cap, but remembering his wound, he made believe he wanted to scratch his -head. Another one was lying down beside him on the bottom of the cart. -All that could be seen of him was his two hands clinging to the wooden -bars, and his two raised knees swinging nervelessly like two hempen -dish-rags. A third, with swollen face, his head wrapped with a cloth on -which was placed his soldier’s cap, seated sidewise, his legs hanging -outside and grazing the wheel, was dozing, his hands resting on his -knees.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Doljikoff!” the traveller shouted at him.</p> - -<p>“Present!” replied the latter, opening his eyes and taking off his cap. -His bass voice was so full, so tremendous, that it seemed to come out of -the chest of twenty soldiers together.</p> - -<p>“When were you wounded?”</p> - -<p>“Health to your Excellency!”<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a> he cried with his strong voice, his -glassy and swollen eyes growing animated at the sight of his superior -officer.</p> - -<p>“Where is the regiment?”</p> - -<p>“At Sebastopol, your Excellency. They are thinking of going away from -there Wednesday.”</p> - -<p>“Where to?”</p> - -<p>“They don’t know—to Severnaïa, no doubt, your Excellency. At present,” -he continued, dragging his words, “<i>he</i> is firing straight through -everything, especially with shells, even away into the bay. <i>He</i> is -firing in a frightful manner!—” And he added words which could not be -understood; but from his face and from his position it could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> be guessed -that, with a suffering man’s sense of injury, he was saying something of -a not very consoling nature.</p> - -<p>Sub-lieutenant Koseltzoff, who had just asked these questions, was -neither an officer of ordinary stamp nor among the number of those who -live and act in a certain way because others live and act thus. His -nature had been richly endowed with inferior qualities. He sang and -played the guitar in an agreeable manner, he conversed well, and wrote -with facility, especially official correspondence, of which he had got -the trick during his service as battalion aide-de-camp. His energy was -remarkable, but this energy only received its impulse from self-love, -and although grafted on this second-rate capacity, it formed a salient -and characteristic trait of his nature. That kind of self-love which is -most commonly developed among men, especially among military men, was so -filtered through his existence that he did not conceive a possible -choice between “first or nothing.” Self-love was then the motive force -of his most intimate enthusiasms. Even alone in his own presence he was -fond of considering himself supe<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span>rior to those with whom he compared -himself.</p> - -<p>“Come! I am not going to be the one to listen to ‘Moscow’s’<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a> chatter!” -murmured the sub-lieutenant, whose thoughts had been troubled somewhat -by meeting the train of wounded; and the soldier’s words, the importance -of which was increased and confirmed at each step by the sound of the -cannonade, weighed heavily on his heart.</p> - -<p>“They are curious fellows these ‘Moscows’—Come, Nicolaïeff, forward! -you are asleep, I think,” he angrily shouted at his servant, throwing -back the lappels of his coat.</p> - -<p>Nicolaïeff shook the reins, made a little encouraging sound with his -lips, and the wagon went off at a trot.</p> - -<p>“We will stop only to feed them,” said the officer, “and then on the -road—forward!”</p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>Just as he entered the street of Douvanka, where everything was in -ruins, Sub-lieu<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span>tenant Koseltzoff was stopped by a wagon-train of -cannon-balls and shells going towards Sebastopol, which was halted in -the middle of the road.</p> - -<p>Two infantrymen, seated in the dust on the stones of an overthrown wall, -were eating bread and watermelon.</p> - -<p>“Are you going far, fellow-countryman?” said one of them, chewing his -mouthful. He was speaking to a soldier standing near them with a small -knapsack on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“We are going to join our company; we have come from the country,” -replied the soldier, turning his eyes from the watermelon and arranging -his knapsack. “For three weeks we have been guarding the company’s hay, -but now they have summoned everybody, and we don’t know where our -regiment is to-day. They tell us that since last week our fellows have -been at Korabelnaïa. Do you know anything about it, gentlemen?”</p> - -<p>“It is in the city, brother, in the city,” replied an old soldier of the -wagon-train, busy cutting with his pocket-knife the white meat of an -unripe melon. “We just came from there. What a terrible business, -brother!”</p> - -<p>“What is that, gentlemen?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you hear how he is firing now? No shelter anywhere! It is -frightful how many of our men <i>he</i> has killed!” added the speaker, -making a gesture, and straightening up his cap.</p> - -<p>The soldier on his travels pensively shook his head, clacked his tongue, -took his short pipe out of its box, stirred up the half-burned tobacco -with his finger, lighted a bit of tinder from the pipe of a comrade who -was smoking, and lifting his cap, said,</p> - -<p>“There is no one but God, gentlemen. We say good-by to you;” and putting -his knapsack in place, went his way.</p> - -<p>“Ah! it is better worth while to wait,” said the watermelon eater, with -tone of conviction.</p> - -<p>“It is all the same,” murmured the soldier, settling the knapsack on his -back, and worming his way between the wheels of the halted carts.</p> - -<h3>III.</h3> - -<p>At the station for horses Koseltzoff found a crowd of people, and the -first figure he perceived was the postmaster in person, very young and -very thin, quarrelling with two officers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You will not only wait twenty-four hours but ten times twenty-four -hours. Generals wait too,” he said, with the evident wish to stir them -up in a lively manner. “And I am not going to hitch myself in, you -understand!”</p> - -<p>“If this is so, if there are no horses, they can’t be given to any one. -Why, then, are they given to a servant who is carrying baggage?” shouted -one of the two soldiers, holding a glass of tea in his hand.</p> - -<p>Although he carefully avoided using personal pronouns, it could easily -be guessed that he would have liked to say thee and thou to his -interlocutor.</p> - -<p>“I want you to understand, Mr. Postmaster,” hesitatingly said the other -officer, “that we are not travelling for our pleasure. If we have been -summoned it is because we are necessary. You can be sure I will tell the -general, for it really seems as if you have no respect for the rank of -officer.”</p> - -<p>“You spoil my work every time, and you are in my way,” rejoined his -comrade, half vexed. “Why do you talk to him about respect? You have to -speak to him in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> another manner. Horses!” he suddenly shouted, “horses, -this instant!”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t ask better than to give them to you, but where can I get -them? I understand very well, my friend,” continued the postmaster, -after a moment of silence, and warming up by degrees as he gesticulated, -“but what do you want me to do? Let me just”—and the officers’ faces at -once had a hopeful expression—“keep soul and body together to the end -of the month, and then I won’t be seen any longer. I would rather go to -the Malakoff than remain here, God knows! Do what you like—but I -haven’t a single wagon in good condition, and for three days the horses -haven’t seen a handful of hay.”</p> - -<p>At these words he disappeared. Koseltzoff and the two officers entered -the house.</p> - -<p>“So!” said the elder to the younger with a calm tone, which strongly -contrasted with his recent wrath. “We are already three months on the -road. Let’s wait. It is no misfortune; there isn’t any hurry.”</p> - -<p>Koseltzoff with difficulty found in the room of the post-house, all -smoky, dirty, and filled with officers and trunks, an empty cor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span>ner near -the window. He sat down there, and, rolling a cigarette, began to -examine faces and to listen to conversations. The chief group was placed -on the right of the entrance door, around a shaky and greasy table on -which two copper tea-urns, stained here and there with verdigris, were -boiling; lump-sugar was strewn about in several paper wrappings. A young -officer without a mustache, in a new Circassian coat, was pouring water -into a teapot; four others of about his own age were scattered in -different corners of the room. One of them, his head placed on a cloak -which served him as a pillow, was sleeping on a divan; another, standing -near a table, was cutting roast mutton into small mouthfuls for a -one-armed comrade. Two officers, one in an aide-de-camp’s overcoat, the -other in a fine cloth infantry overcoat, and carrying a saddle-bag, were -sitting beside the stove; and it could be readily divined by the way -they looked at the others, by the manner the one with the saddle-bag was -smoking, that they were not officers of the line, and that they were -very glad of it. Their manner did not betray scorn but a certain -satisfaction with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> themselves, founded partly on their relations with -the generals, and on a feeling of superiority developed to such a point -that they tried to conceal it from others. There was also in the place a -doctor with fleshy lips, and an artilleryman with a German physiognomy, -seated almost on the feet of the sleeper, busily counting money. Four -men-servants, some dozing, some fumbling in the trunks and the packets -heaped up near the door, completed the number of those present, among -whom Koseltzoff found not a face he knew. The young officers pleased -him. He guessed at once from their appearance that they had just come -out of school, and this called to his mind that his young brother was -also coming straight therefrom to serve in one of the Sebastopol -batteries. On the other hand, the officer with the saddle-bag, whom he -believed he had met somewhere, altogether displeased him. He found him -to have an expression of face so antipathetic and so insolent that he -was going to sit down on the large base of the stove, with the intention -of putting him in his proper place if he happened to say anything -disagreeable. In his quality of brave and hon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span>orable officer at the -front he did not like the staff-officers, and for such he took these at -the first glance.</p> - -<h3>IV.</h3> - -<p>“It is bad luck,” said one of the young fellows, “to be so near the end -and not be able to get there. There will perhaps be a battle to-day, -even, and we will not be in it.”</p> - -<p>The sympathetic timidity of a young man who fears to say something out -of place could be guessed from the slightly sharp sound of his voice, -and from the youthful rosiness which spread in patches over his fresh -face.</p> - -<p>The one-armed officer looked at him with a smile.</p> - -<p>“You will have time enough, believe me,” he said.</p> - -<p>The young officer respectfully turning his eyes upon the thin face of -the latter suddenly lighted up by a smile, continued to pour the tea in -silence. And truly the figure, the position of the wounded man, and, -above all, the fluttering sleeve of his uniform, gave him that -appearance of calm indifference which seemed to reply to every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span>thing -said and done about him, “All this is very well, but I know it all, and -I could do it if I wanted to.”</p> - -<p>“What shall we decide to do?” asked the young officer of his comrade -with the Circassian coat. “Shall we pass the night here, or shall we -push on with our single horse?</p> - -<p>“Just think of it, captain,” he continued, when his companion had -declined his suggestion (he spoke to the one-armed man, picking up a -knife he had dropped), “since they told us that horses could not be had -at Sebastopol at any price, we bought one out of the common purse at -Sympheropol.”</p> - -<p>“Did they skin you well?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about it, captain. We paid for the whole thing, -horse and wagon, ninety rubles. Is it very dear?” he added, addressing -all who looked at him, Koseltzoff included.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t too dear if the horse is young,” said the latter.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it? Nevertheless, we have been assured it was dear. He limps a -little, it is true, but that will go off. They told us he was very -strong.”</p> - -<p>“What institution are you from?” Kosel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span>tzoff asked him, wishing to get -news of his brother.</p> - -<p>“We belonged to the regiment of the nobility. There are six of us who -are going of our own accord to Sebastopol,” replied the loquacious -little officer, “but we don’t exactly know where our battery is. Some -say at Sebastopol, but this gentleman says it is at Odessa.”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t you have been able to find out at Sympheropol?” asked -Koseltzoff.</p> - -<p>“They didn’t know anything there. Imagine it. They insulted one of our -comrades who went to the government office for information! It was very -disagreeable. Wouldn’t you like to have this cigarette, already rolled?” -he continued, offering it to the one-armed officer, who was looking for -his cigar-case.</p> - -<p>The young man’s enthusiasm even entered into the little attentions he -showered on him.</p> - -<p>“You have also just come from Sebastopol?” he rejoined. “Heavens, how -astonishing! At Petersburg we did nothing but think of you all, you -heroes!” he added, turning to Koseltzoff with good-fellowship and -respect.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<p>“What if you are obliged to go back there?” asked the latter.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what we are afraid of; for after having bought the horse -and what we had to get—this coffee-pot, for example, and a few other -trifles—we are left without a penny,” he said, in a lower tone, casting -a look at his companion on the sly, “so that we don’t know how we are -going to get out of it.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t received money on the road, then?” Koseltzoff asked him.</p> - -<p>“No,” murmured the young man, “but they promised to give it to us here.”</p> - -<p>“Have you the certificate?”</p> - -<p>“I know the certificate is the chief thing. One of my uncles, a Senator -at Moscow, could have given it to me, but I was assured I should receive -it here without fail.”</p> - -<p>“Doubtless.”</p> - -<p>“I believe it also,” replied the young officer, in a tone which proved -that after having repeated the same question in thirty different places, -and having received different replies everywhere, he no longer believed -any one.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span></p> - -<h3>V.</h3> - -<p>“Who ordered beet soup?” shouted the house-keeper at this moment, a -stout, slovenly dressed wench, about forty years old, who was bringing -in a great earthen dish.</p> - -<p>There was a general silence, and every eye was turned towards the woman. -One of the officers even winked, exchanging with his comrade a look -which plainly referred to the matron.</p> - -<p>“But it was Koseltzoff who ordered it,” rejoined the young officer; “we -must wake him up. Halloo! come and eat,” he added, approaching the -sleeper and shaking him by the shoulder.</p> - -<p>A youth of seventeen years, with black, lively, sparkling eyes and red -cheeks, rose with a bound, and having involuntarily pushed against the -doctor, said, “A thousand pardons!” rubbing his eyes and standing in the -middle of the room.</p> - -<p>Sub-lieutenant Koseltzoff immediately recognized his younger brother and -went up to him.</p> - -<p>“Do you know me?” he asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, oh, what an astonishing thing!” cried the younger, embracing him.</p> - -<p>Two kisses were heard, but just as they were about to give each other a -third, as the custom is, they hesitated a moment. It might have been -said that each asked himself why he must kiss three times.</p> - -<p>“How glad I am to see you!” said the elder, leading his brother outside. -“Let’s chat a bit.”</p> - -<p>“Come, come! I don’t want any soup now. Eat it up, Féderson,” said the -youth to his comrade.</p> - -<p>“But you were hungry—”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t want it now.”</p> - -<p>Once outside on the piazza, after the first joyous outbursts of the -youth, who went on to ask his brother questions without speaking to him -of that which concerned himself, the latter, profiting by a moment of -silence, asked him why he had not gone into the guard, as they had -expected him to do.</p> - -<p>“Because I wanted to go to Sebastopol. If everything comes out all -right, I shall gain more than if I had remained in the guard. In that -branch of the service you have to count ten years to the rank of -colo<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span>nel, while here Todtleben has gone from lieutenant-colonel to -general in two years. And if I am killed, well, then, what’s to be -done?”</p> - -<p>“How you do argue,” said the elder brother, with a smile.</p> - -<p>“And then, that I have just told you is of no importance. The chief -reason”—and he stopped, hesitating, smiling in his turn, and blushing -as if he were going to say something very shameful—“the chief reason is -that my conscience bothered me. I felt scruples at living in Petersburg -while men are dying here for their country. I counted also on being with -you,” he added, still more bashfully.</p> - -<p>“You are a curious fellow,” said the brother, without looking at him, -hunting for his cigar-case. “I am sorry we can’t stay together.”</p> - -<p>“Come, pray tell me the truth about the bastions. Are they horribly -frightful?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, at first; then one gets used to it. You will see.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me also, please, do you think Sebastopol will be taken? It seems -to me that such a thing cannot happen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“God only knows!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you only knew how annoyed I am! Imagine my misfortune. On the -road I have been robbed of different things, among others my helmet, and -I am in a fearful position. What will I do when I am presented to my -chief?”</p> - -<p>Vladimir Koseltzoff, the younger, looked very much like his brother -Michael, at least as much as a half-open columbine can resemble one -which has lost its flower. He had similar blond hair, but thicker, and -curled around the temples; while one long lock strayed down the white -and delicate back of his neck; a sign of happiness, as the old women -say. Rich young blood suddenly tinged his habitually dull complexion at -each impression of his soul; a veil of moisture often swept over his -eyes, which were like his brother’s, but more open and more limpid; a -fine blond down began to show on his cheeks and on his upper lip, which, -purplish red in color, often extended in a timid smile, exposing teeth -of dazzling whiteness. As he stood there in his unbuttoned coat, under -which could be seen a red shirt with Russian collar; slender, -broad-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span>shouldered, a cigarette between his fingers, leaning against the -balustrade of the piazza, his face lighted up by unaffected joy, his -eyes fixed on his brother, he was really the most charming and most -sympathetic youth possible to see, and one looked away from him -reluctantly. Frankly happy to find his brother, whom he considered with -pride and respect as a hero, he was, nevertheless, a little ashamed of -him on account of his own more cultivated education, of his acquaintance -with French, of his association with people in high places, and finding -himself superior to him, he hoped to succeed in civilizing him. His -impressions, his judgments, were formed at Petersburg under the -influence of a woman who, having a weakness for pretty faces, made him -pass his holidays in her house. Moscow had also contributed its part, -for he had danced there at a great ball at the house of his uncle the -Senator.</p> - -<h3>VI.</h3> - -<p>After having chatted so long as to prove, what often happens, that, -while loving each other very much, they had few common in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span>terests, the -brothers were silent for a moment or two.</p> - -<p>“Come, get your traps and we’ll go,” said the elder.</p> - -<p>The younger blushed and was confused.</p> - -<p>“Straight away to Sebastopol?” he asked, at length.</p> - -<p>“Of course. I don’t believe you have many things with you; we will find -a place for them.”</p> - -<p>“All right, we’ll go,” replied the younger, as he went into the house -sighing.</p> - -<p>Just as he was opening the door of the hall he stopped and held down his -head.</p> - -<p>“Go straight to Sebastopol,” he said to himself, “be exposed to -shells—it is terrible! However, isn’t it all the same whether it is -to-day or later? At least with my brother—”</p> - -<p>To tell the truth, at the thought that the carriage would carry him as -far as Sebastopol in a single trip, that no new incident would delay him -longer on the road, he began to appreciate the danger he had come to -meet, and the proximity of it profoundly moved him. Having succeeded in -calming himself at last, he rejoined his comrades, and remained such a -long time with them that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> his brother, out of patience, opened the door -to call him, and saw him standing before the officer, who was scolding -him like a school-boy. At the sight of his brother his countenance fell.</p> - -<p>“I’ll come at once,” he shouted, making a gesture with his hand; “wait -for me, I’m coming!”</p> - -<p>A moment later he went to find him.</p> - -<p>“Just think,” he said, with a deep sigh, “I can’t go off with you.”</p> - -<p>“Stuff and nonsense! Why not?”</p> - -<p>“I am going to tell you the truth, Micha. We haven’t a penny; on the -other hand, we owe money to that captain. It is horribly shameful!”</p> - -<p>The elder brother scowled and kept silent.</p> - -<p>“Do you owe much?” he asked at last, without looking at him.</p> - -<p>“No, not much; but it worries me awfully. He paid three posts for me. I -used his sugar, and then we played the game of preference, and I owe him -a trifle on that.”</p> - -<p>“That’s bad, Volodia! What would you have done if you hadn’t met me?” -said the elder, in a stern tone, never looking at him.</p> - -<p>“But you know I count on receiving my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span> travelling expenses at -Sebastopol, and then I shall pay him. That can still be done; and so I -had rather go there with him to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>At this moment the elder brother took a purse out of his pocket, from -which his trembling fingers drew two notes of ten rubles each and one of -three.</p> - -<p>“Here’s all I have,” said he. “How much do you want?” He exaggerated a -little in saying that it was all his fortune, for he still had four -gold-pieces sewn in the seams of his uniform, but he had promised -himself not to touch them.</p> - -<p>It was found, on adding up, that Koseltzoff owed only eight rubles—the -loss on the game and the sugar together. The elder brother gave them to -him, making the remark that one never ought to play when he had not the -wherewithal to pay. The younger said nothing; for his brother’s remark -seemed to throw a doubt on his honesty. Irritated, ashamed of having -done something which could lead to suspicions or reflections on his -character on the part of his brother, of whom he was fond, his sensitive -nature was so violently agitated by it that, feeling it im<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span>possible to -stifle the sobs which choked him, he took the note without a word and -carried it to his comrade.</p> - -<h3>VII.</h3> - -<p>Nikolaïeff, after refreshing himself at Douvanka with two glasses of -brandy which he bought from a soldier who was selling it on the bridge, -shook the reins, and the carriage jolted over the stony road which, with -spots of shadow at rare intervals, led along Belbek to Sebastopol; while -the brothers, seated side by side, their legs knocking together, kept an -obstinate silence, each thinking about the other.</p> - -<p>“Why did he offend me?” thought the younger. “Does he really take me for -a thief? He seems to be still angry. Here we have quarrelled for good, -and yet we two, how happy we could have been at Sebastopol! Two -brothers, intimate friends, and both fighting the enemy—the elder -lacking cultivation a little, but a brave soldier, and the younger as -brave as he, for at the end of a week I shall have proved to all that I -am no longer so young. I sha’n’t blush any more; my face will be manly -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> my mustache will have time to grow so far,” he thought, pinching -the down which was visible at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps we will -get there to-day, even, and will take part in a battle. My brother must -be very headstrong and very brave; he is one of those who talk little -and do better than others. Is he continually pushing me on purpose -towards the side of the carriage? He must see that it annoys me, and he -makes believe he does not notice it. We will surely get there to-day,” -he continued to himself, keeping close to the side of the carriage, -fearing if he stirred that he would show his brother he was not well -seated. “We go straight to the bastion—I with the artillery, my brother -with his company. Suddenly the French throw themselves upon us. I fire -on the spot, I kill a crowd of them, but they run just the same straight -upon me. Impossible to fire—I am lost! but my brother dashes forward, -sword in hand. I seize my musket and we run together; the soldiers -follow us. The French throw themselves on my brother. I run up; I kill -first one, then another, and I save Micha. I am wounded in the arm; I -take my musket in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> the other hand and run on. My brother is killed at my -side by a bullet; I stop a moment, I look at him sadly, I rise and cry, -‘Forward with me! let us avenge him!’ I add, ‘I loved my brother above -everything; I have lost him. Let us avenge ourselves, kill our enemies, -or all die together!’ All follow me, shouting. But there is the whole -French army, Pélissier at their head. We kill all of them, but I am -wounded once, twice, and the third time mortally. They gather around me. -Gortschakoff comes and asks what I wish for. I reply that I wish for -nothing—I wish for only one thing, to be placed beside my brother and -to die with him. They carry me and lay me down beside his bloody corpse. -I raise myself up and say, ‘Yes, you could not appreciate two men who -sincerely loved their country. They are killed—may God pardon you!’ and -thereupon I die.”</p> - -<p>Who could tell to what point these dreams were destined to be realized?</p> - -<p>“Have you ever been in a hand-to-hand fight?” he suddenly asked his -brother, entirely forgetting that he did not want to speak to him -again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, never. We have lost two thousand men in our regiment, but always in -the works. I also was wounded there. War is not carried on as you -imagine, Volodia.”</p> - -<p>This familiar name softened the younger. He wished to explain himself to -his brother, who did not imagine he had offended him.</p> - -<p>“Are you angry with me, Micha?” he asked, after a few moments.</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because—nothing. I thought there had been between us—”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” rejoined the elder, turning towards him and giving him a -friendly tap on the knee.</p> - -<p>“I ask pardon, Micha, if I have offended you,” said the younger, turning -aside to hide the tears which filled his eyes.</p> - -<h3>VIII.</h3> - -<p>“Is this really Sebastopol?” asked Volodia, when they had reached the -top of the hill.</p> - -<p>Before them appeared the bay with its forest of masts, the sea, with the -hostile fleet in the distance, the white shore batteries, the barracks, -the aqueducts, the docks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span> the buildings of the city. Clouds of white -and pale lilac-colored smoke continually rose over the yellow hills that -surrounded the city, and came out sharp against the clear blue sky, -lighted by the rosy rays, brilliantly reflected by the waves; while at -the horizon the sun was setting into the sombre sea.</p> - -<p>It was without the least thrill of horror that Volodia looked upon this -terrible place he had thought so much about. He experienced, on the -contrary, an æsthetic joy, a feeling of heroic satisfaction at thinking -that in half an hour he would be there himself, and it was with profound -attention that he looked uninterruptedly, up to the very moment they -arrived at Severnaïa, at this picture of such original charm. There was -the baggage of his brother’s regiment, and there also he had to find out -where his own regiment and his battery was.</p> - -<p>The officer of the wagon-train lived near to what they called the new -little town, composed of board shanties built by sailors’ families. In a -tent adjoining a shed of considerable size, made of leafy oak branches -which had not yet time to wither, the broth<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span>ers found the officer -sitting down in a shirt of dirty yellow color before a rather slovenly -table, on which a cup of tea was cooling beside a plate and a decanter -of brandy. A few crumbs of bread and of caviare had fallen here and -there. He was carefully counting a package of notes. But before bringing -him on the stage, we must necessarily examine closer the interior of his -camp, his duties, and his mode of life. The new hut was large, solid, -and conveniently built, provided with turf tables and seats, the same as -they build for the generals; and in order to keep the leaves from -falling, three rugs, in bad taste, although new, but probably very dear, -were stretched on the walls and the ceiling of the building. On the iron -bed placed under the principal rug, which represented the everlasting -amazon, could be seen a red coverlid of shaggy stuff, a soiled torn -pillow, and a cloak of cat-skin. On a table were, helter-skelter, a -mirror in a silver frame, a brush of the same metal in a frightfully -dirty state, a candlestick, a broken horn comb full of greasy hair, a -bottle of liquor ornamented by an enormous red and gold label, a gold -watch with the portrait of Peter the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> Great, gilt pen-holders, boxes -holding percussion-caps, a crust of bread, old cards thrown about in -disorder, and finally, under the bed, bottles, some empty, others full. -It was the duty of this officer to look out for the wagon-train and the -forage for the horses. One of his friends, occupied with financial work, -shared his dwelling, and was asleep in the tent at this moment, while he -was making out the monthly accounts with Government money. He had an -agreeable and martial appearance. He was distinguished by his great -size, a large mustache, and a fair state of corpulence. But there were -two unpleasant things in him which met the eye at once. First, a -constant perspiration on his face, joined with a puffiness which almost -hid his little gray eyes and gave him the look of a leather bottle full -of porter, and, second, extreme slovenliness, which reached from his -thin gray hair to his great naked feet, shod in ermine-trimmed slippers.</p> - -<p>“What a lot of money!—heavens, what a lot of money!” said Koseltzoff -the first, who, on entering, cast a hungry look on the notes. “If you -would lend me half, Vassili Mikhaïlovitch!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The officer of the wagon-train looked sour at the sight of the visitors, -and gathering up the money, saluted them without rising.</p> - -<p>“Oh, if it were mine, but it is money belonging to the Crown, brother! -But whom have you there?”</p> - -<p>He looked at Volodia while he piled up the papers and put them in an -open chest beside him.</p> - -<p>“It is my brother just out of school. We come to ask where the regiment -is.”</p> - -<p>“Sit down, gentlemen,” he said, rising to go into the tent. “Can I offer -you a little porter?”</p> - -<p>“I agree to porter, Vassili Mikhaïlovitch.”</p> - -<p>Volodia, on whom a profound impression was produced by the grand airs of -the officer, as well as by his carelessness and by the respect his -brother showed him, said to himself timidly, sitting on the edge of the -lounge, “This officer, whom everybody respects, is doubtless a good -fellow, hospitable, and probably very brave.”</p> - -<p>“Where is our regiment, then?” asked the elder brother from the officer, -who had disappeared in the tent.</p> - -<p>“What do you say?” shouted the latter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span></p> - -<p>The other repeated his question.</p> - -<p>“I saw Seifer to-day,” he replied; “he told me it was in the fifth -bastion.”</p> - -<p>“Is it, sure?”</p> - -<p>“If I say so it is sure. However, devil take him! he lies cheaply -enough! Say,” he added, “will you have some porter?”</p> - -<p>“I would gladly take a drink,” replied Koseltzoff.</p> - -<p>“And you, Ossip Ignatievitch,” continued the same voice in the tent, -addressing the sleeping commissary, “will you have a drink? You have -slept enough; it is almost five o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Enough of that old joke. You see well enough that I am not asleep,” -replied a shrill and lazy voice.</p> - -<p>“Get up, then, for I am tired of it,” and the officer rejoined his -guests. “Give us some Sympheropol porter!” he shouted to his servant.</p> - -<p>The latter, pushing against Volodia proudly, as it appeared to the young -man, pulled out from under the bench a bottle of the porter called for.</p> - -<p>The bottle had been empty some time, but the conversation was still -going on, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> the flap of the tent was put aside to let pass a small -man in a blue dressing-gown with cord and tassel, and a cap trimmed with -red braid and ornamented with a cockade.</p> - -<p>With lowered eyes, and twisting his black mustache, he only replied to -the officer’s salute by an imperceptible movement of the shoulders.</p> - -<p>“Give me a glass,” he said, sitting down near the table. “Surely you -have just come from Petersburg, young man?” he said, addressing Volodia -with an amiable air.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and I am going to Sebastopol.”</p> - -<p>“Of your own accord?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Why in the devil are you going, then? Gentlemen, really I don’t -understand that,” continued the commissary. “It seems to me, if I could, -I would go back to Petersburg on foot. I have had my bellyful of this -cursed existence.”</p> - -<p>“But what are you grumbling at?” asked the elder Koseltzoff. “You are -leading a very enviable life here.”</p> - -<p>The commissary, surprised, cast a look at him, turned around, and -addressing Volodia, said, “This constant danger, these pri<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span>vations, for -it is impossible to get anything—all that is terrible. I really cannot -understand you, gentlemen. If you only got some advantage out of it! But -is it agreeable, I ask you, to become at your age good-for-nothing for -the rest of your days?”</p> - -<p>“Some try to make money, some serve for honor,” replied Koseltzoff the -elder, vexed.</p> - -<p>“What is honor when there is nothing to eat?” rejoined the commissary, -with a disdainful smile, turning towards the officer of the wagon-train, -who followed his example. “Wind up the music-box,” he said, pointing to -a box. “We’ll hear ‘Lucia;’ I like that.”</p> - -<p>“Is this Vassili Mikhaïlovitch a brave man,” Volodia asked his brother, -when, twilight having fallen, they rolled again along the Sebastopol -road.</p> - -<p>“Neither good nor bad, but a terribly miserly fellow. As to the -commissary, I can’t bear to see even his picture. I shall knock him down -some day.”</p> - -<h3>IX.</h3> - -<p>When they arrived, at nightfall, at the great bridge over the bay, -Volodia was not exactly in bad humor, but a terrible weight<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> lay on his -heart. Everything he saw, everything he heard, harmonized so little with -the last impressions that had been left in his mind by the great, light -examination-hall with polished floor, the voices of his comrades and the -gayety of their sympathetic bursts of laughter, his new uniform, the -well-beloved Czar, whom he was accustomed to see during seven years, and -who, taking leave of them with tears in his eyes, had called them “his -children”—yes, everything he saw little harmonized with his rich dreams -sparkling from a thousand facets.</p> - -<p>“Here we are!” said his brother, getting out of the carriage in front of -the M—— battery. “If they let us cross the bridge we will go straight -to the Nicholas barracks. You will stop there until to-morrow morning. -As for me, I shall go back to my regiment to find out where the battery -is, and to-morrow I will go and hunt you up.”</p> - -<p>“Why do that? rather let’s go together,” said Volodia. “I will go to the -bastion with you; won’t that be the same thing? One must get accustomed -to it. If you go there, why can’t I go?”</p> - -<p>“You would do better not to go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Let me go—please do. At least I will see what it is—”</p> - -<p>“I advise you not to go there; but, nevertheless—”</p> - -<p>The cloudless sky was sombre, the stars, and the flashes of the cannon, -and the bombs flying in space, shone in the darkness. The <i>tête du pont</i> -and the great white pile of the battery came out sharply in the dark -night. Every instant reports, explosions, shook the air, together or -separately, ever louder, ever more distinct. The mournful murmur of the -waves played an accompaniment to this incessant roll. A fresh breeze -filled with moisture blew from the sea. The brothers approached the -bridge. A soldier awkwardly shouldered arms and shouted,</p> - -<p>“Who comes there?”</p> - -<p>“A soldier.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t pass.”</p> - -<p>“Impossible—we must pass!”</p> - -<p>“Ask the officer.”</p> - -<p>The officer was taking a nap, seated on an anchor. He arose and gave the -order to let them pass.</p> - -<p>“You can go in, but you can’t come out. Attention! Where are you getting -to all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> together?” he shouted to the wagons piled up with gabions, which -were stopping at the entrance to the bridge.</p> - -<p>On the first pontoon they met some soldiers talking in a loud voice.</p> - -<p>“He has received his outfit; he has received it all.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! friends,” said another voice, “when a fellow gets to Severnaïa he -begins to revive. There is quite another air here, by heavens!”</p> - -<p>“What nonsense are you talking there?” said the first. “The other day a -cursed bomb-shell carried away the legs of two sailors. Oh! oh!”</p> - -<p>The water in several places was dashing into the second pontoon, where -the two brothers stopped to await their carriage. The wind, which had -appeared light on land, blew here with violence and in gusts. The bridge -swayed, and the waves, madly dashing against the beams, broke upon the -anchors and the ropes and flooded the flooring. The sea roared with a -hollow sound, forming a black, uniform, endless line, which separated it -from the starry horizon, now lighted by a silvery glow. In the distance<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> -twinkled the lights of the hostile fleet. On the left rose the dark mass -of a sailing ship, against the sides of which the water dashed -violently; on the right, a steamer coming from Severnaïa, noisily and -swiftly advanced. A bomb-shell burst, and lighted up for a second the -heaps of gabions, revealing two men standing on the deck of the ship, a -third in shirt-sleeves, sitting with swinging legs, busy repairing the -deck, and showing the white foam and the dashing waves with green -reflections made by the steamer in motion.</p> - -<p>The same lights continued to furrow the sky over Sebastopol, and the -fear-inspiring sounds came nearer. A wave driven from the sea broke into -foam on the right side of the bridge and wet Volodia’s feet. Two -soldiers, noisily dragging their legs through the water, passed by. -Suddenly something burst with a crash and lighted up before them the -part of the bridge along which was passing a carriage, followed by a -soldier on horseback. The pieces fell whistling into the water, which -spouted up in jets.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Mikhaïl Semenovitch!” said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> horseman, drawing up before -Koseltzoff the elder, “here you are—well again?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, as you see. Where in God’s name are you going?”</p> - -<p>“To Severnaïa for cartridges. They send me in place of the aide-de-camp -of the regiment. They are expecting an assault every moment.”</p> - -<p>“And Martzeff, where’s he?”</p> - -<p>“He lost a leg yesterday in the city; in his room. He was asleep. You -know him, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“The regiment is in the fifth, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; it relieved the M——. Stop at the field-hospital, you will find -our fellows there; they will show you the way.”</p> - -<p>“Have my quarters in the Morskaïa been kept?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, brother, the shells destroyed them long since! You wouldn’t -recognize Sebastopol any longer. There isn’t a soul there; neither -women, nor band, nor eating-house. The last café closed yesterday. It is -now so dismal! Good-by!” and the officer went away on the trot.</p> - -<p>A terrible fear suddenly seized Volodia. It seemed to him that a shell -was going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span> fall on him, and that a piece would surely strike him on -the head. The moist darkness, the sinister sounds, the constant noise of -the wrathful waves, all seemed to urge him to take not another step, and -to tell him that no good awaited him there; that his foot would never -touch the solid earth on the other side of the bay; that he would do -well to turn back, to flee as quickly as possible this terrible place -where death reigns. “Who knows? Perhaps it is too late. My lot is -fixed.” He said this to himself, trembling at the thought, and also on -account of the water which was running into his boots. He sighed deeply, -and kept away from his brother a little.</p> - -<p>“My God! shall I really be killed—I? Oh, my God, have mercy on me!” he -murmured, making the sign of the cross.</p> - -<p>“Now we will push on, Volodia,” said his companion, when their carriage -had rejoined them. “Did you see the shell?”</p> - -<p>Farther on they met more wagons carrying wounded men and gabions. One of -them, filled with furniture, was driven by a woman. On the other side no -one stopped their passage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span></p> - -<p>Instinctively hugging the wall of the Nicholas battery the two brothers -silently went along it, with ears attentive to the noise of the shells -which exploded over their heads and to the roar of the pieces thrown -down from above; and at last they reached the part of the battery where -the holy image was placed. There they learned that the Fifth Light -Artillery Regiment, which Volodia was to join, was at Korabelnaïa. They -consequently made up their minds in spite of the danger to go and sleep -in the fifth bastion, and to go from there to their battery on the next -day. Passing through the narrow passage, stepping over the soldiers who -were sleeping along the wall, they at last reached the hospital.</p> - -<h3>X.</h3> - -<p>Entering the first room, filled with beds on which the wounded were -lying, they were struck by the heavy and nauseating odor which is -peculiar to hospitals. Two Sisters of Charity came to meet them. One of -them, about fifty years old, had a stern face; she held in her hands a -bundle of bandages and lint, and was giving orders to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> a very young -assistant-surgeon who was following her. The other, a pretty girl of -twenty, had a blond, pale, and delicate face. She appeared particularly -gentle and timid under her little white cap; she followed her companion -with her hands in her apron-pockets, and it could be seen that she was -afraid of stopping behind. Koseltzoff asked them to show him Martzeff, -who had lost a leg the day before.</p> - -<p>“Of the P—— regiment?” asked the elder of the two sisters. “Are you a -relative?”</p> - -<p>“No, a comrade.”</p> - -<p>“Show them the way,” she said in French to the younger sister, and left -them, accompanied by the assistant-surgeon, to go to a wounded man.</p> - -<p>“Come, come, what are you looking like that for?” said Koseltzoff to -Volodia, who had stopped with raised eyebrows, and whose eyes, full of -painful sympathy, could not leave the wounded, whom he watched without -ceasing, at the same time following his brother, and repeating, in spite -of himself, “Oh, my God! my God!”</p> - -<p>“He has just come in, has he not?” the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> young sister asked Koseltzoff, -pointing to Volodia.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he has just come.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him again and burst into tears, despairingly repeating, -“My God! my God! when will it end?”</p> - -<p>They entered the officers’ room. Martzeff was there, lying on his back, -his muscular arms bare to the elbow and held under his head. The -expression on his yellow visage was that of a man who shuts his teeth -tightly so as not to cry out with pain. His well leg, with a stocking -on, stuck out from under the coverlid, and the toes worked convulsively.</p> - -<p>“Well, how do you feel?” asked the young sister, raising the wounded -man’s hot head and arranging his pillow with her thin fingers, on one of -which Volodia espied a gold ring. “Here are your comrades come to see -you.”</p> - -<p>“I am suffering, you know,” he replied, with an irritated air. “Don’t -touch me; it is well as it is,” and the toes in the stocking moved with -a nervous action. “How do you do? What’s your name? Ah, pardon!” when -Koseltzoff had told his name.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> “Here everything is forgotten. -Nevertheless we lived together,” he added, without expressing the least -joy, and looking at Volodia with a questioning air.</p> - -<p>“It is my brother; he has just come from Petersburg.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! and I have done with it, I believe. Heavens, how I am suffering! If -that would only stop quicker!”</p> - -<p>He pulled his leg in with a convulsive movement. His toes worked with -double restlessness. He covered his face with both hands.</p> - -<p>“He must be left in quiet; he is very ill,” the sister whispered to -them. Her eyes were full of tears.</p> - -<p>The brothers, who had decided to go to the fifth bastion, changed their -minds on coming out of the hospital, and concluded, without telling each -other the true reason, to separate, in order to not expose themselves to -useless danger.</p> - -<p>“Will you find your way, Volodia?” asked the elder. “However, Nikolaïeff -will lead you to Korabelnaïa. Now I am going alone, and to-morrow I will -be with you.”</p> - -<p>That was all they said in this last interview.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span></p> - -<h3>XI.</h3> - -<p>The cannon roared with the same violence, but Ekatherinenskaïa Street, -through which Volodia went, accompanied by Nikolaïeff, was empty and -quiet. He could see in the darkness only the white walls standing in the -midst of the great overthrown houses, and the stones of the sidewalk he -was on. Sometimes he met soldiers and officers, and going along the left -side, near the Admiralty, he noticed, by the bright light of a fire -which burned behind a fence, a row of dark-leaved acacias, covered with -dust, recently planted along the sidewalk and held up by green painted -stakes. His steps and those of Nikolaïeff, who was loudly breathing, -resounded alone in the silence. His thoughts were vague. The pretty -Sister of Charity, Martzeff’s leg, with his toes moving convulsively in -his stocking, the darkness, the shells, the different pictures of death, -passed confusedly in his memory. His young and impressionable soul was -irritated and wounded by his isolation, by the complete indifference of -every one to his lot, although he was exposed to danger.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> “I shall -suffer, I shall be killed, and no one will mourn me,” he said to -himself. Where, then, was the life of the hero full of the energetic -ardor and of the sympathies he had so often dreamed of? The shells -shrieked and burst nearer and nearer, and Nikolaïeff sighed oftener -without speaking. In crossing the bridge which led to Korabelnaïa he saw -something two steps off plunge whistling into the gulf, illuminating for -a second with a purple light the violet-tinted waves, and then bound -off, throwing a shower of water into the air.</p> - -<p>“Curse it! the villain is still alive,” murmured Nikolaïeff.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Volodia, in spite of himself, and surprised at the sound -of his own voice, so shrill and harsh.</p> - -<p>They now met wounded men carried on stretchers, carts filled with -gabions, a regiment, men on horseback. One of the latter, an officer -followed by a Cossack, stopped at the sight of Volodia, examined his -face, then, turning away, hit his horse with his whip and continued on -his way. “Alone, alone! whether I am alive or not, it is the same to -all!” said the youth to himself, ready to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> burst into tears. Having -passed a great white wall, he entered a street bordered with little, -quite ruined houses, continually lighted up by the flash of the shells. -A drunken woman in rags, followed by a sailor, came out of a small door -and stumbled against him. “I beg pardon, your Excellency,” she murmured. -The poor boy’s heart was more and more oppressed, while the flashes -continually lit up the black horizon and the shells whistled and burst -about him. Suddenly Nikolaïeff sighed, and spoke with a voice which -seemed to Volodia to express a restrained terror.</p> - -<p>“It was well worth while to hurry from home to come here! We went on and -went on, and what was the use of hurrying?”</p> - -<p>“But, thank the Lord! my brother is cured,” said Volodia, in order by -talking to drive away the horrible feeling which had got possession of -him.</p> - -<p>“Finely cured, when he is in a bad way altogether! The well ones would -find themselves much better off in the hospital in times like these. Do -we, perchance, take any pleasure in being here? Now an arm <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span>is lost, now -a leg, and then—And yet it is better here in the city than in the -bastion, Lord God! On the way a man has to say all his prayers. Ah, -scoundrel! it just hummed in my ears,” he added, listening to the sound -of a piece of shell which had passed close to him. “Now,” continued -Nikolaïeff, “I was told to lead your Excellency, and I know I must do -what I am ordered to, but our carriage is in the care of a comrade, and -the bundles are undone. I was told to come, and I have come. But if any -one of the things we have brought is lost, it is I, Nikolaïeff, who -answers for it.”</p> - -<p>A few steps farther on they came out on an open space.</p> - -<p>“Here is your artillery, your Excellency,” he suddenly said. “Ask the -sentinel, he will show you.”</p> - -<p>Volodia went forward alone. No longer hearing behind him Nikolaïeff’s -sighs, he felt himself abandoned for good and all. The feeling of this -desertion in the presence of danger, of death, as he believed, oppressed -his heart with the glacial weight of a stone. Halting in the middle of -the place, he looked all about him to see if he was observed, and taking -his head in both hands, he mur<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span>mured, with a voice broken by terror, “My -God! am I really a despicable poltroon, a coward? I who have lately -dreamed of dying for my country, for my Czar, and that with joy! Yes, I -am an unfortunate and despicable being!” he cried, in profound despair, -and quite undeceived about himself. Having finally overcome his emotion, -he asked the sentinel to show him the house of the commander of the -battery.</p> - -<h3>XII.</h3> - -<p>The commander of the battery lived in a little two-story house. It was -entered through a court-yard. In one of the windows, in which a pane was -missing and was replaced by a sheet of paper, shone the feeble light of -a candle. The servant, seated in the door-way, was smoking his pipe. -Having announced Volodia to his master, he showed him into his room. -There, between two windows, beside a broken mirror, was seen a table -loaded with official papers, several chairs, an iron bed with clean -linen and a rug before it. Near the door stood the sergeant-major, a -fine man, with a splendid pair of mustaches, his sword in its belt. On<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> -his coat sparkled a cross and the medal of the Hungary campaign. The -staff-officer, small in stature, with a swollen and bandaged cheek, -walked up and down, dressed in a frock-coat of fine cloth which bore -marks of long wear. He was decidedly corpulent, and appeared about forty -years old. A bald spot was clearly marked on the top of his head; his -thick mustache, hanging straight down, hid his mouth; his brown eyes had -an agreeable expression; his hands were fine, white, a little fat; his -feet, very much turned out, were put down with a certain assurance and a -certain affectation which proved that bashfulness was not the weak side -of the commander.</p> - -<p>“I have the honor to present myself. I am attached to the Fifth Light -Battery—Koseltzoff, the second-ensign,” said Volodia, who, entering the -room, recited in one breath this lesson learned by heart.</p> - -<p>The commander of the battery replied by a somewhat dry salute, and -without offering him his hand begged him to be seated. Volodia then sat -down timidly near the writing-table, and in his distraction getting hold -of a pair of scissors, began to play with them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> mechanically. With hands -behind his back and with bowed head, the commander of the battery -continued his promenade in silence, casting his eyes from time to time -on the fingers which continued to juggle with the scissors.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, stopping at last in front of the sergeant-major, “from -to-morrow on we must give another measure of oats to the caisson horses; -they are thin. What do you think of it?”</p> - -<p>“Why not? It can be done, your High Excellency; oats are now cheaper,” -replied the sergeant-major, his arms stuck to the side of his body and -his fingers stirring—an habitual movement with which he usually -accompanied his conversation.</p> - -<p>“Then there is the forage-master, Frantzone, who wrote me a line -yesterday, your High Excellency. He said we must buy axle-trees without -fail; they are cheap. What are your orders?”</p> - -<p>“Well, they must be bought; there is money,” answered the commander, -continuing to walk. “Where are your traps?” he suddenly said, pausing -before Volodia.</p> - -<p>Poor Volodia, pursued by the thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> that he was a coward, saw in each -look, in each word, the scorn he must inspire; and it seemed to him that -his chief had already discovered his sad secret, and that he was jeering -at him. Then he replied in confusion that his things were at Grafskaia, -and that his brother would send them to him the following day.</p> - -<p>“Where shall we put up the ensign?” the lieutenant-colonel asked the -sergeant-major, without listening to the young man’s answer.</p> - -<p>“The ensign?” repeated the sergeant-major. A rapid glance thrown on -Volodia, and which seemed to say, “What sort of an ensign is that?” -finished the disconcerting of the latter. “Down there, your Excellency, -with the second-captain. Since the captain is in the bastion his bed is -empty!”</p> - -<p>“Will that do for you while you are waiting?” asked the commander of the -battery. “You must be tired, I think. To-morrow it can be more -conveniently arranged for you.”</p> - -<p>Volodia arose and saluted.</p> - -<p>“Will you have some tea?” added his superior officer. “The samovar can -be heated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Volodia, who had already reached the door, turned around, saluted again, -and went out.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant-colonel’s servant conducted him down-stairs, and showed -him into a bare and dirty room where different broken things were thrown -aside as rubbish, and in which, in a corner, a man in a red shirt, whom -Volodia took for a soldier, was sleeping on an iron bed without sheets -or coverlid, wrapped in his overcoat.</p> - -<p>“Peter Nikolaïevitch”—and the servant touched the sleeper’s -shoulder—“get up; the ensign is going to sleep here. It’s Vlang, our -yunker,” he added, turning to Volodia.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t disturb yourself, I beg,” cried the latter, seeing the -yunker, a tall and robust young man, with a fine face, but one entirely -devoid of intelligence, rise, throw his overcoat over his shoulders, and -drowsily go away, murmuring, “That’s nothing; I will go and sleep in the -yard.”</p> - -<h3>XIII.</h3> - -<p>Left alone with his thoughts, Volodia at first felt a return of the -terror caused by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> trouble which agitated his soul. Counting upon -sleep to be able to cease thinking of his surroundings and to forget -himself, he blew out his candle and lay down, covering himself all up -with his overcoat, even his head, for he had kept his fear of darkness -since his childhood. But suddenly the idea came to him that a shell -might fall through the roof and kill him. He listened. The commander of -the battery was walking up and down over his head.</p> - -<p>“It will begin by killing him first,” he said to himself, “then me. I -shall not die alone!” This reflection calmed him, and he was going to -sleep when this time the thought that Sebastopol might be taken that -very night, that the French might burst in his door, and that he had no -weapon to defend himself, completely waked him up again. He rose and -walked the room. The fear of the real danger had stifled the mysterious -terror of darkness. He hunted and found to hand only a saddle and a -samovar. “I am a coward, a poltroon, a wretch,” he thought again, filled -with disgust and scorn of himself. He lay down and tried to stop -thinking; but then the im<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span>pressions of the day passed again through his -mind, and the continual sounds which shook the panes of his single -window recalled to him the danger he was in. Visions followed. Now he -saw the wounded covered with blood; now bursting shells, pieces of which -flew into his room; now the pretty Sister of Charity who dressed his -wounds weeping over his agony, or his mother, who, carrying him back to -the provincial town, praying to God for him before a miraculous image, -shed hot tears. Sleep eluded him; but suddenly the thought of an -all-powerful Deity who sees everything and who hears every prayer -flashed upon him distinct and clear in the midst of his reveries. He -fell upon his knees, making the sign of the cross, and clasping his -hands as he had been taught in his childhood. This simple gesture -aroused in him a feeling of infinite, long-forgotten calm.</p> - -<p>“If I am to die, it is because I am useless! Then, may Thy will be done, -O Lord! and may it be done quickly. But if the courage and firmness -which I lack are necessary to me, spare me the shame and the dishonor, -which I cannot endure, and teach<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> me what I must do to accomplish Thy -will.”</p> - -<p>His weak, childish, and terrified soul was fortified, was calmed at -once, and entered new, broad, and luminous regions. He thought of a -thousand things; he experienced a thousand sensations in the short -duration of this feeling; then he quietly went to sleep, heedless of the -dull roar of the bombardment and of the shaking windows.</p> - -<p>Lord, Thou alone hast heard, Thou alone knowest the simple but ardent -and despairing prayers of ignorance, the confused repentance asking for -the cure of the body and the purification of the soul—the prayers which -rise to Thee from these places where death resides; beginning with the -general, who with terror feels a presentiment of approaching death, and -a second after thinks only of wearing a cross of Saint George on his -neck, and ending with the simple soldier prostrate on the bare earth of -the Nicholas battery, supplicating Thee to grant him for his sufferings -the recompense he unconsciously has a glimpse of.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> - -<h3>XIV.</h3> - -<p>The elder Koseltzoff, having met a soldier of his regiment in the -street, was accompanied by him to the fifth bastion.</p> - -<p>“Keep close to the wall, Excellency,” the soldier said.</p> - -<p>“What for?”</p> - -<p>“It is dangerous, Excellency. <i>He</i> is already passing over us,” replied -the soldier, listening to the whistling of the ball, which struck with a -dry sound the other side of the hard road. But Koseltzoff continued on -in the middle of the road without heeding this advice. There were the -same streets, the same but more frequent flashes, the same sounds and -the same groans, the same meeting of wounded men, the same batteries, -parapet, and trenches, just as he had seen them in the spring. But now -their aspect was more dismal, more sombre and more martial, so to speak. -A greater number of houses was riddled, and there were no more lights in -the windows—the hospital was the only exception—no more women in the -street; and the character of the accustomed, careless life formerly -imprinted on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> everything was effaced, and was replaced by the element of -anxious, weary expectation, and of redoubled and incessant effort.</p> - -<p>He came at last to the farthermost intrenchment, and a soldier of the -P—— regiment recognized his former company chief. There was the third -battalion, as could be guessed in the darkness by the constrained murmur -of voices and the clicks of the muskets placed against the wall, which -the flash of the discharges lit up at frequent intervals.</p> - -<p>“Where is the commander of the regiment?” asked Koseltzoff.</p> - -<p>“In the bomb-proof with the marines, your Excellency,” replied the -obliging soldier. “If you would like to go I will show you the way.”</p> - -<p>Passing from one trench to another, he led Koseltzoff to the ditch, -where a sailor was smoking his pipe. Behind him was a door, through the -cracks of which shone a light.</p> - -<p>“Can we go in?”</p> - -<p>“I will announce you;” and the sailor entered the bomb-proof, where two -voices could be heard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span></p> - -<p>“If Prussia continues to keep neutral, then Austria—” said one of them.</p> - -<p>“What is Austria good for when the slavs—” said the other.—“Ah yes! -ask him to come in,” added this same voice.</p> - -<p>Koseltzoff, who had never before put his foot in these bomb-proof -quarters, was struck by their elegance. A polished floor took the place -of boards, a screen hid the entrance door. In a corner was a great icon -representing the holy Virgin, with its gilt frame lighted by a small -pink glass lamp. Two beds were placed along the wall, on one of which a -naval officer was sleeping in his clothes, on the other, near a table on -which two open bottles of wine were standing, sat the new regimental -chief and an aide-de-camp. Koseltzoff, who was not bashful, and who felt -himself in nowise guilty, either towards the State or towards the chief -of the regiment, felt, nevertheless, at the sight of the latter—his -comrade until very recently—a certain apprehension.</p> - -<p>“It is strange,” he thought, seeing him rise to listen to him. “He has -commanded the regiment scarcely six weeks, and power is already visible -in his bearing, in his look, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span> his clothes. Not a long while ago this -same Batretcheff amused himself in our quarters, wore for whole weeks -the same dark calico shirt, and ate his hash and his sour cream without -inviting any one to share it, and now an expression full of hard pride -can be read in his eyes, which say to me, ‘Although I am your comrade, -for I am a regimental chief of the new school, you may be sure I know -perfectly well that you would give half your life to be in my place.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“You have been treating yourself to a rather long absence,” said the -colonel, coldly, looking at him.</p> - -<p>“I have been ill, colonel, and my wound is not yet altogether healed.”</p> - -<p>“If that’s so, what did you come back for?” Koseltzoff’s corpulence -inspired his chief with defiance. “Can you do your duty?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly I can.”</p> - -<p>“All right. Ensign Zaïtzeff will conduct you to the ninth company, the -one you have already commanded. You will receive the order of the day. -Be so good as to send me the regimental aide-de-camp as you go out,” and -his chief, bowing slightly, gave him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> to understand by this that the -interview was ended.</p> - -<p>On his way out Koseltzoff muttered indistinct words and shrugged his -shoulders several times. It might readily be believed that he felt ill -at ease, or that he was irritated, not exactly against his regimental -chief, but rather against himself and against all his surroundings.</p> - -<h3>XV.</h3> - -<p>Before going to find his officers he went to look up his company. The -parapets built of gabions, the trenches, the cannon in front of which he -passed, even the fragments and the shells themselves over which he -stumbled, and which the flashes of the discharges lighted up without -pause or relaxation, everything was familiar to him, and had been deeply -engraven on his memory three months before, during the fortnight he had -lived in the bastion. Notwithstanding the dismal side of these memories, -a certain inherent charm of the past came out of them, and he recognized -the places and things with an unaffected pleasure, as if the two weeks -had been full of only agreea<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span>ble impressions. His company was placed -along the covered way which led to the sixth bastion.</p> - -<p>Entering the shelter open on one side, he found so many soldiers there -that he could scarcely find room to pass. At one end burned a wretched -candle, which a reclining soldier was holding over a book that his -comrade was spelling out. Around him, in the twilight of a thick and -heavy atmosphere, several heads could be seen turned towards the reader, -listening eagerly. Koseltzoff recognized the A B C of this sentence: -“P-r-a-y-e-r a-f-t-e-r s-t-u-d-y. I give Thee thanks, my Cre-a-tor.”</p> - -<p>“Snuff the candle!” some one shouted. “What a good book!” said the -reader, preparing to go on. But at the sound of Koseltzoff’s voice -calling the sergeant-major it was silent. The soldiers moved, coughed, -and blew their noses, as always happens after an enforced silence. The -sergeant-major arose from the middle of the group, buttoning his -uniform, stepping over his comrades, and trampling on their feet, which -for lack of room they did not know where to stow, approached the -officer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span></p> - -<p>“How do you do, my boy? Is this our company?”</p> - -<p>“Health to your Excellency! We congratulate you on your return,” replied -the sergeant-major, gayly and good-naturedly. “You are cured, -Excellency? God be praised for that! for we missed you a good deal.”</p> - -<p>Koseltzoff, it was evident, was beloved by his company. Voices could -immediately be heard spreading the news that the old company chief had -come back, he who had been wounded—Mikhaïl Semenovitch Koseltzoff. -Several soldiers, the drummer among others, came to greet him.</p> - -<p>“How do you do, Obanetchouk?” said Koseltzoff. “Are you safe and sound? -How do you do, children?” he then added, raising his voice.</p> - -<p>The soldiers replied in chorus,</p> - -<p>“Health to your Excellency!”</p> - -<p>“How goes it, children?”</p> - -<p>“Badly, your Excellency. The French have the upper hands. He fires from -behind the intrenchments, but he doesn’t show himself outside.”</p> - -<p>“Now, then, who knows? perhaps I shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> have the chance of seeing him -come out of the intrenchments, children. It won’t be the first time we -have fought him together.”</p> - -<p>“We are ready to do our best, your Excellency,” said several voices at -the same time.</p> - -<p>“He is very bold, then?”</p> - -<p>“Terribly bold,” replied the drummer in a low tone, but so as to be -heard, and speaking to another soldier, as if to justify his chief for -having made use of the expression, and to persuade his comrade that -there was nothing exaggerated nor untrue in it.</p> - -<p>Koseltzoff left the soldiers in order to join the officers in the -barracks.</p> - -<h3>XVI.</h3> - -<p>The great room of the barracks was filled with people—a crowd of naval, -artillery, and infantry officers. Some were sleeping, others were -talking, seated on a caisson or on the carriage of a siege-gun. The -largest group of the three, seated on their cloaks spread on the ground, -were drinking porter and playing cards.</p> - -<p>“Ah! Koseltzoff’s come back! Bravo! And your wound?” said divers voices -from different sides.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span></p> - -<p>Here also he was liked, and they were rejoiced at his return.</p> - -<p>After having shaken hands with his acquaintances, Koseltzoff joined the -gay group of card-players. One of them, thin, with a long nose, and a -large mustache which encroached on his cheeks, cut the cards with his -white, slender fingers on one of which was a great seal ring. He seemed -disturbed, and dealt with an affected carelessness. On his right, lying -half raised on his elbow, a gray-haired major staked and paid a -half-ruble every time with exaggerated calmness. On his left, crouching -on his heels, an officer with a red and shining face joked and smiled -with an effort, and when his card was laid down, one of his hands moved -in the empty pocket of his trousers. He played a heavy game, but without -any money—a fact which visibly irritated the dark officer with the -handsome face. Another officer, pale, thin, and bald, with an enormous -nose and a large mouth, walking about the room with a bundle of -bank-notes in his hand, counted down the money on the bank and won every -time.</p> - -<p>Koseltzoff drank a small glass of brandy and sat down beside the -players.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come, Mikhaïl Semenovitch, come; put up your stake!” said the officer -who was cutting the cards; “I’ll bet you have brought back a lot of -money.”</p> - -<p>“Where could I have got it? On the contrary, I spent my last penny in -town!”</p> - -<p>“Really! You must have fleeced some one at Sympheropol, I’m sure!”</p> - -<p>“What an idea!” replied Koseltzoff, not wanting his words to be -believed, and unbuttoning his uniform, to be more comfortable, he took a -few old cards.</p> - -<p>“I have nothing to risk, but, devil take me! who can foresee luck? A -gnat can sometimes accomplish wonders! Let’s go on drinking to keep our -courage up.”</p> - -<p>Shortly after he swallowed a second small glass of brandy, a little -porter into the bargain, and lost his last three rubles, while a hundred -and fifty were charged to the account of the little officer with the -sweat-moistened face.</p> - -<p>“Have the kindness to send me the money,” said the banker, interrupting -the deal to look at him.</p> - -<p>“Allow me to put off sending it until to-morrow,” replied the one -addressed, rising.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span> His hand was nervously moving in his empty pocket.</p> - -<p>“Hum!” said the banker, spitefully throwing the last cards of the pack -right and left. “We can’t play in this way,” he rejoined; “I will stop -the game. It can’t be done, Zakhar Ivanovitch. We are playing cash down, -and not for credit.”</p> - -<p>“Do you distrust me? That would be strange indeed!”</p> - -<p>“From whom have I to get eight rubles?” the major who had just won asked -at this moment. “I have paid out more than twenty, and when I win I get -nothing.”</p> - -<p>“How do you think I can pay you when there is no money on the table?”</p> - -<p>“That’s nothing to me!” cried the major, rising. “I am playing with you, -and not with this gentleman!”</p> - -<p>“As long as I tell you,” said the perspiring officer—“as long as I tell -you I will pay you to-morrow, how do you dare insult me?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll say what I like. This is no way of doing!” cried the major, -excited.</p> - -<p>“Come, be quiet, Fédor Fédorovitch!” shouted several players at once, -turning around.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span></p> - -<p>Let us drop the curtain on this scene. To-morrow, perhaps to-day, each -of these men will go to meet death gayly, proudly, and will die calmly -and firmly. The only consolation of a life the conditions of which -freeze with horror the coldest imagination, of a life which has nothing -human in it, to which all hope is interdicted, is forgetfulness, -annihilation of the consciousness of the reality. In the soul of every -man lies dormant the noble spark which at the proper time will make a -hero of him; but this spark grows tired of shining always. Nevertheless, -when the fatal moment comes, it will burst into a flame which will -illumine grand deeds.</p> - -<h3>XVII.</h3> - -<p>The next day the bombardment continued with the same violence. About -eleven o’clock in the forenoon Volodia Koseltzoff joined the officers of -his battery. He became accustomed to these new faces, asked them -questions, and, in his turn, shared his impressions with them. The -modest but slightly pedantic conversation of the artillery-men pleased -him and inspired his respect.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> On the other hand, his own sympathetic -appearance, his timid manner, and his simplicity predisposed these -gentlemen in his favor. The oldest officer of the battery, a short, -red-haired captain with a foretop, and with well-smoothed locks on his -temples, brought up in the old traditions of artillery, amiable with -ladies, and posing for a savant, asked him questions about his -acquaintance with this science or that, about the new inventions, joked -in an affectionate way about his youth and his handsome face, and -treated him like a son, all of which charmed Volodia. Sub-lieutenant -Dedenko, a young officer with an accent of Little Russia, with shaggy -hair and a torn overcoat, pleased him also, in spite of his loud voice, -his frequent quarrels, and his brusque movements, for under this rude -exterior Volodia saw a brave and worthy man. Dedenko eagerly offered his -services to Volodia, and tried to prove to him that the cannon at -Sebastopol had not been placed according to rule. On the other hand, -Lieutenant Tchernovitzky, with high-arched eyebrows, who wore a -well-cared-for but worn and mended overcoat, and a gold chain on a satin -waistcoat, did<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> not inspire him with any sympathy, although superior to -the others in politeness. He continually asked Volodia details about the -emperor, the minister of war, related with factitious enthusiasm the -heroic exploits accomplished at Sebastopol, expressed his regrets at the -small number of true patriots, made a show of a great deal of knowledge, -of wit, of exceedingly noble sentiments, but in spite of all that, and -without being able to tell why, all these discourses sounded false in -his ears, and he even noticed that the officers in general avoided -speaking to Tchernovitzky. The yunker, Vlang, whom he had waked up the -evening before, sat modestly in a corner, kept silent, laughed sometimes -at a joke, always ready to recall what had been forgotten, presented to -the officers in turn the small glass of brandy, and rolled cigarettes -for all. Charmed by the simple and polite manners of Volodia, who did -not treat him like a boy, and by his agreeable appearance, his great, -fine eyes never left the face of the new-comer. Urged by a feeling of -great admiration, he divined and forestalled all his wishes, a fact -which the officers immediately noticed, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> which furnished the subject -of unsparing jokes.</p> - -<p>A little before dinner second-captain Kraut, relieved from duty on the -bastion, joined the little company. A blond, fine-looking fellow, of a -lively turn of mind, proud possessor of a pair of red mustaches, and -side-whiskers of the same color, he spoke the language to perfection, -but too correctly and too elegantly for a pure-blooded Russian. Quite as -irreproachable in duty as in his private life, perfection was his -failing. A perfect comrade, to be counted on beyond proof in all affairs -of interest, he lacked something as a man, just because everything in -him was an accomplishment. In striking contrast with the ideal Germans -of Germany, he was, after the example of the Russian Germans, in the -highest degree practical.</p> - -<p>“Here he is! here’s our hero!” shouted the captain at the moment Kraut -came in, gesticulating and clanking his spurs. “What’ll you have, -Frederic Christianovitch—tea or brandy?”</p> - -<p>“I am having some tea made, but I won’t refuse brandy while I am -waiting, for my soul’s consolation! Happy to make your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> acquaintance! -Please get fond of us, and be well-disposed towards us,” he said to -Volodia, who had arisen to salute him. “Second-captain Kraut! The -artificer told me you came last evening.”</p> - -<p>“Allow me to thank you for your bed, which I profited by last night.”</p> - -<p>“Did you at least sleep comfortably there? Because one of the legs is -gone, and no one can repair it during the siege. You have to keep -wedging it up.”</p> - -<p>“So then you got out of it safely?” Dedenko asked him.</p> - -<p>“Yes, thank God! but Skvortzoff was hit. We had to repair one of the -carriages; the side of it was smashed to pieces.”</p> - -<p>He suddenly arose and walked up and down. It could be seen that he felt -the agreeable sensation of a man who has just come safe and sound out of -great danger.</p> - -<p>“Now, Dmitri Gavrilovitch,” he said, tapping the captain’s knee in a -friendly manner, “how are you, brother? What has become of your -presentation for advancement? Has it finally been settled?”</p> - -<p>“No; nothing has come of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“And nothing will come of it,” said Dedenko; “I’ve proved it to you -already.”</p> - -<p>“Why will nothing come of it?”</p> - -<p>“Because your statement is badly made.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, what a violent wrangler!” said Kraut, gayly. “A truly obstinate -Little Russian. All right; you will see that they will make you -lieutenant to pay for your mortification.”</p> - -<p>“No, they won’t do anything.”</p> - -<p>“Vlang,” added Kraut, speaking to the yunker, “fill my pipe and bring it -to me, please.”</p> - -<p>Kraut’s presence had waked them all up. Chatting with each one, he gave -the details of the bombardment, and asked questions about what had taken -place during his absence.</p> - -<h3>XVIII.</h3> - -<p>“Now, then, are you settled?” Kraut asked of Volodia. “But, pardon me, -what is your name—both your names? It’s our custom in the artillery. -Have you a saddle-horse?”</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Volodia, “and I am much troubled about it. I have spoken -to the captain. I shall have neither horse nor money until I get my -forage-money and my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> travelling expenses. I would like to ask the -commander of the battery to lend me his horse, but I am afraid he will -refuse.”</p> - -<p>“You would like to ask this of Apollo Serguéïtch?” said Kraut, looking -at the captain, while he made a sound with his lips which expressed -doubt.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the latter, “if he refuses, there is no great harm done. To -tell the truth, there is seldom need of a horse here. I will undertake -to ask him to-day even.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know him,” said Dedenko. “He would refuse anything else, but -he wouldn’t refuse his horse to this gentleman. Would you like to bet on -it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know you are ripe for contradiction, you—”</p> - -<p>“I contradict when I know a thing! He isn’t generous usually, but he -will lend his horse, because he has no interest in refusing it.”</p> - -<p>“How no interest? When oats cost eight rubles here it is evidently in -his interest. He will have one horse the less to keep.”</p> - -<p>“Vladimir Semenovitch!” cried Vlang, coming back with Kraut’s pipe. “Ask -for the spotted one; it is a charming horse.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“That’s the one you fell into the ditch with, eh, Vlang?” observed the -second-captain.</p> - -<p>“But you are mistaken in saying that oats are eight rubles,” maintained -Dedenko, in the mean time, continuing the discussion. “According to the -latest news they are ten-fifty. It is evident that there is no profit -in—”</p> - -<p>“You would like to leave him nothing, then? If you were in his place you -would not lend your horse to go into town either. When I am commander of -the battery my horses, brother, will have four full measures to eat -every day! I sha’n’t think of making an income, rest assured!”</p> - -<p>“He who lives will see,” replied the second-captain. “You will do the -same when you have a battery, and he also,” pointing to Volodia.</p> - -<p>“Why do you suppose, Frederic Christianovitch, that this gentleman would -also like to reserve for himself some small profit? If he has a certain -amount of money, what will he do it for?” Tchernovitzky asked in his -turn.</p> - -<p>“No—I—excuse me, captain,” said Volo<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span>dia, blushing up to his ears. -“That would be dishonest in my eyes.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! oh! what milk porridge!” Kraut said to him.</p> - -<p>“This is another question, captain, but it seems to me that I couldn’t -take money for myself which doesn’t belong to me.”</p> - -<p>“And I will tell you something else,” said the second-captain, in a more -serious tone. “You must learn that, being battery commander, there is -every advantage in managing affairs well. You must know that the -soldier’s food doesn’t concern him. It has always been that way with us -in the artillery. If you don’t succeed in making both ends meet, you -will have nothing left. Let us count up your expenses. You have first -the forage”—and the captain bent one finger; “next the medicine”—he -bent a second one; “then the administration—that makes three; then the -draft-horses, which certainly cost five hundred rubles—that makes four; -then the refitting of the soldiers’ collars; then the charcoal, which is -used in great quantities, and at last the table of your officers; -lastly, as chief of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> battery you must live comfortably, and you need -a carriage, a cloak, etc.”</p> - -<p>“And the principal thing is this, Vladimir Semenovitch,” said the -captain, who had been silent up to this moment. “Look at a man like me, -for example, who has served twenty years, receiving at first two, then -three hundred rubles pay. Well, then, why shouldn’t the Government -reward him for his years of service by giving him a morsel of bread for -his old days.”</p> - -<p>“It can’t be discussed,” rejoined the second-captain; “so don’t be in a -hurry to judge. Serve a little while and you will see.”</p> - -<p>Volodia, quite ashamed of the remark which he had thrown out without -stopping to reflect, murmured a few words, and listened in silence how -Dedenko set about defending the opposite thesis. The discussion was -interrupted by the entrance of the colonel’s orderly announcing that -dinner was ready.</p> - -<p>“You ought to tell Apollo Serguéïtch to give us wine to-day,” said -Captain Tchernovitzky, buttoning his coat. “Devil take his avarice! He -will be shot, and no one will get any.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Tell him yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no, you are my elder; the hierarchy before everything!”</p> - -<h3>XIX.</h3> - -<p>A table, covered with a stained tablecloth, was placed in the middle of -the room in which Volodia had been received by the colonel the evening -before. The latter gave him his hand, and asked him questions about -Petersburg and about his journey.</p> - -<p>“Now, gentlemen, please come up to the brandy. The ensigns don’t drink,” -he added, with a smile.</p> - -<p>The commander of the battery did not seem as stern to-day as the day -before; he had rather the air of a kind and hospitable host than that of -a comrade among his officers. In spite of that, all, from the old -captain to Ensign Dedenko, evinced respect for him which betrayed itself -in the timid politeness with which they spoke to him and came up in line -to drink their little glass of brandy.</p> - -<p>The dinner consisted of cabbage-soup, served in a great tureen in which -swam lumps of meat with fat attached, laurel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span> leaves, and a good deal of -pepper, Polish <i>zrasi</i> with mustard, <i>koldouni</i> with slightly rancid -butter; no napkins; the spoons were of pewter and of wood, the glasses -were two in number. On the table was a single water decanter with broken -neck. The conversation did not flag. They first spoke of the battle of -Inkerman, in which the battery took a part. Each related his -impressions, his opinions on the causes of the failure, keeping silent -as soon as the battery commander spoke. Then they complained of the lack -of cannon of a certain calibre; they talked of certain other -improvements, which gave Volodia an opportunity of showing his -knowledge. The curious part was that the talk did not even touch upon -the frightful situation of Sebastopol, which seemed to mean that each -one, on his part, thought too much about it to speak of it.</p> - -<p>Volodia, very much astonished, and even vexed, that there was no -question of the duties of his service, said to himself that he seemed to -have come to Sebastopol only in order to give the details about the new -cannon and to dine with the battery commander.</p> - -<p>During the repast a shell burst very near<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> the house. The floor and the -wall were shaken by it as by an earthquake, and powder-smoke spread over -the window outside.</p> - -<p>“You certainly didn’t see that at Petersburg, but here we often have -these surprises. Go, Vlang,” added the commander, “and see where the -shell burst.”</p> - -<p>Vlang went to look, and announced that it had burst in the yard. After -that they did not speak of it again.</p> - -<p>A little before the end of the dinner one of the military clerks came in -to give to his chief three sealed envelopes. “This one is very urgent. A -Cossack has just brought it from the commander of the artillery,” he -said. The officers watched the practised fingers of their superior with -anxious impatience while he broke the seal of the envelope, which bore -the words “in haste,” and drew a paper from it.</p> - -<p>“What can that be?” each one thought. “Can it be the order to leave -Sebastopol for a rest, or the order to bring out the whole battery upon -the bastion?”</p> - -<p>“Once more!” cried the commander, angrily, throwing the sheet of paper -on the table.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span></p> - -<p>“What is it, Apollo Serguéïtch?” asked the oldest of the officers.</p> - -<p>“They want an officer and men for a mortar battery. I have only four -officers, and my men are not up to the full number,” he growled, “and -now they ask for some of them. However, some one must go, gentlemen,” he -continued, after a moment; “they must be there at seven o’clock. Send me -the sergeant-major. Now, gentlemen, who will go? Decide it among -yourselves.”</p> - -<p>“But here is this gentleman who hasn’t yet served,” said Tchernovitzky, -pointing to Volodia.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I wouldn’t ask for anything better,” said Volodia, feeling a cold -sweat moisten his neck and his backbone.</p> - -<p>“No—why not?” interrupted the captain. “No one ought to refuse; but it -is useless to ask him to go; and since Apollo Serguéïtch leaves us free, -we will draw lots, as we did the other time.”</p> - -<p>All consented to this. Kraut carefully cut several little paper squares, -rolled them up, and threw them into a cap. The captain cracked a few -jokes and profited by this occasion to ask the colonel for wine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> “to -give us courage,” he added. Dedenko had a depressed air, Volodia smiled, -Tchernovitzky declared that he would be chosen by the lot. As to Kraut, -he was perfectly calm.</p> - -<p>They offered Volodia the first chance. He took one of the papers, the -longest, but immediately changed it for another, shorter and smaller, -and unrolling it, read the word “Go.”</p> - -<p>“It is I,” he said, with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“All right. May God protect you! It will be your baptism of fire,” said -the commander, looking with a pleasant smile at the disturbed face of -the ensign. “But get ready quickly, and in order that it may be -pleasanter, Vlang will go with you in the place of the artificer.</p> - -<h3>XX.</h3> - -<p>Vlang, delighted with his mission, ran away to dress, and came back at -once to assist Volodia to make up his bundles, advising him to take his -bed, his fur cloak, an old number of the “Annals of the Country,” a -coffee-pot with an alcohol lamp, and other useless articles. The -captain, in his turn,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> advised Volodia to read in the “Manual for the -use of Artillery Officers” the passage relating to firing mortars, and -to copy it at once! Volodia set himself to work at it immediately, happy -and surprised to feel that the dread of danger, especially the fear of -passing for a coward, was less strong than on the evening before. His -impressions of the day and his occupation had partly contributed to -diminish the violence of this; and then it is well known that an acute -sensation cannot last long without weakening. In a word, his fear was -being cured. At seven in the evening, at the moment the sun was setting -behind the Nicholas barracks, the sergeant-major came to tell him that -the men were ready, and were waiting for him.</p> - -<p>“I have given the list to Vlang, your Excellency; you can ask him for -it,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Must I make a little speech to them?” thought Volodia, on his way, -accompanied by the yunker, to join the twenty artillery-men who, swords -by their sides, were waiting for him outside—“or must I simply say to -them, ‘How do you do, children?’ or, indeed, say nothing at all? Why not -say<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> ‘How do you do, children?’ I think I ought to;” and with his full -and sonorous voice he cried boldly, “How do you do, children?” The -soldiers replied cheerfully to his salutation; his young and fresh voice -sounded agreeably in their ears. He put himself at their head, and -although his heart was beating as if he had just run several furlongs, -his walk was light and his face was smiling. When they got near the -Malakoff mamelon, he noticed, while climbing up it, that Vlang, who did -not leave his heels, and who had seemed so courageous down below in -their quarters, stooped and ducked his head as if the bullets and shells -which were whistling without cessation were coming straight towards him. -Several soldiers did the same, and the majority of the faces expressed, -if not fear, at least disquiet. This circumstance reassured him and -revived his courage.</p> - -<p>“Here I am, then, I also, on the Malakoff mamelon. I imagined it a -thousand times more terrible, and I am walking, I am advancing, without -saluting the bullets! I am less afraid than the others, and I am not a -coward, then,” he said to himself joy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span>fully, with the enthusiasm of -satisfied self-love.</p> - -<p>This feeling was, however, shaken by the spectacle that presented itself -to his eyes. When he reached in the twilight the Korniloff battery, four -sailors, some holding by the legs, others by the arms, the bloody corpse -of a man with bare feet and no coat, were in the act of throwing him -over the parapet. (The second day of the bombardment they threw the dead -into the ditch, because they had no time to carry them off.) Volodia, -stupefied, saw the corpse strike the upper part of the rampart, and -slide from there into the ditch. Fortunately for him, he met at this -very moment the commander of the bastion, who gave him a guide to lead -him to the battery and into the bomb-proof quarters of the men. We will -not relate how often our hero was exposed to danger during that night. -We will say nothing of how he was undeceived when he noticed that -instead of finding them firing here according to the precise rules such -as they practise at Petersburg on the plain of Volkovo, he saw himself -in front of two broken mortars, one with its muzzle bruised by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span> a shell, -the other still upright on the pieces of a destroyed platform. We will -not tell how it was impossible for him to get the soldiers in order to -repair it before daylight, how he found no charge of the calibre -indicated in the “Manual,” nor describe his feelings at seeing two of -his soldiers fall, hit before his eyes, nor how he himself, even, -escaped death twenty times by a hair’s-breadth. Happily for him, the -captain of the mortar, who had been given him for an assistant, a tall -sailor attached to these mortars since the beginning of the siege, -assured him that they could make use of them still, and promised him -while he was walking on the bastion, lantern in hand, as calmly as if he -were in his kitchen-garden, to put them in good condition before -morning.</p> - -<p>The bomb-proof reduct into which his guide conducted him was only a -great, long cavern dug in the rocky earth, two fathoms deep, protected -by oaken timbers eighteen inches thick. There he established himself -with his soldiers.</p> - -<p>As soon as Vlang noticed the little low door which led into it, he threw -himself in the first with such haste that he nearly fell<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span> on the -stone-paved floor, cowered down in a corner, and did not care to come -out of it. The soldiers placed themselves on the ground along the wall. -Some of them lighted their pipes, and Volodia arranged his bed in a -corner, stretched himself on it, lighted a candle in his turn, and -smoked a cigarette. Over their heads could be heard, deadened by the -bomb-proof, the uninterrupted roar of the discharges. A single cannon -close beside them shook their shelter every time it thundered. In the -interior everything was quiet. The soldiers, still intimidated by the -presence of the new officer, only exchanged a word with each other now -and then to ask for a light or a little room. A rat was scratching -somewhere among the stones, and Vlang, who had not yet recovered from -his emotion, occasionally sighed deeply as he looked about him. Volodia, -on his bed in this peaceful corner crammed with people, lighted by a -single candle, gave himself up to the feeling of comfort which he had -often had as a child when, playing hide-and-seek, he slipped into a -wardrobe or under his mother’s skirt, holding his breath, stretching his -ears, being very much afraid of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> dark, and feeling at the same time -an unconscious impression of well-being.</p> - -<p>In the same way here, without being altogether at his ease, he felt -rather disposed to be cheerful.</p> - -<h3>XXI.</h3> - -<p>At the end of ten minutes the soldiers got bold and began to talk. Near -the officer’s bed, in the circle of light, were placed the highest in -rank—the two artificers, one an old gray-haired man, his breast adorned -with a mass of medals and crosses, among which the cross of Saint George -was wanting, however, the other a young man, smoking cigarettes which he -was rolling, and the drummer, who placed himself, as is the custom, at -the orders of the officer, in the background. In the shadow of the -entrance, behind the bombardier and the medalled soldiers seated in -front, the “humbles” kept themselves. They were the first to break -silence. One of them, running in frightened from outside, served as a -theme for their conversation.</p> - -<p>“Eh! say there, you didn’t stay long in the street. Young girls are not -playing there, hey?” said a voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span></p> - -<p>“On the contrary, they are singing wonderful songs. You don’t hear such -ones in the village,” replied the new-comer, with a laugh, and all out -of breath.</p> - -<p>“Vassina doesn’t like the shells; no, he doesn’t like them!” some one -cried from the aristocratic side.</p> - -<p>“When it is necessary it is another story,” slowly replied Vassina, whom -everybody listened to when he spoke. “The twenty-fourth, for example, -they fired so that it was a blessing, and there is no harm in that. Why -let us be killed for nothing? Do the chiefs thank us for that?”</p> - -<p>These words provoked a general laugh.</p> - -<p>“Nevertheless, there is Melnikoff, who is outside all the time,” said -some one.</p> - -<p>“It is true. Make him come in,” added the old artificer, “otherwise he -will get killed for nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Who is this Melnikoff?” asked Volodia.</p> - -<p>“He is, your Excellency, an animal who is afraid of nothing. He is -walking about outside. Please examine him; he looks like a bear.”</p> - -<p>“He practises witchcraft,” added Vassina, in his calm voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span></p> - -<p>Melnikoff, a very corpulent soldier (a rare thing), with red hair, a -tremendously bulging forehead, and light blue projecting eyes, came in -just at this moment.</p> - -<p>“Are you afraid of bomb-shells?” Volodia asked him.</p> - -<p>“Why should I be afraid of them?” repeated Melnikoff, scratching his -neck. “No bomb-shell will kill me, I know.”</p> - -<p>“Do you like to live here?”</p> - -<p>“To be sure I do; it is very entertaining,” and he burst out laughing.</p> - -<p>“Then you must be sent out in a sortie. Would you like to? I will speak -to the general,” said Volodia, although he knew no general.</p> - -<p>“Why not like to? I should like to very much!” and Melnikoff disappeared -behind his comrades.</p> - -<p>“Come, children, let’s play ‘beggar my neighbor!’ Who has cards?” asked -an impatient voice, and the game immediately began in the farthest -corner. The calling of the tricks could be heard, the sound of taps on -the nose and the bursts of laughter. Volodia in the mean time drank tea -prepared by the drummer, offering some to the arti<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span>ficers, joking and -chatting with them, desirous of making himself popular, and very well -satisfied with the respect they showed him. The soldiers having noticed -that the “barine” was a good fellow, became animated, and one of them -announced that the siege was soon going to come to an end, for a sailor -had told him for a certainty that Constantine, the Czar’s brother, was -coming to deliver them with the ‘merican’<a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a> fleet; that there would -soon be an armistice of two weeks to rest, and that seventy-five kopeks -would have to be paid for every shot that was fired during the truce.</p> - -<p>Vassina, whom Volodia had already noticed—the short soldier with fine -great eyes and side-whiskers—related in his turn, in the midst of a -general silence, which was next broken by bursts of laughter, the joy -that had been felt at first on seeing him come back to his village on -his furlough, and how his father had then sent him to work in the fields -every day, while the lieutenant-forester sent to fetch his wife in a -carriage. Volodia was amused by all these tales. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> had no longer the -least fear, and the strong odors which filled their reduct did not cause -him any disgust. He felt, on the contrary, very gay, and in a very -agreeable mood.</p> - -<p>Several soldiers were snoring already. Vlang was also lying on the -ground, and the old artificer, having spread his overcoat on the earth, -crossed himself with devotion and mumbled the evening prayer, when -Volodia took a fancy to go and see what was going on out of doors.</p> - -<p>“Pull in your legs!” the soldiers immediately said to one another as -they saw him get up, and each one drew his legs back to let him pass.</p> - -<p>Vlang, who was supposed to be asleep, got up and seized Volodia by the -lapel of his coat. “Come, don’t go! what is the use?” he said, in a -tearful and persuasive voice. “You don’t know what it is. Bullets are -raining out there. We are better off here.”</p> - -<p>But Volodia went out without heeding him, and sat down on the very -threshold of their quarters by the side of Melnikoff.</p> - -<p>The air was fresh and pure, especially after that he had just been -breathing, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> night was clear and calm. Through the roar of the -cannonade could be heard the creak of the wheels of the carts bringing -gabions, and the voices of those working in the magazine. Over their -heads sparkled the starry sky, striped by the luminous furrows of the -projectiles. On the left was a small opening, two feet and a half high, -leading to a bomb-proof shelter, where could be perceived the feet and -the backs of the sailors who lived there, and who were plainly heard -talking. Opposite rose the mound which covered the magazine, in front of -which figures, bent double, passed and repassed. On the very top of the -eminence, exposed to bullets and shells which did not stop whistling at -that spot, was a tall black figure, with his hands in his pockets, -trampling on the fresh earth which was brought in bags. From time to -time a shell fell and burst two paces from him. The soldiers who were -carrying sacks bent down and separated, while the black silhouette -continued quietly to level the earth with his feet without changing his -position.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” Volodia asked Melnikoff.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know; I am going to see.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Don’t go; it is no use.”</p> - -<p>But Melnikoff rose without listening to him, went up to the black man, -and remained immovable a long time beside him with the same indifference -to danger.</p> - -<p>“It is the guardian of the magazine, your Excellency,” he said, on his -return. “A shell made a hole in it, and they are covering it up with -earth.”</p> - -<p>When the shells seemed to fly straight upon the bomb-proof quarters -Volodia squeezed himself into the corner, and then came out raising his -eyes to the sky to see if others were coming. Although Vlang, still -lying down, had more than once begged him to come in, Volodia passed -three hours seated on the threshold, finding a certain pleasure in thus -exposing himself, as well as in watching the flight of the projectiles. -Towards the end of the evening he knew perfectly well the number of the -cannon and the direction they fired, and where their shots struck.</p> - -<h3>XXII.</h3> - -<p>The next day—the 27th of August—after ten hours of sleep, Volodia came -out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span> of the bomb-proof fresh and well. Vlang followed him, but at the -first hissing of a cannon-ball he bounded back and threw himself through -the narrow opening, knocking his head as he went, to the general laugh -of the soldiers, all of whom, with the exception of Vlang, of the old -artificer, and two or three others who rarely showed themselves in the -trenches, had slipped outside to breathe the fresh morning air. In spite -of the violence of the bombardment, they could not be prevented from -remaining there, some near the entrance, others sheltered by the -parapet. As to Melnikoff, he had been going and coming between the -batteries since daybreak, looking in the air with indifference.</p> - -<p>On the very threshold of the quarters were seated three soldiers, two -old and one young one. The latter, a curly-headed Jewish infantryman -attached to the battery, picked up a bullet which rolled at his feet, -and flattening it against a stone with a piece of a shell, he cut out of -it a cross on the model of that of Saint George, while the others -chatted, watching his work with interest, for he succeeded well with -it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I say that if we stay here some time yet, when peace comes we shall be -retired.”</p> - -<p>“Sure enough. I have only four years more to serve, and I have been here -six months!”</p> - -<p>“That doesn’t count for retirement,” said another, at the moment when a -cannon-ball whizzing over the group struck the earth a yard away from -Melnikoff, who was coming towards them in the trench.</p> - -<p>“It almost killed Melnikoff!” cried a soldier.</p> - -<p>“It won’t kill me,” replied the former.</p> - -<p>“Here, take this cross for your bravery,” said the young Jewish soldier, -finishing the cross and giving it to him.</p> - -<p>“No, brother, here the months count for years without exception. There -was an order about it,” continued the talker.</p> - -<p>“Whatever happens, there will surely be, on the conclusion of peace, a -review by the Emperor at Warsaw, and if we are not retired we shall have -an unlimited furlough.”</p> - -<p>Just at this instant a small cannon-ball passing over their heads with a -ricochet, seemed to moan and whistle together and fell on a stone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Attention!” said one of the soldiers. “Perhaps between now and night -you will get your definite furlough!”</p> - -<p>Everybody began to laugh. Two hours had not passed, evening had not yet -come, before two of them had, in effect, received their “definite -furlough,” and five had been wounded, but the rest continued to joke as -before.</p> - -<p>In the morning the two mortars had been put in order, and Volodia -received at ten o’clock the order from the commander of the bastion to -assemble his men and go with them upon the battery. Once at work, there -remained no trace of that terror which the evening before showed itself -so plainly. Vlang alone did not succeed in overcoming it; he hid -himself, and bent down every instant. Vassina had also lost his -coolness, he was excited and <i>saluted</i>. As to Volodia, stirred by an -enthusiastic satisfaction, he thought no more of the danger. The joy he -felt at doing his duty well, at being no longer a coward, at feeling -himself, on the contrary, full of courage, the feeling of commanding and -the presence of twenty men, who he knew were watching him with -curiosity, had made a real hero of him. Being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> even a little vain of his -bravery, he got up on the <i>banquette</i>, unbuttoning his coat so as to be -well observed. The commander of the bastion, in going his rounds, -although he had been accustomed during eight months to courage in all -its forms, could not help admiring this fine-looking boy with animated -face and eyes, his unbuttoned coat exposing a red shirt, which confined -a white and delicate neck, clapping his hands, and crying in a voice of -command, “First! second!” and jumping gayly on the rampart to see where -his shell had fallen. At half-past eleven the firing stopped on both -sides, and at noon precisely began the assault on the Malakoff mamelon, -as well as upon the second, third, and fifth bastions.</p> - -<h3>XXIII.</h3> - -<p>On this side of the bay, between Inkerman and the fortifications of the -north, two sailors were standing, in the middle of the day, on Telegraph -Height. Near them an officer was looking at Sebastopol through a -field-glass, and another on horseback, accompanied by a Cossack, had -just rejoined him near the great signal-pole.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span></p> - -<p>The sun soared over the gulf, where the water, covered with ships at -anchor, and with sail and row boats in motion, played merrily in its -warm and luminous rays. A light breeze, which scarcely shook the leaves -of the stunted oak bushes that grew beside the signal-station, filled -the sails of the boats, and made the waves ripple softly. On the other -side of the gulf Sebastopol was visible, unchanged, with its unfinished -church, its column, its quay, the boulevard which cut the hill with a -green band, the elegant library building, its little lakes of azure -blue, with their forests of masts, its picturesque aqueducts, and, above -all that, clouds of a bluish tint, formed by powder-smoke, lighted up -from time to time by the red flame of the firing. It was the same proud -and beautiful Sebastopol, with its festal air, surrounded on one side by -the yellow smoke-crowned hills, on the other by the sea, deep blue in -color, and sparkling brilliantly in the sun. At the horizon, where the -smoke of a steamer traced a black line, white, narrow clouds were -rising, precursors of a wind. Along the whole line of the -fortifications, along the heights, especially on the left side, spurted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span> -out suddenly, torn by a visible flash, although it was broad daylight, -plumes of thick white smoke, which, assuming various forms, extended, -rose, and colored the sky with sombre tints. These jets of smoke came -out on all sides—from the hills, from the hostile batteries, from the -city—and flew towards the sky. The noise of the explosions shook the -air with a continuous roar. Towards noon these smoke-puffs became rarer -and rarer, and the vibrations of the air strata became less frequent.</p> - -<p>“Do you know that the second bastion is no longer replying?” said the -hussar officer on horseback; “it is entirely demolished. It is -terrible!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and the Malakoff replies twice out of three times,” answered the -one who was looking through the field-glass. “This silence is driving me -mad! They are firing straight on the Korniloff battery, and that is not -replying.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll see it will be as I said; towards noon they will cease firing. -It is always that way. Come and take breakfast, they are waiting for us. -There is nothing more to see here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Wait, don’t bother me,” replied, with marked agitation, the one looking -through the field-glass.</p> - -<p>“What is it?—what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“There is a movement in the trenches; they are marching in close -columns.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I see it well,” said one of the sailors; “they are advancing by -columns. We must set the signal.”</p> - -<p>“But see, there—see! They are coming out of the trenches!”</p> - -<p>They could see, in fact, with the naked eye black spots going down from -the hill into the ravine, and proceeding from the French batteries -towards our bastions. In the foreground, in front of the former, black -spots could be seen very near our lines. Suddenly, from different points -of the bastion at the same time, spurted out the white plumes of the -discharges, and, thanks to the wind, the noise of a lively fusillade -could be heard, like the patter of a heavy rain against the windows. The -black lines advanced, wrapped in a curtain of smoke, and came nearer. -The fusillade increased in violence. The smoke burst out at shorter and -shorter intervals, extended rapidly along the line in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> a single light, -lilac-colored cloud, unrolling and enlarging itself by turns, furrowed -here and there by flashes or rent by black points. All the noises -mingled together in the tumult of one continued roar.</p> - -<p>“It is an assault,” said the officer, pale with emotion, handing his -glass to the sailor.</p> - -<p>Cossacks and officers on horseback went along the road, preceding the -commander-in-chief in his carriage, accompanied by his suite. Their -faces expressed the painful emotion of expectation.</p> - -<p>“It is impossible that it is taken!” said the officer on horseback.</p> - -<p>“God in heaven!—the flag! Look now!” cried the other, choked by -emotion, turning away from the glass. “The French flag is in the -Malakoff mamelon!”</p> - -<p>“Impossible!”</p> - -<h3>XXIV.</h3> - -<p>Koseltzoff the elder, who had had the time during the night to win and -lose again all his winnings, including even the gold-pieces sewn in the -seams of his uniform, was sleeping, towards morning, in the barracks of -the fifth bastion, a heavy but deep<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span> sleep, when the sinister cry rang -out, repeated by different voices, “The alarm!”</p> - -<p>“Wake up, Mikhaïl Semenovitch! It is an assault!” a voice cried in his -ear.</p> - -<p>“A school-boy trick,” he replied, opening his eyes without believing the -news; but when he perceived an officer, pale, agitated, running wildly -from one corner to another, he understood all, and the thought that he -might perhaps be taken for a coward refusing to join his company in a -critical moment, gave him such a violent start that he rushed out and -ran straight to find his soldiers. The cannon were dumb, but the -musket-firing was at its height, and the bullets were whistling, not -singly but in swarms, just as the flights of little birds pass over our -heads in autumn. The whole of the place occupied by the battalion the -evening before was filled with smoke, with cries, and with curses. On -his way he met a crowd of soldiers and wounded, and thirty paces farther -on he saw his company brought to a stand against a wall.</p> - -<p>“The Swartz redoubt is occupied,” said a young officer. “All is lost!”</p> - -<p>“What stuff and nonsense!” he angrily<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> replied, and drawing his small -rusty sword from its scabbard, shouted, “Forward, children! Hurrah!”</p> - -<p>His strong and resounding voice stimulated his own courage, and he ran -forward along the traverse. Fifty soldiers dashed after him with a -shout. They came out on an open place, and a hail of bullets met them. -Two struck him simultaneously, but he did not have time to understand -where they had hit him, or whether they had bruised or had wounded him, -for in the smoke before him blue uniforms and red trousers started up, -and cries were heard which were not Russian. A Frenchman sitting on the -rampart was waving his hat and shouting. The conviction that he would be -killed whetted Koseltzoff’s courage. He continued to run forward; some -soldiers passed him, others appeared suddenly from another side and -began to run with him. The distance between them and the blue uniforms, -who regained their intrenchments by running, remained the same, but his -feet stumbled over the dead and the wounded. Arrived at the outer ditch, -everything became confused before his eyes, and he felt a violent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> pain -in his chest. A half hour later he was lying on a stretcher near the -Nicholas barrack. He knew he was wounded, but he felt no pain. He would -have liked, nevertheless, to drink something cold, and to feel himself -lying more comfortably.</p> - -<p>A stout little doctor with black whiskers came up to him and unbuttoned -his overcoat. Koseltzoff looked over his chin at the face of the doctor, -who was examining his wound without causing him the least pain. He, -having covered the wounded man again with his shirt, wiped his fingers -on the lapels of his coat, and turning aside his head, passed to another -in silence. Koseltzoff mechanically followed with his eyes all that was -going on about him, and remembering the fifth bastion, congratulated -himself with great satisfaction. He had valiantly done his duty. It was -the first time since he was in the service that he had performed it in a -way that he had nothing to reproach himself for. The surgeon, who had -just dressed another officer’s wound, pointed him out to a priest, who -had a fine large red beard, and who stood there with a cross.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Am I going to die?” Koseltzoff asked him, seeing him come near.</p> - -<p>The priest made no reply, but recited a prayer and held the cross down -to him. Death had no terror for Koseltzoff. Carrying the cross to his -lips with weakening hands, he wept.</p> - -<p>“Are the French driven back?” he asked the priest in a firm voice.</p> - -<p>“Victory is ours along the whole line,” answered the latter, hiding the -truth to spare the feelings of the dying man, for the French flag was -already flying on the Malakoff mamelon.</p> - -<p>“Thank God!” murmured the wounded man, whose tears ran down his cheeks -unnoticed. The memory of his brother passed through his mind for a -second. “God grant him the same happiness!” he said.</p> - -<h3>XXV.</h3> - -<p>But such was not Volodia’s lot. While he was listening to a tale that -Vassina was relating, the alarm cry, “The French are coming!” made his -blood rush immediately back to his heart; he felt his cheeks pale and -turn cold, and he remained a second<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span> stupefied. Then looking around, he -saw the soldiers button their coats and glide out one after the other, -and he heard one of them, Melnikoff, probably, say, in a joking way, -“Come, children, let’s offer him bread and salt.”</p> - -<p>Volodia and Vlang, who did not leave his heels, went out together and -ran to the battery. On one side as well as on the other the artillery -had ceased firing. The despicable and cynical cowardice of the yunker -still more than the coolness of the soldiers had the effect of restoring -his courage.</p> - -<p>“Am I like him?” he thought, rushing quickly towards the parapet, near -which the mortars were placed. From there he distinctly saw the French -dash across the space, free from every obstacle, and run straight -towards him. Their bayonets, sparkling in the sun, were moving in the -nearest trenches. A small, square-shouldered Zouave ran ahead of the -others, sabre in hand, leaping over the ditches. “Grape!” shouted -Volodia, throwing himself down from the parapet. But the soldiers had -already thought of it, and the metallic noise of the grape, thrown first -by one mortar and then by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> the other, thundered over his head. “First! -second!” he ordered, running across between the two mortars, completely -forgetting the danger. Shouts and the musket reports of the battalion -charged with the defence of the battery were heard on one side, and -suddenly on the left arose a desperate clamor, repeated by many voices: -“They are coming in our rear!” and Volodia, turning around, saw a score -of Frenchmen. One of them, a fine man with a black beard, ran towards -him, and halting ten paces from the battery, fired at him point-blank -and went on. Volodia, petrified, could not believe his eyes. In front of -him, on the rampart, were blue uniforms, and two Frenchmen who were -spiking a cannon. With the exception of Melnikoff, killed by a bullet at -his side, and Vlang, who with downcast eyes, and face inflamed by fury, -was brandishing a hand-spike, no one was left.</p> - -<p>“Follow me, Vladimir Semenovitch! follow me!” shouted Vlang, in a -despairing tone, defending himself with the lever from the French who -came behind him. The yunker’s menacing look, and the blow which he -struck two of them, made them halt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Follow me, Vladimir Semenovitch!—What are you waiting for? Fly!” and -he threw himself into the trench, from which our infantry were firing on -the enemy. He immediately came out of it, however, to see what had -become of his beloved lieutenant. A shapeless thing, clothed in a gray -overcoat, lay, face to earth, on the spot where Volodia stood, and the -whole place was filled by the French, who were firing at our men.</p> - -<h3>XXVI.</h3> - -<p>Vlang found his battery again in the second line of defence, and of the -twenty soldiers who recently composed it, only eight were alive.</p> - -<p>Towards nine o’clock in the evening Vlang and his men were crossing the -bay in a steamboat in the direction of Severnaïa. The boat was laden -with wounded, with cannon, and with horses. The firing had stopped -everywhere. The stars sparkled in the sky as on the night before, but a -strong wind was blowing and the sea was rough. On the first and second -bastions flames flashed up close to the ground, preceding explosions -which shook the atmosphere and showed stones and black<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span> objects of -strange form thrown into the air. Something near the docks was on fire, -and a red flame was reflected in the water. The bridge, covered with -people, was lighted up by fires from the Nicholas battery. A great sheaf -of flames seemed to rise over the water on the distant point of the -Alexander battery, and lighted up the under side of a cloud of smoke -which hovered over it. As on the preceding evening, the lights of the -hostile fleet sparkled afar on the sea, calm and insolent. The masts of -our scuttled vessels, slowly settling into the depths of the water, -contrasted sharply against the red glow of the fires. On the deck of the -steamboat no one spoke. Now and then, in the midst of the regular -chopping of the waves struck by the wheels, and the hissing of escaping -steam, could be heard the snorting of horses, the striking of their -iron-shod hoofs on the planks, the captain speaking a few words of -command, and also the dolorous groaning of the wounded. Vlang, who had -not eaten since the day before, drew a crust of bread from his pocket -and gnawed it, but at the thought of Volodia he broke out sobbing so -violently that the soldiers were surprised at it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Look! our Vlang is eating bread and weeping,” said Vassina.</p> - -<p>“Strange!” added one of them.</p> - -<p>“See! they have burned our barracks!” he continued, sighing. “How many -of our fellows are dead, and dead to no purpose, for the French have got -possession!”</p> - -<p>“We have scarcely come out alive. We must thank God for it,” said -Vassina.</p> - -<p>“It’s all the same. It is maddening!”</p> - -<p>“Why? Do you think they will lead a happy life there? Wait a bit; we -will take them back. We will still lose some of our men, possibly, but -as true as God is holy, if the emperor orders it we will take them back! -Do you think they have been left as they were? Come, come; these were -only naked walls. The intrenchments were blown up. He has planted his -flag on the mamelon, it is true, but he won’t risk himself in the town. -Wait a bit; we won’t be behindhand with you! Only give us time,” he -said, looking in the direction of the French.</p> - -<p>“It will be so, that’s sure,” said another, with conviction.</p> - -<p>On the whole line of the bastions of Sebastopol, where during whole -months an ar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span>dent and energetic life was stirring, where during months -death alone relieved the agony of the heroes, one after the other, who -inspired the enemy’s terror, hatred, and finally admiration—on these -bastions, I say, there was not a single soul, everything there was dead, -fierce, frightful, but not silent, for everything all around was falling -in with a din. On the earth, torn up by a recent explosion, were lying, -here and there, broken beams, crushed bodies of Russians and French, -heavy cast-iron cannon overturned into the ditch by a terrible force, -half buried in the ground and forever dumb, bomb-shells, balls, -splinters of beams, ditches, bomb-proofs, and more corpses, in blue or -in gray overcoats, which seemed to have been shaken by supreme -convulsions, and which were lighted up now every instant by the red fire -of the explosions which resounded in the air.</p> - -<p>The enemy well saw that something unusual was going on in formidable -Sebastopol, and the explosions, the silence of death on the bastions, -made them tremble. Under the impression of the calm and firm resistance -of the last day they did not yet dare believe in the disappearance of -their invinci<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span>ble adversary, and they awaited, silent and motionless, -the end of the dismal night.</p> - -<p>The army of Sebastopol, like a sea whose liquid mass, agitated and -uneasy, spreads and overflows, moved slowly forward in the dark night, -undulating into the impenetrable gloom, over the bridge on the bay, -proceeding towards Severnaïa, leaving behind them those spots where so -many heroes had fallen, sprinkling them with their blood, those places -defended during eleven months against an enemy twice as strong as -itself, and which it had received the order this very day to abandon -without a fight.</p> - -<p>The first impression caused by this order of the day weighed heavily on -the heart of every Russian; next the fear of pursuit was the dominant -feeling with all. The soldiers, accustomed to fight in the places they -were abandoning, felt themselves without defence the moment they left -those behind. Uneasy, they crowded together in masses at the entrance of -the bridge, which was lifted by violent wind gusts. Through the -obstruction of regiments, of militiamen, of wagons, some crowding the -others, the infantry, whose muskets clashed together, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> the officers -carrying orders, made a passage for themselves with difficulty. The -inhabitants and the military servants accompanying the baggage begged -and wept to be permitted to cross, while the artillery, in a hurry to go -away, rolled along noisily, coming down towards the bay. Although the -attention was distracted by a thousand details, the feeling of -self-preservation, and the desire to fly as soon as possible from that -fatal spot, filled each one’s soul. It was thus with the mortally -wounded soldier lying among five hundred other unfortunates on the -flag-stones of the Paul quay, begging God for death; with the exhausted -militiaman, who by a last effort forces his way into the compact crowd -to leave a free passage for a superior officer; with the general who is -commanding the passage with a firm voice, and restraining the impatient -soldiers; with the straggling sailor or the battalion on the march, -almost stifled by the moving crowd; with the wounded officer borne by -four soldiers, who, stopped by the crowd, lay down the stretcher near -the Nicholas barracks; with the old artilleryman, who, during sixteen -years, has not left<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span> the cannon which, with the assistance of his -comrades and at the command of his chief, incomprehensible for him, he -is about to tumble over into the bay; and, at length, with the sailors -who have just scuttled their ships, and are vigorously rowing away in -their boats.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the end of the bridge, each soldier, with very few -exceptions, takes off his cap and crosses himself. But besides this -feeling he has another, more poignant, deeper—a feeling akin to -repentance, to shame, to hatred; for it is with an inexpressible -bitterness of heart that each of them sighs, utters threats against the -enemy, and, as he reaches the north side, throws a last look upon -abandoned Sebastopol.</p> - -<p class="fint">FINIS.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><p class="c">FOOTNOTES:</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The Military Gazette.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> A sort of arbor covered with ivy was then used in most -fashionable parlors.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> A cadet. The yunker ranks between sergeant and -second-lieutenant, and belongs to the class of commissioned officers. -Both the title and the function are borrowed from the German (<i>junker</i>). -The present spelling is adopted to represent more nearly the Russian -pronunciation.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> The Russian soldiers accustomed to fight the Turks and to -hear their battle-cries, always tell that the French have the same -shout, “Allah!”—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> The last station before Sebastopol.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> This is the literal translation of the common phrase used -by the soldiers in reply to a greeting from their superior -officers.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> In certain regiments the officers nicknamed the soldiers -“Moscow,” half in scorn, half in kindly sport.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> American.</p></div> - -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sebastopol, by Leo Tolstoi - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEBASTOPOL *** - -***** This file should be named 61388-h.htm or 61388-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/3/8/61388/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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