_PRINCE NEKHILUDOF RELATES HOW, DURING AN EXPEDITION IN THE CAUCASUS,
HE MET AN ACQUAINTANCE FROM MOSCOW. _
Our division had been out in the field.
The work in hand was accomplished: we had cut a way through the forest,
and each day we were expecting from headquarters orders for our return
to the fort. Our division of field-pieces was stationed at the top of a
steep mountain-crest which was terminated by the swift mountain river
Mechik, and had to command the plain that stretched before us. Here
and there on this picturesque plain, out of the reach of gunshot, now
and then, especially at evening, groups of mounted mountaineers showed
themselves, attracted by curiosity to ride up and view the Russian camp.
The evening was clear, mild, and fresh, as it is apt to be in December
in the Caucasus; the sun was setting behind the steep chain of the
mountains at the left, and threw rosy rays upon the tents scattered
over the slope, upon the soldiers moving about, and upon our two guns,
which seemed to crane their necks as they rested motionless on the
earthwork two paces from us. The infantry picket, stationed on the
knoll at the left, stood in perfect silhouette against the light of
the sunset; no less distinct were the stacks of muskets, the form of
the sentry, the groups of soldiers, and the smoke of the smouldering
camp-fire.
At the right and left of the slope, on the black, sodden earth, the
tents gleamed white; and behind the tents, black stood the bare trunks
of the platane forest, which rang with the incessant sound of axes, the
crackling of the bonfires, and the crashing of the trees as they fell
under the axes. The bluish smoke arose from tobacco-pipes on all sides,
and vanished in the transparent blue of the frosty sky. By the tents
and on the lower ground around the arms rushed the Cossacks, dragoons,
and artillerists, with great galloping and snorting of horses as they
returned from getting water. It began to freeze; all sounds were
heard with extraordinary distinctness, and one could see an immense
distance across the plain through the clear, rare atmosphere. The
groups of the enemy, their curiosity at seeing the soldiers satisfied,
quietly galloped off across the fields, still yellow with the golden
coru-stubble, toward their _auls_ or villages, which were visible,
beyond the forest, with the tall posts of the cemeteries and the smoke
rising in the air.
Our tent was pitched not far from the guns on a place high and dry,
from which we had a remarkably extended view. Near the tent, on a
cleared space, around the battery itself, we had our games of skittles,
or _chushki._ The obliging soldiers had made for us rustic benches and
tables. On account of all these amusements, the artillery officers, our
comrades, and a few infantry men liked to gather of an evening around
our battery, and the place came to be called the club.
As the evening was fine, the best players had come, and we were
amusing ourselves with skittles.[1] Ensign D., Lieutenant O.,
and myself had played two games in succession; and to the common
satisfaction and amusement of all the spectators, officers, soldiers,
and servants[2] who were watching us from their tents, we had twice
carried the winning party on our backs from one end of the ground to
the other. Especially droll was the situation of the huge fat Captain
S., who, puffing and smiling good-naturedly, with legs dragging on the
ground, rode pickapack on the feeble little Lieutenant O.
When it grew somewhat later, the servants brought three glasses of tea
for the six men of us, and not a spoon; and we who had finished our
game came to the plaited settees.
There was standing near them a small bow-legged man, a stranger to
us, in a sheepskin jacket, and a _papákha,_ or Circassian cap, with
long overhanging white crown. As soon as we came near where he stood,
he took a few irresolute steps, and put on his cap; and several times
he seemed to make up his mind to come to meet us, and then stopped
again. But after deciding, probably, that it was impossible to remain
irresolute, the stranger took off his cap, and, going in a circuit
around us, approached Captain S.
"Ah, Guskantini, how is it, old man?"[3] said S., still smiling
good-naturedly, under the influence of his ride.
Guskantini, as S. called him, instantly replaced his cap, and made a
motion as though to thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket;[4]
but on the side toward me there was no pocket in the jacket, and his
small red hand fell into an awkward position. I felt a strong desire
to make out who this man was (was he a yunker, or a degraded officer?)
and, not realizing that my gaze (that is, the gaze of a strange
officer) disconcerted him, I continued to stare at his dress and
appearance.
I judged that he was about thirty. His small, round, gray eyes had a
sleepy expression, and at the same time gazed calmly out from under the
dirty white lambskin of his cap, which hung down over his face. His
thick, irregular nose, standing out between his sunken cheeks, gave
evidence of emaciation that was the result of illness, and not natural.
His restless lips, barely covered by a sparse, soft, whitish mustache,
were constantly changing their shape, as though they were trying to
assume now one expression, now another. But all these expressions
seemed to be endless, and his face retained one predominating
expression of timidity and fright. Around his thin neck, where, the
veins stood out, was tied a green woollen scarf tucked into his jacket.
His fur jacket, or _polushúbok,_ was worn bare, short, and had dog-fur
sewed on the collar and on the false pockets. The trousers were
checkered, of ash-gray color, and his _sapogi_ had short, unblacked
military bootlegs.
"I beg of you, do not disturb yourself," said I when he for the second
time, timidly glancing at me, had taken off his cap.
He bowed to me with an expression of gratitude, replaced his hat, and,
drawing from his pocket a dirty chintz tobacco-pouch with lacings,
began to roll a cigarette.
I myself had not been long a yunker, an elderly yunker; and as I was
incapable, as yet, of being good-naturedly serviceable to my younger
comrades, and without means, I well knew all the moral difficulties of
this situation for a proud man no longer young, and I sympathized with
all men who found themselves in such a situation, and I endeavored to
make clear to myself their character and rank, and the tendencies of
their intellectual peculiarities, in order to judge of the degree of
their moral sufferings. This yunker or degraded officer, judging by his
restless eyes and that intentionally constant variation of expression
which I noticed in him, was a man very far from stupid, and extremely
egotistical, and therefore much to be pitied.
Captain S. invited us to play another game of skittles, with the stakes
to consist, not only of the usual pickapack ride of the winning party,
but also of a few bottles of red wine, rum, sugar, cinnamon, and cloves
for the mulled wine which that winter, on account of the cold, was
greatly popular in our division.
Guskantini, as S. again called him, was also invited to take part;
but before the game began, the man, struggling between gratification
because he had been invited and a certain timidity, drew Captain S.
aside, and began to say something in a whisper. The good-natured
captain punched him in the ribs with his big, fat hand, and replied,
loud enough to be heard,--
"Not at all, old fellow,[5] I assure you."
When the game was over, and that side in which the stranger whose rank
was so low had taken part, had come out winners, and it fell to his lot
to ride on one of our officers, Ensign D., the ensign grew red in the
face: he went to the little divan and offered the stranger a cigarette
by way of a compromise.
While they were ordering the mulled wine, and in the steward's tent
were heard assiduous preparations on the part of Nikíta, who had sent
an orderly for cinnamon and cloves, and the shadow of his back was
alternately lengthening and shortening on the dingy sides of the tent,
we men, seven in all, sat around on the benches; and while we took
turns in drinking tea from the three glasses, and gazed out over the
plain, which was now beginning to glow in the twilight, we talked and
laughed over the various incidents of the game.
The stranger in the fur jacket took no share in the conversation,
obstinately refused to drink the tea which I several times offered him,
and as he sat there on the ground in Tatar fashion, occupied himself
in making cigarettes of fine-cut tobacco, and smoking them one after
another, evidently not so much for his own satisfaction as to give
himself the appearance of a man with something to do. When it was
remarked that the summons to return was expected on the morrow, and
that there might be an engagement, he lifted himself on his knees, and,
addressing Captain B. only, said that he had been at the adjutant's,
and had himself written the order for the return on the next day. We
all said nothing while he was speaking; and notwithstanding the fact
that he was so bashful, we begged him to repeat this most interesting
piece of news. He repeated what he had said, adding only that he had
been staying at the adjutant's (since he made it his home there) when
the order came.
"Look here, old fellow, if you are not telling us false, I shall have
to go to my company and give some orders for to-morrow," said Captain S.
"No ... why ... it may be, I am sure" ... stammered the stranger, but
suddenly stopped, and, apparently feeling himself affronted, contracted
Ins brows, and, muttering something between his teeth, again began to
roll a cigarette. But the fine-cut tobacco in his chintz pouch began
to show signs of giving out, and he asked S. to lend him a little
cigarette.[6]
We kept on for a considerable time with that monotonous military
chatter which every one who has ever been on an expedition will
appreciate; all of us, with one and the same expression, complaining of
the dulness and length of the expedition, in one and the same fashion
sitting in judgment on our superiors, and all of us likewise, as we
had done many times before, praising one comrade, pitying another,
wondering how much this one had gained, how much that one had lost, and
so on, and so on.
"Here, fellows, this adjutant of ours is completely broken up," said
Captain S. "At headquarters he was everlastingly on the winning side;
no matter whom he sat down with, he'd rake in every thing: but now for
two months past he has been losing all the time. The present expedition
hasn't been lucky for him. I think he has got away with two thousand
silver rubles and five hundred rubles' worth of articles,--the carpet
that he won at Mukhin's, Nikitin's pistols, Sada's gold watch which
Vorontsof gave him. He has lost it all."
"The truth of the matter in his case," said Lieutenant O., "was that he
used to cheat everybody; it was impossible to play with him."
"He cheated every one, but now it's all gone up in his pipe;" and
here Captain S. laughed good-naturedly. "Our friend Guskof here lives
with him. He hasn't quite lost _him_ yet: that's so, isn't it, old
fellow?"[7] he asked, addressing Guskof.
Guskof tried to laugh. It was a melancholy, sickly laugh, which
completely changed the expression of his countenance. Till this moment
it had seemed to me that I had seen and known this man before; and,
besides, the name Guskof, by which Captain S. called him, was familiar
to me; but how and when I had seen and known him, I actually could not
remember.
"Yes," said Guskof, incessantly putting his hand to his mustaches,
but instantly dropping it again without touching them. "Pavel
Dmitriévitch's luck has been against him in this expedition, such
a _veine de malheur,_" he added in a careful but pure French
pronunciation, again giving me to think that I had seen him, and
seen him often, somewhere. "I know Pavel Dmitriévitch very well. He
has great confidence in me," he proceeded to say; "he and I are old
friends; that is, he is fond of me," he explained, evidently fearing
that it might be taken as presumption for him to claim old friendship
with the adjutant. "Pavel Dmitriévitch plays admirably; but now,
strange as it may seem, it's all up with him, he is just, about
perfectly ruined; _la chance a tourné,_" he added, addressing himself
particularly to me.
At first we had listened to Guskof with condescending attention; but as
soon as he made use of that second French phrase, we all involuntarily
turned from him.
"I have played with him a thousand times, and we agreed then that it
was strange," said Lieutenant O., with peculiar emphasis on the word
_strange._[8] "I never once won a ruble from him. Why was it, when I
used to win of others?"
"Pavel Dmitriévitch plays admirably: I have known him for a long
time," said I. In fact, I had known the adjutant for several years;
more than once I had seen him in the full swing of a game, surrounded
by officers, and I had remarked his handsome, rather gloomy and always
passionless calm face, his deliberate Malo-Russian pronunciation, his
handsome belongings and horses, his bold, manly figure, and above all
his skill and self-restraint in carrying on the game accurately and
agreeably. More than once, I am sorry to say, as I looked at his plump
white hands with a diamond ring--on the index-finger, passing out one
card after another, I grew angry with that ring, with his white hands,
with the whole of the adjutant's person, and evil thoughts on his
account arose in my mind. But as I afterwards reconsidered the matter
coolly, I persuaded myself that he played more skilfully than all with
whom he happened to play: the more so, because as I heard his general
observations concerning the game,--how one ought not to back out when
one had laid the smallest stake, how one ought not to leave off in
certain cases as the first rule for honest men, and so forth, and so
forth,--it was evident that he was always on the winning side merely
from the fact that he played more sagaciously and coolly than the rest
of us. And now it seemed that this self-reliant, careful player had
been stripped not only of his money but of his effects, which marks the
lowest depths of loss for an officer.
"He always had devilish good luck with me," said Lieutenant O. "I made
a vow never to play with him again."
"What a marvel you are, old fellow!" said S., nodding at me, and
addressing O. "You lost three hundred silver rubles, that's what you
lost to him."
"More than that," said the lieutenant savagely. "And now you have come
to your senses; it is rather late in the day, old man, for the rest of
us have known for a long time that he was the cheat of the regiment,"
said S., with difficulty restraining his laughter, and feeling very
well satisfied with his fabrication. 'Here is Guskof right here,--he
_fixes_ his cards for him. That's the reason of the friendship between
them, old man"[9] ... and Captain S., shaking all over, burst out into
such a hearty "ha, ha, ha!" that he spilt the glass of mulled wine
which he was holding in his hand. On Guskof's pale emaciated face there
showed something like a color; he opened his mouth several times,
raised his hands to his mustaches and once more dropped them to his
side where the pockets should have been, stood up, and then sat down
again, and finally in an unnatural voice said to S.,--
"It's no joke, Nikolai Ivánovitch, for you to say such things before
people who don't know me and who see me in this unlined jacket
... because"--His voice failed him, and again his small red hands
with their dirty nails went from his jacket to his face, touching
his mustache, his hair, his nose, rubbing his eyes, or needlessly
scratching his cheek.
"As to saying that, everybody knows it, old fellow," continued S.,
thoroughly satisfied with his jest, and not heeding Guskof's complaint.
Guskof was still trying to say something; and placing the palm of his
right hand on his left knee in a most unnatural position, and gazing at
S., he had an appearance of smiling contemptuously.
"No," said I to myself, as I noticed that smile of his, "I have not
only seen him, but have spoken with him somewhere."
"You and I have met somewhere," said I to him when, under the influence
of the common silence, S.'s laughter began to calm down. Guskof's
mobile face suddenly lighted up, and his eyes, for the first time with
a truly joyous expression, rested upon me.
"Why, I recognized you immediately," he replied in French. "In '48
I had the pleasure of meeting you quite frequently in Moscow at my
sister's."
I had to apologize for not recognizing him at first iii that costume
and in that new garb. He arose, came to me, and with his moist hand
irresolutely and weakly seized my hand, and sat down by me. Instead of
looking at me, though he apparently seemed so glad to see me, he gazed
with an expression of unfriendly bravado at the officers.
Either because I recognized in him a man whom I had met a few years
before in a dress-coat in a parlor, or because he was suddenly raised
in his own opinion by the fact of being recognized,--at all events it
seemed to me that his face and even his motions completely changed:
they now expressed lively intelligence, a childish self-satisfaction
in the consciousness of such intelligence, and a certain contemptuous
indifference; so that I confess, notwithstanding the pitiable position
in which he found himself, my old acquaintance did not so much excite
sympathy in me as it did a sort of unfavorable sentiment.
I now vividly remembered our first meeting. In 1848, while I was
staying at Moscow, I frequently went to the house of Iváshin, who from
childhood had been an old friend of mine. His wife was an agreeable
hostess, a charming woman, as everybody said; but she never pleased
me.... The winter that I knew her, she often spoke with hardly
concealed pride of her brother, who had shortly before completed his
course, and promised to be one of the most fashionable and popular
young men in the best society of Petersburg. As I knew by reputation
the father of the Guskofs, who was very rich and had a distinguished
position, and as I knew also the sister's ways, I felt some prejudice
against meeting the young man. One evening when I was at Iváshin's, I
saw a short, thoroughly pleasant-looking young man, in a black coat,
white vest and necktie. My host hastened to make me acquainted with
him. The young man, evidently dressed for a bail, with his cap in his
hand, was standing before Iváshin, and was eagerly but politely arguing
with him about a common friend of ours, who had distinguished himself
at the time of the Hungarian campaign. He said that this acquaintance
was not at all a hero or a man born for war, as was said of him, but
was simply a clever and cultivated man. I recollect, I took part in the
argument against Guskof, and went to the extreme of declaring also that
intellect and cultivation always bore an inverse relation to bravery;
and I recollect how Guskof pleasantly and cleverly pointed out to me
that bravery was necessarily the result of intellect and a decided
degree of development,--a statement which I, who considered myself an
intellectual and cultivated man, could not in my heart of hearts agree
with.
I recollect that towards the close of our conversation Madame
Iváshina introduced me to her brother; and he, with a condescending
smile, offered me his little hand on which he had not yet had time
to draw his kid gloves, and weakly and irresolutely pressed my hand
as he did now. Though I had been prejudiced against Guskof, I could
not help granting that he was in the right, and agreeing with his
sister that he was really a clever and agreeable young man, who
ought to have great success in society. He was extraordinarily neat,
beautifully dressed, and fresh, and had affectedly modest manners,
and a thoroughly youthful, almost childish appearance, on account of
which, you could not help excusing his expression of self-sufficiency,
though it modified the impression of his high-mightiness caused by his
intellectual face and especially his smile. It was said that he had
great success that winter with the high-born ladies of Moscow. As I saw
him at his sister's I could only infer how far this was true by the
feeling of pleasure and contentment constantly excited in me by his
youthful appearance and by his sometimes indiscreet anecdotes. He and I
met half a dozen times, and talked a good deal; or, rather, he talked
a good deal, and I listened. He spoke for the most part in French,
always with a good accent, very fluently and ornately; and he had the
skill of drawing others gently and politely into the conversation. As
a general thing, he behaved toward all, and toward me, in a somewhat
supercilious manner, and I felt that he was perfectly right in this way
of treating people. I always feel that way in regard to men who are
firmly convinced that they ought to treat me superciliously, and who
are comparative strangers to me.
Now, as he sat with me, and gave me his hand, I keenly recalled in him
that same old haughtiness of expression; and it seemed to me that he
did not properly appreciate his position of official inferiority, as,
in the presence of the officers, he asked me what I had been doing in
all that time, and how I happened to be there. In spite of the fact
that I invariably made my replies in Russian, he kept putting his
questions in French, expressing himself as before in remarkably correct
language. About himself he said fluently that after his unhappy,
wretched story (what the story was, I did not know, and he had not yet
told me), he had been three months under arrest, and then had been sent
to the Caucasus to the N. regiment, and now had been serving three
years as a soldier in that regiment.
"You would not believe," said he to me in French, "how much I have to
suffer in these regiments from the society of the officers. Still it is
a pleasure to me, that I used to know the adjutant of whom we were just
speaking: he is a good man--it's a fact," he remarked condescendingly.
"I live with him, and that's something of a relief for me. Yes, my
dear, the days fly by, but they aren't all alike,"[10] he added; and
suddenly hesitated, reddened, and stood up, as he caught sight of the
adjutant himself coming toward us.
"It is such a pleasure to meet such a man as you," said Guskof to me in
a whisper as he turned from me. "I should like very, very much, to have
a long talk with you.".
I said that I should be very happy to talk with him, but in reality I
confess that Guskof excited in me a sort of dull pity that was not akin
to sympathy.
I had a presentiment that I should feel a constraint in a private
conversation with him; but still I was anxious to learn from him
several things, and, above all, why it was, when his father had been
so rich, that he was in poverty, as was evident by his dress and
appearance.
The adjutant greeted us all, including Guskof, and sat down by me
in the seat which the cashiered officer had just vacated. Pavel
Dmitriévitch, who had always been calm and leisurely, a genuine
gambler, and a man of means, was now very different from what he had
been in the flowery days of his success; he seemed to be in haste to go
somewhere, kept constantly glancing at everybody, and it was not five
minutes before he proposed to Lieutenant O., who had sworn off from
playing, to set up a small faro-bank. Lieutenant O. refused, under the
pretext of having to attend to his duties, but in reality because, as
he knew that the adjutant had few possessions and little money left,
he did not feel himself justified in risking his three hundred rubles
against a hundred or even less which the adjutant might stake.
"Well, Pavel Dmitriévitch," said the lieutenant, anxious to avoid a
repetition of the invitation, "is it true, what they tell us, that we
return to-morrow?"
"I don't know," replied the adjutant. "Orders came, to be in readiness;
but if it's true, then you'd better play a game. I would wager my
Kabarda cloak."
"No, to-day already" ...
"It's a gray one, never been worn; but if you prefer, play for money.
How is that?"
"Yes, but ... I should be willing--pray don't think that" ... said
Lieutenant O., answering the implied suspicion; "but as there may be a
raid or some movement, I must go to bed early."
The adjutant stood up, and, thrusting his hands into his pockets,
started to go across the grounds. His face assumed its ordinary
expression of coldness and pride, which I admired in him.
"Won't you have a glass of mulled wine?" I asked him.
"That might be acceptable," and he came back to me; but Guskof politely
took the glass from me, and handed it to the adjutant, striving at the
same time not to look at him. But as he did not notice the tent-rope,
he stumbled over it, and fell on his hand, dropping the glass.
"What a bungler!" exclaimed the adjutant, still holding out his hand
for the glass. Everybody burst out laughing, not excepting Guskof, who
was rubbing his hand on his sore knee, which he had somehow struck as
he fell. "That's the way the bear waited on the hermit," continued the
adjutant. "It's the way he waits on me every day. He has pulled up all
the tent-pins; he's always tripping up."
Guskof, not hearing him, apologized to us, and glanced toward me with
a smile of almost noticeable melancholy as though saying that I alone
could understand him. He was pitiable to see; but the adjutant, his
protector, seemed, on that very account, to be severe on his messmate,
and did not try to put him at his ease.
"Well, you're a graceful lad! Where did you think you were going?"
"Well, who can help tripping over these pins, Pavel Dmitriévitch?" said
Guskof. "You tripped over them yourself the other day."
"I, old man,[11]--I am not of the rank and file, and such gracefulness
is not expected of me."
"He can be lazy," said Captain S., keeping the ball rolling, "but
low-rank men have to make their legs fly."
"Ill-timed jest," said Guskof almost in a whisper, and casting down his
eyes. The adjutant was evidently vexed with his messmate; he listened
with inquisitive attention to every word that he said.
"He'll have to be sent out into ambuscade again," said he, addressing
S., and pointing to the cashiered officer.
"Well, there'll be some more tears," said S., laughing. Guskof no
longer looked at me, but acted as though he were going to take some
tobacco from his pouch, though there had been none there for some time.
"Get ready for the ambuscade, old man," said S., addressing him with
shouts of laughter. "To-day the scouts have brought the news, there'll
be an attack on the camp to-night, so it's necessary to designate the
trusty lads." Guskof's face showed a fleeting smile as though he were
preparing to make some reply, but several times he cast a supplicating
look at S.
"Well, you know I have been, and I'm ready to go again if I am sent,"
he said hastily.
"Then you'll be sent."
"Well, I'll go. Isn't that all right?"
"Yes, as at Arguna, you deserted the ambuscade and threw away your
gun," said the adjutant; and turning from him he began to tell us the
orders for the next day.
As a matter of fact, we expected from the enemy a Cannonade of the
camp that night, and the next day some sort of diversion. While we
were still chatting about various subjects of general interest, the
adjutant, as though from a sudden and unexpected impulse, proposed to
Lieutenant O. to have a little game. The lieutenant most unexpectedly
consented; and, together with S. and the ensign, they went off to
the adjutant's tent, where there was a folding green table with cards
on it. The captain, the commander of our division, went to our tent
to sleep; the other gentlemen also separated, and Guskof and I were
left alone. I was not mistaken, it was really very uncomfortable for
me to have a _tête-à-tête_ with him; I arose involuntarily, and began
to promenade up and down on the battery. Guskof walked in silence by
my side, hastily and awkwardly wheeling around so as not to delay or
incommode me.
"I do not annoy you?" he asked in a soft, mournful voice. So far as I
could see his face in the dim light, it seemed to me deeply thoughtful
and melancholy.
"Not at all," I replied; but as he did not immediately begin to speak,
and as I did not know what to say to him, we walked in silence a
considerably long time.
The twilight had now absolutely changed into dark night; over the black
profile of the mountains gleamed the bright evening heat-lightning;
over our heads in the light-blue frosty sky twinkled the little stars;
on all sides gleamed the ruddy flames of the smoking watch-fires; near
us, the white tents stood out in contrast to the frowning blackness of
our earth-works. The light from the nearest watch-fire, around which
our servants, engaged in quiet conversation, were warming themselves,
occasionally flashed on the brass of our heavy guns, and fell on the
form of the sentry, who, wrapped in his cloak, paced with measured
tread along the battery.
"You cannot imagine what a delight it is for me to talk with such a man
as you are," said Guskof, although as yet he had not spoken a word to
me. "Only one who had been in my position could appreciate it."
I did not know how to reply to him, and we again relapsed into silence,
although it was evident that he was anxious to talk, and have me listen
to him.
"Why were you ... why did you suffer this?" I inquired at last, not
being able to invent any better way of breaking the ice.
"Why, didn't you hear about this wretched business from Metenin?"
"Yes, a duel, I believe; I did not hear much about it," I replied. "You
see, I have been for some time in the Caucasus."
"No, it wasn't a duel, but it was a stupid and horrid story. I will
tell you all about it, if you don't know. It happened, that the same
year that I met you at my sister's, I was living at Petersburg. I must
tell you I had then what they call _une position dans le monde,--_ a
position good enough if it was not brilliant. _Mon père me donnait_
ten thousand _par an._ In '49 I was promised a place in the embassy
at Turin; my uncle on? my mother's side had influence, and was always
ready to do a great deal for me. That sort of thing is all past now.
_J'étais reçu dans la meilleure société de Petersburg;_ I might have
aspired to any girl in the city. I was well educated, as we all are who
come from the school, but was not especially cultivated; to be sure,
I read a good deal afterwards, _mais j'avais surtout,_ you know, _ce
jargon du monde,_ and, however it came about, I was looked upon as a
leading light among the young men of Petersburg. What raised me more
than all in common estimation, _c'est cette liaison avec Madame D.,_
about which a great deal was said in Petersburg; but I was frightfully
young at that time, and did not prize these advantages very highly.
I was simply young and stupid. What more did I need? Just then that
Metenin had some notoriety"--
And Guskof went on in the same fashion to relate to me the history
of his misfortunes, which I will omit, as it would not be at all
interesting.
"Two months I remained under arrest," he continued, "absolutely alone;
and what thoughts did I not have during that time? But, you know,
when it was all over, as though every tie had been broken with the
past, then it became easier for me. _Mon père,--_you have heard tell
of him, of course, a man of iron will and strong convictions,--_il
m'a désherité,_ and broken off all intercourse with me. According
to his convictions he had to do as he did, and I don't blame him
at all. He was consistent. Consequently I have not taken a step to
induce him to change his mind. _My_ sister was abroad. Madame D. is
the only one who wrote to me when I was released, and she sent me
assistance; but you understand that I could not accept it, so that I
had none of those little things which make one's position a little
easier, you know,--books, linen, food, nothing at all. At this time I
thought things over and over, and began to look at life with different
eyes. For instance, this noise, this society gossip about me in
Petersburg, did not interest me, did not flatter me: it all seemed to
me ridiculous. I felt that I myself had been to blame; I was young and
indiscreet; I had spoiled my career, and I only thought how I might get
into the right track again. And I felt that I had strength and energy
enough for it. After my arrest, as I told you, I was sent here to the
Caucasus to the N. regiment.
"I thought," he went on to say, all the time becoming more and more
animated,--"I thought that here in the Caucasus, _la vie de camp,_ the
simple, honest men with whom I should associate, and war and danger,
would all admirably agree with my mental state, so that I might begin a
new life. They will see me under fire.[12] I shall make myself liked;
I shall be respected for my real self,--the cross--non-commissioned
officer; they will relieve me of my fine; and I shall get up again, _et
vous savez avec ce prestige du malheur!_ But, _quel désenchantement!_
You can't imagine how I have been deceived! You know what sort of men
the officers of our regiment are."
He did not speak for some little time, waiting, as it appeared, for me
to tell him that I knew the society of our officers here was bad; but
I made him no reply. It went against my grain that he should expect
me, because I knew French, forsooth, to be obliged to take issue with
the society of the officers, which, during my long residence in the
Caucasus, I had had time enough to appreciate fully, and for which I
had far higher respect than for the society from which Mr. Guskof had
sprung. I wanted to tell him so, but his position constrained me.
"In the N. regiment the society of the officers is a thousand times
worse than it is here," he continued. "I hope that it is saying a good
deal; _j'espère que c'est beaucoup dire;_ that is, you cannot imagine
what it is. I am not speaking of the yunkers and the soldiers, That is
horrible, it is so bad. At first they received me very kindly, that is
absolutely the truth; but when they saw that I could not help despising
them, you know, in these inconceivably small circumstances, they saw
that I was a man absolutely different, standing far above them, they
got angry with me, and began to put various little humiliations on
me. You haven't an idea what I had to suffer.[13] Then this forced
relationship with the yunkers, and especially with the small means
that I had--I lacked every thing;[14] I had only what my sister used
to send me. And here's a proof for you! As much as it made me suffer,
I with my character, _avec ma fierté, j'ai écris à mon père,_ begged
him to send me something. I understand how living four years of such a
life may make a man like our cashiered Dromof who drinks with soldiers,
and writes notes to all the officers asking them to _loan_ him three
rubles, and signing it, _tout à vous, Dromof._ One must have such a
character as I have, not to be mired in the least by such a horrible
position."
For some time he walked in silence by my side.
"Have you a cigarette?"[15] he asked me.
"And so I staid right where I was? Yes. I could not endure it
physically, because, though we were wretched, cold, and ill-fed, I
lived like a common soldier, but still the officers had some sort of
consideration for me. I had still some _prestige_ that they regarded.
I wasn't sent out on guard nor for drill. I could not have stood that.
But morally my sufferings were frightful; and especially because I
didn't see any escape from my position. I wrote my uncle, begged him to
get me transferred to my present regiment, which, at least, sees some
service; and I thought that here Pavel Dmitriévitch, _qui est le fils
de l'intendant de mon père,_ might be of some use to me. My uncle did
this for me; I was transferred. After that regiment this one seemed to
me a collection of chamberlains. Then Pavel Dmitriévitch was here; he
knew who I was, and I was splendidly received. At my uncle's request--a
Guskof, _vous savez;_ but I forgot that with these men without
cultivation and undeveloped,--they can't appreciate a man, and show him
marks of esteem, unless he has that aureole of wealth, of friends; and
I noticed how, little by little, when they saw that I was poor, their
behavior to me showed more and more indifference until they have come
almost to dispise me. It is horrible, but it is absolutely the truth.
"Here I have been in action, I have fought, they have seen me under
fire,"[16] he continued; "but when will it all end? I think, never.
And my strength and energy have already begun to flag. Then I had
imagined _la guerre, la vie de camp;_ but it isn't at all what I see,
in a sheepskin jacket, dirty linen, soldier's boots, and you go out in
ambuscade, and the whole night long lie in the ditch with some Antónof
reduced to the ranks for drunkenness, and any minute from behind the
bush may come a rifle-shot and hit you or Antónof,--it's all the same
which. That is not bravery: it's horrible, _c'est affreux,_ it's
killing!"[17]
"Well, you can be promoted a non-commissioned officer for this
campaign, and next year an ensign," said I.
"Yes, it may be: they promised me that in two years, and it's not up
yet. What would those two years amount to, if I knew any one! You can
imagine this life with Pavel Dmitriévitch; cards, low jokes, drinking
all the time; if you wish to tell any thing that is weighing on your
mind, you would not be understood, or you would be laughed at; they
talk with you, not for the sake of sharing a thought, but to get
something funny out of you. Yes, and so it has gone--in a brutal,
beastly way, and you are always conscious that you belong to the rank
and file; they always make you feel that. Hence you can't realize what
an enjoyment it is to talk _à coeur ouvert_ to such a man as you are."
I had never imagined what kind of a man I was, and consequently I did
not know what answer to make him.
"Will you have your lunch now?" asked Nikíta at this juncture,
approaching me unseen in the darkness, and, as I could perceive, vexed
at the presence of a guest. "Nothing but curd dumplings, there's none
of the roast beef left."
"Has the captain had his lunch yet?"
"He went to bed long ago," replied Nikíta gruffly. "According to my
directions, I was to bring you lunch here and your brandy." He muttered
something else discontentedly, and sauntered off to his tent. After
loitering a while longer, he brought us, nevertheless, a lunch-case;
he placed a candle on the lunch-case, and shielded it from the wind
with a sheet of paper. He brought a saucepan, some mustard in a jar,
a tin dipper with a handle, and a bottle of absinthe. After arranging
these things, Nikíta lingered around us for some moments, and looked
on as Guskof and I were drinking the liquor, and it was evidently very
distasteful to him. By the feeble light shed by the candle through the
paper, amid the encircling darkness, could be seen the seal-skin cover
of the lunch-case, the supper arranged upon it, Guskof's sheepskin
jacket, his face, and his small red hands which he used in lifting the
patties from the pan. Every thing around us was black; and only by
straining the sight could be seen the dark battery, the dark form of
the sentry moving along the breastwork, on all sides the watch-fires,
and on high the ruddy stars.
Guskof wore a melancholy, almost guilty smile, as though it were
awkward for him to look into my face after his confession. He drank
still another glass of liquor, and ate ravenously, emptying the
saucepan.
"Yes; for you it must be a relief all the same," said I, for the sake
of saying something,--"your acquaintance with the adjutant. He is a
very good man, I have heard."
"Yes," replied the cashiered officer, "he is a kind man; but he can't
help being what he is, with his education, and it is useless to expect
it."
A flush seemed suddenly to cross his face. "You remarked his coarse
jest this evening about the ambuscade;" and Guskof, though I tried
several times to interrupt him, began to justify himself before me, and
to show that he had not run away from the ambuscade, and that he was
not a coward as the adjutant and Capt. S. tried to make him out.
"As I was telling you," he went on to say, wiping his hands on his
jacket, "such people can't show any delicacy toward a man, a common
soldier, who hasn't much money either. That's beyond their strength.
And here recently, while I haven't received any thing at all from my
sister, I have been conscious that they have changed toward me. This
sheepskin jacket, which I bought of a soldier, and which hasn't any
warmth in it, because it's all worn off" (and here he showed me where
the wool was gone from the inside), "it doesn't arouse in him any
sympathy or consideration for my unhappiness, but scorn, which he does
not take pains to hide. Whatever my necessities may be, as now when I
have nothing to eat except soldiers' gruel, and nothing to wear," he
continued, casting down his eyes, and pouring out for himself still
another glass of liquor, "he does not even offer to lend me some money,
though he knows perfectly well that I would give it back to him; but
he waits till I am obliged to ask him for it. But you appreciate how
it is for me to go to _him._ In your case I should say, square and
fair, _Vous êtes au dessus de cela, mon cher, je n'ai pas le sou._ And
you know," said he, looking straight into my eyes with an expression
of desperation, "I am going to tell you, square and fair, I am in a
terrible situation: _pouvez-vous me prêter dix rubles argent?_ My
sister ought to send me some by the next mail, _et mon père_"--
"Why, most willingly," said I, although, on the contrary, it was trying
and unpleasant, especially because the evening before, having lost
at cards, I had left only about five rubles in Nikíta's care. "In a
moment," said I, arising, "I will go and get it at the tent."
"No, by and by: _ne vous dérangez pas._"
Nevertheless, not heeding him, I hastened to the closed tent, where
stood my bed, and where the captain was sleeping.
"Alekséi Ivánuitch, let me have ten rubles, please, for rations," said
I to the captain, shaking him.
"What! have you been losing again? But this very evening, you were not
going to play any more," murmured the captain, still half asleep.
"No, I have not been playing; but I want the money; let me have it,
please."
"Makatiuk!" shouted the captain to his servant,[18] "hand me my bag
with the money."
"Hush, hush!" said I, hearing Guskof's measured steps near the tent.
"What? Why hush?"
"Because that cashiered fellow has asked to borrow it of me. He's right
there."
"Well, if you knew him, you wouldn't let him have it," remarked the
captain. "I have heard about him. He's a dirty, low-lived fellow."
Nevertheless, the captain gave me the money, ordered his man to put
away the bag, pulled the flap of the tent neatly to, and, again saying,
"If you only knew him, you wouldn't let him have it," drew his head
down under the coverlet. "Now you owe me thirty-two, remember," he
shouted after me.
When I came out of the tent, Guskof was walking near the settees; and
his slight figure, with his crooked legs, his shapeless cap, his long
white hair, kept appearing and disappearing in the darkness, as he
passed in and out of the light of the candles. He made believe not to
see me.
I handed him the money. He said "_Merci_" and, crumpling the bank-bill,
thrust it into his trousers pocket.
"Now I suppose the game is in full swing at the adjutant's," he began
immediately after this.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"He's a wonderful player, always bold, and never backs out. When he's
in luck, it's fine; but when it does not go well with him, he can lose
frightfully. He has given proof of that. During this expedition, if you
reckon his valuables, he has lost more than fifteen hundred rubles.
But, as he played discreetly before, that officer of yours seemed to
have some doubts about his honor."
"Well, that's because he ... Nikíta, haven't we any of that red Kavkas
wine[19] left?" I asked, very much enlivened by Guskof's conversational
talent. Nikíta still kept muttering; but he brought us the red wine,
and again looked on angrily as Guskof drained his glass. In Guskof's
behavior was noticeable his old freedom from constraint. I wished that
he would go as soon as possible; it seemed as if his only reason for
not going was because he did not wish to go immediately after receiving
the money. I said nothing.
"How could you, who have means, and were under no necessity, simply _de
gaieté de coeur,_ make up your mind to come and serve in the Caucasus?
That's what I don't understand," said he to me.
I endeavored to explain this act of renunciation, which seemed so
strange to him.
"I can imagine how disagreeable the society of these officers--men
without any comprehension of culture--must be for you. You could not
understand each other. You see, you might live ten years, and not see
any thing, and not hear about anything, except cards, wine, and gossip
about rewards and campaigns."
It was unpleasant for me, that he wished me to put myself on a par with
him in his position; and, with absolute honesty I assured him that I
was very fond of cards and wine, and gossip about campaigns, and that
I did not care to have any better comrades than those with whom I was
associated. But he would not believe me.
"Well, you may say so," he continued; "but the lack of women's
society,--I mean, of course, _femmes comme il faut,--_is that not a
terrible deprivation? I don't know what I would give now to go into a
parlor, if only for a moment, and to have a look at a pretty woman,
even though it were through a crack."
He said nothing for a little, and drank still another glass of the red
wine.
"Oh, my God, my God![20] If it only might be our fate to meet again,
somewhere in Petersburg, to live and move among men, among ladies!"
He drank up the dregs of the wine still left in the bottle, and when he
had finished it he said, _"Akh! pardon,_ maybe _you_ wanted some more.
It was horribly careless of me. However, I suppose I must have taken
too much, and my head isn't very strong.[21] There was a time when I
lived on Morskaia Street, _au rez-de-chaussée,_ and had marvellous
apartments, furniture, you know, and I was able to arrange it all
beautifully, not so very expensively though; my father, to be sure,
gave me porcelains, flowers, and silver,--a wonderful lot. _Le matin
je sortais,_ visits, _à 5 heures régulièrement._ I used to go and dine
with _her;_ often she was alone. _Il faut avouer que c'était une femme
ravissante!_ You didn't know her at all, did you?"
"No."
"You see, there was such a high degree of womanliness in her, and such
tenderness, and what love! Lord! I did not know how to appreciate my
happiness then. We would return after the theatre, and have a little
supper together. It was never dull where she was, _toujours gaie,
toujours aimante._ Yes, and I had never imagined what rare happiness it
was. _Et j'ai beaucoup à me reprocher_ in regard to her. _Je l'ai fait
souffrir et souvent._ I was outrageous. _Akh!_ What a marvellous time
that was! Do I bore you?"
"No, not at all."
"Then I will tell you about our evenings. I used to go--that stairway,
every flower-pot I knew,--the door-handle, all was so lovely, so
familiar; then the vestibule, her room ... No, it will never, never
come back to me again! Even now she writes to me: if you will let me, I
will show you her letters. But I am not what I was; I am ruined; I am
no longer worthy of her.... Yes, I am ruined forever. _Je suis cassé._
There's no energy in me, no pride, nothing--nor even any rank.[22] ...
Yes, I am ruined; and no one will ever appreciate my sufferings. Every
one is indifferent. I am a lost man. Never any chance for me to rise,
because I have fallen morally ... into the mire--I have fallen." ...
At this moment there was evident in his words a genuine, deep despair:
he did not look at me, but sat motionless.
"Why are you in such despair?" I asked.
"Because I am abominable. This life has degraded me, all that was in
me, all is crushed out. It is not by pride that I hold out, but by
abjectness: there's no _dignité dans le malheur._ I am humiliated every
moment; I endure it all; I got myself into this abasement. This mire
has soiled me. I myself have become coarse; I have forgotten what I
used to know; I can't speak French any more; I am conscious that I am
base and low. I cannot tear myself away from these surroundings, indeed
I cannot. I might have been a hero: give me a regiment, gold epaulets,
a trumpeter, but to march in the ranks with some wild Anton Bondarenko
or the like, and feel that between me and him there was no difference
at all--that he might be killed or I might be killed--all the same,
that thought is maddening. You understand how horrible it is to think
that some ragamuffin may kill me, a man who has thoughts and feelings,
and that it would make no difference if alongside of me some Antónof
were killed,--a being not different from an animal--and that it might
easily happen that I and not this Antónof were killed, which is always
_une fatalité_ for every lofty and good man. I know that they call me a
coward: grant that I am a coward, I certainly am a coward, and can't be
any thing else. Not _only_ am I a coward, but I am in my way a low and
despicable man. Here I have just been borrowing money of you, and you
have the right to despise me. No, take back your money." And he held
out to me the crumpled bank-bill. "I want you to have a good opinion of
me." He covered his face with his hands, and burst into tears. I really
did not know what to say or do.
"Calm yourself," I said to him. "You are too sensitive; don't take
every thing so to heart; don't indulge in self-analysis, look at
things more simply. You yourself say that you have character. Keep up
good heart, you won't have long to wait," I said to him, but not very
consistently, because I was much stirred both by a feeling of sympathy
and a feeling of repentance, because I had allowed myself mentally to
sin in my judgment of a man truly and deeply unhappy.
"Yes," he began, "if I had heard even once, at the time when I was in
that hell, one single word of sympathy, of advice, of friendship--one
humane word such as you have just spoken, perhaps I might have calmly
endured all; perhaps I might have struggled, and been a soldier. But
now this is horrible.... When I think soberly, I long for death. Why
should I love my despicable life and my own self, now that I am ruined
for all that is worth while in the world? And at the least danger, I
suddenly, in spite of myself, begin to pray for my miserable life, and
to watch over it as though it were precious, and I cannot, _je ne puis
pas,_ control myself.--That is, I could," he continued again after a
minute's silence, "but this is too hard work for me, a monstrous work,
when I am alone. With others, under special circumstances, when you
are going into action, I am brave, _j'ai fait mes épreuves,_ because I
am vain and proud: that is my fading, and in presence of others.... Do
you know, let me spend the night with you: with us, they will play all
night long; it makes no difference, anywhere, on the ground."
While Nikíta was making the bed, we got up, and once more began to walk
up and down in the darkness on the battery. Certainly Guskof's head
must have been very weak, because two glasses of liquor and two of
wine made him dizzy. As we got up and moved away from the candles, I
noticed that he again thrust the ten-ruble bill into his pocket, trying
to do so without my seeing it. During all the foregoing conversation,
he had held it in his hand. He continued to reiterate how he felt that
he might regain his old station if he had a man such as I were to take
some interest in him.
We were just going into the tent to go to bed when suddenly a
cannon-ball whistled over us, and buried itself in the ground not
far from us. So strange it was,--that peacefully sleeping camp, our
conversation, and suddenly the hostile cannon-ball which flew from
God knows where, into the midst of our tents,--so strange that it was
some time before I could realize what it was. Our sentinel, Andréief,
walking up and down on the battery, moved toward me.
"Ha! he's crept up to us. It was the fire here that he aimed at," said
he.
"We must rouse the captain," said I, and gazed at Guskof.
He stood cowering close to the ground, and stammered, trying to say,
"Th-that's th-the ene-my's ... f-f-fire--th-that's--hidi--." Further he
could not say a word, and I did not see how and where he disappeared so
instantaneously.
In the captain's tent a candle gleamed; his cough, which always
troubled him when he was awake, was heard; and he himself soon
appeared, asking for a linstock to light his little pipe.
"What does this mean, old man?"[23] he asked with a smile. "Aren't they
willing to give me a little sleep to-night? First it's you with your
cashiered friend, and then it's Shamyl. What shall we do, answer him or
not? There was nothing about this in the instructions, was there?"
"Nothing at all. There he goes again," said I. "Two of them!"
Indeed, in the darkness, directly in front of us, flashed two fires,
like two eyes; and quickly over our heads flew one cannon-ball and one
heavy shell. It must have been meant for us, coming with a loud and
penetrating hum. From the neighboring tents the soldiers hastened. You
could hear them hawking and talking and stretching themselves.
"Hist! the fuse sings like a nightingale," was the remark of the
artillerist.
"Send for Nikíta," said the captain with his perpetually benevolent
smile. "Nikíta, don't hide yourself, but listen to the mountain
nightingales."
"Well, your honor,"[26] said Nikíta, who was standing near the captain,
"I have seen them--these nightingales. I am not afraid of 'em; but here
was that stranger who was here, he was drinking up your red wine. When
he heard how that shot dashed by our tents, and the shell rolled by, he
cowered down like some wild beast."
"However, we must send to the commander of the artillery," said the
captain to me in a serious tone of authority, "and ask whether we shall
reply to the fire or not. It will probably be nothing at all, but still
it may. Have the goodness to go and ask him. Have a horse saddled. Do
it as quickly as possible, even if you take my Polkan."
In five minutes they brought me a horse, and I galloped off to the
commander of the artillery. "Look you, return on foot," whispered the
punctilious captain, "else they won't let you through the lines."
It was half a verst to the artillery commander's, the whole road
ran between the tents. As soon as I rode away from our fire, it
became so black that I could not see even the horse's ears, but only
the watch-fires, now seeming very near, now very far off, as they
gleamed into my eyes. After I had ridden some distance, trusting to
the intelligence of the horse whom I allowed free rein, I began to
distinguish the white four-cornered tents and then the black tracks
of the road. After a half-hour, having asked my way three times,
and twice stumbled over the tent-stakes, causing each time a volley
of curses from the tents, and twice been detained by the sentinels,
I reached the artillery commander's. While I was on the way, I heard
two more cannon shot in the direction of our camp; but the projectiles
did not reach to the place where the headquarters were. The artillery
commander ordered not to reply to the firing, the more as the enemy did
not remain in the same place; and I went back, leading the horse by the
bridle, making my way on foot between the infantry tents. More than
once I delayed my steps, as I went by some soldier's tent where a light
was shining, and some merry-andrew was telling a story; or I listened
to some educated soldier reading from some book while the whole
division overflowed the tent, or hung around it, sometimes interrupting
the reading with various remarks; or I simply listened to the talk
about the expedition, about the fatherland, or about their chiefs.
As I came around one of the tents of the third battalion, I heard
Guskof's rough voice: he was speaking hilariously and rapidly. Young
voices replied to him, not those of soldiers, but of gay gentlemen.
It was evidently the tent of some yunker or sergeant-major. I stopped
short.
"I've known him a long time," Guskof was saying. "When I lived in
Petersburg, he used to come to my house often; and I went to his. He
moved in the best society."
"Whom are you talking about?" asked a drunken voice.
"About the prince," said Guskof. "We were relatives, you see, but, more
than all, we were old friends. It's a mighty good thing, you know,
gentlemen, to have such an acquaintance. You see, he's fearfully rich.
To him a hundred silver rubles is a mere bagatelle. Here, I just got a
little money out of him, enough to last me till my sister sends."
"Let's have some."
"Right away.--Savelitch, my dear," said Guskof, coming to the door
of the tent, "here's ten rubles for you: go to the sutler, get two
bottles of Kakhetinski. Any thing else, gentlemen? What do you say?"
and Guskof, with unsteady gait, with dishevelled hair, without his hat,
came out of the tent. Throwing open his jacket, and thrusting his hands
into the pockets of his trousers, he stood at the door of the tent.
Though he was in the light, and I in darkness, I trembled with fear
lest he should see me, and I went on, trying to make no noise.
"Who goes there?" shouted Guskof after me in a thoroughly drunken
voice. Apparently, the cold took hold of him. "Who the devil is going
off with that horse?"