Leaving the soldiers to argue about the Tatars taking to flight when
they saw the shell, and why it was that they came there, and whether
there were many in the forest, I went with the cavalry commander a few
steps aside, and sat down under a tree, expecting to have some warmed
chops which he had offered me. The cavalry commander, Bolkhof, was
one of the officers who are called in the regiment _bonjour-oli._ He
had property, had served before in the guards, and spoke French. But,
in spite of this, his comrades liked him. He was rather intellectual,
had tact enough to wear his Petersburg overcoat, to eat a good dinner,
and to speak French without too much offending the sensibilities of
his brother officers. As we talked about the weather, about the events
of the war, about the officers known to us both, and as we became
convinced, by our questions and answers, by our views of things in
general, that we were mutually sympathetic, we involuntarily fell
into more intimate conversation. Moreover, in the Caucasus, among men
who meet in one circle, the question invariably arises, though it is
not always expressed, "Why are you here?" and it seemed to me that my
companion was desirous of satisfying this inarticulate question.
"When will this expedition end?" he asked lazily: "it's tiresome."
"It isn't to me," I said: "it's much more so serving on the staff."
"Oh, on the staff it's ten thousand times worse!" said he fiercely.
"No, I mean when will this sort of thing end altogether?"
"What! do you wish that it would end?" I asked.
"Yes, all of it, altogether!... Well, are the chops ready, Nikoláief?"
he inquired of his servant.
"Why do you serve in the Caucasus, then," I asked, "if the Caucasus
does not please you?"
"You know wiry," he replied with an outburst of frankness: "on account
of tradition. In Russia, you see, there exists a strange tradition
about the Caucasus, as though it were the promised land for all sorts
of unhappy people."
"Well," said I, "it's almost true: the majority of us here "...
"But what is better than all," said he, interrupting me, "is,
that all of us who come to the Kavkas are fearfully deceived in
our calculations; and really, I don't see why, in consequence of
disappointment in love or disorder in one's affairs, one should come
to serve in the Caucasus rather than in Kazan or Kaluga. You see, in
Russia they imagine the Kavkas as something immense,--everlasting
virgin ice-fields, with impetuous streams, with daggers, cloaks,
Circassian girls,--all that is strange and wonderful; but in reality
there is nothing gay in it at all. If they only knew, for example, that
we have never been on the virgin ice-fields, and that there was nothing
gay in it at all, and that the Caucasus was divided into the districts
of Stavropol, Tiflis, and so forth" ...
"Yes," said I, laughing, "when we are in Russia we look upon the
Caucasus in an absolutely different way from what we do here. Haven't
you ever noticed it: when you read poetry in a language that you don't
know very well, you imagine it much better than it really is, don't
you?"
"I don't know how that is, but this Caucasus doesn't please me," he
said, interrupting me.
"It isn't so with me," I said: "the Caucasus is delightful to me now,
but only" ...
"Maybe it is delightful," he continued with a touch of asperity, "but I
know that it is not delightful to me."
"Why not?" I asked, with a view of saying something.
"In the first place, it has deceived me--all that which I expected,
from tradition, to be delivered of in the Caucasus, I find in me just
the same here, only with this distinction, that before, it was all on
a larger scale, but now on a small and nasty scale, at each round of
which I find a million petty annoyances, worriments, and miseries; in
the second place, because I find that each day I am falling morally
lower and lower; and principally because I feel myself incapable of
service here--I cannot endure to face the danger ... simply, I am a
coward." ...
He got up and looked at me earnestly.
Though this unbecoming confession completely took, me by surprise, I
did not contradict him, as my messmate evidently expected me to do; but
I awaited from the man himself the refutation of his words, which is
always ready in such circumstances.
"You know to-day's expedition is the first time that I have taken part
in action," he continued, "and you can imagine what my evening was.
When the sergeant brought the order for my company to join the column,
I became as pale as a sheet, and could not utter a word from emotion;
and if you knew how I spent the night! If it is true that people turn
gray from fright, then I ought to be perfectly white-headed to-day,
because no man condemned to death ever suffered so much from terror
in a single night as I did: even now, though I feel a little more at
my ease than I did last night, still it goes here in me," he added,
pressing his hand to his heart. "And what is absurd," he went on to
say, "while this fearful drama is playing here, I myself am eating
chops and onions, and trying to persuade myself that I am very gay....
Is there any wine, Nikoláief?" he added with a yawn.
"There _he_ is, fellows!" shouted one of the soldiers at this moment in
a tone of alarm, and all eyes were fixed upon the edge of the far-off
forest.
In the distance a puff of bluish smoke took shape, and, rising up,
drifted away on the wind. When I realized that the enemy were firing
at us, every thing that was in the range of my eyes at that moment,
every thing suddenly assumed a new and majestic character. The stacked
muskets, and the smoke of the bonfires, and the blue sky, and the green
gun-carriages, and Nikoláief's sunburned, mustachioed face,--all this
seemed to tell me that the shot which at that instant emerged from the
smoke, and was flying through space, might be directed straight at my
breast.
"Where did you get the wine?" I meanwhile asked Bolkhof carelessly,
while in the depths of my soul two voices were speaking with equal
distinctness; one said, "Lord, take my soul in peace;" the other, "I
hope I shall not duck my head, but smile while the ball is coming." And
at that instant something horribly unpleasant whistled above our heads,
and the shot came crashing to the ground not two paces away from us.
"Now, if I were Napoleon or Frederick the Great," said Bolkhof at this
time, with perfect composure, turning to me, "I should certainly have
said something graceful."
"But that you have just done," I replied, hiding with some difficulty
the panic which I felt at being exposed to such a danger.
"Why, what did I say? No one will put it on record."
"I'll put it on record."
"Yes: if you put it on record, it will be in the way of criticism, as
Mishchenkof says," he replied with a smile.
"_Tfu!_ you devils!" exclaimed Antónof in vexation just behind us, and
spitting to one side; "it just missed my leg."
All my solicitude to appear cool, and all our refined phrases, suddenly
seemed to me unendurably stupid after this artless exclamation.