He went, first of all, to the pavilion, near which were standing the
musicians, for whom other soldiers of the same regiment were holding
the notes, in the absence of stands, and about whom a ring of cadets,
nurses, and children had formed, intent rather on seeing than on
hearing. Around the pavilion stood, sat, or walked sailors, adjutants,
and officers in white gloves. Along the grand avenue of the boulevard
paced officers of every sort, and women of every description, rarely in
bonnets, mostly with kerchiefs on their heads (some had neither bonnets
nor kerchiefs), but no one was old, and it was worthy of note that all
were gay young creatures. Beyond, in the shady and fragrant alleys of
white acacia, isolated groups walked and sat.
No one was especially delighted to encounter Captain Mikhaïloff on
the boulevard, with the exception, possibly, of the captain of his
regiment, Obzhogoff, and Captain Suslikoff, who pressed his hand
warmly; but the former was dressed in camel's-hair trousers, no
gloves, a threadbare coat, and his face was very red and covered with
perspiration, and the second shouted so loudly and incoherently that it
was mortifying to walk with them, particularly in the presence of the
officers in white gloves (with one of whom, an adjutant, Staff-Captain
Mikhaïloff exchanged bows; and he might have bowed to another
staff-officer, since he had met him twice at the house of a mutual
acquaintance). Besides, what pleasure was it to him to promenade with
these two gentlemen, Obzhogoff and Suslikoff, when he had met them and
shaken hands with them six times that day already? It was not for this
that he had come.
He wanted to approach the adjutant with whom he had exchanged bows, and
to enter into conversation with these officers, not for the sake of
letting Captains Obzhogoff and Suslikoff and Lieutenant Pashtetzky see
him talking with them, but simply because they were agreeable people,
and, what was more, they knew the news, and would have told it.
But why is Captain Mikhaïloff afraid, and why cannot he make up his
mind to approach them? “What if they should, all at once, refuse
to recognize me,” he thinks, “or, having bowed to me, what if they
continue their conversation among themselves, as though I did not
exist, or walk away from me entirely, and leave me standing there
alone among the _aristocrats_.” The word aristocrats (in the sense of
a higher, select circle, in any rank of life) has acquired for some
time past with us, in Russia, a great popularity, and has penetrated
into every locality and into every class of society whither vanity has
penetrated—among merchants, among officials, writers, and officers, to
Saratoff, to Mamaduish, to Vinnitz, everywhere where men exist.
To Captain Obzhogoff, Staff-Captain Mikhaïloff was an _aristocrat_. To
Staff-Captain Mikhaïloff, Adjutant Kalugin was an _aristocrat_, because
he was an adjutant, and was on such a footing with the other adjutants
as to call them “thou”! To Adjutant Kalugin, Count Nordoff was an
_aristocrat_, because he was an adjutant on the Emperor's staff.
Vanity! vanity! and vanity everywhere, even on the brink of the grave,
and among men ready to die for the highest convictions. Vanity! It
must be that it is a characteristic trait, and a peculiar malady of
our century. Why was nothing ever heard among the men of former days,
of this passion, any more than of the small-pox or the cholera? Why did
Homer and Shakespeare talk of love, of glory, of suffering, while the
literature of our age is nothing but an endless narrative of snobs and
vanity?
The staff-captain walked twice in indecision past the group of _his
aristocrats_, and the third time he exerted an effort over himself
and went up to them. This group consisted of four officers: Adjutant
Kalugin, an acquaintance of Mikhaïloff's, Adjutant Prince Galtsin,
who was something of an aristocrat even for Kalugin himself, Colonel
Neferdoff, one of the so-called _hundred and twenty-two_ men of the
world (who had entered the service for this campaign, from the retired
list), and Captain of Cavalry Praskukhin, also one of the hundred and
twenty-two. Luckily for Mikhaïloff, Kalugin was in a very fine humor
(the general had just been talking to him in a very confidential way,
and Prince Galtsin, who had just arrived from Petersburg, was stopping
with him); he did not consider it beneath his dignity to give his
hand to Captain Mikhaïloff, which Praskukhin, however, could not make
up his mind to do, though he had met Mikhaïloff very frequently on the
bastion, had drunk the latter's wine and vodka, and was even indebted
to him twenty rubles and a half at preference. As he did not yet know
Prince Galtsin very well, he did not wish to convict himself, in the
latter's presence, of an acquaintance with a simple staff-captain of
infantry. He bowed slightly to the latter.
“Well, Captain,” said Kalugin, “when are we to go to the bastion again?
Do you remember how we met each other on the Schvartz redoubt—it was
hot there, hey?”
“Yes, it was hot,” said Mikhaïloff, recalling how he had, that night,
as he was making his way along the trenches to the bastion, encountered
Kalugin, who was walking along like a hero, valiantly clanking his
sword. “I ought to have gone there to-morrow, according to present
arrangements; but we have a sick man,” pursued Mikhaïloff, “one
officer, as....”
He was about to relate how it was not his turn, but, as the commander
of the eighth company was ill, and the company had only a cornet
left, he had regarded it as his duty to offer himself in the place
of Lieutenant Nepshisetzky, and was, therefore, going to the bastion
to-day. But Kalugin did not hear him out.
“I have a feeling that something is going to happen within a few days,”
he said to Prince Galtsin.
“And won't there be something to-day?” asked Mikhaïloff, glancing first
at Kalugin, then at Galtsin.
No one made him any reply. Prince Galtsin merely frowned a little, sent
his eyes past the other's cap, and, after maintaining silence for a
moment, said:—
“That's a magnificent girl in the red kerchief. You don't know her, do
you, captain?”
“She lives near my quarters; she is the daughter of a sailor,” replied
the staff-captain.
“Come on; let's have a good look at her.”
And Prince Galtsin linked one arm in that of Kalugin, the other in that
of the staff-captain, being convinced in advance that he could afford
the latter no greater gratification, which was, in fact, quite true.
The staff-captain was superstitious, and considered it a great sin
to occupy himself with women before a battle; but on this occasion he
feigned to be a vicious man, which Prince Galtsin and Kalugin evidently
did not believe, and which greatly amazed the girl in the red kerchief,
who had more than once observed how the staff-captain blushed as he
passed her little window. Praskukhin walked behind, and kept touching
Prince Galtsin with his hand, and making various remarks in the French
tongue; but as a fourth person could not walk on the small path, he
was obliged to walk alone, and it was only on the second round that he
took the arm of the brave and well known naval officer _Servyagin_,
who had stepped up and spoken to him, and who was also desirous of
joining the circle of _aristocrats_. And the gallant and famous beau
joyfully thrust his honest and muscular hand through the elbow of a
man who was known to all, and even well known to Servyagin, as not
too nice. When Praskukhin, explaining to the prince his acquaintance
with _that sailor_, whispered to him that the latter was well known
for his bravery, Prince Galtsin, having been on the fourth bastion on
the previous evening, having seen a bomb burst twenty paces from him,
considering himself no less a hero than this gentleman, and thinking
that many a reputation is acquired undeservedly, paid no particular
attention to Servyagin.
It was so agreeable to Staff-Captain Mikhaïloff to walk about in this
company that he forgot the _dear_ letter from T——, and the gloomy
thoughts which had assailed him in connection with his impending
departure for the bastion. He remained with them until they began
to talk exclusively among themselves, avoiding his glances, thereby
giving him to understand that he might go, and finally deserted him
entirely. But the staff-captain was content, nevertheless, and as he
passed Yunker[E] Baron Pesth, who had been particularly haughty and
self-conceited since the preceding night, which was the first that he
had spent in the bomb-proof of the fifth bastion, and consequently
considered himself a hero, he was not in the least offended at the
presumptuous expression with which the yunker straightened himself up
and doffed his hat before him.
[E] A civilian, without military training, attached to a regiment as a
non-commissioned officer, who may eventually become a regular officer.