The next day was a holiday. In the evening all the villagers, their
holiday clothes shining in the sunset, were out in the street. That
season more wine than usual had been produced, and the people were now
free from their labours. In a month the Cossacks were to start on a
campaign and in many families preparations were being made for
weddings.
Most of the people were standing in the square in front of the Cossack
Government Office and near the two shops, in one of which cakes and
pumpkin seeds were sold, in the other kerchiefs and cotton prints. On
the earth-embankment of the office-building sat or stood the old men in
sober grey, or black coats without gold trimmings or any kind of
ornament. They conversed among themselves quietly in measured tones,
about the harvest, about the young folk, about village affairs, and
about old times, looking with dignified equanimity at the younger
generation. Passing by them, the women and girls stopped and bent their
heads. The young Cossacks respectfully slackened their pace and raised
their caps, holding them for a while over their heads. The old men then
stopped speaking. Some of them watched the passers-by severely, others
kindly, and in their turn slowly took off their caps and put them on
again.
The Cossack girls had not yet started dancing their _khorovóds_, but
having gathered in groups, in their bright coloured _beshmets_ with
white kerchiefs on their heads pulled down to their eyes, they sat
either on the ground or on the earth-banks about the huts sheltered
from the oblique rays of the sun, and laughed and chattered in their
ringing voices. Little boys and girls playing in the square sent their
balls high up into the clear sky, and ran about squealing and shouting.
The half-grown girls had started dancing their _khorovóds_, and were
timidly singing in their thin shrill voices. Clerks, lads not in the
service, or home for the holiday, bright-faced and wearing smart white
or new red Circassian gold-trimmed coats, went about arm in arm in twos
or threes from one group of women or girls to another, and stopped to
joke and chat with the Cossack girls. The Armenian shopkeeper, in a
gold-trimmed coat of fine blue cloth, stood at the open door through
which piles of folded bright-coloured kerchiefs were visible and,
conscious of his own importance and with the pride of an Oriental
tradesman, waited for customers. Two red-bearded, barefooted Chéchens,
who had come from beyond the Térek to see the fête, sat on their heels
outside the house of a friend, negligently smoking their little pipes
and occasionally spitting, watching the villagers and exchanging
remarks with one another in their rapid guttural speech. Occasionally a
workaday-looking soldier in an old overcoat passed across the square
among the bright-clad girls. Here and there the songs of tipsy Cossacks
who were merry-making could already be heard. All the huts were closed;
the porches had been scrubbed clean the day before. Even the old women
were out in the street, which was everywhere sprinkled with pumpkin and
melon seed-shells. The air was warm and still, the sky deep and clear.
Beyond the roofs the dead-white mountain range, which seemed very near,
was turning rosy in the glow of the evening sun. Now and then from the
other side of the river came the distant roar of a cannon, but above
the village, mingling with one another, floated all sorts of merry
holiday sounds.
Olénin had been pacing the yard all that morning hoping to see
Maryánka. But she, having put on holiday clothes, went to Mass at the
chapel and afterwards sat with the other girls on an earth-embankment
cracking seeds; sometimes again, together with her companions, she ran
home, and each time gave the lodger a bright and kindly look. Olénin
felt afraid to address her playfully or in the presence of others. He
wished to finish telling her what he had begun to say the night before,
and to get her to give him a definite answer. He waited for another
moment like that of yesterday evening, but the moment did not come, and
he felt that he could not remain any longer in this uncertainty. She
went out into the street again, and after waiting awhile he too went
out and without knowing where he was going he followed her. He passed
by the corner where she was sitting in her shining blue satin
_beshmet_, and with an aching heart he heard behind him the girls
laughing.
Belétski’s hut looked out onto the square. As Olénin was passing it he
heard Belétski’s voice calling to him, “Come in,” and in he went.
After a short talk they both sat down by the window and were soon
joined by Eróshka, who entered dressed in a new _beshmet_ and sat down
on the floor beside them.
“There, that’s the aristocratic party,” said Belétski, pointing with
his cigarette to a brightly coloured group at the corner. “Mine is
there too. Do you see her? in red. That’s a new _beshmet_. Why don’t
you start the _khorovód?_” he shouted, leaning out of the window. “Wait
a bit, and then when it grows dark let us go too. Then we will invite
them to Ústenka’s. We must arrange a ball for them!”
“And I will come to Ústenka’s,” said Olénin in a decided tone. “Will
Maryánka be there?”
“Yes, she’ll be there. Do come!” said Belétski, without the least
surprise. “But isn’t it a pretty picture?” he added, pointing to the
motley crowds.
“Yes, very!” Olénin assented, trying to appear indifferent.
“Holidays of this kind,” he added, “always make me wonder why all these
people should suddenly be contented and jolly. Today for instance, just
because it happens to be the fifteenth of the month, everything is
festive. Eyes and faces and voices and movements and garments, and the
air and the sun, are all in a holiday mood. And we no longer have any
holidays!”
“Yes,” said Belétski, who did not like such reflections.
“And why are you not drinking, old fellow?” he said, turning to
Eróshka.
Eróshka winked at Olénin, pointing to Belétski. “Eh, he’s a proud one
that _kunak_ of yours,” he said.
Belétski raised his glass.
“_Allah birdy!_” he said, emptying it. (_Allah birdy_, “God has
given!”—the usual greeting of Caucasians when drinking together.)
“_Sau bul_” (“Your health”), answered Eróshka smiling, and emptied his
glass.
“Speaking of holidays!” he said, turning to Olénin as he rose and
looked out of the window, “What sort of holiday is that! You should
have seen them make merry in the old days! The women used to come out
in their gold-trimmed _sarafáns_. Two rows of gold coins hanging round
their necks and gold-cloth diadems on their heads, and when they passed
they made a noise, ‘flu, flu,’ with their dresses. Every woman looked
like a princess. Sometimes they’d come out, a whole herd of them, and
begin singing songs so that the air seemed to rumble, and they went on
making merry all night. And the Cossacks would roll out a barrel into
the yards and sit down and drink till break of day, or they would go
hand-in-hand sweeping the village. Whoever they met they seized and
took along with them, and went from house to house. Sometimes they used
to make merry for three days on end. Father used to come home—I still
remember it—quite red and swollen, without a cap, having lost
everything: he’d come and lie down. Mother knew what to do: she would
bring him some fresh caviar and a little _chikhir_ to sober him up, and
would herself run about in the village looking for his cap. Then he’d
sleep for two days! That’s the sort of fellows they were then! But now
what are they?”
“Well, and the girls in the _sarafáns_, did they make merry all by
themselves?” asked Belétski.
“Yes, they did! Sometimes Cossacks would come on foot or on horse and
say, ‘Let’s break up the _khorovóds_,’ and they’d go, but the girls
would take up cudgels. Carnival week, some young fellow would come
galloping up, and they’d cudgel his horse and cudgel him too. But he’d
break through, seize the one he loved, and carry her off. And his
sweetheart would love him to his heart’s content! Yes, the girls in
those days, they were regular queens!”