Scarcely had the bright sun risen above the mountains, and begun
to shine into the valley where we were riding, when the undulating
clouds of mist scattered, and it grew warm. The soldiers with guns and
knapsacks on their backs marched slowly along the dusty road. In the
ranks were frequently heard Malo-Russian dialogues and laughter. A few
old soldiers in white linen coats--for the most part non-commissioned
officers--marched along the roadside with their pipes, engaged in
earnest conversation. The triple rows of heavily laden wagons advanced
step by step, and raised a thick dust, which hung motionless.
The mounted officers rode in advance; a few _jiggited,_ as they say
in the Caucasus;[13] that is, applying the whip to their horses, they
spurred them on to make four or five leaps, and then reined them in
suddenly, pulling the head back. Others listened to the song-singers,
who notwithstanding the heat and the oppressive air indefatigably tuned
up one song after another.
A hundred _sazhens_ in advance of the infantry, on a great white horse,
surrounded by mounted Tatars, rode a tall, handsome officer in Asiatic
costume, known to the regiment as a man of reckless valor, one who cuts
_any one straight in the eyes!_[14] He wore a black Tatar half-coat or
_beshmét_ trimmed with silver braid, similar trousers, new leggings[15]
closely laced with _chirazui_ as they call galloons in the Caucasus,
and a tall, yellow Cherkessian cap worn jauntily on the back of his
head. On his breast and back were silver lacings. His powder-flask and
pistol were hung at his back; another pistol, and a dagger in a silver
sheath, depended from his belt. Besides all this was buckled on a sabre
in a red morocco sheath adorned with silver; and over the shoulder hung
his musket in a black case.
By his garb, his carriage, his manner, and indeed by every motion,
it was manifest that his ambition was to ape the Tatars. He was just
saying something, in a language that I did not understand, to the
Tatars who rode with him; but from the doubtful, mocking glances which
these latter gave each other, I came to the conclusion that they did
not understand him either.
This was one of our young officers of the dare-devil, _jigit_ order,
who get themselves up à la Marlinski and Lermontof. These men look
upon the Caucasus, as it were, through the prism of the "Heroes of our
Time," Mulla-Nurof[16] and others, and in all their activities are I
directed not by their own inclinations but by the example of these
models.
This lieutenant, for instance, was very likely fond of the society
of well-bred women and men of importance, generals, colonels,
adjutants,--I may even go so far as to believe that he was very fond of
this society, because he was in the highest degree vainglorious,--but
he considered it his unfailing duty to show his rough side to all
important people, although he offended them always more or less; and
when any lady made her appearance at the fortress, then he considered
it his duty to ride by her windows with his cronies, or _kunaki_ as
they are called in the dialect of the Caucasus, dressed in a red shirt
and nothing but _chuviaki_ on his bare legs, and shouting and swearing
at the top of his voice--but all this not only with the desire to
insult her, but also to show her what handsome white legs he had, and
how easy it would be to fall in love with him if only he himself were
willing. Or he often went by at night with two or three friendly Tatars
to the mountains into ambush by the road so as to take by surprise and
kill hostile Tatars coming along; and though more than once his heart
told him that there was nothing brave in such a deed, yet he felt
himself under obligations to inflict suffering upon people in whom he
thought that he was disappointed, and whom he affected to hate and
despise. He always carried two things,--an immense holy image around
his neck, and a dagger above his shirt. He never took them off, but
even went to bed with them. He firmly believed that enemies surrounded
him. It was his greatest delight to argue that he was under obligations
to wreak vengeance on some one and wash out insults in blood. He was
persuaded that spite, vengeance, and hatred of the human race were the
highest and most poetical of feelings. But his mistress,--a Circassian
girl course,--whom I happened afterwards to meet, said that he was
the mildest and gentlest of men, and that every evening he wrote in
his gloomy diary, cast up his accounts on ruled paper, and got on his
knees to say his prayers. And how much suffering he endured, to seem
to himself only what he desired to be, because his comrades and the
soldiers could not comprehend him as he desired!
Once, in one of his nocturnal expeditions with his Tatar friends, it
happened that he put a bullet into the leg of a hostile Tchetchenets,
and took him prisoner. This Tchetchenets for seven weeks thereafter
lived with the lieutenant; the lieutenant dressed his wound, waited
on him as though he were his nearest friend, and when he was cured
sent him home with gifts. Afterwards, during an expedition when the
lieutenant was retreating from the post, having been repulsed by the
enemy, he heard some one call him by name, and his wounded _kunák_
strode out from among the hostile Tatars, and by signs asked him to do
the same. The lieutenant went to meet his _kunák,_ and shook hands with
him. The mountaineers stood at some little distance, and refrained from
firing; but, as soon as the lieutenant turned his horse to go back,
several shot at him, and one bullet grazed the small of his back.
Another time I myself saw a fire break out by night in the fortress,
and two companies of soldiers were detailed to put it out. Amid the
crowd, lighted up by the ruddy glare of the fire, suddenly appeared the
tall form of the man on a coal-black horse. He forced his way through
the crowd, and rode straight to the fire. As soon as he came near, the
lieutenant leaped from his horse, and hastened into the house, which
was all in flames on one side. At the end of five minutes he emerged
with singed hair and burned sleeves, carrying in his arms two doves
which he had rescued from the flames.
His name was Rosenkranz; but he often spoke of his ancestry, traced it
back to the Varangians, and clearly showed that he and his forefathers
were genuine Russians.
[Footnote 13: _jigit_ or _djigit_ in the Kumuits dialect signifies
valiant. The Russians make from it the verb _jigitovat._]
[Footnote 14: That is, known for telling the plain truth.]
[Footnote 15: _chuviaki._]
[Footnote 16: The name of a character In one of Marlinski's novels.]