Book: Stories by Foreign Authors: Russian

V >> Various >> Stories by Foreign Authors: Russian




"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 Dmitrievitch?" said
Guskof. "You tripped over them yourself the other day."

"I, old man, [Footnote: batiushka]--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 tete-a-tete
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 pere 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'etais recu dans la meilleure
societe 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 pere,--you have heard tell of him, of
course, a man of iron will and strong convictions,--il m'a desherite,
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. [Footnote: On me verra au feu.] 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
desenchantement! 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'ESPERE 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. [Footnote: CE QUE J'AI EUA
SOUFFRIR VOUS NE FAITES PAS UNE IDEE.] Then this forced relationship
with the yunkers, and especially with the small means that I had--I
lacked everything; [Footnote: AVEC LES PETITS MOYENS QUE J'AVAIS, JE
MANQUAIS DE TOUT] 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 FIERTE J'AI ECRIS A MON PERE, 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 A
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?" [Footnote: "Avez-vous un papiros?"] he asked me.

"And so I stayed 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 Dmitrievitch, qui est le fils de
l'intendant de mon pere, 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 Dmitrievitch 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
despise 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," [Footnote: On m'a vu au feu.] 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
Antonof reduced to the ranks for drunkenness, and any minute from behind
the bush may come a rifle-shot and hit you or Antonof,--it's all the
same which. That is not bravery; it's horrible, c'est affreux, it's
killing!" [Footnote: Ca tue]

"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 Dmitrievitch; cards, low jokes, drinking
all the time; if you wish to tell anything 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 a 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 Nikita 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 Nikita, 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, Nikita 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. Everything 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 anything 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
etes audessus 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 preter dix rubles argent? My sister ought to send me some
by the mail, et mon pere--"

"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 Nikita's care. "In a
moment," said I, arising, "I will go and get it at the tent."

"No, by and by: ne vous derangez pas."

Nevertheless, not heeding him, I hastened to the closed tent, where
stood my bed, and where the captain was sleeping.

"Aleksei Ivanuitch, 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, [Footnote: Denshchik.]
"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 . . . Nikita, haven't we any of that red Kavkas
wine [Footnote: Chikir] left?" I asked, very much enlivened by Guskof's
conversational talent. Nikita 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
gaiete 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 those 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
anything, 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! [Footnote: AKH, BOZHE MOI, BOZHE MOI.] 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. [Footnote: ET JE N'AI PAS LA TETE
FORTE.] There was a time when I lived on Morskaia Street, AU REZ-DE-
CHAUSSEE, 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, 5 heures regulierement. I used to go
and dine with her; often she was alone. Il faut avouer que c'etait une
femme ravissante! You didn't know her at all, did you?"

"No."

"You see, there was such 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 a 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 for ever. Je suis casse.
There's no energy in me, no pride, nothing--nor even any rank. . . .
[Footnote: Blagorodstva, noble birth, nobility.] 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 dignite 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 Antonof were
killed,--a being not different from an animal--and that it might easily
happen that I and not this Antonof were killed, which is always UNE
FATALITE 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
anything 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.

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