XIII

The picnic gave no promise of being anything like so pleasant and

cheerful as one might have expected from the party's high spirits at the

start. After driving three _versts_, they halted and got out at

Dubetschnaia. By this name was designated a piece of ground hardly

fifteen _dessyatins_ in extent, which, sparsely covered with proud,

century-old oaks, slowly slanted down towards the strand of a little

river. Close thickets of bushes were arrayed beside the mighty trees,

and these, here and there, formed a charming frame for the small open

spaces covered by the fresh and delicate greenery of spring. In a

similar idyllic spot in the oak-woods, servants and footmen, sent on in

advance, waited with samovars and baskets.

The company assembled around the white tablecloths spread on the grass.

The ladies produced plates and cold meat, and the gentlemen helped them,

amidst jokes and flirtations. Olisár dressed himself up as a cook by

putting on a couple of serviettes as cap and apron. After much fun and

ceremony, the difficult problem of placing the guests was solved, in

which entered the indispensable condition that the ladies should have a

gentleman on each side. The guests half-reclined or half-sat in rather

uncomfortable positions, which was appreciated by all as being something

new and interesting, and which finally caused the ever-silent

Lieschtschenko to astonish those present, amidst general laughter, by

the following famous utterance: "Here we lie, just like the old Greek

Romans."

Shurochka had on one side Taliman, on the other side Romashov. She was

unusually cheerful and talkative, nay, sometimes in such high spirits

that the attention of many was called to it. Romashov had never found

her so bewitching before. He thought he noticed in her something new,

something emotional and passionate, which feverishly sought an outlet.

Sometimes she turned without a word to Romashov and gazed at him

intently for half a second longer than was strictly proper, and he felt

then that a force, mysterious, consuming, and overpowering, gleamed from

her eyes.

Osadchi, who sat by himself at the end of the improvised table, got on

his knees. After tapping his knife against the glass and requesting

silence, he said, in a deep bass voice, the heavy waves of sound from

which vibrated in the pure woodland air--

"Gentlemen, let us quaff the first beaker in honour of our fair hostess,

whose name-day it is. May God vouchsafe her every good--and the rank of

a General's consort."

And after he had raised the great glass, he shouted with all the force

of his powerful voice--

"Hurrah!"

It seemed as if all the trees in the vicinity sighed and drooped under

this deafening howl, which resembled the thunder's boom and the lion's

roar, and the echo of which died away between the oaks' thick trunks.

Andrusevich, who sat next to Osadchi, fell backwards with a comic

expression of terror, and pretended to be slightly deaf during the

remainder of the banquet. The gentlemen got up and clinked their glasses

with Shurochka's. Romashov purposely waited to the last, and she

observed it. Whilst Shurochka turned towards him, she, silently and with

a passionate smile, held forward her glass of white wine. In that moment

her eyes grew wider and darker, and her lips moved noiselessly, just as

if she had clearly uttered a certain word; but, directly afterwards, she

turned round laughing to Taliman, and began an animated conversation

with him. "What did she say?" thought Romashov. "What word was it that

she would not or dared not say aloud?" He felt nervous and agitated,

and, secretly, he made an attempt to give his lips the same form and

expression as he had just observed with Shurochka, in order, by that

means, to guess what she said; but it was fruitless. "Romochka?"

"Beloved?" "I love?" No, that wasn't it. Only one thing he knew for

certain, viz., that the mysterious word had three syllables.

After that he drank with Nikoläiev, and wished him success on the

General Staff, as if it were a matter of course that Nikoläiev would

pass his examination. Then came the usual, inevitable toasts of "the

ladies present," of "women in general," the "glorious colours of the

regiment," of the "ever-victorious Russian Army," etc.

Now up sprang Taliman, who was already very elevated, and screamed in

his hoarse, broken falsetto, "Gentlemen, I propose the health of our

beloved, idolized sovereign, for whom we are all ready at any time to

sacrifice our lives to the last drop of our blood."

At the last words his voice failed him completely. The bandit look in

his dark brown, gipsy eyes faded, and tears moistened his brown cheeks.

"The hymn to the Tsar," shouted little fat Madame Andrusevich. All

arose. The officers raised their hands to the peaks of their caps.

Discordant, untrained, exultant voices rang over the neighbourhood, but

worse and more out of tune than all the rest screamed the sentimental

Staff-Captain Lieschtschenko, whose expression was even more melancholy

than usual.

They now began drinking hard, as, for the matter of that, the officers

always did when they forgathered at mess, at each other's homes, at

excursions and picnics, official dinners, etc. All talked at once, and

individual voices could no longer be distinguished. Shurochka, who had

drunk a good deal of white wine, suddenly leaned her head near Romashov.

Her cheeks and lips glowed, and the dark pupils of her beaming eyes had

now attained an almost black hue.

"I can't stand these provincial picnics," she exclaimed. "They are

always so vulgar, mean, and wearisome. I was, of course, obliged to give

a party before my husband started for his examination, but, good

gracious! why could we not have stayed at home and enjoyed ourselves in

our pretty, shady garden? Such a stupid notion. And yet to-day, I don't

know why, I am so madly happy. Ah, Romochka, I know the reason; I know

it, and will tell you afterwards. Oh, no! No, no, Romochka, that is not

true. I know nothing--absolutely nothing."

Her beautiful eyes were half-closed, and her face, full of alluring,

promising, and tormenting impatience, had become shamelessly beautiful,

and Romashov, though he hardly understood what it meant, was

instinctively conscious of the passionate emotion which possessed

Shurochka and felt a sweet thrill run down his arms and legs and through

his heart.

"You are so wonderful to-day--has anything happened?" he asked in a

whisper.

She answered straightway with an expression of innocent helplessness. "I

have already told you--I don't know--I can't explain it. Look at the

sky. It's blue, but why? It is the same with me. Romochka, dear boy,

pour me out some more wine."

At the opposite side of the tablecloth an exciting conversation was

carried on with regard to the intended war with Germany, which was then

regarded by many as almost a certainty. Soon an irritable, senseless

quarrel arose about it, which was, however, suddenly interrupted by

Osadchi's furious, thundering, dictatorial voice. He was almost drunk,

but the only signs of it were the terrible pallor of his handsome face

and the lowering gaze of his large black eyes.

"Rubbish!" he screamed wildly. "What do you really mean by war nowadays?

War has been spoilt, transmogrified, and everything else, for the matter

of that. Children are born idiots, women are stunted, badly brought-up

creatures, and men have--nerves. 'Ugh, blood, blood! Oh, I shall

faint,'" he imitated in an insulting, mockingly pitiful tone. "And all

this only because the real, ferocious and merciless character of war has

changed. Now, can this be called war when you fire a couple of shots at

the enemy at a distance of fifteen _versts_, and then return home in

triumph as a hero? Pretty heroes! You are taken prisoner, and then they

say to you: 'My poor friend, how are you? Are you cold? Would you like

a cigarette? Are you quite comfortable?' Damn it all!" Osadchi gave vent

to a few inarticulate roars and lowered his head like a mad bull ready

to attack. "In the Middle Ages, gentlemen, things were quite different.

Night attacks--storming ladders and naked weapons--murder and

conflagration everywhere. 'Soldiers, the town is yours for three days.'

The slaughter begins, torch and sword perform their office; in the

streets streams of blood and wine. Oh, glorious festival of brave men

amidst bleeding corpses and smoking ruins, beautiful, naked, weeping

women dragged by their hair to the victor's feet."

"Anyhow, you haven't changed much," interrupted Sofia Pavlovna Taliman

jokingly.

"All the town a river of fire, the tempest sporting at night with the

bodies of hanged men; vultures shriek and the victor lords it by the

campfires beneath the gallows tree. Why take prisoners and waste time

and strength for them? Ugh!" Osadchi, with teeth clenched, groaned like

a wild beast. "Grand and glorious days! What fights! Eye to eye and

chest to chest. An uninterrupted slaughter for hours, till the

cold-blooded tenacity and discipline of one party, coupled with

invincible fury, brought victory. And what fights then! What courage,

what physical strength, and what superior dexterity in the use of

weapons! Gentlemen"--Osadchi arose in all his gigantic stature and in

his terrible voice insolence and cold-bloodedness reigned--"gentlemen, I

know that from your military colleges have issued morbid, crazy phrases

about what's called 'humanity in war,' etc., etc. But I drink at this

moment--even if I am to drain my glass by myself--to the wars of bygone

days and the joyful, bloody cruelty of old times."

All were silent, hypnotized and cowed by this unexpected horrible

ecstasy of an otherwise reserved and taciturn man, whom they now

regarded with a feeling of terror and curiosity. At that moment

Biek-Agamalov jumped up from where he was sitting. He did this so

quickly and suddenly that he alarmed several who were present, and one

of the ladies uttered a cry of terror. His widely staring eyes flashed

wildly, and his white, clenched teeth resembled a beast of prey's. He

seemed to be nearly stifled, and he could not find words.

"Oh, see! here's one who understands and rejoices at what you have said.

Ugh!" With convulsive energy, nay, almost furiously, he grasped and

shook Osadchi's hand. "To hell with all these weak, cowardly, squeamish

wretches! Out with the sabre and hew them down!"

His bloodshot eyes sought an object suitable as a vent for his flaming

rage. His naturally cruel instincts had at this moment thrown off their

mask. Like a madman he slashed at the oak-copse with his naked sword.

Mutilated branches and young leaves rained down on the tablecloth and

guests.

"Lieutenant Biek! Madman! Are you out of your mind?" screamed the

ladies.

Biek-Agamalov pulled himself together and returned to his place, visibly

much ashamed of his barbaric behaviour; but his delicate nostrils rose

and fell with his quick breathings, and his black eyes, wild with

suppressed rage, looked loweringly and defiantly at the company.

Romashov had heard, and yet not heard, Osadchi's speech. He felt, as it

were, stupefied by a narcotic, but celestially delightful, intoxicating

drink, and he thought that a warm spider, as soft as velvet, had been

spinning softly and cautiously round him with its web, and gently

tickled his body till he almost died of an inward, exultant laughter. His

hand lightly brushed--and each time as though unintentionally--Shurochka's

arm, but neither she nor he attempted to look at each other. Romashov

was quite lost in the land of dreams, when the sound of Biek-Agamalov's

and Osadchi's voices reached him, but as though they came from a

distant, fantastic mist. The actual words he could understand, but they

seemed to him empty and devoid of any intelligent meaning.

"Osadchi is a cruel man and he does not like me," thought Romashov.

"Osadchi's wife is a creature to be pitied--small, thin, and every year

in an interesting condition. He never takes her out with him. Last year

a young soldier in Osadchi's company hanged himself--Osadchi? Who is

this Osadchi? See now, Biek, too, is shrieking and making a row. What

sort of a man is he? Do I know him? Ah, of course I know him, and yet he

is so strange to me, so wonderful and incomprehensible. But who are you

who are sitting beside me?--from whom such joy and happiness beam that I

am intoxicated with this happiness. There sits Nikoläiev opposite me. He

looks displeased, and sits there in silence all the time. He glances

here as if accidentally, and his eyes glide over me with cold contempt.

He is, methinks, much embittered. Well, I have no objection--may he have

his revenge! Oh, my delicious happiness!"

It began to grow dark. The lilac shadows of the trees stole slowly over

the plain. The youngest Miss Michin suddenly called out--

"Gentlemen, where are the violets? Here on this very spot they are said

to grow in profusion. Come, let us find some and gather them."

"It's too late," some one objected. "It's impossible to see them in the

grass now."

"Yes, it is easier to lose a thing now than to find it," interposed

Ditz, with a cynical laugh.

"Well, anyhow, let us light a bonfire," proposed Andrusevich.

They at once set about eagerly collecting and forming into a pile an

enormous quantity of dry branches, twigs, and leaves that had been lying

there from last year. The bonfire was lighted, and a huge pillar of

merrily-crackling, sparkling flame arose against the sky. At the same

instant, as though terror-stricken, the last glimpse of daylight left

the place a prey to the darkness which swiftly arose from the forest

gloom. Purple gleaming spots shyly trembled in the oaks' leafy crests,

and the trees seemed at one time to hurry forward with curiosity in the

full illumination from the fire, at another time to hasten as quickly

back to the dark coverts of the grove.

All got up from their places on the grass. The servants lighted the

candles in the many-coloured Chinese lanterns. The young officers played

and raced like schoolboys. Olisár wrestled with Michin, and to the

astonishment of all the insignificant, clumsy Michin threw his tall,

well-built adversary twice in succession on his back. After this the

guests began leaping right across the fire. Andrusevich displayed some

of his tricks. At one time he imitated the noise of a fly buzzing

against a window, at another time he showed how a poultry-maid attempted

to catch a fugitive cock, lastly, he disappeared in the darkness among

the bushes, from which was heard directly afterwards the sharp rustle of

a saw or grindstone. Even Ditz condescended to show his dexterity, as a

juggler, with empty bottles.

"Allow me, ladies and gentlemen," cried Taliman, "to perform a little

innocent conjuring trick. This is no question of a marvellous

witchcraft, but only quickness and dexterity. I will ask the

distinguished audience to convince themselves that I have not hidden

anything in my hands or coat-sleeves. Well, now we begin, one, two,

three--hey, presto!"

With a rapid movement, and, amidst general laughter, he took from his

pocket two new packs of cards, which, with a little bang, he quickly and

deftly freed from their wrapper.

"_Preference_, gentlemen," he suggested. "A little game, if you like, in

the open air. How would that do, eh?"

Osadchi, Nikoläiev, and Andrusevich sat down to cards, and with a deep

and sorrowful sigh, Lieschtschenko stationed himself, as usual, behind

the players. Nikoläiev refused to join the game, and stood out for some

time, but gave way at last. As he sat down he looked about him several

times in evident anxiety, searching with his eyes for Shurochka, but the

gleam of the fire blinded him, and a scowling, worried expression became

fixed on his face.

Romashov pursued a narrow path amongst the trees. He neither understood

nor knew what was awaiting him, but he felt in his heart a vaguely

oppressive but, nevertheless, delicious anguish whilst waiting for

something that was to happen. He stopped. Behind him he heard a slight

rustling of branches, and, after that, the sound of quick steps and the

_frou-frou_ of a silken skirt. Shurochka was approaching him with

hurried steps. She resembled a dryad when, in her white dress, she

glided softly forth between the dark trunks of the mighty oaks. Romashov

went up and embraced her without uttering a word. Shurochka was

breathing heavily and in gasps. Her warm breath often met Romashov's

cheeks and lips, and he felt beneath his hand her heart's violent

throbs.

"Let's sit here," whispered Shurochka.

She sank down on the grass, and began with both hands to arrange her

hair at the back. Romashov laid himself at her feet, but, as the ground

just there sloped downwards, he saw only the soft and delicate outlines

of her neck and chin.