Short Fiction by Leo Tolstoy (book reader for pc TXT) 📕

contemptible and scarcely worthy of being considered probable, and everything connected with the Caucasus was divided into two halves: ours and not ours. The first he loved, the second he hated with all the power of his soul; but above all he was a man of steeled, calm courage, wonderfully kind in his behaviour to his comrades and subordinates, and desperately frank and even rude, to aides-de-camp and “Bonjourists,” for whom, for some reason, he had a great dislike. On entering the hut he nearly caved the roof in with his head, then suddenly sank down and sat on the ground.

“Well?” he said, and then suddenly remarking me, whom he did not know, he stopped and gazed at me with a dull, fixed look.

“Well, and what have you been conversing about?” asked the Major, taking out his watch and looking at it, though I am perfectly certain he had no need to.

“Why, I’ve been asked my reasons for serving here⁠—”

“Of course. Nicholas Fedorovich wishes to distinguish himself here, and then to return home,” said the Major.

“Well, and you, Abram Ilyich,” said Bolhov, addressing Kirsanov, “tell me why you are serving in the Caucasus.”

“I serve because, in the first place, as you know, it is everyone’s duty to serve.⁠ ⁠… What?” he then added, though no one had spoken. “I had a letter from Russia yesterday, Nicholas Fedorovich,” he continued, evidently wishing to change the subject; “they write that⁠ ⁠… they ask such strange questions.”

“What questions?” asked Bolhov.

The Major began laughing.

“Very queer questions.⁠ ⁠… They ask, can jealousy exist where there is no love.⁠ ⁠… What?” he asked, turning round and glancing at us all.

“Dear me!” said Bolhov, with a smile.

“Yes, you know, it is nice in Russia,” continued the Major, just as if his sentences flowed naturally from one another. “When I was in Tambov in ’52, they received me everywhere as if I had been some emperor’s aide-de-camp. Will you believe it, that at a ball at the Governor’s, when I came in, you know⁠ ⁠… well, they received me very well. The General’s wife herself, you know, talked to me, and asked me about the Caucasus, and everybody was⁠ ⁠… so that I hardly knew.⁠ ⁠… They examined my gold sabre as if it were some curiosity; they asked for what I had received the sabre, for what the Ann, for what the Vladimir⁠ ⁠… so I just told them.⁠ ⁠… What? That’s what the Caucasus is good for, Nicholas Fedorovich!” he continued, without waiting for any reply:⁠—“There they think very well of us Caucasians. You know a young man that’s a staff-officer and has an Ann and a Vladimir⁠ ⁠… that counts for a good deal in Russia.⁠ ⁠… What?”

“And you, no doubt, piled it on a bit, Abram Ilyich?” said Bolhov.

“He⁠—he!” laughed the Major, stupidly. “You know one has to do that. And didn’t I feed well those two months!”

“And tell me, is it nice there in Russia?” said Trosenko, inquiring about Russia as though it were China or Japan.

“Yes, and the champagne we drank those two months, it was awful!”

“Eh, nonsense! You’ll have drunk nothing but lemonade. There now, I’d have burst to let them see how Caucasians drink. I’d have given them something to talk about. I’d have shown them how one drinks; eh, Bolhov?” said Trosenko.

“But you, Daddy, have been more than ten years in the Caucasus,” said Bolhov, “and you remember what Ermolov15 said?⁠ ⁠… And Abram Ilyich has been only six.”

“Ten indeed!⁠ ⁠… nearly sixteen.⁠ ⁠… Well, Bolhov, let us have some sage-vodka. It’s damp, b-r-r-r!⁠ ⁠… Eh?” said Trosenko, smiling, “Will you have a drink, Major?”

But the Major had been displeased by the old Captain’s first remarks to him, and plainly drew back and sought refuge in his own grandeur. He hummed something, and again looked at his watch.

“For my part, I shall never go there!” Trosenko continued without heeding the Major’s frowns. “I have lost the habit of speaking and walking in the Russian way. They’d ask, ‘What curious creature is this coming here? Asia, that’s what it is.’ Am I right, Nicholas Fedorovich? Besides, what have I to go to Russia for? What does it matter? I shall be shot here some day. They’ll ask, ‘Where’s Trosenko?’ ‘Shot!’ What will you do with the 8th Company then, eh?” he added, always addressing the Major.

“Send the officer on duty!” shouted the Major, without answering the Captain, though I again felt sure there was no need for him to give any orders.

“And you, young man, are glad, I suppose, to be drawing double pay?”16 said the Major, turning to the Adjutant of the battalion after some moments of silence.

“Yes, sir, very glad of course.”

“I think our pay now very high, Nicholas Fedorovich,” continued the Major; “a young man can live very decently, and even permit himself some small luxuries.”

“No, really, Abram Ilyich,” said the Adjutant bashfully. “Though it’s double it’s barely enough. You see, one must have a horse.”

“What are you telling me, young man? I have been an ensign myself and know. Believe me, one can live very well with care. But there! count it up,” added he, bending the little finger of his left hand.

“We always draw our salaries in advance; isn’t that account enough for you?” said Trosenko, emptying a glass of vodka.

“Well, yes, but what do you expect.⁠ ⁠… What?”

Just then a white head with a flat nose thrust itself into the opening of the hut, and a sharp voice said with a German accent⁠—

“Are you here, Abram Ilyich? The officer on duty is looking for you.”

“Come in, Kraft!” said Bolhov.

A long figure in the uniform of the general staff crept in at the door, and began shaking hands all round with peculiar fervour.

“Ah, dear Captain, are you here too?” said he, turning to Trosenko.

In spite of the darkness the new visitor made his way to the Captain, and to the latter’s extreme surprise and dismay, as it seemed to me, kissed him on the lips.

“This is a German trying to be hail fellow well met,”