The prisoner's bed was placed in the same room with the Colonel and the
Major.
Soon all was silent. From time to time came the noise of single
cannon-shots, deadened by the fog. It was the Turks who would not be
quiet, but continued to fire at the Russians. But as the latter did not
reply, they also finally ceased. Night now reigned alone over the world,
wrapping everything in darkness and dampness--both the snow-covered
summits of the mountains and their peaceable defiles covered with
Turkish villages abandoned by their inhabitants as though a plague had
been raging.
In the valley below lay thousands of corpses with fixed eyes widely open
gazing at the dark mysterious heavens. Their intent gaze seemed to wish
to penetrate the darkness as though obstinately asking heaven whither
had passed that something which had animated their bodies that very
morning, and what had become of the last sigh which escaped from their
bayonet-pierced or bullet-riddled breasts. But the dark inaccessible sky
regarded them sadly from above, letting fall now and then cold tears on
these disfigured faces.
The Major could not get to sleep. He turned and turned again under the
felt cloak which served him as a blanket, throwing it aside and pulling
it over himself again, recommencing for the tenth time to read a
newspaper and letting it fall, casting furtive glances at the
slumbering Turk, and hearing the vague words which escaped him in his
uneasy sleep. Weary with his restlessness, the Major tried to oblige
himself to think of something else, but his thoughts always returned to
the same point.
Even when he had finally closed his eyes and his breath had become more
equal, when night had cast its soft spell over the room, his thoughts
continued without change to work in the same direction. He dreamt of
children, not the prisoner's unfortunate brats, but of his own
surrounded by all the care of a mother and sheltered from danger in the
midst of the profound quiet of the steppe which surrounded the little
Russian town where his family dwelt. His thoughts flew to them over
thousands of versts.
All else had vanished; nothing of the present remained, neither the
battles, nor the innumerable corpses, nor that ocean of disasters which
for a long time had been rolling its blood-stained waves under the
Major's eyes.
This is what he saw--a moderately-sized room with a sacred icon[1] in
one corner. A night-light burns softly before the icon as though
intimidated by the constant sight of the saint's austere face, whose
expression appears still more sombre in contrast with the silver
ornaments of the frame in which it is set. The feeble rays of this pale
light show in the shadow the outlines of two little beds with very white
curtains from behind which proceeds the sound of equable breathing. The
Major lifts one of these curtains; the little girl in this bed is too
hot; she has pushed off her coverlet, and all rosy with sleep, she
slumbers without dreaming, her little plump legs gathered up close to
her body, and her pulpy mouth half-open. The little monkey is tired with
running about the whole day. She has rolled down ice-slopes, she has
teased her favourite fowls and her cock, she has fed the pigeons, and
among other things she has fought with her little brother. Now she slips
her little fat hand under her head. She seems about to open her eyes and
close them again, smiling at the sight of her father's face as he hangs
over her. He takes a long look at her.
[Footnote 1: Saint's picture.]
"Sleep, my darling, sleep, my angel," he murmurs, making the sign of the
cross above her.
Then he turns to the other little bed. Do you see this brat? He is not
yet two years old, but he is already covered with scratches because he
does nothing but fight, sometimes with the cat, and sometimes with his
little sister, whom he torments. Accordingly, his cheek is marked all
over by the cat's claws, who, however, appears at present to have made
a truce with her enemy, for there she lies rolled up, looking like a
ball of grey wool. Isn't he fat and sturdy, the Major's rascal? He is so
fat that his pretty hands, his little feet and his neck look as though
they were encircled with a thread, as those of quite young infants do.
And what red and chubby cheeks, so chubby that they have almost
extinguished the nose, which appears between them only like a little
button! His round head is covered with hair so blond that it is almost
white, and there is a dimple in his elbow. Suppose he were to kiss the
dimple? But no--the child might wake up. Good! Good! Let him sleep. And
the father makes the sign of the cross over the spoilt child. Then he
approaches the night-lamp. Its wick is charred and he turns it up a
little, so that the room is better lighted.
In a corner snores the old nurse; it sounds like the purring of a cat.
The Major goes on tip-toe towards the next room. His eldest son is there
who looks down on his little sister and his brat of a brother with
profound disdain. In the absence of his father he sleeps in his mother's
bed, where he is rolled up like a ball. The languid light of a lamp
covered with a blue shade falls on both of them. By the bed-side is a
little round table. The Major's wife must have been reading newspapers
before going to sleep, for there are some on the table, open at the page
where his detachment is spoken of. On the wall there is a portrait of
him, and there are others on the table. His memory seems to pervade the
place; he has certainly not been forgotten. Full of gratitude, he leans
over the sleepers, he touches softly and carefully the half-open lips of
his wife, he kisses gently her forehead and her closed eyes. She seems
to him to have grown thinner. Her nightdress is open at her neck, on
which the light of the lamp directly falls. It is quite natural that she
should have grown thinner through anxiety on account of her husband. She
has put one arm round the neck of her boy, who sleeps cosily, his curly
head resting on his mother's shoulder, his mouth a little open. What
teeth he has! And one eye is blackened!
What peace reigns here! It seems as though a spirit of purity brooded in
the atmosphere. Everything here breathes of love, calm and serenity. It
is as though an angel's prayer hovered over these two rooms, protecting
these dear heads from all evil thoughts, from despair and hatred.
If any one at this moment had watched the face of the Major as he lay
asleep, he would have seen a happy smile pass over the lips of this
thin tall man--so happy that the old Turk who lay not far from him
could not have supported the sight of it.
The latter was, all the night long, tormented by painful thoughts; he
turned uneasily on his couch, and now and then a scalding tear rolled
down his face. The night herself seemed struck by the contrast. She sent
him a mysterious vision, and as soon as the sleeper perceived it, his
expression changed immediately. His contracted muscles relaxed, his
mouth, almost invisible before under the great nose, showed a smile. The
tears on his cheeks dried; the prisoner was evidently dreaming of
something happy. The night hung over him, her visage veiled in black;
she murmured beloved names in his ear, and sent him only dreams of
happiness; then, softly and gently, she glided towards the Major.
What is the matter with him? He seems to be having a trembling-fit.
Night hangs over him and covers him with her black veil. Any one who
watched him just now would be struck with the sudden change in his
expression. His features betray astonishment and terror. He tries to
rise, to shake off the heavy chains of sleep, but night holds him in her
grasp. She has placed her hand on his chest. He sees a thing so strange
and extravagant that his blood turns to ice in his veins. The quiet
rooms of his home seem to be filled with a strange murmur. The children
rise in their beds and fix their eyes, dilated with terror, on a black
menacing cloud which hovers slowly above their heads. The father looks
at it. What is there in the cloud which so alarms his children? His
heart beats violently.
The cloud continues to descend. The children jump down from their beds.
The little boy who was sleeping in the next room runs hither. They call
their nurse--she has disappeared; there is nothing but a heap of old
rags in the place where she was lying. The children call to their
mother, but the black cloud hides her from their eyes. There they are
alone, face to face with it. It sinks slowly on the ground as though it
were descending into the waves of the ocean. Its vague fluctuating
outlines assume distinctness. The Major and his children at last
perceive what it contained. What they see is a body of enormous length
stretched out; round it are standing four little children with great
black eyes full of anguish and distress. The children weep bitterly, and
their tears fall on the corpse which they surround. The Major's children
approach them and begin to examine the body whose grey head, with its
large nose, the scar on the forehead, and the grey bristling
moustaches, leave no doubt in the Major's mind as to its identity. The
body is that of Mahmoud Bey. Everything is there--the fresh wound on the
shoulder, the clotted blood on the ragged cloak, the stiffened feet
wrapped in rags.
"But who ... who has done that?" asks the Major's little girl, a moment
before flushed with sleep, becoming suddenly pale.
"Who has killed him?" asks the little boy of six with the black eye. The
youngest of the children is holding him by the shirt-sleeve.
The Turk's children, the black-eyed brats of a tawny tint, turn towards
the Major and point at him.
"It is he who has killed our father. Yes, it is he. He has cast us on
the street and reduced us to poverty and helplessness."
The Major tries to speak or cry. His heart is nearly bursting with
agony; his tongue feels paralysed; his voice is choked in his throat.
This father sees his children turn from him with horror. The youngest
even lifts her little hand as though to shield herself. He tries to
approach her, but she runs away, her features convulsed with terror. She
points to his hands and cries, "Blood! Blood!"
The Major looks at his hands; the little girl is right; they are
covered with blood. Then he tries to speak, but he cannot articulate a
word; he feels as though some one had seized him by the throat, and were
trying to choke him. He struggles desperately, makes a final effort and
... awakes.
Throwing away the cloak which covers him, he rises. The Turk was not
asleep; he was sitting at table with the Colonel.
"Well, Major, it seems to me that you have had a good sleep for the New
Year."
"Yes ... and I have had a dream."
"You too?" said the Colonel in an embarrassed tone.
"Why do you say, 'You too'?"
"Yes. You can't imagine what absurd dreams I have been having. I had
never believed myself so sentimental."
"Had your dream anything to do with the prisoner?"
"Naturally. You remember my Volodia?"
"A curious question, as I am his godfather."
"Indeed you are right. My head is decidedly queer. Well, I have had that
rascal at my heels the whole night. He insisted obstinately that I
should give the Turk up to him. 'Why?' I asked. And he answered, 'He
also has little Volodia's, and I will let him free to go and find
them.' Yet, my friend, I don't think we drank more than usual last
night."
"Certainly not." The Major looked fixedly at the Colonel.
"But think what I have dreamt; it is much more serious."
"Not really."
"Yes, indeed."
The Major related his dream.
"We are becoming superstitious," said the Colonel. "Come what will, we
must make up our minds. I will send this Turk to the General as quickly
as possible. May God look after him! The General must decide his fate.
If we keep him here, we shall end by going mad."
"In that case I have a favour to ask of you."
"What is it?"
"I wish to go myself to the General."
"You?"
"Yes; allow me to conduct Mahmoud Bey to him."
The Colonel gave a side-glance in order to preserve a serious
expression, and finally said, without looking at the Major:
"There is nothing against it. But you will need a horse."
"It is easy to find one. Have we not taken enough from the Turks?"
"True. Very well, there is no obstacle. Hand the prisoner over to the
General," added the Colonel, in the tone of a superior officer giving an
order.
Walking slowly and accompanied by Mahmoud Bey, who looked as melancholy
as ever, the Major arrived at the Russian advance-posts.
A Cossack on horseback emerged from the fog. It was a sentinel. Two
other Cossacks lay stretched on the ground. Their horses, attached to
pickets, munched a bundle of hay. At the sight of the officer, the
Cossacks rose quickly.
"Where does this trench lead, my good fellows?" asked the Major,
pointing to a very deep one close to where they stood.
"Straight to the enemy, Major."
"Has any one seen the Turks to-day?"
"Not one has shown himself. They are quieter this morning. Yesterday
they raged like madmen, but thank God, they are giving us a respite
now."
"They have understood that they were wasting ammunition."
The Major signed to the prisoner to follow him and descended into the
trench. A moment after, one of the Cossacks was at his side.
"What do you want?"
"One must take precautions, Major. We never know what may happen. The
Turks are not very far away, you know."
"It is unnecessary."
"But, Major, your prisoner may escape."
"No, he won't; he has even promised to point me out the Turkish
positions. Return to your post."
The Cossack went back. The two others rode in silence for half an hour.
Finally the Major halted.
"Listen to me, Mahmoud Bey. The Turkish army is not very far from here.
Escape, and go to Adrianople to find your children. You understand me? I
have children also. Well, what are you waiting for? Go, escape, and be
quick. There is no time to lose. I might change my mind," he added,
half-smiling.
The Turk seemed absolutely petrified. He blinked his eyes. Evidently he
understood nothing.
"I tell you to go and find your family. Do you understand?"
Quickly, and before the Major understood what he was going to do,
Mahmoud Bey stooped down, seized his hand and kissed it.
"Listen to me, Russian! I can never requite you this kindness. I do not
dare to wish for you that you may find yourself one day in my position
and chance upon a Turk as good as yourself. But know well there is only
one God. Religions are diverse, but God is One. I promise you that I and
my children, as long as we are alive, will pray God to preserve you for
your children as you have preserved me for mine. May the sun shine on
you for many years! Farewell, Russian, farewell!"
Then as though fearing that the Major might change his mind, he whipped
up his horse and disappeared.
After waiting some minutes to allow him to get to some distance, the
Major returned. When he arrived at the Russian outposts, he met the same
Cossack who had wished to accompany him and said, "Your prediction is
fulfilled. The Turk has escaped."
The Cossack studied the Major's face and said, "I wish him luck. It is
not prisoners we are in want of. We shall soon not know where to put
them."
When the Major rejoined the Colonel, he found him walking up and down
the room in a state of great agitation.
"Well?"
"Arrest me! I have let the prisoner go!"
The Colonel hastened towards him, and embraced him nervously.
"There! Volodia has his New Year's gift! Let us hope that now he will
let me sleep in peace."
"But ought not a report to be made?"
"Why?"
"And the papers dealing with the prisoner's case?"
"The papers? There are their ashes in the stove. I have burnt them. Poor
wretch! He will have to hurry--he will have to hurry to find his
family."
[Illustration]
_A MISUNDERSTANDING_
[Illustration: "From all directions nuns came gliding towards the
lighted portal."]
[Illustration]