‘I, old fellow, am not in the ranks; smartness is not expected of me.’
‘He may drag his feet,’ added Lieutenant-Captain S., ‘but a private must skip.…’
‘What curious jokes!…’ said Guskov, almost in a whisper, with eyes cast down. The Adjutant evidently did not feel indifferent to his lodger, he watched keenly every word he uttered.
‘He’ll have to be sent to the ambuscades again,’ he said, addressing S., and winking towards the degraded one.
‘Well, then, tears will flow again,’ said S., laughing.
Guskov no longer looked at me, but pretended to be getting tobacco from the pouch which had long been empty.
‘Get ready to go to the outposts, old chap,’ said S., laughing, ‘the scouts have reported that the camp will be attacked tonight, so reliable lads will have to be told off.’
Guskov smiled undecidedly, as if preparing to say something, and cast several imploring looks at S.
‘Well, you know I have been before, and I shall go again if I am sent,’ muttered he.
‘Yes, and you will be sent!’
‘Well, and I’ll go. What of that?’
‘Yes, just as you did at Argun – ran away from the ambuscade and threw away your musket,’ said the Adjutant, and turning away from him began telling us about the order for the next day.
It was true that the enemy was expected to fire at the camp in the night, and a movement of some sort was to take place next day. After talking for a while on various subjects of general interest, the Adjutant, as if he had suddenly chanced to recollect it, proposed to Lieutenant O. to have a little game. The Lieutenant quite unexpectedly accepted and they went with S. and the Ensign to the Adjutant’s tent, where a green folding-table and cards were to be found. The Captain, who was commander of our division, went to his tent to sleep, the other gentlemen also went away and Guskov and I were left alone.
I had not been mistaken; I really felt uncomfortable alone with him, and I could not help rising and pacing up and down the battery. Guskov walked silently by my side, turning round hurriedly and nervously so as neither to lag behind nor pass before me.
‘I am not in your way?’ he said, in a meek, sad voice. As far as I could judge in the darkness his face seemed deeply thoughtful and melancholy.
‘Not at all,’ I answered, but as he did not begin to speak, and I did not know what to say to him, we walked a good while in silence.
The twilight was now quite replaced by the darkness of night, but over the black outlines of the mountains the sheet-lightnings so common there in the evening flashed brightly. Above our heads tiny stars twinkled in the pale-blue frosty sky, and the red flames of smoking camp-fires glared all around: the tents near us seemed grey, and the embankment of our battery a gloomy black. From the fire nearest to us, round which our orderlies sat warming themselves and talking low, a gleam now and then fell on the brass of our heavy guns and made visible the figure of the sentry, as, with his cloak thrown over his shoulders, he walked with measured steps along the embankment.
‘You can’t think what a relief it is to me to talk to a man like you!’ said Guskov, though he had not yet spoken to me about anything. ‘Only a man who has been in my position can understand it.’
I did not know what to answer, and again we were silent, though it was evident that he wished to speak out and I wished to hear him.
‘For what were you.… What was the cause of your misfortune?’ I asked at last, unable to think of any better way to start the conversation.
‘Did you not hear about the unfortunate affair with Metenin?’
‘Oh yes; a duel, I think. I heard some reference to it,’ I answered. ‘You see, I have been some time in the Caucasus.’
‘No, not a duel, but that stupid and terrible affair! I will tell you all about it if you have not heard it. It was the same year that you and I used to meet at my sister’s. I was then living in Petersburg. But first I must tell you that I then had what is called une position dans le monde,6 and a tolerably lucrative if not brilliant one. Mon père me donnait 10,000 par an.7 In ’49 I was promised a place in the embassy at Turin; an uncle on my mother’s side had influence and was always ready to give me a lift. It’s now a thing of the past. J’étais reçu dans la meilleure société de Pétersbourg: je pouvais prétendre8 to make a good match. I had learnt – as we all learn at school; so that I possessed no special education. It is true I read a good deal afterwards, mais j’avais surtout, you know, ce jargon du monde;9 and, whatever the cause, I was considered one of the leading young men in Petersburg. What raised me most in the general estimation, c’est cette liaison avec Mme D—,10 which was much talked of in Petersburg. But I was awfully young at the time and set little value on these advantages. I was simply young and foolish. What more did I need? At that time in Petersburg that fellow Metenin had a reputation.…’ And Guskov continued in this manner to tell me the story of his misfortune, which, being quite uninteresting, I will here omit.
‘Two months,’ continued he, ‘I was under arrest and quite alone. I don’t know what did not pass through my mind in that time; but, do you know, when it was all over, when it seemed as if every link with the past was severed, it became easier for me. Mon père, vous en avez entendu parler11 surely: he is a man with an iron will and firm convictions; il m’a deshérité12 and ceased all intercourse with me. According to his convictions it was the proper thing to do, and I do not blame him at all; il a été conséquent.13 And I also did not take a step to induce him to change his mind. My sister was abroad. Mme D— was the only one who wrote to me when letters were allowed, and she offered me help; but you will understand that I could not accept it, so that I had none of those trifles which somewhat mitigate such a position, you know – no books, no linen, no private food, nothing. Many, very many thoughts passed through my brain at that time and I began to look at everything with other eyes; for instance, all that noise and gossip about me in Petersburg society no longer interested or flattered me in the least; it all seemed ridiculous. I felt I was myself to blame; I had been careless and young and had spoilt my career, and my only thought was how to retrieve it. And I felt I had strength and energy enough to do it. After my arrest was over, I was, as I told you, sent to the Caucasus to the N— Regiment.
‘I thought that here, in the Caucasus,’ he continued, growing more and more animated, ‘la vie de camp,14 the simple, honest men with whom I should be in contact, the war, the dangers – all this would just suit my frame of mind and I thought I should begin life anew. On me verra au feu15 – people would like me, would respect me not for my name only; then I should receive a cross, become a non-commissioned officer and at last be pardoned and should return, et, vous savez, avec ce prestige du malheur!16 But quel désenchantement!17 You can’t think how I was mistaken! … You know the officer set of our regiment?’ He paused for some time, probably expecting me to say that I knew how bad the society of officers here is; but I did not reply to him. I was disgusted that – on account, no doubt, of my knowing French – he should suppose that I ought to despise the officer set, which on the contrary I, having lived long in the Caucasus, had fully learnt to appreciate, and which I esteemed a thousand times more than the society Mr Guskov had left. I wished to tell him so, but his position restrained me.
‘In the N— Regiment the officer set is a thousand times worse than here,’ he continued – ‘J’espère que c’est beaucoup dire,18 – so that you can’t imagine what it is like! Not to mention the cadets and the soldiers – it was just awful! At first I was well received, that’s perfectly true, but afterwards, when they saw I couldn’t help despising them – when in those scarcely noticeable everyday relations, you know, they saw that I was a totally different sort of man standing on a far higher level than they – they were exasperated with me and began to retaliate by subjecting me to all kinds of petty indignities. Ce que j’ai eu à souffrir, vous ne vous faites pas une idée.19 Then, being obliged to associate with the cadets; and above all, avec les petits moyens que j’avais, je manquais de tout,20 I had only what my sister sent me. A proof of what I have suffered is that I, with my character, avec ma fierté, j’ai écrit à mon père,21 imploring him to send me something, however little.… I can understand how after five years of such a life one may become like our cashiered officer Dromov, who drinks with the soldiers and writes notes to all the officers begging them to lend him three rubles, and signs himself, “Tout à vous, Dromov.” One needs a character like mine in order not to sink quite into the mire in this terrible position.’ He then walked silently by my side for a long time. ‘Avez-vous un papiros?’22 he said at last. ‘Yes, … where had I got to? Oh yes, I could not stand it. I don’t mean physically, for although it was bad enough and I suffered from cold and hunger and lived like a soldier, yet the officers still had a sort of regard for me. I still had a kind of prestige in their eyes. They did not send me to do sentry duty or drill. I could not have borne that. But morally I suffered terribly, and above all I could see no escape from this position. I wrote to my uncle imploring him to transfer me to this regiment, which is at least on active duty, and I thought that here Paul Dmitrich, qui est le fils de l’intendant de mon père,23 would be of use to me. My uncle did this much for me, and I was transferred. After that other regiment this seemed an assembly of courtiers. And Paul Dmitrich was here; he knew who I was, and I was capitally received—at my uncle’s request.… Guskov, vous savez. But I noticed that these people, without education or culture, cannot respect a man nor show him respect when he is not surrounded by an aureole of wealth and rank. I noticed how, little by little, when they saw that I was poor, their behaviour to me became more and more careless, and at last almost contemptuous. It is dreadful, but it is perfectly true.