‘Here I have been in action, have fought, on m’a vu au feu,’24 he continued, ‘but when will it end? Never, I think! And my strength and energy are beginning to fail. And then I had imagined la guerre, la vie de camp,25 but it turns out to be quite different from what I expected: dressed in a sheepskin, in soldier’s boots, unwashed, you are sent to the outposts and He all night in a ditch with some Antonov or other who has been sent into the army for drunkenness, and at any moment you may be shot from behind a bush – you or Antonov, all the same.… That is not courage! It is horrible. C’est affreux, ça tue.’26
‘Well, but you may be made a non-commissioned officer for this expedition, and next year may become an ensign,’ I said.
‘Yes, possibly. I was promised it, but that would be another two years and it is very doubtful. And does anyone realize what two such years mean? Just imagine the life with this Paul Dmitrich: gambling, rough jokes, dissipation.… You want to speak out about something that has risen in your soul, but you are not understood or you are laughed at. They talk to you not to communicate their thoughts, but to make a fool of you if possible. And it’s all so vulgar, coarse, horrid; and all the time you feel you are a private – they always make you feel that. That is why you can’t imagine what a pleasure it is to talk à cœur ouvert27 to a man like you!’
I could not imagine what sort of a man I was supposed to be and therefore did not know how to reply to him.
‘Will you have supper?’ at this moment asked Nikita, who had approached unseen in the darkness, and who, I noticed, was not pleased at the presence of my visitor: ‘there’s nothing but dumplings and a little beef left.’
‘And has the Captain had his supper?’
‘He’s asleep long ago,’ said Nikita, crossly.
On my telling him to bring us something to eat and some vodka, he muttered discontentedly and went slowly to his tent. However, after grumbling there a bit, he brought us the cellaret, on which he placed a candle (round which he first tied a piece of paper to keep the wind off), a saucepan, a pot of mustard, a tin cup with a handle, and a bottle of vodka bitters. Having arranged all this, Nikita stood some time near us and watched with evident disapproval while Guskov and I drank some of the spirit. By the dim light of the candle shining through the paper the only things one could see amid the surrounding darkness were the sealskin with which the cellaret was covered, the supper standing on it, and Guskov’s face, his sheepskin coat, and the little red hands with which he took the dumplings out of the saucepan. All around was black, and only by looking intently could one discern the black battery, the equally black figure of the sentry visible over the breastwork, the camp-fires around, and the reddish stars above. Guskov smiled just perceptibly in a sad and bashful way as if it were awkward for him to look me in the eyes after his confession. He drank another cup of vodka and ate greedily, scraping out the saucepan.
‘Yes, it must at any rate be some relief to you,’ I remarked, in order to say something, ‘to be acquainted with the Adjutant; I have heard he is a very decent fellow.’
‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘he is a kind-hearted man, but he can’t help being what he is; he can’t be a man, with his education one can’t expect it,’ and he suddenly seemed to blush. ‘You noticed his coarse jokes to-day about the ambuscades.’ And Guskov, in spite of my repeated efforts to turn the conversation, began to justify himself to me and to demonstrate that he did not run away from the ambuscades, and that he was not a coward as the Adjutant and Captain S. wished to imply.
‘As I told you,’ he said, wiping his hands on his sheepskin, ‘people of that kind can’t be considerate to a man who is a private and who has but little money: that is beyond them. And these last five months, during which it has somehow happened that I have received nothing from my sister, I have noticed how they have changed towards me. This sheepskin I bought of a soldier, and which is so worn that there is no warmth in it’ (here he showed me the bare skirt of the coat), ‘does not inspire him with sympathy or respect for my misfortunes, but only contempt which he is unable to conceal. However great my need, as, for instance, at the present time, when I have nothing to eat except the soldiers’ buckwheat, and nothing to wear,’ he continued, seemingly abashed, and pouring out for himself yet another cup of vodka, ‘he does not think of offering to lend me any money, although he knows that I should certainly repay him, but he waits that I, in my position, should ask him for it. You understand what it would mean for me to have to go to him. Now, to you, for instance, I could say quite straight: Vous êtes au-dessus de cela, mon cher, je n’ai pas le sou.28 And do you know,’ said he, looking desperately into my eyes, ‘I tell you straight, I am now in terrible difficulties; pouvez-vous me prêter dix roubles argent?29 My sister must send me something by the next mail, et mon père.…’