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LIBRARY OF SOVIET LITERATURE

KEY TO PRS?!C1PAL CHARACTERS ASTAKHOV. STEPAN. ASTAKHOVA, AKSIiNYA. Stepan. BUNCHUK, ILYA. FOMIN, YAKOV YEFIMOVICH. A Cossack command- er, f.t Red, tlien leader a White bandit group. KALMYKOV, White Guard KAPARlN. Captain. Red Afterwards Fomin's chief of staff. KOPYLOV, MIKHAIL GRIGORYEVICH. Captain. Chief GRISHAKA. An MIRON GRIGORYEVICH, Melekhova. KORSHUNOVA, iVlARYA LUKINICHNA. Miron. DIMITRY MIRONOVICH (Mitka). of Miron and Marya Korshunov. KORSHUNOVA, AGRIPPINA MIRONOVNA. Daugh- ter of Miron and Marya. KOSHEVOI, MIKHAIL (Misha). A Red KOTLYAROV, IVAN ALEXEYEVICH. A Red Cossack; KRIVOSHLYKOV. KUDINOV. Commander insurgent LISTNITSKY, NIKOLAI ALEXEYEVICH. land- owner, LISTNITSKY, YEVGENY NIKOLAYEVICH. Nikolai Listnitsky, Wliite MELEKHOV, PANTELEI PROKOFYEVICH.

MELEKHOVA, ILYINICHNA. Wife of Pantelei. PYOTR PANTELEYEVICH. Panlelei'S a Cossack GRIGORY PANTELEYEVICH (Grisha). younger mander insurgent division. MELEKHOVA, YEVDOKIYA PANTELEYEVNA (Du- nya). daughter. MELEKHOVA, DARYA. of Pyotr MELEKHOVA, NATALYA, Wife Grigory Melekhov; MELEKHOVA, POLYA (Polyushka). Daughter gory and MISHATKA. Na- talya. MOKHOV, SERGEI PLATONOVICH. Shopkeeper mill-owner of Tatarsky. MOKHOVA, YELIZAVETA SERGEYEVNA (Liza). Ser- gei's daughter. PODTYOLKOV. A Cossack Commander of Red Cossack POGUDKO, ANNA. Machine-gunner Bunchuk's SHAMIL, MARTIN, ALEXEI PROKHOR. sacks, STOCKMAN. OSIP DAVYDOVICH. Communist organizer. TIMOFEI, "Knave." Scalesman mill. TOKIN, CHRISTONYA. A Cossack. ZYKOV, PROKHOR. Melekhov,

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MIKHAIL SHOLOKHOV AND QUIET FLOWS THE DON A NOVEL IN FOUR BOOKS BOOK ONE FOREIGN LANGUAGES PUBLISHING HOUSE MOSCOW

A TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN BY STEPHEN GARRY REVISED AND COMPLETED BY ROBERT DAGLISH DESIGNED BY O. VEREISKY AND Y. KOPYLOV

v.l BOOK ONE

Not by the plough glorious earth furrowed. Our turrowed by hoots. And sown is our earth with the heads of Cossacks. Fair is our quiet Don with young widows. Our quiet Don, blossoms orphans. the waves quiet Don fathers' and mothers' Oh thou, quiet Don! Oh why dost thou, our quiet Don, so sludgy flow? How should quiet Don, but sludgy Row! From my springs beat. Amid quiet Don, lohite leap. Songs.

PART ONE T Melekhov farm was very end village. The gate cattle-yard opened northward towards the Don, A steep, fifty-foot slope between chalky, moss- grown banks, and there was the shore. A pearly drift mussel-shells, edging of wave-kissed shingle, and then-the steel-blue, rippling surface wind. To willow-wattle fences threshing-floors-the Hetman's high- grizzled wormwood scrub, hardy greyish-brown, hoof-trodden plantain, cross standing at the fork of the road, and then steppe, enveloped shifting haze. To south, a chalky ridge of hills. To the west, street, crossing the square and nmning towards the leas. The Cossack Prokofy Melekhov returned village during the war but //

Turkey, He brought back a wife-a little woman wrapped from head to foot in a shawl. She kept her face covered, and rarely revealed her wild, yearning eyes. The silken shawl bore the scent of strange, aromatic perfumes; its rainbow-hued patterns aroused the envy of the Cossack wom- en. The captive Turkish woman aloof relations, and before Melekhov gave his son his portion. All his the old man refused to set foot inside his son's house; he never got over the disgrace. Prokofy speedily made shift for himself; penters built him a house, he himself fenced in the cattle-yard, and in the early autumn he took his bowed foreign wife to her new home. He village, behind the cart laden with their worldly goods. Every- body, from oldest to the youngest, rushed street. The men laughed discreetly into their beards, the women passed vociferous marks to one another, swarm unwashed Cossack children shouted catcalls after Prokofy. But, with overcoat unbuttoned, he walked slowly freshly-ploughed furrow, squeezing his wife's fragile wrist in his own enormous, palm, head with its straw-white mat of curls high in defiance. Only the wens below his cheek-bones 12

swelled and quivered, and the sweat stood out between his stony brows. Thenceforth he was rarely seen in the village, and never even attended gather- ings. He lived a secluded solitary house by the Don. Strange stories were told of him in the village. The boys who pastured the calves beyond the meadow-road declared of an evening, as the light was dying, they had seen Prokofy carrying right as far Tatar burial mound. set her down, with her back to an an- cient, weather-beaten, porous rock, on the crest of the mound, sit down side, and they would gaze fixedly would gaze until the sunset faded, then Prokofy would wrap his wife in his sheep- skin and carry her back home. The village was lost in conjecture, seeking an explanation astonishing behaviour. The women gos- siped so much that they had not even time search each other's heads for lice. Rumour was rife about Prokofy's wife also; some declared that she was of entrancing beauty; others main- tained the contrary. The matter was settled when one of the most ^venturesome of the women, the soldier's wife Mavra, house on the pretext of leaven; Prokofy cellar for 13

leaven, and Mavra had time discover thai Prokofy's Turkish conquest was a perfect fright. A few minutes later Mavra, her face flushed and her kerchief awry, was entertaining a crowd of women in a by-lane: could he have seen in her, my dears? If she'd only been a woman now, but a creature her! Our covered! Why, you could pull her apart like a wasp. flashes them Satan, God forgive me. She must be near her time, God's truth." "Near her time?" the women marvelled. "I wasn't bom yesterday! I've reared myself." "But what's her face like?" "Her face? Yellow. No eyes- doesn't find life in a strange land to her fancy, I say. And what's more, girls, she wears . Prokofy's trousers!" "No!" the women gether. "I saw them myself; she wears trousers, only stripes. It must be his everyday trou- sers she has. She wears a long shift, and under- neath you can see the trousers stuffed into socks. I saw them my blood ran cold." The whisper went round the village that Pro- kofy's wife was a witch. Astakhov's daughter- 14

in^aw Astakhovs were nearest neighbours) that on second day Trinity, before dawn, seen Prokofy's wife, barefoot, her hair uncovered, milking the Astakhovs' cow. Since then its udder had with- ered size fist, the cow had its milk and died soon after. That year there was an unusual dying-off of cattle. By the shallows casses of cows and young bulls appeared on the sandy shore every day. Then v/ere affected. The droves grazing on the village pas- ture-lands melted away. And through the lanes and streets of the village crept an evil rumour. The Cossacks held a meeting and went to Pro- kofy. He came tlie his house and bowed. "What can I do for you, worthy elders?" Dumbly silent, the crowd drew nearer to the steps. One drunken old man was the first to cry: "Drag your witch out here! We're going try her. Prokofy himself back the house, but they caught him in passage. A burly Cossack, nicknamed Lushnya, knocked his head against the wall and told him: "Don't make a row, there's no need for you to shout. We shan't touch you, but we're going to trample your wife into the ground. Better to de- 15

stroy her than have all the village die for want of cattle. But don't you row, smash the wall in with your head!" "Drag the bitch out into the yard!" came a roar from the steps. A regimental comrade Prokofy's wound around one hand, clamped his other hand over her screaming mouth, dragged her at a run across the porch and flung her under the crowd. A thin shriek rose above howl voices. Prokofy flung off half a dozen Cossacks, burst into the house, and snatched a sabre from the wall. Jostling against one another, the Cos- rushed house. Swinging gleaming, whistling Prokofy ran down the steps. The crowd drew back and scattered over the yard. Lushnya was heavy on his feet, and by the threshing-floor Prokofy caught hiin; with a diagonal sweep down shoulder from behind, he clave Cossack's body to the belt. The crowd, who had been tear- ing stakes out of the fence, fell back, across the threshing-floor into the Half an hour later the Cossacks ventured to approach Prokofy's farm again. Two cautiously passaae, O'l kitchen threshold, in a pool of bloci, her head flung back awkwardly, lay Prokofy wif^; her 16

lips were writhing tormentedly, gnawed protruded. Prokofy, with shaking head and glassy stare, was squealing ball-the prematurely-born infant-in sheepskin. Prokofy's wife died the same evening. His old mother had compassion on the child and took charge of it. They plastered it with bran-mash, fed it with mare's milk, and, after a month, as- sured swarthy, Turkish-looking boy would survive, they carried him to church and christened him. They named him Pantelei after his grandfather. Prokofy came back from penal servitude twelve years later. With clipped, ruddy beard streaked with grey and his Russian clothing, he did not look like a Cossack. He took his son and returned to his farm. Pantelei grew up swarthy, and ungovernable. In face and figure he was like his mother. Pro- kofy married him to the daughter of a Cossack neighbour. From then on Turkish blood began to mingle Cossack, And that was how hook-nosed, savagely family Melekhovs, nicknamed "Turks," into the village. When his father died Pantelei took over the farm; the house rethatched, added an acre of common land to the farmyard, built new 2—1933 17

sheds, and a barn with a sheet-iron roof. He or- dered the tinsmith to cut a couple of weather- cocks out of the iron, and set up on the roof of the barn they bright- ened the Melekhov farmyard with care- free air, giving it a self-satisfied and prosperous appearance. Under the weight of the passing years Pante- lei Prokofyevich grew gnarled and craggy; he broadened and acquired a stoop, but still looked a well-built old man. He was dry of bone, and lame (in his youth he had broken his leg while hurdling at an Imperial Review of troops), he wore a silver half-moon ear-ring in his left ear, and his beard and hair retained their vivid ra- ven hue until old age. When angry, he complete- lost control of himself and undoubtedly this had prematurely aged his buxom wife, whose face, once beautiful, was now a perfect spider- web of furrows. his elder, married son, took mother: snub-nosed, luxuriant shock of corn-coloured hair, hazel eyes. But the younger, Grigory, was head taller than Pyotr, some six years younger, the same pendulous hawk nose as his father's, the whites burning eyes bluish slightly oblique slits; brown, ruddy skin drawn tight over angular cheek-bones. Grigory stooped 18

slightly, just like his father; even in his smile there was a similar, rather savage quality. Dunya-her father's favourite-a lanky large- eyed lass, and Pyotr's small child, completed the Melekhov household. hovered ashen, early morning sky. The wind blew from under a bank of cloud. A mist rolled high over the Don, piling against of a chalky hill, and creeping gullies like a grey, headless serpent. The left bank of the river, the sands, wooded backwaters, reedy marshes, dewy trees, flamed cold, ecstatic of dawn. Below the horizon the sun smouldered, and rose not. In the Melekhov house Pantelei Prokofyevich first to awake. Buttoning the collar of his embroidered shirt, he walked out on to the steps. The grassy yaid was spread with a dewy silver. He let the cattle out into the street. Darya ran past in her shift to milk the cows. The dew sprinkled over the calves of her bare white legs, and she a smoking, flattened trail behind her over the grass of the yard. Pantelei Proko- fyevich stood for a moment watching the grass 2* 19

rise from the pressure lurned back best room. On the sill of the wide-open window lay the dead rose petals of the cherry-trees blossoming in the front garden. asleep downward, one arm flung out sideways. "Grigory, coming fishing?" "What?" Grigory asked in a whisper, drop- ping his legs off the bed. "Come out and fish till sunrise." Breathing heavily through his nose, Grigory pulled his everyday trousers down from a peg, drew them on, tucked his white woollen socks, and slowly put on his sandals, straightening trodden-down heel. "But has Mother boiled the bait?" he asked hoarsely, as he followed "Yes. Go to the boat. I'll come in a minute." strong-smelling, boiled rye a jug, carefully swept fallen grains his palm, and limped down to the beach. He found his son sitting hunched in the boat. shall we go?" "To the Black Bank. We'll try around the log where we were sitting the other day." Its stern scraping the ground, the boat broke away from the shore and settled into the water. 20

The current carried off, rocking it and trying broadside on. Grigory steered with the oar, but did not row. "Why aren't you rowing?" "Let's get out into midstream first." Cutting across the swift mainstream current, the boat moved towards the left bank. The crow- ing of the village cocks across the water. Its side craggy bank rising high above slid into the pool below. Some forty from the bank the twisted branches of a sunken elm emerged from the water. Around it turbu- lent flecks of foam eddied and swirled. "Get the line ready while I scatter the bait," Pantelei whispered. He thrust his hand into the steaming mouth jug. The rye audibly a whispered "Sh-sh." Grigory threaded swollen grains on a hook, and smiled. "Come on, you fish! Little ones and big ones The line fell in spirals into the water and taut- ened, then slackened again. Grigory set his foot on the end of the rod and fumbled cautiously for his pouch. "We'll have no luck today. Father. The moon is on the wane." "Bring any matches?" 81

Smoking on an empty stomach had made mouth reek like burnt bristles. He was about to bend and scoop up some water in his palm, but at that moment the end of the rod jerked feebly and began to sink. "Hook him!" the old man breathed. started up and grabbed the rod, but it bent in an arc from his hand, and the end plunged into the water. "Hold him!" Pantelei groaned, as he pushed the boat off from the bank. Grigory attempted to lift the rod, but the fish was too strong and the stout line snapped with a dry crack. staggered "Strong as a bull!" his father whispered, try- ing to jab a hook into some fresh bait but miss- it. With an excited laugh Grigory fastened a new line to the rod, and made a cast. Hardly had the lead touched the bottom when the end of the rod bent. devil," difficulty holding fish, which was making for midstrccim. The line cut the water with a loud swish, rais- ing a sloping, greenish rampart behind it. Pan- telei fumbled bailer handle stumpy fingers. "Take care he doesn't snap the line." 23

stop your going out at night. You won't stir a step outside the yard!" Grigory made no answer. As he beached the boat he asked: I give the fish to the women?" "Go and sell it," the old man said more gen- tly. "You can have the money for tobacco." Biting his lips, Grigory followed his "Try it. Dad! I'm going out tonight even hobble my feet!" he thought, eyes boring fiercely into the back of the old man's head. When he got home Grigory carefully washed the sand fish and fixed a twig through gills. At the farm gate he ran into his old friend Mitka Korshunov. Mitka was strolling toying with the end of his silver-studded His round, yellow eyes glistened impudently in their narrow slits. Mitka's pupils were long, like cat's, making his glance swift and elusive. "Where are you off to with the fish?" "We caught it today. I'm going "To Mokhov?" Mitka estimated the weight of the fish with a glance. "Fifteen pounds?" "Fifteen and half. We weighed scales." 26

-but he had once happened to get annoyed with his bullock when ploughing, and being without whip, it a bullock furrows, streaming from ears. And it hardly recovered. brothers, Prokhor, resembled detail. They were stocky and broad- shouldered, only each had two Shamils, on, turning his head aside sharply. At fisticuffs during Shrovetide, Alexei Shamil had shown no regard for Mitka's youthful teeth. With a powerful swing, he had struck him the mouth, and Mitka had spat out two good teeth on the grey-blue ice, scarred by the tram- pling of iron-shod heels. As he came up to them, Alexei winked times. "Selling your load?" "Want to buy it?" "How much?" "A couple of bullocks, and a wife thrown in." Screwing up his eyes, Alexei jerked the stump of his arm. "You're a card! Haw-haw! A wife thrown in! Will you take the brats, too?" "Leave yourself some breeding, Shamils die out!" Grigory grinned. 2^

villagers fence church. The warden was a goose above shouting: "Going kopecks. Any offers?" The goose craned its neck and peered round, its beady eye squinting contemptuously. In the middle of a ring of people a grizzled chest covered crosses medals, stood brandishing his arms. "Old Grishaka is telling one of his tales about the Turkish war," Mitka said, nodding towards ring. "Let's go and listen." "While we're to him the carp start stinking and swell." "If it swells it'll weigh more." the square beyond firecart shed rose the green roof of the Mokhov's house. Passing the outhouse, Grigory spat and held his nose. From behind a barrel, an old man emerged, but- toning up his trousers, and holding his belt his teeth. "Hard pressed?" asked Mitka ironically. The old man buttoned up the last button, and took the belt out of his mouth. it got to do with you?" "Your nose ought to be stuck in or your beard; so that your old woman wouldn't be able to wash off in a week." 29

She rocked the chair upright, and rising pad- ded away in her embroidered slippers. The sun shone through her white dress, and Mitka saw the dim outline of full legs and the broad, bil- lowing of her underskirt. He was aston- ished at the satiny whiteness of her bare calves; only on the small milkily yellow. "Look, Grisha, what a dress ! Like glass ! You can see everything through it," he said, nudging The girl came back through the door leading corridor, gently chair. "Go into the kitchen!" Grigory tiptoed into the house. When he had gone Mitka stood blinking at the white thread of the parting that divided the girl's hair two golden half-circles. She studied him with mischievous, restless "Are you from the village?" "Whose son are you?" "Korshunov's." "And what's your name?" "Mitry!" She examined her rosy nails attentively, and with a swift movement tucked up her legs. "Which of you caught the fish?" 3t

hot-house strawberries scattered over the "And do the girls like you, Mitka?" "Some do, some don't." "Really, . And why have you got eyes like a cat?" "A cat?" Mitka was now completely abashed. that's just they're cat's eyes." "Must have got them from my mother. I can't help "And why don't they marry you off, Mitka?" recovered from momentary fusion, sensing hidden sneer let a glitter appear "The cock must grow before it finds a hen." her eyebrows astonishment, flushed, and rose from her seat. There was sound of footsteps ascending the steps from the street. Her smile lashed Mitka nettle. Shuffling softly in his capacious kid boots, the the house, Platonovich Mo- khov, corpulent body with dignity past Mitka. "Want me?" he asked as he passed, without turning his head. "They've brought some fish. Papa." Grigory appeared without his carp, 3—1933 33

first cock had crowed when Grigory re- turned from his evening out. From the porch came the scent of sour hops, and the spicy per- fume of stitchwort. He tiptoed into the room, undressed, carefully hung up his Sunday crossed himself a golden pool moonlight on criss-crossed shadow of the window-frame. In the corner the silver the icons gleamed dully em- broidered towels, from shelf over the bed came the droning hum agitated flies. He would asleep, cry. The cradle creaked like an ungreased cartwheel. He heard his mutter in sleepy voice: "Go to sleep, you little brat! You don't give me a moment's peace!" And she be- gan crooning softly to the child: Oh, where have you been? I've been watching the horses. luhat did you see? A horse luith a saddle All fringed with gold. he dozed steady, soothing creak in his ears, Grigory remembered: "Tomor- row Pyotr goes off to the camp. Darya will be 34

left with the baby. . We'll have to do the mow- ing without him." He buried his head in his hot pillow, but the chant seeped persistently into his ears: And where is your horse? Outside the gate. And where is the gate? Swept away by the flood. He was aroused from sleep by lusty neigh- ing. By tone he horse. His sleep-numbed fingers were slow buttoning up shirt, and he almost dropped off again under the flowing rhythm of Darya's And where are the geese? They've gone into the reeds. And where are the reeds? The girls have mown them. And where are the girls? The girls have taken husbands. And where are the Cossacks? They've gone to the war. Rubbing his eyes, Grigory made stable and Pyotr's horse street. A floating cobweb tickled his face, and his drowsiness unexpectedly left him. Slanting across the Don lay the wavy never- ridden track of the moonlight. Over the 3* S5

hung a mist, and above it, the stars, like sprin- kled grain. The horse its hoofs down cau- tiously. The slope to the water was hard going. river came quacking of ducks. A sheat-fish jumped with a splash in the muddy shallows by the bank, hunt- at random for smaller fry. Grigory stood a long time by the river. The bank exuded a dank and musty rottenness. A tiny drop of water fell from There was a light, pleasant void Grigory' heart, he felt good and free from thought. As he walked back, he glanced towards where the blue murk was already clearing. By the stable he ran into his mother. that you, Grisha?" "And who do you think it is?" "Watered the horse?" "Yes," he answered shortly. His mother waddled away with an apronful of dried dung fuel, her bare withered feet slap- ping on the ground. "You might go and wake up the Astakhovs. Stepan said he would go with our Pyotr." rawness Grigory. His body tingled prickles. He ran up echoing leading to the Astakhovs' house. The door was unlatched. Stepan was asleep on an outspread 36

rug in the kitchen, wife's head his arm. In the greying dawn light Grigory saw Ak- sinya's shift rumpled above her knees, and her unashamedly parted as birch bark. a moment gazing, mouth going dry and his head bursting with an iron clangour. shifted stealthily. In a hoarse voice he called: "Hey! Anyone here? Get up." Aksinya gave a sob of waking. "Oh, who's fumble with her shift, drawing it over her legs. little drop of spittle was left on her pillow; a woman's sleep is sound at dawn. "It's me. Mother sent me to wake you up." "We'll be up in a minute. We're sleeping on floor because fleas. Stepan, get up, d'you hear?" By her voice Grigory guessed that felt embarrassed and he hastened to leave. Thirty Cossacks were going from the village the May training camp. Just before o'clock wagons with tarpaulin covers, Cossacks on foot and on horseback, in homespun shirts and carrying their equipment, began to stream towards the square. standing on stitching a broken rein. 37

Pantelei stamped about round Pyotr's pouring oats the trough. Every now and then he shouted: "Dunya, have you put the rusks in the sack yet? Have you salted the bacon?" Dunya, rosy and blooming, to and fro swallow shouts with a laugh: "You look after your own affairs. Father, and I'll pack for Brother so well that nothing will budge till he reaches Cherkassk."* "Not finished eating yet?" Pyotr asked, nod- ding towards the horse. yet," deliberately, testing saddle-cloth with his rough palm. One little crumb sticking to the cloth can chafe a horse's back into a sore in a single march. "When he's done eating, water him. Father." "Grisha will take him down to the Don," Grigory took tall, rawboned Don horse a white blaze on its forehead, it out lightly withers, vaulted on its back swinging trot. He rein the horse in at the descent stumbled, quickened and flew down the slope. Leaning back until he * Novocherkassk. 88

spine, saw a woman with pails going down the hill. He turned sharply off the path and dashed into the water, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. swinging still some distance away she shouted him: "You mad devil! You almost rode me down. You wait, tell your father how you ride." "Now, neighbour, you've seen your husband to camp maybe I'll be useful on your farm." "How the devil could you be useful to me?" asking me when mowing comes," Grigory laughed. dexterously water from the between her knees away from the wind. "Is your Stepan ready yet?" Grigory asked. "What's that to do with you?" spitfire! Can't I ask?" is, what of it?" you'll be left a grass-widow?" The horse raised lips from the water, and stood gazing across the Don, its fore-feet tread- ing the stream. Aksinya filled her second pail, hoisted the yoke with a swinging stride 39

Grigory turned the horse and followed her. The fluttered her skirt and played fine, fluffy curls on her swarthy neck. Her flat, embroidered cap flamed on her heavy knot hair, her rose-coloured shift, gathered into her skirt at the waist, clung smoothly to her steep back and compact shoulders. As the slope she bent forward, and the hollow be- tween her shoulders showed clearly beneath her shift. He saw brownish rings under her arms, where her shift was stained with sweat. ever^^ movement. to renew the talk with her. missing you ?" halting Aksinya and smiled. "Of shall. Get married jerkily, "then you'll know whether you miss your dar- ling or not." Grigory brought the horse level with her and looked into her eyes. "But other wives glad when their hus- bands go. Our Darya will grow fat without her Pyotr." Aksinya's nostrils quivered and she breathed hard. "A husband's not a leech, but he sucks your 40

same." straight. soon?" don't know, it depends on Father. my army service, I suppose." still young; don't get married." "It dries you up." She looked up from under her brows, and smiled cheerlessly without part- ing her lips. For the first time Grigory noticed that her lips were shamelessly greedy and rath- er swollen. Stranding the horse's mane with his fingers, he replied: "I don't want get married. Someone love me without "Have you noticed anyone, then?" notice? Now you're your Stepan "Don't try to play about with me!" "What will you do about it?" Stepan." "I'll show your Stepan. cocksure, mind "Don't try to scare me, Aksinya!" scare hang around with the girls, let them hem your han- kies for you, but keep your eyes off me," "I'll look at you all the more now." 4J

woollen skirt, led out his horse. Stepan smiling- ly said something Unhurriedly, posses- sively, he kissed his wife, and his arm lingered long around her shoulder. His hand, darkened by sun and toil, looked coal-black against her blouse. He stood with gory; firm, clean-shaven neck, his broad, rather sloping shoulders, and (whenever he bent towards his wife) the twisted ends of his light- brown moustache were visible across the fence. Aksinya laughed at something and shook her head. The big black stallion lurched slightly as Stepan swung his great weight into the saddle. Sitting as though planted in the saddle, Stepan his black brisk trot the gate, and Aksinya walked at his side, hold- lovingly ard hungrily, like a dog, to the turn road with a long unblinking gaze. Towards evening a thunderstorm gathered. heavy cloud lay over the Lashed into fury by the wind, foaming breakers banks. flamed with dry lightning, peals of thunder shook earth. A kite

outspread wings just below the clouds and was pursued by croaking ravens. Spreading its cool breath, the cloud passed down the Don from west. Beyond meadows heavens blackened menacingly, the steppe lay in expect- ant silence. In the village there was a rattle of closing shutters, the old people hurried home from vespers crossing themselves. A grey pillar of dust whirled over the square, and the heat- burdened earth beginning scattered with the first seeds of rain. Shaking braided tresses, across the yard, slammed the door of the chick- enhouse, and stood in the middle with nostrils distended like a horse at a hurdle. street the children were prancing about. Eight-year-old Mishka, absurdly large peaked cap drawn spinning round and chirruping shrilly: Rain, rain, rain away. We're going ofi for the day. To pay God our vow. And to Christ to how. Dunya enviously watched Mishka's chapped bare feet stamping the ground. She, too, want- dance in the rain and to get her wet, so that her hair might grow thick and cur- ly; she, too, wanted to stand on her hands like 45

Mishka's friend risk of falling into the nettles. But her mother was watching and angrily moving her the window. With a sigh she ran into the house. The rain was now falling heavily. A peal thunder broke roof and went rolling away across the Don. In the porch Pantelei and the perspiring Gri- gory were hauling a folded drag-net out of the side-room. "Raw thread and a pack-needle, quick!" Gri- gory called to Dunya. Darya sat down to mend net. Her mother-in-law grumbled rocked the baby: "What else will you take man! Let's go to bed. Kerosene costs more and more. What do you now? the plague are you going? And get drowned into the bargain, the terror of the is upon us. Just lightning! Lord Jesus Christ, Mother of Heaven. For an instant it was dazzlingly blue and lent in the kitchen; the drumming on the shutters. A clap of thunder followed. Dunya whimpered and buried her face in the net. Darya made the sign of the cross to- wards the windows and door. The stared with terrible eyes at the cat rubbing self against her legs: 46

feet joyously found the muddy bottom. A knocked against "Take it deep!" his father's voice came from the clinging darkness. Again the net heeled over and pulled down into the depths. Again the current carried ground away from under his feet, and Grigory swam, spitting out water. "Aksinya, you all right?" "All right, so far." "Isn't the rain stopping?" is, now the heavy stuff." "Talk quietly. If my father hears he'll go for "Afraid father, huh?" For a moment they hauled in "Grisha, there's a sunken tree by the bank, I think! We must get the net round buffet from her. "Ah-ah!" screamed somewhere near the bank. Terrified, he swam in the direc- tion of her call. Wind, and the flowing roar of the water, cold with fear, 50

he heard father's voice afar. wildly. feet, and hand-it was the "Grisha, where are you?" he heard Aksinya's tearful voice. answer my shout?" bawled angrily, crawling on hands and knees up the bank. Squatting down on heels, disen- tangled the net. The moon broke through cracked shell of a cloud. There was a restrained mutter of thunder beyond the meadows. The earth gleamed moisture. Washed by the rain, the sky was stern and clear. As he disentangled the net Grigory stared at Aksinya. Her face was a chalky white, but her red, slightly upturned lips were smiling. "The way I was knocked against the bank! nearly went out of my mind. I was scared death. I thought you were drowned." Their hands touched. Aksinya to push hers into the sleeve of his "How warm your arm is," she said plaintive- ly, "and I'm frozen!" "Look where that bastard got away," Grigo- ry showed her a hole about feet across 4* 51

Someone came running along the bank. gory guessed it was Dunya. He shouted to her: "Got the thread?" "Yes. What are you sitting here for? Father sent me for you at once to the point. We've caught a sackful of sterlet." Unconcealed triumph sounded in her voice. With teeth chattering, Aksinya sewed up the hole in the net. Then, to get warm, they raced to the point. Pantelei was rolling a cigarette with scarred fingers swollen by the water; jigging about, he boasted fish; . ." he paused and silently pointed with his foot to the sack. Aksinya peeped curiously inside: slithery stirring fish. "Where were you?" sheat-fish broke our net." "Did you mend it?" "Yes, somehow." we'll wade once more up "knees, and then home. In you go, Grisha; what are you waiting for?" Grigory stepped out with numbed legs. Ak- sinya was shivering so much net trembling. "Stop shaking!" 52

head thrown back, breathing regularly through her half-open mouth. smells henbane. Do flower?" whis- pered, bending towards her. She was silent. Her gaze was misty and distant, fixed on the wan- ing, crescent moon. Taking his hand out of pocket, Grigory suddenly drew her head towards him. She tore herself away fiercely, and raised herself from the hay. "Let me go!" quiet!" shout!" "Wait, Aksinya!" "Uncle Pantelei!" "Have you got lost?" Pantelei's voice sound- close, from behind a clump of haw- thorn bushes. Clenching jumped out of the stack. "What are you shouting for? Are you lost?" the old man questioned as he approached. Aksinya stood by the haystack adjusting her kerchief, steam rising from her clothes. "We're not lost, but I'm nearly frozen." haystack, warm the old man told her. Aksinya smiled as she stopped to pick up the sack. 54

It was some sixty versts to the training camp at Setrakov. Pyotr Melekhov and Stepan Asta- khov rode in the same wagon. With them were others from their village: Fedot Bodov- skov, a young Cossack with a pock-marked Kal- myk face, Christonya Tokin, a second-draft re- servist in the Ataman's Regiment of Lifeguards, artilleryman Tomilin. first halt for food they harnessed Christonya's and Astakhov's horses the wagon, and the other horses were tethered behind. burly and a bit queer in the head like men of the Ataman's Regiment, took the reins. sat in front with his curved wheel, blocking out the light from the interior of the wagon, and urged on the horses deep, rumbling bass Stepan and Tomilin lay smoking under the tightly-stretched tarpaulin cover. Bodovskov his bandy Kalmyk legs making dusty road. Christonya's wagon trailed leading saddled and unsaddled horses. The road was noisy with laughter, shouts, songs, the snorting of horses, and the jingling of empty stirrups. 55

Pyotr's head rested on a bag rusks. He still, twirling his tawny whiskers. "Stepan!" "Huh?" "Let's have song." hot. My throat's dry a bone!" "You won't find any drink don't wait for that!" sing up. Only you're no good Your Grisha now, he can sing. His isn't a voice, it's a pure silver thread." Stepan threw back his head, coughed, a low, tuneful voice: Oh, a fine glowing sunrise Came up early in the sky. Tomilin rested cheek his palm a woman and picked up the refrain in a thin, wailing voice. Smiling, Pyotr watched the knotted veins on his temples turning blue with effort. Young was she, little woman That went tripping to the stream. Stepan, who was lying with his head towards Christonya, turned round on his elbow: "Come on, Christonya, join in!" And the lad, he guessed her purpose. Saddled up his chestnut mare. 56

Pyotr, and Pyotr, flicking the his mous- tache out of his mouth, added his voice. Open- ing wide heavily-bearded jaws, Christonya tarpaulin cover: Saddled up his chestnut mare To catch little woman. tucked foot under him and waited for Stepan to begin again. Closing his eyes, his perspiring face in shadow, Stepan sang on gently, now whisper, now making it ring metallically. Let me, let me, little woman. Bring my chestnut And again Christonya's deep booming tones drowned the others. Voices from the neighbour- wagons wheels clanked on their iron rims, the horses snorted with the dust and the song floated on, and deep. A white-winged peewit flew up from the brown wilted It flew with a cry to- a hollow, emerald chain of white-covered wagons, kicking up the men in white, dusty shirts, walking at the edge of the road. And peewit hollow and its black 57

nestled roaming animals, it missed the scene that was place on the wagons trundling along as before, the sweating horses still loping unwillingly through the dust, but now the Cossacks in their dust-grey shirts were running from their wagons to the leader, milling round it and roaring with laughter. Stepan was poised at full height on the wag- on, holding the tarpaulin with one hand, beat- ing time with the other, catchy tune in double-quick time: Oh, don't sit by me. sit by me. Folk will say you're in love with me, In love ivith me And coming In love with me And coming But I'm. not one oi the common run. Dozens of rough voices took up the chorus a roar that flattened dust: But I'm not one oi the common run, I'm not one oi the common run. I'm brigand born. And brigand bred- Not one oi the common run. And I'm in love with a prince's §Qn, 58

Fedot Bodovskov whistled; the horses strained traces; wagon, Pyotr laughed and waved his cap; Stepan, with a dazzling smile on his face, impudently swung his shoulders; along the road the dust rolled in cloud. Christonya jumped out great long unbelted his hair mat- ted, his face streaming with sweat, and did the Cossack dance, whirling round like a fly-wheel, frowning and groaning, and leaving the huge splayed imprints his bare silky- grey dust. They stopped for the night by a mound with a sandy summit. Clouds gathered in the west. Rain dripped wings. horses were watered at a pond. Above the dyke dismal willows bowed before the wind. In the stagnant duckweed scaled with miserable ripples, ning was distortedly reflected. The wind crum- bled the raindrops sparingly as though scatter- ing alms into earth's swarthy palms. The hobbled horses were turned out to graze, three men being appointed as guards. The other fires pots wagon shafts, 59

Christonya was cooking millet. As he stirred it with a spoon, he told a story to the Cossacks sitting around: "The mound was high, one. And to my now deceased 'Won't ataman* it us for digging up the mound without permission'?" "What's he blathering about?" asked Stepan, as he came back from the horses. He squatted down by the fire and flicked an ember on to his palm, juggling it about for a long time while he lighted a telling how I and my father, may soul rest in peace, looked for treasure. the Merkulov mound. Well, and says: 'Come on, Christonya, we'll dig up the Merku- lov mound.' He'd heard from treasure was buried in it. You see. Father prom- ised God: 'Give treasure, build church.' So we agreed and off we * Atamans were elected by tsarist Russia for posts of leadership at various levels. The chief of the Don Army was called the army ataman, stanitsa, centre, stanitsa ataman. When a Cossack detachment went out on a campaign elected its own "campaign ataman." In a broad sense the word meant "chief." When the Don Cos- finally their independence, title of Ataman Forces became hereditary title effect, troops were commanded appointed atamans. 60

went. It was on common land, so only the man could stop us. We arrived late in the after- noon. So we waited nightfall climbed up on top with shovels. We began dig straight down from its top-knot. We'd dug a hole six feet deep; the earth was like stone. I was wet through. Father kept on muttering prayers, but believe me, brothers, my belly was grumbling so much. . You know what we eat in summer: sour milk and kvass. My father, he says: 'Pfooh!' 'Christonya, heathen. Here am praying, hold your food, can't breathe stink. the mound, you split your head open with the shovel. Your stink's enough to make the treasure sink into the ground.' So I lay down by the mound, fit die with my belly-ache, and my father-a was-goes on digging alone. And he digs down to a stone slab. He calls me. I push a crow-bar it up. Believe me, brothers, was a moonlight night, and under this slab was such a glitter. "Now you're lying, Christonya," Pyotr broke in, smiling and tugging at his whiskers. lying? Go devil, and devil's dam!" ChriiStonya hitched up his sharo- vari and glanced round audience. I'm not lying. It's God's truth! There it shone. 61

I look, and it's charcoal. Some forty bushels of it. Father says : 'Crawl in, Christonya, and dig it up.' So I dug out this rubbish. I went on dig- ging till daylight. And in the morning there he was." asked Tomilin. "Why, the ataman, who else? He happens come driving by. 'Who gave you permission?' all the rest it. He lays hold of us and hauls stanitsa. We were before the court at Kamenskaya the year before last, but Father, he guessed what was coming, and managed to die beforehand. We wrote back saying he was not among the living." Christonya took his pot of boiling millet and went to the wagon for spoons. "Well, what about your father? He promised build a church; he do asked, when he returned. "You're a fool, Stepan. What could he build for charcoal?" "Once he promised he ought to have done "There was no agreement whatever charcoal, and the treasure, . ." The guffaw that went up made the flames tremble. his head from pot, and not understanding what the laughter was about, all the rest with his heavy roar. 62

Aksinya was seventeen when she was given in marriage to Stepan Astakhov. She came from the village of Dubrovka, from the sands on the side of the Don. About a year before her marriage ploughing in the steppe eight versts or so from night her father, a man some fifty years, tied her hands and raped her. kill you if you breathe a word, but you keep quiet I'll buy you a plush jacket and gaiters with goloshes. Remember, kill you . ." he promised her. Aksinya ran back through the torn petticoat the village. She flung herself at her mother's feet and sobbed out the whole story. Her mother and elder brother harnessed horses to the wagon, made Aksinya get in with them, and drove the father. Her brother most drove the horses to death over the eight versts. They found the old man field camp. He was lying on his overcoat drunken sleep with an empty vodka bottle by side. Before Aksinya's eyes her brother un- hooked swingle-tree wagon, with a kick, curtly asked him a question or two and struck him a iron-shod 63

swingle-tree. He and his mother went on beat- ing him steadily for an hour and a half. The ageing mother, who had always been an obe- dient frenziedly tore at her unconscious hair, brother used his feet. Ak- sinya lay under the wagon, her head covered, silently. They carried her father home just before dawn. He lay moaning pitifully, his eyes wandering around the room, seeking Aksinya, who had hidden herself away. Blooid and puss ran from his torn ear on to the pillow. Towards evening he died. They told the neigh- bours he had fallen from the wagon. Within year match-makers gaily bedecked wagonette to ask for Aksinya's hand. The tall Stepan with clean-cut neck well-proportioned appealed future bride, and the wedding was fixed for the autumn. The day was frosty and the ice rang merrily roads when installed young mistress of the Astakhov household. The morning after the festivities her mother-in-law, a tall old woman doubled up with some painful disease, woke the kitchen, and aimlessly shifting things about, said to her: "Now, dear daughter, we didn't take you for making love, nor lie abed. Go and 64

milk the cows, and then get some food ready. I'm old and sick. You must take over the house- hold, it will all fall on you," The same day Stepan took his young wife in- to the barn and beat her deliberately and ter- ribly. He beat her on the belly, the breasts and the back, taking care that the marks should not be visible to others. After that he neglected her, kept company with flighty grass-widows and went out almost every night, leaving Aksinya locked in the barn or the best room. For eighteen months, until there was a child, he would not forgive her his disgrace. Then he quieter, but was grudging with caresses and rarely spent the night at home. The large farm with its numerous cattle burd- ened Aksinya with work. Stepan worked heartedly, smoke, cards, to learn the latest news, and Aksinya had mother-in-law poor help. After bustling would drop on to the bed, and with lips tight- drawn and eyes gazing agonizedly ceil- ing, would lie groaning, rolled into bundle. At such times her face, which was dotted over with great ugly moles, broke out in per- spiration and tears slithered one by one down her cheeks. Throwing down her work, Aksinya 5—1933 65

would hide in a corner and stare at her mother- in-law's in fear and pity. born. labour pains began, and about noon, an hour or so be- fore the child came into the world, the grand- mother dropped dead by the door. The midwife ran out to warn the tipsy Stepan not to go into the bedroom, and saw the old wom- tucked birth child, Aksinya devoted her husband, she had no feel- ing for him, only a bitter womanly force of habit remained. The child died within a year. The old life returned. And when Grisha Melekhov crossed Aksinya's path, she realized with terror that she was attracted to the gentle, swarthy young fellow. He waited on her with a persistent expectant love, and per- sistence that Aksinya feared in him. She saw that he was not afraid of Stepan, she felt that he would not hold back of him, and without consciously desiring resisting feeling with all her might, she noticed that on Sundays and weekdays she was attiring herself more carefully. Making up excuses for her con- science, to place fre- quently in his path. It made her happy to Grigory's black eyes caressing her heavily and 66

rapturously. When she awoke milk the cows she would without realizing why, herself: "Today's a happy day. But why. . .? Oh, Grigo- ry. . Grisha." She was frightened by the new in her thoughts gropingly, cautiously, crossing the Don over the melting of March. After seeing Stepan off to camp she decided see Grigory possible. After fishing, her decision was still further strength- ened. Some two days Trinity distribu- tion of the village meadowland took place. Pan- telei attended the allotment. He came back at dinner-time, kicked off his boots with a groan, noisily scratching weary nounced : got the stretch near the Red Bank. Not very good grass as grass goes. The upper part runs up scrub places. And a bit of quitch coming through." shall we do the mowing?" "After the holidays." 5* 67

a withered poplar, horsemen awaiting them: the officer Listnitsky on a hand- some, clean-limbed mare, and seven of the lage lads mounted bareback. Mitka, adjusting pince-nez and admiring the stallion's powerful chest muscles. "From the poplar to the Tsar's Pond." Tsar's Pond?" screwed up his eyes short-sightedly. "There, Your Honour, wood." They lined up the horses. The officer raised his whip above his head. 'three.' All right? One . three!" Listnitsky got away first, pressing close to the saddle-bow, holding his cap on with his hand. For a second he led all the rest. Mitka, his face desperately pale, rose in his stirrups-to Grigory he seemed unbearably slow in bringing the whip down on the croup of his stallion. It was some three versts to the Tsar's Pond, Stretched out straight as an arrow, Mitka' s stal- lion caught up with Listnitsky' s mare when half the course had been covered. Left behind from beginning, trotted watching the straggling chain riders. 7/

By the Tsar's Pond hillock, washed up by the spring floods. Its yellow cam- el-hump overgrown sandwort. gory saw the officer and Mitka gallop up hillock and disappear over the brow together, the others following. When he reached the pond horses were Listnitsky. Mitka sleek with strained delight, every movement expressing his triumph. Contrary to his expectations, the cer did not seem at all disconcerted. He stood with his back against a tree, smoking a cigar- ette, and foam-flecked horse: "I've ridden a hundred and fifty versts on her already. I rode over from the stanitsa only yes- terday. she were fresh, you'd caught me, Korshunov." "Maybe," Mitka said magnanimously. "His stallion's the district," freckled lad, who had come up last, remarked enviously. "He's a good horse," said Mitka and stroked stallion's neck, emotion. He glanced at Grigory and grinned foolishly. Grigory and Mitka left the others and rode skirting the village. The lieutenant took 72

a chilly leave of them, thrust two fingers under the peak of his cap and turned away. As they were approaching home, Grigory saw Aksinya comimg towards them. She was strip- ping a twig as she walked. When she noticed him she bent her head lower. "What are you blushing for, are we naked?" shouted Mitka and winked. Gazing before him, Grigory almost rode by her, then suddenly struck the ambling mare with his whip. She sat back on her hind- legs and sent a shower of mud over Aksinya. "Oh, you mad devil!" Wheeling excited mount at her, Grigory demanded: "Why don't you say hullo?" "You're not worth it!" "And that's why I sent the mud Don't think so much of yourself." "Let me pass!" Aksinya shouted, waving her arms in front of the horse's nose. "What are you trampling me with your horse for?" "She's a mare, not a horse." "1 don't care; let me pass." "What are you getting angry for, Aksinya? Siurely other day, in meadow?" Grigory gazed into her eyes. Aksinya tried to say something, but a little tear started from the 73

comer of her dark eye, and her lips quivered pitifully. Swallowing hard, she whispered: . I'm . ." And she went. astonished at the gate. "Coming out for the evening?" Mitka asked. "Why, what's on? Or did she invite you spend the night with her?" Grigory rubbed his forehead with his palm and made no reply. that was of Trinity houses was dry thyme scattered over the floors, the dust crumpled shrivelled, of broken oak and ash branches fastened to the gates and stairs. haymaking immediately Trinity. From early morning the meadow blos- somed with women's holiday skirts, the bright embroidery of aprons, and coloured kerchiefs. The whole village turned out for the mowing. The mowers and rakers for an annual holiday. So it had been from of old. From the Don to the distant alder 74

thickets the ravaged meadowland stirred The Melekhovs were starting. They set out when nearly half the village ready in the meadow. "You sleep late, Pantelei Prokofyevich," perspiring haymakers greeted him. "Not my fault . the women again!" the old man laughed, and urged on the bullocks with his knout of raw hide. "Good-day you, neighbour! late, aren't you?" a tall Cossack in a straw hat said, shaking his head as he stood sharpening his scythe at the side of the road. "You reckon the grass will be dry?" "If you don't get a move on, it soon will be." At the back of the cart sat Aksinya, her face completely covered to protect it from the sun. From the narrow slits left for stared calmly and severely at Grigory seated op- posite her. Darya, also wrapped up and dressed in her Sunday best, her legs dangling between the rungs of the wagon-side, was giving her long blue-veined child dozing arms. Dunya fidgeted on box, happy eyes scanning the meadow and the people walk- ing along the road. Her face, cheerful and sun- burnt, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, seemed to say, "I feel gay and happy, be- 75

cause the day, with its blue and cloudless is also happy; because my soul is filled with the same cloudless blue calm. happy, I want." Drawing the cotton shirt over his fists, Pantelei wiped away the sweat running down from under the peak of his cap. The shirt stretched tightly across his bent back, darkened with moist patches. The sun pierced slantingly through a grey fleecy cloud, and dropped a fan of misty, refracted rays over the meadov/, village, and the distant, silvery hills of the Don. The day was sultry. crept along drowsily, not even overtaking Pantelei' they plodded along the road. The and waved the knout languidly, as though in doubt whether to strike their bony flanks not. Evidently this, the bullocks did not hasten their pace, and slowly, gropingly set forward their cloven hoofs and swished their tails. A dusty gold-and-orange- tingled horsefly meadowland that had been scythed threshing-floors glowed with pale-green patches; cut, the grassy silk, green with a gleam of black in rustled in the breeze, "There's our strip," Pantelei waved his knout. Grigory unharnessed the weary bullocks. The 76

old man, his ear-ring glittering, went to look for the mark he had made at the end of the strip. "Bring scythes," moment, waving treading grass, and leaving an undulating trail behind faced distant bell-tower and crossed himself. His hook-nose shone as though freshly varnished, the sweat clung to the hol- lows of his swarthy cheeks. He smiled, bar- close-set row white, gleaming his raven beard, wrinkled swept scythe grass. A seven-foot semicircle mown grass lay Eyes closed, steps, laying the grass low with the scythe. The women's aprons blossomed in a scattered rain- bow before him, but his eyes sought only a white one with an embroidered border; at Aksinya and started mowing again, keeping pace with his Aksinya was continually in his thoughts. Half closing his eyes, in imagination he kissed her and spoke to her in burning tender words his tongue from he knew not where. such thoughts out again methodically, one three; his memory in fragments 77

Ji>ast, Sitting hayrick moon over the meadow . now and then a drop falling from the bush the puddle . one . three. . Good! Ah, that had been He heard laughter behind him. He looked back: Darya cart and Aksinya bending telling her something. Darya waved her arms, and again they both laughed. Dunya was sitting on shaft and singing in a shrill voice. that bush, I'll sharpen my scythe," Grigory thought. that moment he felt the scythe pass through something soft and yielding. He bent down. A little wild duckling went scurrying with a squawk. By the hole where the nest had been another was huddled, cut in two by the scythe, the of the brood scattered twittering He lay the dead bird on It had evi- dently come from the egg only a few days pre- viously; there was a living warmth On the flat, half-open beak there was a pink- ish bubble blood, beady slyly, legs were still warm quivering. With a sudden keen feeling of compassion he stared at the inert ball ly- in his hand. 78

Darya laid her child under the cart and went into the forest with Dunya for brushwood. Over the meadow the waning moon mounted the dark, inaccessible heaven. A snowstorm of moths whirled around the flames. Near the supper was laid on a piece of coarse cloth. The millet boiled in the smoky field-pot. Wiping a spoon with of her underskirt, Darya called to Grigory: "Come and have your supper." His father's sheepskin draped over his shoul- ders, Grigory emerged from the darkness and approached the moody?" smiled. "Got the back-ache. Must be going to rain," he countered lightly, to watch bullocks," by her start a conversation. But somehow efforts were unsuccessful. Pan- telei supped his porridge, crunching the under- cooked millet with his teeth. Aksinya ate with- lifting her eyes, smiling half-heartedly jokes. A troubled flush burned cheeks. Grigory got up first and went off to the bul- locks. "Take care the bullocks don't trample some- 80

body else's grass," his father shouted after him, then a crumb of millet stuck in his throat and for a long time he coughed raspingly. Dunya's as she suppress The fire burned low. The smouldering brush- wood wrapped the honey of burning At midnight Grigory stole up the camp, and halted some ten paces away. His father was snoring tunefully on the cart. The unquenched embers ash with peacock's eyes. shrouded broke away from cart Two or three paces away, it halted. Aksinya! Grigory's heart thumped fast and heavily; stepped forward crouchingly, flinging back the sheepskin, and pressed her com- pliant, burning body to his own. Her legs bowed knees; trembled, chat- tering. Grigory suddenly flung her over his arm as a wolf throws slaughtered sheep its back, and, stumbling over the trailing edges of his open coat, and panting hard, made "Oh, Grisha, Grisha! Your "Quiet!" Tearing herself away, gasping for breath in the sour sheep's wool, choking with the bitter- 6—1933 81

ness of regret, Aksinya cried in a low moaning voice that was almost a shout: "Let go, what does it matter now. . .? of my own accord." Not azure and poppy-red, but rabid as the wayside henbane is a woman's belated love. the mowing a changed woman: as though someone had set a mark on her face, branded her. When other women met her they smiled slyly, and nodded their heads after her. The girls were envious, but she held her happy, shameful head proud and high. Soon everybody knew of her affair with Gri- gory Melekhov. At it was talked about whispers-only half-believed-but lage shepherd had seen them in the early dawn by the windmill, the moon in the rye, the rumour a wave breaking turbidly on the shore. It reached Pantelei's ears also. One Sunday he to go along to Mokhov's shop. The throng was so great that no more could have door. He entered, everybody seemed to be making way for him, smiling at him. He pushed towards the counter where the draperies were sold. The master, Ser- 82

gei Platonovich Mokhov, took it upon himself to attend to the old man. "Where have you been long while, Prokofyevich?" he asked. "Too much to do. Troubles with the farm." "What? Sons yours, and troubles?" of my sons? I've seen camp, there's only me and Grisha to do every- divided stiff, ruddy beard two with fingers and glanced significantly out of the corner eye at the "Oh, yes, old man, and why haven't you told us anything about it?" "About what?" "How d'you mean, what? Thinking of marry- ing your son, and not a word to anybody!" "Which son?" "Why, your son Grigory isn't married." "And I'm not thinking of marrying him yet." "But I've heard that you're getting yourself a daughter-in-law . Stepan Astakhov's Aksi- nya." "What? alive. , Why, Platonovich, you must be joking! Aren't you?" "Joking? I've had others." Pantelei smoothed out the piece of material spread over the counter, then, turning sharply, 6* 83

limped towards the door. He made straight for home. He walked with his head lowered like a bull, fingers knotted fist, hobbling more noticeably on his lame leg. As he passed the Astakhovs' house he glanced over the wat- tle fence: looking young and smart, with a lithe swing in her hips, was going into the house with an empty bucket. "Hey, wait!" he called, and stumped in at the gate. Aksinya halted and waited for him. They went into the house. The cleanly-swept earthen floor was sprinkled with red sand; on the bench in the corner were pasties fresh from the oven. A smell of musty clothes and sweet apples came from the best room. A tabby cat with a huge head purred round It arched its back and pressed itself against boots. With a fierce kick it flying against the bench. hear? Eh?" he shouted eyes. "Your husband hardly out sight, and you already men! Grisha's blood flow this, and I'll write your Stepan! Let him it! You whore, haven't you been beaten enough! Don't set your foot inside my yard from this day on. Carrying on with a young man, and when Stepan comes, I'll have to. 84

narrowed eyes. suddenly she shamelessly swung the hem of her skirt, enveloped Pantelei in the smell of wom- an's clothes, and came breasting at him with writhing lips and bared teeth. "What are you, my father-in-law? Eh? Who to teach me? Co and teach your own fat-bottomed woman! Keep order in your own yard! You limping, stump-footed devil! Clear out of here, you won't frighten me!" "Wait, you daft hussy!" "There's nothing to wait for! Get back where you came from! And if I want your Grisha, eat him, bones and all, and answer for it my- self! Chew over! What I love Grisha? Beat me, will you? Write to my husband? Write to the ataman like, but Grisha belongs to me! He's mine! Mine! I have him and I shall keep him!" Aksinya pressed against the quailing Pantelei with her breast (it beat against her thin blouse like a bustard in a noose), seared him with the flame of her black eyes, overwhelmed him with more and more terrible and shameless words. His eyebrows quivering, the old man backed to the door, groped for the stick he had left in the comer, and waving his hand, pushed door with his bottom, Aksinya pressed him out of the passage, pantingly, frenziedly shouting: 85

The men lived the usual monotonous training camp. In the detach- ment of Cossacks guarding the grazing horses drove them into the camp. Then followed clean- ing, grooming, saddling, the roll-call, and mus- ter. The officer in command of the camp, Lieutenant-Colonel Popov, bawled stentoriously; the sergeants training the young Cossacks shout- ed their orders. They staged mock attacks on a cunningly encircled "enemy." They fired at targets. The younger Cossacks ea- gerly vied with one another in the sabre exer- cises, and the old hands dodged as much of the training as they could. While voices grew hoarse with the heat and the vodka, a fragrant exciting wind blew over of covered wagons, susliks whistled distance, and the steppe beck- oned away from the stuffiness and smoke of the whitewashed huts. a week before the break-up camp Andrei Tomilin's wife came to visit him. She brought him some home-made cracknel, an assortment of dainties sheaf of village news. She left again very early in the morning, tak- ing the Cossacks' greetings and instructions their families and relations in the village. Only Stepan Astakhov sent no message back by her.

He had fallen ill vodka to cure himself and was incapable of see- ing anything in the whole wide world, including Tomilin's wife. He did not turn up on parade; at his own request the doctor's assistant let his blood, setting a dozen leeches on his chest. Ste- pan his undershirt against the wheel of his cart (making the white linen cover of his cap oily with cart grease) and stared sulkily at the leeches sucking barrel-like chest and swelling with dark blood. The regiment medical orderly stood by smok- ing and the smoke filter through wide gaps between his "Feel any better?" "They're drawing well. Easier for the somehow." "Leeches are a great thing!" Tomilin came up and gave Stepan a wink. "Stepan, I'd like a word with you." Stepan rose with a grunt and took Tomilin "My woman's been here on a visit. She this morning." "There's a lot of talk about your wife in the village." "Not pleasant talk, either." 89

In ten more days the Cossacks would be re- turning from camp. Aksinya lived in a frenzy of belated bitter love. Despite his father's threats, Grigory slipped out and went coming home at dawn. In two weeks he had drained strength, striving beyond its powers. From lack of sleep his brown face was suffused under cheek-bones a blue tinge, his gazed wearily of their sunken sockets. Aksinya went about with her face com- pletely uncovered, the deep hollows under her eyes darkened funereally; her swollen, avid lips smiled with a restless challenge. So extraordinary and open was their mad as- sociation, ecstatically did they burn with single, shameless flamie, conscience- stricken nor hiding their love from the world, becoming gaunt and dark before its very eyes, that people began to be ashamed to meet them in the street. Grigory's comrades, who previous- ly had chaffed him about Aksinya, now kept si- lent and felt awkward and constrained company. In their hearts the women envied Ak- sinya, yet they condemned her, gloating at the prospect of Stepan's return, and pining with cu- riosity as to how it would all end. 91

Grigory had made some show of hiding from the world his affair with this grass-widow, the grass-widow Aksinya had kept her relations comparatively secret, without shunning others, the world would have nothing unusual in it. The village would gossiped forgotten. But they together almost openly, were bound by something greater, which had likeness temporary association, and for that reason the villagers decided immoral peeping expectation. Stepan would return and knot. Over the bed in the Astakhovs' bedroom ran a string threaded with empty white and black cotton-reels. They decoration. The flies spent their nights on the reels, and spi- ders' webs stretched from them to the ceiling. Grigory was lying on Aksinya's bare, cool arm and gazing up at the chain of reels. With the toil-roughened fingers of her other hand Aksi- nya was playing with the thick strands of hair on his head. Her fingers smelt of warm milk; when Grigory armpit, pungent, sweetish of woman's sweat nostrils. 92

In addition to the wooden, painted bedstead with pointed pine cones at the comers, the room contained capacious iron-bound stood close to the door, holding Aksinya's dowry and all her finery. In the corner was a table, an oleograph of General Skobelev riding towards a row of flapping banners dipped before him, two chairs, and above them icons in gawdy pa- per aureoles. Along the side wall hung fly-blown photographs. One was a grotip of Cossacks, with curly forelocks, swelling chests decorated with chains, and drawn swords-Stepan and his comrades on active service. On a hook hung Stepan's uniform, it had not been put away. The moon stared through the window and uncertain- ly fingered the two white sergeant's straps on the shoulder. With a sigh Aksinya kissed Grigory on bridge of his nose, between his eyebrows. "Grisha, my love." "Only nine days left." "That's not so soon." "What am I to do, Grisha?" I know?" Aksinya restrained a sigh and again smoothed and parted Grigory's matted hair. "Stepan kill me," half-asked, declared. 93

Grigory was silent. He wanted to sleep. With difficulty he forced clinging and saw above him the glittering bluish black- ness of Aksinya's eyes. "When my husband comes back, you'll give me up, won't you? You'll be afraid?" "Why should I be afraid of him? You're his it's for you to be afraid." "When I'm with you I'm not afraid, but when I think about it in the daytime I am." Grigory yawned and said: "It doesn't matter so much about Stepan coming back. My father's talking of getting me married off." He smiled and was going to add something, felt Aksinya's hand under his head sud- denly wilt and soften, bury itself in the pillow, after a moment harden again. "Who has he got in mind?" she asked stifled voice, "He's only talking about it. Mother says he's thinking of Korshunov's Natalya." she's a good-looking girl. Very good-looking. . Well, go ahead and marry her. I saw her in church the other day. Dressed up was. spoke rapidly, could scarcely hear her, her voice was less and dull, "I don't care two pins about her good looks. I'd like to marry you." 94

Aksinya sharply pulled her arm from undef Grigory's head and stared with dry eyes window. A frosty, yellow mist was in the yard. The shed cast a heavy shadow. crickets were chirruping. Down by the Don the bitterns boomed; their deep sullen tones floated through the bedroom window. "Thought of something?" rough, unyielding hands, pressed them to her breast, and cold, almost lifeless cheeks, and cried: "What did you take up with me you! What shall I do? Grisha! I'm finished. is coming back, and what . .? Who is there to help me?" Grigory was silent. Aksinya gazed mournful- his handsome eagle nose, his shadowed eyes, his dumb . And suddenly a flood of feeling swept away the dam of restraint. Mad- ly she kissed his neck, his arms, rough, curly black hair on felt her body trembling as, gasping breath, she whispered: "Grisha . my dearest , beloved . let's go away. My darling! We'll throw and go. I'll leave my husband everything, so long as you're with me. . We'll go far away, 95

to the mines. I'll love you and care for you. I've got an uncle who is a watchman at the Paramo- nov mines: he'll help us. . Grisha! something!" thinking, opened his burning foreign-looking eyes. They laughing, gleaming derision. "You're a fool, a fool! away, but you say nothing worth How can I leave the farm? I've got to do my military service next year. . I'll never stir any- where away from the land. steppe, and something breathe-but there? Last simimer I went with Father to the station. I nearly died. Engines roaring, the air all thick and heavy with burning coal. How people live I don't know; perhaps they're used spat and again: leave the village." The night grew darker outside the window, a cloud passed over the moon. The frosty, yellow mist vanished from the yard, the shadows washed away, and now there telling it was last year's faggots or some bush that loomed darkly beyond the fence out- side the window. The room, too, grew darker. The stripes Stepan's uniform faded, and in the grey, stag- nant murk Grigory did not see the fine shiver that 96

shook Aksinya's shoulders, or her head pressed between her hands and silently shaking on the pillow. After the visit of Tomilin's wife Stepan's fea- tures became distinctly less handsome. His brows drooped over eyes, a deep and harsh frown puckered his forehead. He spoke little with his comrades, began to quarrel over trifles, had a cross with the sergeant-major and would hardly look at Pyotr Melekhov. The threads of friend- ship which had previously united snapped. In his sullen, plunged downhill like a bolting horse. They re- turned home enemies. Of happen the vague hostility of their relations to a head. They set out for their village in the same as before. Pyotr's and were harnessed to the wagon. Christonya behind on his own horse. Tomilin, who was suf- fering from fever, lay covered with his greatcoat in the wagon. Fedot Bodovskov was too lazy to drive, so Pyotr took the reins. Stepan along at the side of the wagon, lashing off the purple heads of the roadside thistles whip. Rain was falling. The rich 7—1933 97

stuck to the wheels like tar. The sky was an au- tumnal ashy cloud. Night fell. No lights of any village were to be seen. Pyotr be- laboured liberally knout. And suddenly Stepan shouted in the darkness: "You, what the . you ! You spare your own horse, but keep the knout on mine all time." "Keep your eyes open! I whip the one doesn't pull." I don't put you in the shafts. what Turks are good for." Pyotr threw the reins down. "Oh, stay where you are." "Shut up." "What are you flaring up at him for?" asked Christonya, riding up to Stepan. Stepan did not reply. They rode on for another half hour in silence. The mud squelched under the wheels. The rain pattered drowsily tarpaulin. Pyotr dropped the reins and smoked, running over in his mind all the insulting words he would use in the next quarrel with Stepan. "Out of the way. I want to get under cover." Stepan pushed Pyotr aside and jumped on the step of the cart. The wagon suddenly jolted and stopped. Slip- ping in the mud, the horses pawed the earth. 98

Sparks shov/ered from their hoofs shaft groaned. "Whoa!" shouted and leaped the matter?" snapped anx- iously. "Show a light," Pyotr demanded. In front a horse was struggling and snorting. Someone struck a match. A tiny orange ring of light, then darkness again. With trembling hands spine pulled at the bridle. The horse sighed and rolled over, the centre- shaft snapped in half. Stepan struck a bunch of matches. His horse lay craning her neck foreleg buried to the knee in a marmot's hole. Christonya unfastened the traces. "Unharness Pyotr's horse, look snappy," he ordered. "Whoa! Easy there! Easy!" At last Stepan's horse was lifted with difficul- ty to feet. While Pyotr held it by the bridle, crawled on the mud, the helplessly-hanging "Seems to be broken," he boomed. "See if he can walk." Pyotr pulled at the bridle. The horse hopped a step or two, not putting left foreleg to the 7* 99

ground, and whinnied. Drawing on his great- coat, Tomilin stamped about bitterly. "Broken, damn it! A horse lost!" Stepan, who this time had not spoken a word, almost seemed to have been awaiting such a remark. Thrusting Christonya aside he flung himself on Pyotr, He aimed missed and struck his shoulder. They grappled together and fell into the mud. There sound of a tearing shirt. Stepan got Pyotr under him, and holding his head down with one knee, pounded dragged him off cursing. that for?" Pyotr "Look where you drive, you snake!" Pyotr tried to tear himself out of Christonya's hands. "Now then! You try fighting me!" Christonya roared, holding Pyotr with one hand against the wagon. They harnessed Bodovskov's small but sturdy horse with Pyotr's. Christonya gave his horse to Stepan to ride, and himself crawled into the cart with Pyotr. It was midnight when they arrived at a village. They stopped at the first house, and Christonya asked for a night's shelter. Ignoring the dog snapping at the skirts of his coat, he squelched through the mud to the win- 100

dow, opened the shutter, and scratched pane with a horny fingernail. "Master!" Only the whisper of the rain and a peal barking. "Master! Good folk, hi! Let us night, for Christ's sake. Eh? From the training camp. How many? Five of us. Well, Christ save "Drive in!" he shouted turning to the gate. Bodovskov led the horses stumbled over a pig's trough thrown down in the middle of the yard, and cursed vigorously. They led the horses into a shed. Tomilin, his teeth chattering, went into the house, Pyotr and Christonya mained in the cart. At dawn they made ready to Stepan came out of the house, hunch- backed woman hobbling after him. Christonya, who was harnessing the horses, shouted sympa- thetically: "Ho, granny, what a hump they've given you! Bet you're all right at bowing down in church. You don't have far to bend to reach the floor!" "If I'm good for bowing down, you're for hanging dogs on, my lad. There's something all of us," the old woman smiled severely, surprising Christonya with a full row cf small sound teeth. 101

of the village came sounds brawling singing. At dawn, Aksinya, who night, was at Drozdikha's window. "Granny!" "Who's there?" "It's me, Aksinya! Get up!" They made their way by back lanes to the river. The abandoned shafts of a wagon lay water-logged near the landing stage. At the water's edge the sand stung their bare feet icily. A damp, chilly mist crept Don. Drozdikha took Aksinya's hand in her own bony hand and drew her to the water. "Give me salt. sunrise." herself, fiercely the happy rosiness of the east. "Take up some in your drink." Aksinya drank, wetting the sleeves blouse. Like a black spider straddled the lapping waves, squatted and began to whisper. "Icy streams from deep. Sorrowing flesh. ... A beast in the heart. . Yearning and fever. ... By the holy cross, by the pure holy Mother. of God, Grigo- ry 104

Drozdikha sprinkled some salt over the damp sand at her feet and some more into the water, then put the rest in Aksinya's bosom. "Sprinkle some water over your Quickly!" Aksinya did so. She stared moodily and an- grily at Drozdikha's russet cheeks. all?" all. Go and sleep." breathlessly home. cows were lowing sleepy-eyed and flushed, was driving her cows join village herd. She smiled as she saw Aksi- nya run past. "Slept neighbour?" "Praise be!" "And where have you been so early?" "I had a call to make village." bells were matins. The copper-tongued clapping splashes of sound. The village herdsman cracked stockwhip side-street. hurriedly drove out the cows, then carried the milk into the porch strain it. She wiped her apron, poured the milk into the strainer. A heavy rattle of wheels snorting horses in the street. Aksinya set down the pail window. 105

Holding his sabre pommel, Stepan was coming wicket-gate. The other square. Aksinya crumpled her apron in her fin- gers and the bench. Steps . Steps in the passage. . Steps at the very door. stood on the threshold, gaunt estranged. all her full, buxom body reeling, to meet him. "Beat me," she said slowly, and turned side- ways towards him. Aksinya?" shan't hide. I have sinned. Beat me, pan I" Her head drawn into her shoulders, crouch- ing down and protecting only her belly with her arms, she faced him. Her eyes stared un- blinkingly from their dark sockets, out of her dumb, fear-distorted Stepan swayed and His unwashed shirt smelled of male sweat and bitter roadside scents. He dropped on to the bed without removing cap. He lay for a moment, then jerked his shoul- ders, and threw sword-belt. His blond usually crisp moustache drooped limply. Not turning her head, Aksinya glanced sidelong 106

him. Now and then she shuddered. Stepan put his feet on the foot of the bed. The mud slowly oozed from his boots. He stared at the ceiling and toyed with the leather tassel of his sword. "Breakfast ready?" "Get me something to He sipped some milk, wetting his moustache. He chewed slowly at the bread. Aksinya stood by the stove. In burning terror she watched her gristly rising and as he ate. Stepan rose from the table and crossed him- self. "Come on, m'dear, tell me about it," he curt- ly demanded. With bowed head Aksinya cleared the She was "Tell me how you waited for your husband, how you guarded honour. Well?" A terrible blow on the head tore the ground from under Aksinya's feet and door. Her back struck against the door-post, and she groaned dully. Women are weak and in the body, but Stepan could send lusty and sturdy guardsmen flying with a well-aimed blow on the head. may have been fear that lifted Aksinya, or per- haps it was a woman's will to live-she cam^ 107

senses, resting, scrambled on fours. Stepan was lighting a cigarette in the middle of the room and did not see her rising to her feet. He threw his tobacco pouch on the table, but Aksinya had already slammed the door be- her. He chased Her head streaming with blood, Aksinya ran towards the fence separating their yard the Melekhovs'. overtook her fence. His black hand a hawk on her head. His fingers wound into her hair. He tore at it and threw her to the ground, into the cin- ders that Aksinya dumped by the fence every if a husband does trample his wife with back? One- armed Alexei Shamil blinked and parted his bushy beard with a smile; after all it was quite under- standable why be punishing his lawfully-wedded wife. Shamil was tempted stop to see whether he would beat her to death or not, but his conscience would not allow him. After all, he wasn't a woman. Watching Stepan from afar, you v/ould have thought he was doing the Cossack dance. And so Grigory thought, as through the window he saw Stepan jumping 108

looked again, and flew out of the house. Press- ing his heavy fists against his chest, he ran on his toes to the fence. Pyotr pounded after him. Over the high fence Grigory flew like a bird. He charged Stepan from behind full speed. staggered and turning round came bear. The Melekhov desperately. They pecked at Stepan like carrion-crows carcass. Grigory went down several times un- der Stepan's rock-like fist. He was not quite a match for a hardened brawler like Stepan, but the stocky agile Pyotr, although he bent under the blows like a reed before the wind, firmly on his Stepan, one eye flashing (the other was turn- ing the colour of an underripe plum) to the steps. Christonya happened to come along bor- row some harness from Pyotr, and he separat- ed them. that!" He waved "Break away, or I'll report it to the ataman." spat blood and half a tooth into his palm, and said hoarsely: We'll other time." Stepan threatened from the steps. t09

right!" "And no 'all right' about tear guts out." "Is that serious or joking?" Stepan came swiftly down the steps. Grigory broke forward him, but pushing him promised: "Only dare, and I'll give you a hid- ing." that day onward the hatred the Melekhovs and Stepan Astakhov drew self into knot. Grigory Melekhov was fated to untie that knot East Prussia, near the town of Stolypin. "Tell Pyotr to harness the mare and his own horse." Grigory went out pushing a wagonette out of the lean-to shed by the bam. "Dad harness the mare and your own horse." "I know that without telling me. him to mind his own business," Pyotr respond- ed, fixing shaft-bow. solemn a churchwarden at mass, although sweating like a bull, sat finishing his soup. Dunya was watch- 110

ing Grigory alertly, hiding a girlish twinkle somewhere in the shadowy cool of her long up- lashes. Ilyinichna, portly in her lemon-yellow Sunday shawl, a motherly anxiety lurking at the corners of her lips, said to the old man: stuffing yourself, Prokofyevich. would think you were starving." "Won't even eat. What a nagger you are, woman." long, wheaten-yellow moustache peared "Your carriage is ready, if you please!" Dunya burst a laugh, and hid her face sleeve. Darya passed through the kitch- future flutter of her lashes. Ilyinichna's shrewd widow cousin. Auntie Vasilisa, was to go with them as match-maker. She was the first to perch herself on the wagon- ette, twisting and turning her head, laughing, and displaying her crooked black teeth beneath the pucker of her "Don't show your Vasilisa," warned ruin Those of yours look if they had been on a stand up straight." ///

Cousin, bridegroom-to- be. "Maybe not, but don't laugh same. What colour's enough make you sick." Vasilisa took umbrage, but meanwhile Pyotr had opened the gate. Grigory sorted out good-smelling reins and jumped driver's side by side at the back like newlyweds. "Whip'em up!" shouted Pyotr, letting go the halter. lips and They pulled at the traces and started off with- out warning. You'll catch your wheel!" Darya shrilled, wagonette swerved and, bouncing hummocks, rattled down the Leaning lagging horse with ther held his beard afraid that the wind would snatch it away. "Whip up the mare!" hoarsely, leaning over Grigory's shoulder. With the blouse Ilyinichna wiped away the tear that the wind had brought to her eye, and blinked at Grigory's satin flut- tering and billowing on his back. The Cossacks fl2

along the road aside and star- ing after them. The dogs came running out of yards and yelped under Their barking was drowned in the rumble the freshly-shod wheels. Grigory spared neither whip nor horses, and within ten minutes the village was left behind. Korshunov's house with its plank fence soon came into view. Grigory pulled on the reins, and the wagonette, breaking song right in the middle, suddenly drew painted finely-carved gates. Grigory remained horses; limped towards Ilyinichna and Va- silisa sailed after him with rustling skirts. The old man hurried, of losing the courage he had summoned up stumbled over the high threshold, knocked his lame leg, and frowning with pain stamped fu- riously up the well-swept He and Ilyinichna entered the kitchen almost together. He disliked taller by inches; so he stepped a pace forward, and removing cap, crossed the blackened icon. "Good health to you!" "Praise be!" the master of the house, a stocky, freckled old man replied, rising from the bench. 8—1933 113

or someone of that kind, it's a different matter and we beg your pardon." The negotiations were on the point of break- ing down. Pantelei began to get agitated, his face flushed a beetroot red, while the girl's mother clucked like a sitting hen shadowed by kite. But Vasilisa intervened the nick time. She poured out a flood of quiet, soothing salt burn, healed breach. "Now, now, my dears! Once matter raised, it needs decently and for the happiness child. now-why, you might search in broad day- light and not find another like her! Work bums in her hands! What a clever woman! a housewife! And as for her looks, you for yourselves, good folk she opened her plump arms in a generous sweep, turning to Pantelei and the sulky Ilyinichna. "And he's a husband worthy of any. As I look at him my heart beats with yearning, he's so like my late husband, and his family are great workers. Ask anyone in these parts about Prokofyevich. In all the world he's known as an honest man and a one. ... In good faith, do we wish evil our children?" Her chiding little voice flowed into Pantelei's ears like syrup. He listened and thought admir- 116

ingly to himself: "Ah, the smooth-tongued dev- il, how talks! Just her! Some women can even dumbfound a Cos- sack with their words. . And this from a pet- ticoat!" He was lost in admiration of Vasilisa, who was now oozing praise for the girl and her family as far back as the fifth generation. "Of course, we don't wish evil to our child." marriage," pacifically, a smile. "It's not early! Honest to God it's not early," Pantelei rejoined. "Sooner or later, we have to part with her," the mistress sobbed, half-hypocritically, half in earnest. "Call daughter, Miron let's look at her." "Natalya!" A girl appeared timidly at the door, her dark fingers fidgeting with the frill of her apron. in! Come in! shy," the mother encouraged her, smiling through her Bold grey eyes under scarf. A small, rosy dimple supple gory turned his eyes to her hands: they large and marred with hard work. Under short green jacket embracing the strong body, 117

the small, maidenly firm breasts rose outwards naively and pitifully, and their sharp little nip- ples showed buttons. In a moment Grigory's eyes had taken all in, from the head to the long, beautiful legs. He looked her over as a horse-dealer surveys a mare before purchase, thought: "She'll do," his eyes meet hers. The simple, sin- cere, slightly embarrassed gaze seemed saying: "Here am I am. Judge of me as you wish." "Splendid!" Grigory replied with his eyes and smile. all." As she closed the door behind her, Natalya Grigory without attempting to con- ceal her smile and her "Listen, Prokofyevich," began, after exchanging glances with his wife. "You talk it over, and we'll talk it over among the family. And then we'll decide whether we'll it a match or not." As he went down the steps Pantelei slipped last word: again next Sunday." Korshunov remained deliberately silent, pre- tending he had not heard. 118

Only after he learned of Aksinya's conduct from Tomilin Stepan, nursing his pain and hatred in his soul, realize that despite his poor sort of life with her he loved her with a dreary, hate- ful love. He had lain in the wagon at night, cov- ered with locked hind his head, and thought of how would greet him on his return home. if he had a scorpion in his breast in place of a heart. As he lay thinking over a thousand details of his revenge his teeth if they were clogged with heavy grains of sand. The fight with Pyotr had spilled his anger. When he arrived home he had been tired out and Ak- sinya had got lightly. From the day of his homecoming an unseen spectre dwelt in the Astakhovs' house. Aksinya went about on tiptoe and spoke in whispers, but in her eyes, sprinkled with the ash of fear, lurked a small spark, left from the flame gory had kindled. As he watched her, Stepan felt rather saw this. He tormented himself. At night, when the drove of flies had fallen asleep on the cross- beam, and Aksinya, her trembling, the bed, he horny over her mouth and beat her. He demanded 119

shameless details of her relations with Grigory. about and gasped on the hard bed smelling of sheepskin. Tired torturing her dough-soft body, his hand over her seeking for tears. But her cheeks were bumingly dry, and only jaws worked under his fingers. "Will you tell?" "No!" kill you!" "Kill me, kill me, Christ! Grinding his teeth, Stepan twisted skin, all damp with sweat, on her breast. Ak- sinya shuddered groaned. it hurt?" Stepan said jocularly. hurts." "Do you think it didn't hurt me?" It would be late before he fell asleep. In his sleep he clenched Rising on her bow, Aksinya would gaze at her husband's face, handsome and changed slumber, fall back on the pillow, and whisper She hardly saw Grigory now. Once she hap- pened to meet him down by the Don. Grigory had been watering the bullocks and was com- ing up the slope, waving a switch and staring feet. Aksinya was going 120

Don. She saw him, and yoke buckets turn cold in her hands blood beat at her temples. Afterwards, when she recalled the meeting, she it difficult to convince herself that it had really happened. Grigory noticed her when she had all but passed him. At the insistent creak- ing of the buckets he raised his head, his eye- brows quivered and he smiled stupidly. Aksi- nya gazed straight over his head at the green waves of the Don, and beyond at the ridge of the sandy headland. A burning wrung tears from her eyes. She walked on several paces and stood with her head bent as though before a blow. Angri- ly whipping a lagging bullock, with- out turning his head: is Stepan going out to cut the rye?" "He's getting ready now." "See him off, then go to our sunflower patch I'll come along after." Her pails creaking, Aksinya went down Don. The foam snaked shore, a yellow flare of lace on the green hem wave. White sea-gulls were hovering and mew- ing above river. Over surface of the sprinkled silver rain. On the other side, beyond the white of the sandy 121

headland, the grey tops of ancient poplars rose haughtily and sternly. As Aksinya was draw- ing water she dropped her pail. She pulled up skirt and waded in up to her knees. water tickled her calves, and for the return she laughed quietly and uncertainly. She glanced back at Grigory. waving switch, he was slowly climbing With eyes that were misty with tears Aksinya confidently trod the ground. broad sharovari tucked into white woollen stockings were gay crimson stripes. On his back, over his shoulder- blade, fluttered a strip of freshly-torn shirt, and a triangle of swarthy flesh showed through the hole. With eyes Aksinya scrap of the beloved body which once had been hers; and tears fell on her pallid, smiling set her pails down on the sand to hook them on to the yoke, and noticed the imprints of Grigory's shoes. She looked stealthily around: except boys bathing jetty. She squatted down and covered the footprint with her palm; then rose, swung the yoke across her shoulders, and has- tened home, smiling to Caught a muslin mistiness, the sun was passing over the village. Beyond the curly flock 122

of small white clouds spread a deep, cool, azure pasture. Over the burning iron roofs, deserted dusty streets, over the farmyards with their parched, yellow grass, a deathly sultriness. When Aksinya approached the steps Stepan, in a broad-brimmed straw hat, was harnessing the horses to the reaping machine. "Pour some wa- ter into the pitcher." poured a of water pitcher and burned her fingers on the hot iron rim, to have some the water will get warm soon," said, looking husband's perspiring back. "Go and borrow some from the Melekhovs. go," Stepan remember- Aksinya went to shut the wicket-gate. pan his eyes and snatched knout. "To shut the gate." bitch. not to She hurriedly returned to the steps and tried to hang her yoke on the rails, but her hands too much. The yoke down the 123

Stepan flung his tarpaulin coat over the front seat, and took up the reins, "Open the gate." As she did so, she ventured to ask: will you be back?" "By evening. agreed reap with Ani- kushka. Take the food along to him. He'll be coming out fields when he's the smith's." The wheels of the reaper squeaked as they carved into the grey plush of the dust. Aksinya went into the house and stood a moment with her hand pressed to her head, then, flinging a kerchief over her hair, ran down to the "But suppose he comes back? What then?" the thought suddenly burned into her mind. She stopped as though she saw a deep pit at feet, glanced and sped almost run along the river bank to the meadows. Fences. Vegetable patches. A yellow sea sunflowers outstaring the sun. The pale green of potato plants. There were the Shamil women hoeing their potato patch; bowed backs in pink shifts, hoes rising and falling sharply on earth. Reaching garden Aksinya glanced around, then lifted the wattle hasp and opened the gate. She path to the green stockade of sunflower stems. Stooping, she pressed the midst 124

smothering face with golden pollen, gathered her skirt and sat down on the weed- woven ground. She listened: the in her ears. From somewhere above her came lonely drone of a bee. For perhaps half an hour thus, torturing herself with doubt. Would he come? She was about to go, and was ad- justing her kerchief, when scraped "This way." "So you've come!" Rustling the leaves, Gri- gory approached and sat down at her "What's that on your cheek?" smeared fragrant with her sleeve. "Must be from the sunflowers." "There too, under your eye." She brushed eyes met. And mute inquiry, she broke into weeping. can't stand . I'm lost, "What does he do?" Fiercely blouse. The pink, girlishly swelling breasts were covered with cherry-blue bruises. "Don't you know? He beats me every day. He's sucking my . And 125

Soiled me dog, go. . You're . ." She buttoned her blouse with trembling he might be offended, averted "So you're trying to put the blame on me?" he said slowly, biting a blade of grass. "And aren't you to blame?" she cried fiercely. "A dog doesn't worry an unwilling bitch." Aksinya hid her face in her hands. The insult struck home like a hard, calculated blow. Grigory frowned and her. A tear was trickling between her first and fingers. A broken dusty sunray gleamed transparent drop, dried damp trace on her skin. Grigory could not endure tears. He fidgeted impatiently, ruthlessly brushed a brown ant trousers, and glanced again at Aksi- nya. She hadn't moved; but three runnels tears were now chasing down the back of her matter? Have offended you? Aksinya! Now, wait! Stop, I want to say some- tore her hands from her "I came here to get advice. What did you do it for? It's bitter enough as is. And you. 126

remorse. "Aksinya I didn't mean to say that, don't take on," haven't come fasten myself on You needn't be afraid." that moment she really believed that she had not come to fasten herself on Grigory, but run vaguely thought: "I'll talk him round! He won't get married. Who else am I to live with?" Then she had remembered Stepan and had obstinately shaken blesome thought. over?" Grigory asked, turned on to his stomach, resting on one elbow and spitting out the rosy petals of the bindweed flower he had been chewing. do you mean-over?" Aksinya took alarm. "What do you mean?" she insisted, try- ing to look into his eyes. There was a gleam of bluish white as he turned them away. The dry, exhausted earth smelled of dust and sun. The wind rustled among a moment the sun was darkened, overcast with cloud; steppe, over the village, over Aksinya's moody head, over the pink cup of the bindweed flower, there fell a smoky shadow. Grigory sighed abruptly and lay on his back, pressing his shoulder-blades into the hot soil. 127

impatiently licked his dry (they were working fiercely) and said: . put an end to this affair. Eh?" Aksinya stood up, and pressing through the swaying, yellow heads of the sunflowers, went towards the gate. "Aksinya!" Grigory called chokingly. The gate creaked heavily in reply. Immediately after the rye was cut, and before carried to the barns, ripened. In the clayey fields and on the slopes the parched leaves turned yellow and curled up into tubes, and the stalks, having served their pur- pose, withered. Everybody boasted of the good harvest. The ears were full, the grain heavy and large. After talking the matter over with Ilyinichna, Pantelei decided that if the Korshunovs agreed to the match, the wedding could not take place before the 6th of August. He had not yet called on the Korshunovs for an answer: first the har- vesting had to be done, and then he had waited for a holiday. The Melekhovs began reaping on a Friday. Pantelei stripped the wagon and prepared the 9—1933 129

underframe for carrying the sheaves. Pyotr and to reap. Pyotr rode alongside. moody, and muscles worked between lower jaw and his cheek-bones. Pyotr knew this to be a sure sign that his brother was seething and ready for a quarrel, but smiling under his wheaten moustache, he set to work to tease Gri- gory. "God's truth, she told me herself!" she did?" Grigory muttered, chewing a hair of his moustache. " 'As I'm on my way back from town,' 'I hear voices in the Melekhovs' sunflower patch.' " "Pyotr, stop voices. 'And I glance .' " quivered. it, or won't you?" "You're a queer lad! Let me finish!" "I warn you, Pyotr, be fighting other in a minute," Grigory threatened, falling behind. Pyotr raised his eyebrows and turned round in his seat to face Grigory. '. .1 glance through the fence, and there see them, the two lovers, lying in each other's arms!' says. 'Who?' I asked, 130

swers: brother.' Seizing the handle of a pitchfork lying at the back of the reaper, Grigory flung himself at his Pyotr dropped leapt his seat, and dodged in front of the horses. "Pah, devil!" he exclaimed. "He's gone mad! Pah! Just look at him. Baring his a wolf, Grigory threw the pitchfork his brother. Pyotr dropped tc his hands and knees, and flying over him the pitchfork a couple of inches into the earth and stuck upright, whanging and quivering. Scowling, Pyotr caught at the bridles of the startled horses and swore lustily: "You might have killed me, you swine!" "Yes, and I would have killed you!" a mad devil. You're your father's son right, a true Turk." pitchfork ground and ma- chine. Pyotr beckoned to him with his finger. "Come here! Give me that pitchfork." He passed left hand, and pitchfork by prongs. Then with the handle he struck Grigory across the back. "Ought to have swing," grumbled, keeping eyes on Grigory, who 9* 131

had leaped away. After a moment or two they lit cigarettes, stared into each other's eyes and burst out laughing. Christonya's wife, who road, had stood up her wagon see what happened, Mele- khovs' machine and tween her and Hardly had street when a neighbour: "Klimovna! Run and Turk his boys pitchforks the Tatar mound. jabbed fork, then Pyotr gave him. . The blood poured out. It was horrible!" Pyotr had grown hoarse with bawling at the tired horses and was whistling instead, Grigory, his dust-blackened foot resting on the transom, pitchforking swathes reaper. bitten raw by flies, swished their tails and pulled unwillingly. Reaping was in progress all over the steppe. The blades of the machines rattled groaned, was dotted with swathes of corn. Mimicking the drivers, the marmots whistled hillocks. "Two more lengths, smoke!" Pyotr shouted above the noise 132

machine. Grigory nodded. He could hardly open his parched lips. He gripped his pitchfork clos- er to the prongs in order to get a better lever- age on the heavy swathes, and breathed spas- modically. dripping itched sweat. From under his hat it poured down his face and stung like soap. Halting the horses, they had a drink and a smoke. "There's someone riding a horse pretty hard road," Pyotr remarked, shading eyes with stared, and his eyebrows astonishment. "It looks like Father." "You're mad! riding? We've got both horses here." "It's him! God's truth, it's Father." rider drew nearer, and after a moment clearly. Pyotr stamped about anxious surprise. "Something's happened at home," gave expression to the thought troubling them both. still a hundred yards "I'll thrash you, you sons of a bitch!" he yelled, waving his leather whip earth...!" 133

flabbergasted, his moustache into his mouth. reaper! God, he'll lash us with that knout. While we're getting to bottom business, he'll whip our guts out," Grigory said with a grin, the machine between himself and The foaming horse came over the swathes of corn lumbering sides (for bareback), whip: have you been up to out here, you children of devil?" "We've been reaping," Pyotr swept his arms around, nervously eyeing the whip. "Who's been sticking who fork? What have you been fighting about?" Turning his back on father, Grigory be- gan counting the clouds in a whisper. "What fork? Who's fighting?" looked his father up and down. "Why, she came running to me, the daughter of a hen, shrieking: 'Your boys have stuck each other with pitchforks.' Pantelei shook excitedly reins, jumped grabbed and came gallop. Well?" 134

flock sheep. six rooms and iron roof was as good that of Mokhov the merchant. The outhouses roofed tiles. The garden and meadow covered a good acres. What more could a man want? it was rather timidly and with secret luctance that Pantelei had paid his first visit to Korshunovs propose match. Korshunovs could find a much richer husband than Grigory for their daughter. Pantelei knew this and was afraid of a refusal. He did not like begging to Korshunov, but Ilyinichna gnawed into him like rust into iron, and at last overcame obstinacy. finally he had visited the Korshunovs, heartily cursing Grigory and Ilyinichna and wide world. Now was time to go for an an- swer. They were only waiting for Sunday. Meanwhile, under the Korshunovs' house burning dissension had arisen. After the Melekhovs' departure Natalya declared to her mother: like Grigory, I'll never wed another." "She's found herself a bridegroom, the idiot," her father replied. "The only good thing about is that he's as black as a gypsy. My berry, I could find you a much better husband." don't want any Father." The 136

flushed and began to weep. "You can take me to the convent otherwise." woman-chaser, runs sol- diers' wives. The whole village knows it," her father played last card. "Well, and let him!" 'let him' for you, then to me." Natalya, the eldest daughter, ther's favourite, and he had not pressed her into marriage. Proposals for her hand had been plentiful, some coming from villages, rich, old-believer had not taken to any of the prospective bride- grooms, and nothing had come of their efforts. In his heart, Miron liked Grigory for his Cos- sack ardour, his love of farming and hard work. He had picked him out among village youths when Grigory had won the races, but he thought little humiliating to give his daughter to a man who was not rich, especially one who had a bad reputation. "A hard-working lad and good-looking," wife would whisper night, stroking his freckled, hairy hand. "And Natalya is real- ly gone on him. back on cold, withered breast, and shouted angrily: 137

off, you burr! Marry her off to an idiot, what do I care? God has taken away your rea- son. Good-looking!" mimicked. "Will you reap a harvest off his face?" "Harvests aren't "What does it matter about his looks? If only he had some standing. I must admit it's a bit of a come-down for me to give my daughter to the Turks." "They're a hard-working family and comfort- ably moving closer to her husband's broad back, stroked his hand soothingly. "Hey, the devil! Get away, can't you? Leave me a little room! Why are you stroking me as if I were a cow with calf? And do as you please with Natalya. Marry her to a close-cropped girl if that suits you." have some child," she murmured ear. But Miron kicked, and began to snore as though asleep. The Melekhovs' for an answer took Korshunovs by surprise. They came after matins. As Ilyinichna set her foot on the step of the wagonette she nearly overturned Pantelei jumped down from seat a young cockerel. 13S

are! What brought them here today?" Miron groaned, as he looked out of the window. "Oh dear, here I am just out of the kitchen. Haven't even had a chance to change my every- day skirt." "You'll do as you are. Nobody's thinking of marrying wants mange!" "You're a born ruffian and you've completely lost your senses in your old age." "Hold your tongue, woman!" "You might put on a clean shirt, your back- bone's showing through Aren't you ashamed, you old devil?" his wife scolded, sur- veying her visitors across the yard. "Don't worry, they'll recognize me in what I'm wearing. They wouldn't refuse I put on sackcloth." "Good health!" crowed, over the door-step. He was at once abashed by loudness mend matters by crossing twice before the icon. "Good-day," Miron at them grimly. "God is giving us good weather." "Praise be, and it's lasting." 139

some unknown cross gnarled claw-like appropriate sign and requisite distance, suddenly changed their form. Against its master's will the great black thumb slipped index and middle shameless stealthily slipped behind the open edge of blue overcoat and drev/ out a red-topped bottle. Blinking excitedly, Miron's freckled face and caressingly slapped the bottom of bottle with his broad, hoof- like palm. dear friends, offer up prayer children and the marriage agreement," he pro- posed. Within an hour the two men were sitting so that the tar-black rings of Melek- hov's beard were mingled strands Korshunov's. pickled cucumbers argued over the amount of the marriage settlement. "My dear kinsman," he began a hoarse whisper. "My dearest kinsman," repeated, shout. "Kinsman," roared, baring great, blunt demands for me stand. Ml

Think, dear kinsman, think how you are trying rob Gaiters and goloshes, one; fur two; woollen dresses, three; silk kerchief, four. Why, it's ruination!" wide seams split. Miron head and oilcloth, flooded with spilt vodka and pickle. He read the inscription on the flowery scroll top. "The Russian Royal Family." lower. "His Majesty Sire, Emperor Nicholas. ..." A potato-skin lay over the rest. He stared at the picture. The emperor's features invisible under an empty vodka bottle. Blinking reverently, Miron attempted to make out the style of the rich uniform with its white belt, but thickly covered with slippery cucumber seeds. empress broad- brimmed at him complacently, surrounded by the circle of insipid daughters. so affronted that tears almost came to his eyes. "You look very proud now, goose staring out of a basket, but wait till you daughters married, then stare, and you'll flutter," Pantelei droned on into his ear like a great bumble-bee. Korshunov tear- fully misty eyes, and listened. 142

The two men's beards wove together colour- fully. They kissed and Pantelei began to eat a juiceless, shrivelled cucumber and wept mixed, conflicting feelings. The women were sitting locked in an embrace chest, deafening other with cackle of their voices. Ilyinichna glowed with a cherry-coloured flush, Marya had turned green from the vodka, a winter pear nipped by frost. "You won't her anywhere else in the world. She'll be dutiful and obedient, and will never say a word to contradict you," said Marya. dear," interrupted sup- porting her cheek with her left hand and hold- ing her left elbow right hand, "so told him, don't know how many son of a bitch. He was getting ready to go out Sunday evening, tobacco in his pouch, and I said to him, 'When will you throw her over, you accursed heathen? How long have to go on shame in my old age? That little game one fine day!' " crack, below younger sisters Natalya herself was sitting in the farther room, 144

wiping blouse. She was afraid of the new life opening oppressed by the unknown. In the front room the third of vodka was finished; it was decided to bring the bride and bridegroom together on the first of August. The Korshunovs' house hummed like a bee- hive with bustle wedding. Underclothes hurriedly sewn bride. Natalya sat every evening knit- ting her bridegroom the traditional gloves and scarf of goat's wool. Her mother till dusk bent over a sev/ing-machine, helping the hired seamstress. When father and farm-hands from did not stop to wash or pull off his heavy farm- Natalya compa- ny. He found satisfaction in teasing sister. "Knitting?" briefly, nodding scarf. "Yes, what of "Knit away, you idiot. Instead grateful to you, he'll break your jaw." 10—1933 tdfi

I know Grisha, a friend of mine. sort, he'll bite and not say what for." lies. I know him better. We went to school together." Mitka would simulate a deep sigh, at his scratched hands and bend his long "You'll be lost, if you marry him. Better stay an old maid. What do you anyhow? ugly scare horse. Stupid too. Just look at him a bit closer: he's a lousy fellow." Natalya would grow angry, choke back her tears, and bend a miserable face over the scarf. "But worst of love," Mitka went mercilessly. grizzling Natalya! Throw him over! Natalya was rescued from Mitka by Grand- Grishaka, who room, groping over the floor with his knobbly stick and stroking hempen-yellow Poking he would good-for- nothing, huh?" 146

His blood seemed to grow colder every year. He would complain favourite grand-daughter: "These socks woollen, but warm enough. You'd better crochet a pair for child." it's summer. Grandad!" Natalya would laugh, and, seating herself on the bank by his side, would big wrinkled child? summer, but is as cold as the earth deep below." Natalya looked the network of veins on his hand and her mind flashed back to a day in her childhood. A well was being sunk in their yard, and she-still only a little girl-was taking clay out of the bucket and making heavy dolls, cows crumbling horns. vividly recalled the feel of the lifeless icy earth, up from a depth thirty-five feet. And now, frightened, the brown clay-coloured freckles of old age. It seemed to her that dark, clayey earth was his veins instead of bright scarlet blood. die. Grandad?" ask. though working it free of the stiff collar of his 148

uniform greenish-grey whiskers. "I wait for death as I would for a dear guest. It's time-I've lived my days, I've served my tsars, and drunk vodka enough in my day," he replied showing his white teeth in a lids quivering. stroke bowed, hunched on the bank in his patched grey uni- form, scraping the stick, while the bright red tabs twinkled gaily and youth- fully stiff upright He took the news of Natalya's approaching marriage with outward calm, but inwardly he grieved furious. choicest pieces; washed linen, mended stockings, sharouari shirts. And so, when the old man heard the news he gave her harsh, stern looks for a couple of days. Melekhovs Cossacks. The late Prokofy, a fine Cossack he was. But what are his grandsons like? Huh?" he asked Miron. "They're not so bad," Miron replied evasively. disrespectful lad. coming from and he passed me without a word of greeting. The old men don't get much respect these days. 149

see. embroidered tobacco pouch." Grigory irresolutely drew her towards wanting to kiss her; but she held him off for- cibly with her hands chest, leaned away from him, and turned her eyes apprehen- sively towards the window of the house. "They'll see us!" "Let them!" "I'm ashamed to!" "That's only at first," Grigory explained. held the reins mounted. Frowning, Grigory caught stirrup with his foot, seated himself comfortably in and rode out of the yard. She opened the gate, and stood leaned over to the left in his saddle, Kalmyk fashion, waving his whip with a flourish. "Eleven days," herself and sighed and smiled. The green, sharp-leafed wheat breaks through the ground and grows; within a few weeks a rook can fly into its midst and not be seen. The com sucks the juices from the earth and comes ear, then flowers and the ears are pow- 153

dered with a golden dust; the grain swells with sweet and scented milk. The farmer goes into the steppe and stands gazing and joy. But then a herd of stray corn; tread laden glebe. Round patches of crushed wheat are left lain; the farmer grows bitter and desperate at the sight. So with Aksinya. Grigory had trampled her feelings ripened to golden flower his heavy, raw-hide sandals. He had sullied them, burned them to ash-and that was patch spirit grew wild, like a deserted farmyard overgrown with goose-grass and scrub. She walked along ends kerchief, swelled her throat. She entered the house and floor, choking with tears, with tor- ment, with the dreary emptiness through her head. But then it passed. The pierc- ing anguish was drawn down and exhausted the bottom of her heart. trampled stands again. With the dew and the sun the trodden stalks arise; first, bowed a man under too heavy burden, erect, lifting heads; and the day is day again and the wind still blows. 154

passionately hatred was mingled with planning dishonour, shame; her mind happy Natalya, who had known neither the bitterness nor the joy of love. She lay thinking over her plans darkness. Stepan's handsome head lay heavily on her right arm, his long wavy forelock awry. He breathed through half-opened toil-roughened caressing forgetfulness. thinking and planning, but only one thing could she resolve firmly: she would take Grigory from everybody else, she would flood him with love, possess possessed him. But at the bottom of her heart sting left by bee, mained. in household duties cares. She met Grigory occasionally, and would turn pale, proudly beautiful yearned so much for him, gazing shamelessly, challengingly the black wilderness 155

After each meeting Grigory was seized with yearning for her. He grew angry without cause, and poured out wrath on Dunya and mother, but most frequently he took his went out into the backyard and slashed away at stout twigs planted the ground until he bathed in perspiration. lousy chopped up enough for a couple fences. Go the woods, you must chop away. You wait, my lad! When called up service, chance to do it. That'll soon take it out of you!" Four gaily-decorated two-horse wagonettes to drive to bride. of village folk holiday attire thronged around them as they stood in the Melekhovs' Pyotr was the best man. He was dressed in a black frock-coat blue striped left arm was bound white ker- chiefs, and he wore a fixed scornful smile under his wheaten whiskers. shy, Grigory!" cock, don't get sulky!" 156

slender supple willow branch, attired in a woollen, raspberry-coloured twitched the pencilled arches brows and gave Pyotr a nudge: time we were waiting for us." "Take your places," Pyotr ordered, whispered consultation father. "On my wagon, bridegroom." wagonettes. Flushed triumphant, Ilyinichna opened gates. The four wagonettes chased after one another along side. Opposite them handkerchief. The ruts and bumps interi*upted struck up The crimson bands caps, uniforms frock-coats, sleeves bound with white kerchiefs, the scattered rainbow of the women's kerchiefs, the gay skirts, and muslin trains dust behind each wagonette made a colourful picture. cousin, Anikei, drove bridegroom's wagonette. Leaning forward over tails seat, he his whip and whistled, harder tautened traces. 757

rising from road and ran into the yard bawling: coming!" "Here are!" They surrounded Het-Baba who had just come "Why the crowd? Get away, you little devils. noise you make! hear myself speak." wide baggy sharouari, poking fun at the Ukrainian. Het-Baba, his head bent if he were peeping into a deep well, looked frenzied his firm long belly with an indulgent The wagonettes came rattling up to the gate. followed behind. The door from the porch the kitchen was shut fast. Pyotr knocked. "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy us!" intoned. "Amen!" came from repeated words receiving answer. "May we come in?" "You are welcome." The door was thrown open. The parents' presentative, godmother, good- 159

looking widow, Pyotr with curtsey thin raspberry-lipped "Take for your health's sake, man!" handing cloudy, over-fresh kvass. Pyotr smoothed whiskers, down, and spluttered amid a general restrained laugh: "Well, you've made me welcome! wait, my blackberry, wait treat you. make you pay for While the best man and Natalya's godmother were competing in a duel of wits, the relatives of the bridegroom were brought of vodka each, in accordance with the marriage agreement. wedding dress and veil, sat at the table, guarded by her sisters. Marishka held a rolling pin in her outstretched hand, and Grippa, challenging fervour in her eyes, brandished a mixing spoon. Sweating, and slightly tipsy with vodka, Pyotr bowed and offered them a fifty-kopeck piece in glass. But Marishka struck the table with her rolling pin, "Not enough! We the bride!" Once more offered them some silver in the glass: "We won't let you sisters raged, elbowing the downcast Natalya. 160

ate long and heartily. The reek of resinous masculine sweat mingled with more caustic and spicy scent of the women. The skirts, frock-coats and shawls that had for long been packed away in chests, smelled of moth- balls and something else, heavy and cloying, like an old woman's much-used honey pot. Natalya. And first time he noticed that her upper lip was swollen, and hung like the peak of a cap over her underlip. He also noticed that on the cheek, below cheek-bone, was brown mole, and that two hairs were growing out of the mole; and for some reason this irritated him. He recalled Aksinya's slender curly, fluffy locks, handful of prickly hay down his sweating back. bristled, and with a suppressed wretchedness munching, chewing and smacking When they got up from the table someone, stewed fruit-juice sour of wheaten bread handful of millet down of his boot protect him against the eye. the way back to his own house the millet hurt feet; band 162

choked him, and under the depressing influence of the marriage rites, in a cold, desperate fury Grigory muttered curses to himself. XXII the horses, though they had rested a bit Korshunovs, exhausted. harnesses were spattered with foam. drunken drivers urged them on ruthlessly. The procession was the old Mele- khovs. silver-inlaid glistening, icon, and side, her thin lips set stonily. Amid a shower hops approached receive blessing. As blessed them tear ran down Pantelei's face, and he frowned fidgeted, annoyed that anyone should be witness of his frailty. bride house. Darya, red from the vodka, the ride, and the sun, dashed out on to the steps and pounced on Dunya. "Where's Pyotr?" "I haven't seen him!" "He ought priest, and nowhere to be found, curse him!" 11* 163

She found Pyotr, who had drunk more vodka than was good for him, lying cart, groan- ing. She swooped on him like kite. "You've had too much, you heathen! Get up and run for priest!" "Clear off! I don't know you. Who are you ordering about?" protested, scrabbling about in the straw and fowls' dung. eyes Darya thrust two mouth, lolling tongue, and helped him ease himself. Then she poured pitcher cold well-water over his head, wiped him dry with the horse blanket and took him priest. Less than an hour later Grigory was stand- church, a wax candle in his hand, his eyes wandering over the wall of whispering people round him, and repeating to himself four words that would not leave his head: "You've had fling!" puffy-faced coughed. Somewhere in the crowd he saw Dunya's eyes twinkling; faces. He heard the dissonant chorus of voices droning responses the deacon. He fettered with apathy. He followed Father Vissarion round lectern, treading battered boots; he when Pyotr gave a gentle tug at his frock-coat. 164

flickering tongues candleflame, and struggled with the sleepy tor- por which had taken possession "Exchange rings!" Vissarion, giving Grigory a lukewarm smile. obeyed. soon?" mutely glance. And the corners of Pyotr's lips twitched, stifling "Soon kissed his wife's moist, insipid lips three times, the church began to smell foully of extinguished candles, and the crowd pressed towards the door. Holding Natalya's large, rough hand in his, Someone clapped his hat head. A warm breeze from the east brought the scent of wormwood nostrils. The cool of evening came from Lightning flickered coming; church fence, above the hum of voices he heard inviting tinkle bells on restive horses. xxni Korshunovs arrive bride Several times Pantelei went to the gate to see whether 165

they were coming, but the grey road, lined with a growth thorns, was deserted. He shifted his eyes towards the Don. forest was golden yellow. The ripened reeds bent wearily over the Don-side marshes. Blending with the dusk, the sad blue drowsiness enwrapped the Don, the chalky ridge of hills, the forest lurking in a lilac mist beyond the river, and the steppe. At cross-roads the wayside cross was silhouetted against the sky. scarcely audible sound of wheels and the yapping of dogs. Two wagonettes turned street. In sat Miron with his side; opposite them was Grandad Grishaka uniform, St. George and medals. Mitka drove, ting carelessly on box, and not troubling to show the foaming horses his whip. In second wagonette, Mikhei, leaning backward, tugged at the reins, trying to reduce the horses' gallop angular scarlet, sweat was streaming down from under the broken peak of his cap. Pantelei threw open wagonettes 166

sailed down from porch, the hem dress trailing in the dust. "Welcome, dear friends! Do our poor house the honour of entering." She bent her corpulent waist in a bow. His head on one flung open welcomed them: "We humbly invite you to come in!" for the horses to be unharnessed and went up to the father of his daughter-in- law. brushed sharovari hand to get the off them. Old Grishaka, shaken up by the wild ride, lagged behind. in, my dears!" insisted. "Thank you, we're just coming." "We've been do come I'll bring a besom to brush your uni- form with. There's so much dust about at this year, it's hard to breathe." indeed, it's very dry. makes the . Don't trouble yourself, my just. . ." Bowing slow-witted hostess, backed the bam refuge behind a painted winnowing machine. "Can't you leave alone, you snorted, intercepting "He wants 167

and you keep. brains, woman!" I know?" Ilyinichna protested blushing. "You ought guess. Never mind, take the guests to table." The bride's family were taken into the best room, where a crowd of already half-intoxicat- ed guests was table. Soon newly-married half-gallon bottle, tears standing in his eyes. "Well, Miron children! May their life be filled with good, as ours been. May happily, and enjoy the best of health." They poured Grandfather Grishaka glass of vodka, and succeeded in sending half his beard-mildewed mouth and half down the stiff uniform. Glasses were clinked together. The company drank and drank. The hubbub was market. A relation the Korshunovs, Nikifor Koloveidin, who was at the far glass and the traditional words: "It's bitter!" "Bitter! Bitter!" seated around the table clamoured after him. 168

bitter!" response crowded kitchen. Scowling, insipid lips and sent a hunted glance round the room. A crimson fever faces. Coarse, drunkenly muddy glances smiles. Mouths greedily, slobbering embroidered tablecloth. A howl of voices. Koloveidin wide gap-toothed mouth. bitter!" the long-service badges on sleeve of his blue Guards uniform wrinkled as he raised his glass. "Bitter!" the cry was taken up once more. Grigory stared with hatred into Koloveidin's tongue between his teeth as he cried, "Bitter!" "Kiss, little chicks!" Pyotr spluttered, twitch- vodka-soaked moustache. In the kitchen Darya, flushed and intoxicated, began a song. It was taken up by the others blended, but above all the rest rose Christonya's rumble, shaking the window-panes. The song ended and eating was resumed. "Here's time, good people...!" "Try this mutton!" "Take your paw away, my husband's look- ing!" 169

Marya Lukinichna set her arms akimbo, her left hand. Pyotr went up to her with mincing steps, cut a fine caper and place. Lukinichna picked up her skirt as though about to step over a puddle, picked out the rhythm with her toe, and danced amid of approbation, kicking legs like a man. The accordion player rushed out a volley of low notes swept Pyotr action, and with a shout he dropped to a squatting position and danced round, smacking the palms hands against the legs of his boots and biting his moustache corner of mouth. He swung his feet in and out at great speed; his damp forelock tossed wildly on his head, but could not keep up with view was blocked by door. He heard only the shouts drumming shod heels, like the crackle of a burning pine- board. danced Ilyinichna; stepped out seriously and with his accustomed businesslike stood on stool watch them, dangling his lame leg and click- ing his tongue. Instead of his legs his lips and ear-ring danced. The dance was taken up by experts and by 171

others who could not even bend a leg proper- All of them were shouted at: "Smaller steps! Oh, \" "His light enough, his bottom gets in his way." get on with "Our side's winning." "Come on!" "Tired, are you? I'll crack a bottle over your if you don't dance." Grandfather Grishaka was completely drunk. He embraced the bony back his neighbour the bench, and buzzed a mosquito his ear: "What year did you first see service?" neighbour, an ancient oak, "1839, my son!" "When?" stuck "1839, I told you." "What's your name? What regiment did you serve in?" "Maxim Bogatiryov. Baklanov's regiment." related to the Melekhovs?" "I asked, are you related?" 772

janissaries serve tsar and wear white sacks on their heads. Huh? White sacks on their heads." ", . The bugler sounded alarm, and to my comrade: 'We'll retreat, Timofei, but first we'll have that carpet wall.' " "I have been decorated Georges, awarded heroism major alive." Grandfather Grishaka began to weep and to bang his withered fist on neighbour's spine. latter, dipping a piece of chicken in the cherry jelly, lifeless- ly stared at the soiled tablecloth and mumbled: listen to what sin the spirit led me into, my son!" fixedly creases tablecloth tablecloth soaked in vodka and dazzling snowy folds of the Caucasian mountains. never before taken anything that wasn't mine, but now I happened to see that carpet, and thought, 'That would make a good horsecloth.' " parts myself. lands sea well," to look his neighbour in the eyes, but the deep sockets were overgrown with shaggy thickets eyebrows resorted craft. He wanted to win his neighbour's atten- 174

tion for the climax of his story, and he plunged into the middle of it without any preliminaries: gives order: 'In columns gallop! Forward!'" Baklanov threw back his head like a charger at the sound the trumpet fist on table, whispered: "Lances ready! Draw sabres, Bakla- nov's men!" His voice suddenly grew stronger, his faded eyes glittered and blazed. "Baklanov's boys!" roared, opening wide toothless jaws. "Into attack-forward!" And he gazed at Grishaka with youthful and intelligent look, and let the tears trickling over his beard fall unwiped. Grishaka also grew excited: "He gave us this command, and waved sword. We forward, and janis- saries were drawn this," he drew square on tablecloth with a shaky firing us. Twice charged Each time they back. Whenever we tried, their cavalry came little wood on their flank. So our troop commander gave the order and we turned We smashed Rode down. What Cossacks? They fled wood. 175

of me, riding on bay. A good-looking whiskers he had. He looked at me and drew his pistol. Bang! But he missed me. I spurred my horse and caught up with him. I was going cut him down, but then I thought better of all, he was a man too. So I grabbed him waist with my arm, flew out saddle. He bit my arm, but took him all the same. Grishaka glanced triumphantly at his neigh- bour, but the old man's great angular head had snoring contentedly.

PART TWO S ergei Platonovich Mokhov trace ancestry a long way back. During the reign of Peter the barge travelling down Azov with a cargo of biscuit and gunpowder. The Cossacks of the little rebel town of Chigo- naki, nestling on the bank of the upper Don, fell on the barge by night, destroyed the sleepy guards, pillaged the biscuit and gunpowder and sank the vessel. The tsar ordered out soldiers from Voronezh, and they burned down the town of Chigonaki, ruthlessly guilty sword, and hanged forty of them on a floating gallows, which, as warning the unruly lages, was sent sailing down the Don. 12—1933

Some spot hearths Chigonaki huts smoked began again to be inhabited set- tlers and those who had survived the sacking. grew up defensive ramparts round it. At the same time, a secret agent tsar, peasant named Mokhov, was sent to Chigonaki from Voronezh. He traded knife-hafts, tobacco, flints, and the other odds and ends necessary to the Cos- sacks' everyday life. He bought up and resold stolen goods, and twice a year journeyed Voronezh, ostensibly replenish stocks, reality to report to the authorities stanitsa was for the time being quiet and the Cossacks were not contemplating any fresh mischief. this Russian peasant Nikita Mokhov that the merchant family of Mokhovs descended. root earth; they multiplied and grew sturdy weeds, rev- erently preserving half-rotten credentials ancestor governor Voronezh. credentials might preserved this day burned their wooden box behind icon during a great fire which occurred in grandfather. 178

Mokhov had ruined himself once by card-playing, but getting on again when the fire engulfed everything. After burying paralytic afresh, starting by buying bristles feathers. five years miserably, swindling and squeezing district out of every kopeck, then he suddenly jumped from "peddler Seryozhka" "Sergei Platonovich," drapery married the daughter of a half-demented priest, from whom he got sizeable dowry, and up as a linen draper. Sergei Platonovich began trade textiles right moment. authorities, about this time the Cossacks were migrating in entire villages from the left bank of the Don, where the ground was unproductive and sandy, Buildings sprang of Krasnokutskaya; new villages hatched out on the edge of former estates, banks rivers Chir, Chomaya and Frolovka, and over valleys and ravines in the steppe, side by side with Ukrain- ian settlements. instead journey or more goods Sergei Mokhov's deal shelves packed attractive commodities, spot. 12* 179

wide, a full-size accordion, and traded requisite hides, salt, kerosene, haberdashery. He began to supply agricultural machinery. Reap- ers, seeders, ploughs, winnowers Aksaisk factory were drawn up neat order shutters it well protected from the summer's heat. It is hard to count the money in another's purse, seems quick-witted Sergei's trading yielded profit, within three years he had opened a grain vator, and the following year death first wife he began the construction of a steam flour-mill. He squeezed Tatarsky and the neighbouring swarthy sparse covering glossy hairs. was not a home that was not in debt to Sergei Mokhov: a green slip with an orange border saying that a reaper had been given on credit to so-and-so, bride's outfit for the daughter to someone else (time to marry the girl off and the Paramonovo elevator was cutting its prices on wheat-"Put on my account, Mokhov"), and so it went on. Nine hands were employed mill, seven shop, and bourers: altogether twenty mouths dependent on the merchant's pleasure for their daily bread. 180

He had two children by his first wife: the Liza and a boy two years younger, the sluggish, scrofulous Vladimir. His second wife, Anna, dry, sharp-nosed creature, childless. her belated mother-love and accumulated spleen (she had not married age thirty- four) were poured out on the children. Her nerv- ous temperament influence attention than he gave his stable-hand or cook. activities occupied time. The children grew up uncontrolled. His insen- sitive wife made no attempt penetrate the secrets of the child mind, the affairs large household took too much of her time, and brother and sister grew up alien to each other, character, were not related. Vladimir was sullen, sluggish, sly unchildish seriousness. Liza, who lived in the society of the maid and the cook latter a dissolute, much too perienced woman), early saw the seamy side of The women aroused unhealthy curi- osity her, and while still an angular and bash- ful adolescent, left to her own devices, she had as wild true-love flower unhurrying years flowed by. The girew older and the young grew green of leaf, IB!

Platonovich tea-table, startled, Liza, who had school, had grown into a slender good-looking girl. He looked at her and the saucer filled with amber- coloured tea trembled hand. How was! image! "Liza, turn your head sideways!" He had never amazingly resembled her mother. Vladimir Mokhov, narrow-chested, sickly- yellow lad now in the fifth form at school, was walking yard. He sister had recently returned home for the sum- mer vacation, and, as usual, he had gone along jostle among flour- sprinkled crowd and listen to the steady rum- ble of cog-wheels and rollers, and the hiss of whirling belts. ministered vanity respectful murmur customers: "The master's heir. Carefully picking his way among the wagons and the heaps dung, Vladimir reached gate. Then he remembered to see the engine room, and turned back. Close to the red oil-tank, at the entrance engine room, mill-hand Timofei, scalesman nicknamed "Knave," Timofei's

assistant David were kneading a great ring rolled up above their knees. "Ah! The master!" scalesman him jokingly, "Good-afternoon. What are you doing?" "Mixing clay," David said with an unpleas- ant smile, dragging his feet out of the clinging mass, which smelled dung. careful of the rubles, and won't hire women to it. Your screw, is," added, making a squelching noise with his feet. Vladimir flushed. He felt an unconquerable dislike ever-smiling contemptuous tone, "What do you mean, 'a screw'?" "He's terribly mean, he'd eat his own dirt it paid him," David explained with approvingly. all the smart of the insult. He stared cold- ly at David. dissatisfied?" this mess and mix you'll know. What fool satisfied? It would do your father good to do this. Take some belly," David replied. He trod heavily around the ring of clay, kneading it with his feet, now gaily. Foretasting sweet revenge, 183

over a fitting mind. "Good!" he said slowly. "I'll tell Papa you're not satisfied with your work." He glanced sidelong at the man's face, and was startled by the impression he had caused. David's lips were smile, and the faces of the others were cloud- three went on kneading the for a moment silence. Then David tore eyes away from his muddy feet, and said in a wheedling, tone: joking, Volodya." tell Papa what you said." With tears of injury for his father and David's miserable walked away. "Volodya! Sergeyevich !" after him in alarm, and stepped clay, his trousers fall over his be- spattered Vladimir halted. David ran to him breathing "Don't tell your father! Forgive me, fool that I am. Honest tease "All right, I won't tell him," Vladimir replied with a grimace, and walked on towards the gate. Pity for David had won. He walked along by 184

the white fence with a feeling of relief. From forge mill-yard, cheerful tapping of a hammer could be heard, now soft and muffled as it struck the iron, now a hard and ringing double tap on the anvil. Knave's deep voice reached stir dung, and it won't stink." swine!" Vladimir thought indignantly. "So he answers back. , Shall I tell Father or not?" he saw David his everlasting smile, and decided: tell!" A horse and wagon stood hitched to a post outside the shop. Children were chasing a twit- tering grey cloud of sparrows off the roof fire-house. From the verandah sonorous baritone student Boyarishkin, and another voice-cracked and husky. Vladimir went up The leaves of the wild vine grew thickly over the porch and verandah and hung in foaming bunches carved blue-painted eaves. blue-shaven and addressing teacher Balanda, young man but already bearded. I read him, despite the fact that I'm the son of a toiling Cossack and naturally hate all privileged classes, just imagine I feel an 185

acute that moribund so- ciety. I nearly turn into a nobleman and land- lord myself, ideal woman rapture. I even interests heart, damn it! Yes, my friend, that's what a genius can do. He can even make creed." Balanda toyed with tassel silk sash and examined the red embroidery on the hem of his ironically. Liza armchair. evidently did not interest her in the least. With eyes that always aimlessly at Boyarishkin's blue, razor-scratched Bowing Vladimir went ther's private room and knocked. Sergei Plato- novich was sitting on a cool leather couch, turn- ing over the pages the June issue of Rus- skoye Bogatstvo. A yellowed bone paper-knife "Well, what do you want?" Vladimir hunched his shoulders slightly and straightened the folds "As mill," Vladimir began uncertainly. called David's dazzling smile, and gazing at his corpulent tussore waist-

coat, he resolutely continued: "I heard David, the mill-hand, say. Sergei Platonovich listened attentively to his son's story, and said: "I'll sack him. You may go." Then he bent with a groan to pick up the paper-knife. In the evenings the intelligentsia lage were habit of gathering at Sergei Mokhov's house. There was Boyarishkin, a stu- dent of the Moscow Technical School; the puny teacher Balanda, eaten up with conceit and tu- berculosis; cohabitant teacher Marfa, a shapely girl whose petticoat always showed indecently, and who never seemed to grow any older; and the postmaster, an eccentric, rather musty bachelor smelling sealing-wax cheap scent. Occasionally the young lieutenant, Yevgeny Listnitsky, rode over from his father's estate. The company would sit drinking tea on the verandah, carrying on a pointless conver- sation, and when there was a lull in the of the guests would get up and set going the host's expensive inlaid gramophone. On rare occasions, during the great holidays, Sergei Platonovich liked to cut a dash: he vited guests and regaled them with expensive wines, fresh caviare, ordered from Bataisk for the occasion, and finest of hors-d'oeuvres. At other times he lived frugally. The one thing t87

in regard which he exercised self-re- straint was the purchase books. He loved reading, and liked to get to the bottom of things with his own mind, which tenacious bindweed. partner, Yemelyan Konstantinovich Atyopin, fair-haired beard and hidden slits rarely Mokhov. He was married to a former nun, had children by her fifteen years life, and stayed at home most time. He had begun his career as a regimental clerk, and the fusty spirit of cringing and gratiation permeated family also. children walked on tiptoe presence, talked whispers. Every after washing, lined up dining-room hanging coffin huge clock. them, and cough bedroom, discordantly "Our Father" prayers. Yemelyan Konstantinovich would be dressed and emerge from the bedroom by the time the prayers were ended. Screwing up his tiny green eyes, he would extend his fleshy hand as though bishop, proached him in single file to kiss it. Then Yeme- 188

lyan Konstantinovich would kiss the cheek and ask, lisping: "Polya, is the tea ready?" is, Yemelyan Konstantinovich." "Pour me some strong tea." shop's accountant. He pages bold-faced headings, "Debit" and "Credit," with his flowery clerk's handwriting. He read the Stock Exchange News, adorning his lumpy nose with a gold-rimmed pince-nez for which he had no need. He treated his employees politely. "Ivan Petrovich, please show the Taurida calico the customer." His wife called him Yemelyan Konstantino- vich, children-Papa, assistants- blah-blah. The two village priests. Father Vissarion and the pious Father Pankraty, were not on friendly terms Platonovich. They long-standing quarrel with him. Nor were they on very amicable terms with each other. The fractious, intriguing Father Pankraty was clev- er at making trouble for his neighbours, and the widower Vissarion syphilitic twang voice that belied affable na- ture, who lived with a Ukrainian housekeeper, held himself aloof, and had no love for Father 189

Pankraty because inordinate pride intriguing character. All except the teacher Balanda owned own houses. Mokhov's faced with match-board square; opposite, centre squatted glass door and faded signboard. Attached to the shop was a long, low shed with a cellar, and a hundred paces farther on rose brick wall church yard and the church itself with a cupola that looked like a ripe green onion. Beyond the church were the whitewashed, officially severe school, smart-looking houses, one blue, with blue-painted fences, be- Pankraty; the other brown (to avoid any resemblance) with carved fencing and a broad balcony, belonging to Father Vis- sarion. Then came Atyopin's strangely narrow two-storied house, the post office, the thatched iron-roofed houses finally the sloping back of the mill, with rusty tin cocks on roof. inhabitants lived behind barred bolted double shutters, the world. Every eve- ning, unless they were paying a visit to a neigh- bour, each family shot the bolts of their doors, 190

unchained yards, the sound of the wooden tongue the night watchman's clapper disturbed One day towards of August Mitka Korshunov happened Liza Mokhova down by the river. He had just rowed side, and as he was fastening his boat he saw a light gaily-painted skiff skimming It was being rowed by student Boyarishkin. shaven glistened perspiration, veins his forehead. Mitka did not recognize Liza in the skiff first, for her straw hat threw her face into shad- ow. sunburnt bunch of yellow water-lilies to her breast. "Korshunov!" called, at Mitka. "You've deceived me." "Deceived you?" "Don't you remember, you promised to take me fishing?" Boyarishkin dropped the oars and straight- ened his back. The skiff thrust its nose into the shore with a scrunch. "Do you remember?" Liza jumped out. 191

Mitka toyed silently with the rusty key for locking up the boat, and looked straight at her "Will you be through soon?" asked Boyarish- kin, examining a shell lying in "In a minute." She was silent a moment, herself, she asked: wedding family, haven't you?" "Yes, my sister's." "Whom did she marry?" Then, without wait- ing for an answer, she smiled again mysterious- ly and fleetingly. "Do come, won't you?" Once again, as it had on the verandah of Mokhov's house her stung Mitka nettle. boat. Boyarishkin and rowed Liza smiled over his head at Mitka, who was still toying with the key, and nodded farewell. boat was well Boyarishkin quietly ask: "Who is that fellow?" "Just an acquaintance." "Not an affair of the heart?" Mitka did not catch her answer the rowlocks. He throw himself back with a laugh, but could not face. The ribbon on her hat, stirring gently in the breeze, caressed the slope 13—1933 193

of her bare shoulder with melting softness that teased Mitka's misty glance. Mitka, who rarely went fishing with rod and line, prepared occasion with such zeal as on that evening. He chopped some dung straw and boiled up the millet over fire on the vegetable patch, then sorted his hooks, renewing the lines that were rotten. Mikhei, who was watching his preparations, asked: "Take me with you, Mitka. You won't be able to manage alone," "I'll manage." Mikhei "It's a long time since we went out together. I'd just like the feel of a twenty-pounder pull- ing on line." Mitka frowned into the hot column of steam rising from pot nothing. When finished he went into the back Grandfather Grishaka was sitting by the win- dow, with round, copper-rimmed spectacles on his nose, studying the Gospels. "Grandad!" against the door-frame. The old man looked at him over his specta- cles. "Eh?" "Wake me up first cock." "Where are you off to so early?" t94

Silence. "Suppose wrong window! Suppose Mokhov's asleep in there! be for it then. He'll use a gun!" "Yelizaveta Sergeyevna, coming fishing?" If he'd mistaken the window there'd be some fish caught all right! getting up?" he said in irritation, and thrust his head through the window open- "Who's there?" a low startled voice sounded in the darkness. "It's me, Korshunov. Coming fishing?" "Oh! Just a minute." There was a sound of movement inside. Her warm, sleepy voice seemed mint. Mitka saw something white and rustling mov- ing about the room. fishing," he thought vaguely with the smell the bedroom in nostrils. After a while her smiling face, framed kerchief, appeared "I'm coming Give hand." As he helped her down, she looked close- ly into his eyes. didn't take long, did I?" "It's all right, we'll be in time." They went down to the Don. She rubbed her sleep-swollen eyes with a pink hand. 197

Unfastening boat, he pushed off and rowed standing. The rustled and wept stern. The gently breasted stream, opposite bank. The rods jumped the bottom boat. me?" "To the other side." The keel grated on the sandy shore. Without asking permission he picked the girl up in his arms, and clump of haw- thorn. She bit at his scratched, gave one or two stifled screams, and feeling her strength ebbing, she wept angrily, but without tears. nine o'clock. The was wrapped in a ruddy yellow haze. A strong breeze danced over the river, maning the waves. The boat danced waves, frothy spray sprinkled on pallid face and clung to her lashes and the strands of hair. She wearily closed her vacant twisting in her fingers a flower that had fallen into the boat. Mitka rowed without looking her. A small carp and a bream lay goggle-eyed feet, their mouths twisted in death; Mit- ka's face wore an expression of mingled guilt, content and anxiety. "I'll take you to Semyonov's landing stage. 199

It will be nearer for you," he boat into the stream. right/' she whispered. Along shore dusty wattle fences pined in the hot wind, drenching the with the smell of burnt brushwood. The heavy over-ripe caps sunflowers, pecked sparrows, drooped low, fluffy seeds over the ground. The meadowland was emerald the young aftermath. Colts were frisking distance; southerly wind wafted up echoing bells tied round their necks. Liza was getting out of the boat Mitka picked up a fish and held it out to her. "Here, take the catch." Her lashes flickered alarm, but she took fish. "Well, I'm going." Holding fish by the willow twig Mitka had fixed through their gills, she turned miser- ably away. Gone were her recent assurance and gaiety, left behind in the hawthorn bushes. "Liza!" She turned round, surprise and irritation her frown. "Come back a minute." And when she came closer he said, annoyed at his own embarrassment, "We were a bit care- 2Q0

less. Your dress at the back there's a stain It's only a A hot flush spread over her face and neck. After a moment's silence, Mitka advised: "Go by the back ways," "I'll have to pass through the square in any case. ... I meant to put my black skirt on," she at Mitka regret and sudden hatred. "Let me green it a bit with leaf," Mitka suggested simply, and was surprised to see the tears come into her eyes. Like the rustling whisper of a summer breeze the news flew round village. "Mitka Kor- shunov's been out all night with Sergei Plato- novich's daughter." The women talked about as they drove out the cattle to join the village herd in the morning, as they stood in the nar- shade well-sweeps swirling round them and water dripping buckets, as they beat out their washing on the flat stones down by the "Her own mother's dead you know." "Her father never has a minute to spare, and her stepmother trouble." "The watchman says he saw a man tapping at the end window at midnight. He thought at it was someone trying to break in. He ran to see who it waS/ and found it was Mitka." 201

days, don't know they're coming "Mitka told my Nikita he's going to marry her." "He'd better wipe his nose "He forced "Don't you believe The rumours flowed round main street and street, smearing the girl's good name, a clean gate is smeared with thick tar. Finally they descended on the greying head of Mokhov himself and crushed ground. For two days he went neither shop nor mill. His servants, who downstairs, to him only On the third day Sergei Platonovich had his dapple-grey stallion harnessed droshki, and drove to the stanitsa, bowing remotely the Cossacks he met on the way. The droshki by a highly-varnished carriage, which swished out of the yard, drawn by a pair of prancing black horses. Yemelyan the coach- man, sucking pipe, become permanently greying beard, shook out the blue silk of the reins and the two horses went prancing down Liza could be pale-faced Yemelyan's craggy back. She held a light valise on her knees sadly. At 202

gate she waved her glove to Vladimir and her stepmother. Pantelei Prokofyevich happened to be limp- ing out the shop the moment, to ask the yardman Nikita: the master's daughter going?" And Nikita, condescending to the simple hu- man weakness, replied: "To Moscow, to study." The next day an incident occurred which was long the subject of talk down by the river, un- der the shadow the well-sweeps, and when the cattle were being driven out to graze. Just nightfall village herd had already returned from steppe) Mitka went Sergei Platonovich. He had waited until evening in order to avoid meeting anyone, for he came not merely to make a friendly call, but to ask for the hand of Mokhov's daughter, Liza. He had met her perhaps four times, not more. At the last meeting the conversation had taken the following course: "Liza, will you marry me?" "Nonsense!" "I shall care for you, I'll love you. We have people to work for us, you shall sit at the win- dow and read your books." "You're a fool!" Mitka took offence, and said no more. That evening he early, 203

announced astonished "Father, arrange for my marriage." "Don't be a fool." "Honestly, I'm not joking." "In a hurry, aren't you? Who're you smitten on-crazy Marfa?" "Send the match-makers Platono- vich." Grigoryevich set down cobbling tools with which he was mending har- ness, and roared with laughter. "You're in a funny vein today, my son." But Mitka stuck to his guns, and flared up. fool! Sergei Platonovich has capital of over a hundred thousand rubles. He's a mer- chant, you? Clear off, or leather you with strap." got fourteen bullocks, look at the land we own. Besides he's a muzhik, and we're "Clear off!" Miron said curtly. He did not like long discussions. Mitka found sympathetic listener only his grandfather. The old man attempted to per- suade Miron in favour of his son's suit. "Miron!" old Grishaka said. "Why don't you agree? As the boy's taken it into his head. 204

the courage with which he had been charged far had been sufficient merchant's threshold. The merchant went to his table, and swung round on heels: "Well?" Behind his back his fingers scratched at the top of the table. "I've come . ." Mitka plunged the cold slime of Mokhov's piercing eyes and shuddered. "Perhaps you'll give me Liza?" Despair, anger, fear, all combined to bring his face out perspiration, as dew during drought. left eyebrow quivered, and his up- per lip writhed back from the gums. He stretched out his neck and leaned his body forward: "What? Wha-a-at? You scoundrel! I'll have you before the ataman! You son of a bitch!" Encouraged by this shout, Mitka watched the grey-blue blood flooding into Mokhov's cheeks. "Don't take it as an insult. I only wanted to make up for what I've done." Mokhov rolled his bloodshot eyes and threw a massive iron ash-tray at Mitka' s bounded and struck him on But he stoically bore jerking door, shouted, baring his teeth with resentment and pain: "As you like, Sergei Platonovich, just as you 206

like, but I meant . Who would want her now? I thought I'd cover her shame. But now . even a dog won't touch a gnawed bone." Pressing a crumpled handkerchief to his lips, Mokhov followed on Mitka's heels. He barred the way the main door, and Mitka ran out into the yard. Here the master had only to wink to Yemelyan the coachman, and as Mitka was struggling with the latch the wicket- gate, four unleashed hounds tore round the cor- ner of the barn. Seeing a stranger, they bound- ed across the clean-swept yard straight at him. In 1910, Sergei Platonovich had brought back a pair of black curly-haired pups from the fair at Nizhny Novgorod. a year those black, curly, big-mouthed pups shot up yearling calves. At first they snapped the women who passed Mokhov's they learned to pull the women to the ground and bite their legs, and it was only when they had killed Father Pankraty's calf and a pair of Atyopin's hogs that Sergei Platonovich ordered them to be chained up. Now the dogs were loose only at night, and once every spring for the mating. Before Mitka could turn round the foremost dog was up at his shoulders with its teeth fas- tened into his jacket. The writhing black bodies bit and tore 207

balance. He saw Yeme- lyan, his pipe scattering sparks, disappear into kitchen, and heard the door slam By the drain-pipe, stood Sergei Platonovich, his hairy white fists clenched. Swaying and staggering, Mitka open the gate and dragged the bunch of snarl- ing, hot-breathed dogs after him on his bleed- ing legs. He seized one by the throat and choked off the others. Natalya fitted well into the Melekhov house- hold. Although he was rich and employed bourers, father had brought up chil- dren to work. Hard-working Natalya won hearts of her husband's parents. Ilyinichna, who secretly clothes-loving daughter-in-law Natalya from the very first. "Sleep on, sleep on, little one! What are you early for?" she would protest kindly, bustling kitchen on "Go back to bed, we'll manage without you." And Natalya who had got up at dawn to help in the kitchen would go back to the best room to complete her rest, 208

Even Pantelei, who was usually strict in gard to household matters, his wife: "Listen, wife, don't wake Natalya. She works hard enough out with Grisha to plough today. Darya. bad. paints blacken^ brows, bitch." "Let her take easy, the year," sighed Ilyinichna, remembering her own back- breaking life, Grigory had begun to get used to his newly- state; but after two or three weeks he realized with fear and chagrin that he had not completely broken Something left like a thorn in his heart, and the pain would not go soon. The feeling which, excitement of marriage, he had dismissed with careless wave the hand was deep-rooted. He thought he could forget, refused be forgotten, and the wound bled. Even before the wedding Pyotr had asked him when they were threshing together: "Grisha, but what about Aksinya?" "Well, what about her?" "Won't you feel sorry to throw her over?" "Someone else will pick her up," Grigory had said with a laugh. "Well, you know best," Pyotr biting at 14—1933 209

the chewed moustache, "but make a hash of your marriage." "Love grows old and the body cold," Grigory lightly. it had not worked out that. As he dutifully inflame her with youthful zest, he met only coldness and an embarrassed submission from her. Natalya shrank from bodily delights; inherited something mother's slow, unresponsive blood, passionate fervour Grigory sighed: "Your father must have made you on ice, Na- talya. You're too chilly by half." And when he met Aksinya she would smile a vague darkening of the pupils and her words clung the mud the bottom "Hullo, Grisha! How's love with your young wife?" right," Grigory would evasively, and escape as quickly as possible from her ca- ressing glance. Stepan had evidently made up the tavern less fre- quently, and one evening, as he was winnowing grain on threshing-floor, he suggested, since the beginning the trou- ble: sing song, Aksinya!" 210

They sat down, their backs against a heap of threshed, dusty wheat. Stepan began an army song, Aksinya joined in with her voice. They sang well together, as they had first years of their married life, when they used to jog back from the fields under the crim- son hem of the sunset glow and Stepan would sit on the load and sing an old song, as long and sad the wild and desolate road steppe. Aksinya with her head the bulging hoops of her husband's chest would take up tune. The horses would pull creaking wagon and the shaft-bow would bob up and down. And from afar the old men of the village would listen to the song. "She's got a fine voice, that wife of Stepan's." "Aye, nice singing." "And what a voice Stepan has got, a bell." And as they sat on the earthen banks round their cottages watching the dusty purple of the sunset, old men would exchange remarks across the street, about the song, where it came from, and about those who had loved Astakhovs singing, while he was threshing (the two threshing-floors adjoined) he could see Aksinya self-assured apparently happy. Or seemed to him. 14* 211

Stepan was not on speaking terms with Melekhovs. He worked on the threshing-floor, swinging his great sloping shoulders, occasion- ally making a jesting remark to Aksinya. And she would respond with a smile, her black eyes flashing. hovered constantly before Grigory's eyes. His neck was continually being twisted by a strange force which turned in the direction of Stepan's yard. He did not notice that Natalya, who was helping Pantelei. spread out the sheaves for threshing, intercepted involuntary glance with her yearning, jealous gaze; Pyotr, who was the horses round threshing circle, wrinkling his nose with a faint grin as he watched his brother. The earth groaned under the crushing weight of the stone rollers and with the muffled rumble ears Grigory groped hazily in his mind failed to catch scraps of thought that slipped elusively out of range of his conscious- ness. From near and distant threshing-floors came of threshing: shouts of drivers, the whistle of knouts, the rattle of the winnow- ing drums. The harvest, basked warmth, stretching a beaded snake In every farmyard with its wattle 212

under every Cossack roof, each brimming bit- ter-sweet whirled separate and rest. Old Grishaka had taken a suffering teeth; Mokhov, crushed by his shame, clawed his beard, weeping and grinding solitude; nursed his hatred for Grigory in his heart and his iron fingers at the patchwork quilt sleep; Natalya would run to the shed and threw herself on the heap of cowdung fuel, and huddling into a ball as she wept over her desecrated happiness; Christonya, who had sold a calf at the fair, then spent the money on drink, was tortured by pangs of conscience; Grigory sighed with insatiable renewed pain; her undying hatred for him with David had been discharged from the mill, and sat night after night with Knave in the carters' Knave, flashing, would declare: "Just wait! They'll have their throats cut be- long. One revolution wasn't enough them. Wait till we have another 1905, then we'll settle scores. We'll settle scores!" he shook his scarred finger threateningly, and with a shrug adjusted the jacket flung across And over the village slipped the days, pass ing into nights; the weeks flowed by, the 2tS

months crept on, the wind howled over the hill, warning of bad v/eather to come, and, glazed greenish-blue autumn, Don flowed on indifferently sea. One Sunday at the end of October Fedot Bo- dovskov drove stanitsa on business. He took with him four braces of fattened ducks and sold them the market; he bought some cotton print, and was on the point of driv- ing home (with one foot on the wheel he was tightening hame strap), stran- ger, obviously of those parts, came up "Good-afternoon," he greeted Fedot, putting a sunburnt hand to the edge of his black hat. " 'Afternoon," said Fedot and paused inquir- ingly, narrowing his Kalmyk eyes. "Where are you from?" "One of the villages." "And which village may that be?" "Tatarsky." The stranger drew a silver cigarette-case out of his pocket and offered Fedot a cigarette. "Is yours a large village?" "No thanks, just had one. Our village? Pret- ty big. Three hundred families or thereabouts." 214

ed: "I'm also an agent for the Singer Sewing- Machine Company." "What's your name?" Fedot asked. "Stockman." "So you're not Russian, then?" "Yes, I'm a Russian. But my grandfather was a Lett by birth." In a short while Fedot had learned that Osip Davydovich Stockman had formerly worked a factory, then somev/here the Kuban, South-Eastern Railway workshops. And a great number of other facts the inquisi- tive elicited concerning stranger's After a while the conversation flagged. Fedot watered his sweating horse at a wayside spring, and drowsy with the journey and the jolting of cart, he began to doze. It was another the village. He fastened the reins the wagon and lay back comfortably. But he was not allowed to go to sleep. "How's life in your parts?" Stockman asked him bouncing and swaying with the motion the cart. "Not so bad, we get our bread." "And the Cossacks generally, are they satis- fied with life?" "Some are, some aren't. please everybody," 217

his regiment had been stationed. Stock- casting sharp glances at Fedot from narrowed eyes, smoked mild cigarettes ringed bone holder and smiled frequently, but the frown furrow in his white sloping forehead stirred from within by hidden thoughts. They reached the eve- ning. On Fedot's advice Stockman went to the widow Lukeshka and rented two rooms from that you brought back with you?" Fedot's neighbours asked him as he drove past their gates. "An agent." "What kind of angel?" "You're fools, that's what you are. An agent, I said. He sells machines. He gives them away free to the handsome ones, but to such as you. Auntie Marya, he sells them." at yourself, you devil. Your Kalmyk snout is ugly enough to frighten a horse!" "Kalmyks Tatars steppe, so don't you joke about them," parried. Mechanic Stockman lodged at the cross-eyed, long-tongued Lukeshka's. And scarcely passed before all the women's tongues in the village were wagging. 219

news, neighbour?" "What news?" "Fedot the Kalmyk has brought a foreigner down." "Really?" "So help me God. He wears a hat and name is Shtopel or Shtokal. "He's not from the police?" "No, he's an exciseman." lies, my dears. He's a book-keeper, they say, just like Father Pankraty's son." "Pashka, my dove, run to Lukeshka and ask quietly: 'Who's auntie?' " "Run quickly, child!" Next day Stockman reported ataman. Fyodor Manitskov, who was in his third year as ataman, turned the newcomer's passport over and over, then handed it to the clerk, who also exchanged glances, and the ataman, once a sergeant-major, authoritatively waved his hand. "You can stay." The newcomer bowed and left the room. For a week he did not put his nose outside Lukesh- ka's house keeping like a suslik to his burrow. He could be heard tapping with an axe, prepar- a workshop the tumble-down outdoor 220

kitchen. women's interest away; only the children spent all day peeping over the fence and watching the stranger with unabashed V Three days before Intercession Grigory and his wife drove out to the steppe to plough. Pan- telei was unwell; he leaned heavily on his stick and wheezed with pain as he stood in the yard seeing them "Plough up the two strips on the other side of the common, by Red Dell, Grisha." "All right. What about the one up by Willow Bank?" Grigory asked in a hoarse whisper; he had caught a cold while fishing and had a cloth round his throat. "That can wait after the holiday. have enough to do as is, so don't be greedy. There must be fifteen acres up there." "Will Pyotr be coming to help?" "He's going to the mill with Darya. We want get our milling done before the crowds be- gin." put some freshly-baked buns "Perhaps take Dunya with you, to lead the bull- ocks?" "Two people are enough." 221

right, my dear. Christ be with you." Arching her slender figure under the weight a load of damp washing, Dunya went on her way to the Don to rinse the clothes. As she went by she called to Natalya: "Natalya, lots sorrel in Red Dell. Pull some up and bring it home." then, be chatterbox!" Pantelei said shaking his at Dunya. The three pairs of bullocks dragged the up- turned plough out gouging drought-hardened earth. Grigory kept adjusting kerchief bound v/alked along at the roadside, coughing. Natalya walked at his a bag with their food in swinging on her back. A crystal stillness enveloped the steppe. Be- yond the common, on the other side of the hump- backed hill the earth was being combed with ploughs, drivers were whistling; the high-road only the blue-grey stunted wormwood, clover nibbled by sheep, and the ringing glassy the sky above, criss-crossed with fly- ing threads of jewelled gossamer. After seeing the ploughmen Pyotr and Darya made ready mill. Pyotr winnowed the wheat in the granary, Darya sacked cart. 222

Pantelei harnessed the horses carefully adjust- ing the traces. "Going to be long?" "Coming," Pyotr answered from the granary. When they the yard crowded with wagons. The scales were surrounded by a dense throng. Pyotr threw the reins to Darya and jumped down from the cart. "My turn soon?" he asked Knave the scales- man. "You'll get there." "Who's being served now?" "Number thirty-eight." Pyotr turned to fetch his sacks. As he did so he heard cursing behind him. A hoarse, ill-tem- pered voice barked: "You oversleep and then you want to go out of your turn. Get away, khokhol*, I'll give you one." Pyotr recognized Horseshoe Yakov. listen. The sound weighing-room. Then came the sharp smack of a blow and an elder- ly, bearded Ukrainian with his cap crushed on tumbling through the doorway. * Khokhol -a derogatory term Ukrainian. 223

ble, his hands touching the ground, he ran the nearest cart and pulled out a shaft as were a match-stick. Hoarse cries rang out over the yard. A crunching sound. Blows. Groaning. steady shouting. The three Shamil brothers came running out of their house. One- armed Alexei caught his feet in a pair of reins lying on the ground and sprawled gate. He jumped up and went bounding across lined-up cart-shafts, armless left sleeve to his stomach. His brother Martin bent down to tuck in the trouser leg, which had come out sock. The the mill rose to a crescendo. Somebody let out cry that wind-blown cobweb, Martin straightened up dashed Darya stood watching from the cart, panting and wringing her hands. Around her, women were squealing and wailing, horses pricked up their ears restlessly, bellowed pressed against the carts. Pursing his lips Mo- khov stalked past pale-faced, his belly bobbing up and down like an egg under his waistcoat. Da- rya saw the Ukrainian with tattered cut Mitka Korshunov down with the shaft, the next moment he himself was sent headlong by one-armed Alexei's Scenes from 15—1933 225

fight passed before Darya's eyes like scraps coloured rag. Without surprise she saw Mitka, knees, sweep Mokhov's legs from der him with the iron bar. Mokhov threw out his arms and crawled like a crab to the weigh- ing-shed, there to be kicked and trodden under- foot. hysterically, arches of her painted brows cracked with her laughter. But she stopped abruptly as she saw Pyotr; swaying, he had made his way out of the heaving, yelling mob, and was cart, spitting blood. Darya ran to him with shriek. Cossacks came hurrying from lage with stakes; one of them flourished a crow- bar. The fighting was taking on fantastic pro- portions. It was no mere tavern brawl or Shrove- tide fisticuffs between villages. At the door of the weighing-shed a young Ukrainian lay with a broken pool blood; bloody strands of hair fell over his It looked though he was departing his pleasant life. Herded sheep, were slowly being driven towards the unload- ing-shed. Things would have taken a bad turn, had not an old Ukrainian had an inspiration. Darting into the shed, he pulled a flaming brand furnace and ran towards the shed where the milled grain was stored: a thousand poods and more of flour. Smoke streamed over 226

his shoulder like muslin and sparks, daylight- dimmed, scattered about. afire!" screamed, crackling brand towards the thatched roof. The Cossacks wavered and came to a halt. A dry, blustering blowing the smoke away from of the shed towards of Ukrainians. One goodly spark in the dry rush thatch, and the whole village would go up in flames. A low murmur arose from the Cossacks. Some of them began to back away towards the Ukrainian, waving the brand above his head and fiery rain, "I'll burn it! I'll burn it! Out of the yard!" fresh red-blue bruises scarred face Horseshoe Yakov, the man who had start- ed the fight, was the first to leave the yard. The Throwing their sacks hastily on to their wagons, harnessed standing up their wagons, waving the ends heads, whipping up their horses frantically, they tore out of the yard and away from the village. One-armed Alexei stood in the middle of the his empty knotted sleeve jerking on his eye and cheek twitching as usual. 15* 227

From somewhere in the bluish-black wilderness above a belated flight of cranes called to each other with voices like little silver bells. grass had sad, dead it. On a hillock flickered the ruddy glow of a ploughman's camp-fire. Grigory awoke just before dawn. A three- inch layer of snow covered his sheepskin. The steppe was hidden beneath the shimmering, vir- ginal blue of the fresh fall; the clearly-marked tracks of a hare its way on first snow ran close by the spot where he lay. For many years if a Cossack travelled alone along to Millerovo and with Ukrainians (the Ukrainian villages began at Lower Yablonovsky and stretched for seven- ty-five versts, as far as Millerovo), he had been obliged to yield them the road, or they would Cossacks were habit groups, and then they were not afraid fall- in with the steppe and exchanging invective: "Hey, khokhol! Give us the road! Think you can live on the Cossacks' land, you swine, and let them pass!" 231

The Ukrainians, who had to cart their grain to the elevator at Paramonovo on the Don, were not to be envied either. Fights would break out without cause, simply because they were "kho- khols," and once a man was a "khokhol," he had to be beaten up. Many centuries ago a diligent hand had sown the seeds caste hatred the Cossack land and cultivated them with care, and the seed had yielded fruit. The earth flowed blood shed brawls between and newcomer from the Ukraine and Russia. Some two weeks after the battle of the mill a district police officer and an inspector arrived in the village. Stockman was the first to be ex- amined. Rummaging in his brief case, the inspec- tor, a young official from the Cossack nobility, asked him: "Where were you living before you came here?" "At Rostov." "What were you imprisoned for in 1907?" Stockman's eyes glided over inspector's brief case and his bowed head with scurfy side parting. "For disturbances." "Hm! Where were you working then?" "At workshops," "What as?" "Mechanic." 232

lasted Michael's Day, frost returned and heavy snow fell, and the vegetable patches by the Don, where the snow had drift- the top of the fences, were criss-crossed with the marks of hares' feet. The streets were deserted. The smoke of dung fuel hung low over village, and rooks pecked about on the heaps of ash scattered by roadside. The smooth sledge-track wound faded grey-blue rib- bon through the village. A village assembly was to be held to arrange for the allotment and cutting of brushwood. The the steps of the vil- administration sheepskins greatcoats, until the cold drove them inside. Be- hind a table, beside the ataman and clerk, respected village elders with their silvery beards gathered; the younger beards various colours and those with beard at all stood round in groups and muttered one another out of the warmth collars. The clerk covered sheet after sheet of pa- per writing, watched over his shoulder, and a restrained hum filled the chilly room, "The hay year. . ," meadow hay good, but steppe hay all clover," 234

the old days they'd be grazing till Christmas." "That was right for the Kalmyks." A throaty cough. "The ataman's getting a neck wolf's on him. So fat he can't turn his head." "Fed himself up like a pig, the devil!" "Hullo, Grandpa, to scare the winter away? What a sheepskin you've got on!" "Time for the gypsy to sell his coat soon." "Did ye hear of the gypsy lad who spent the night in the steppe and hadn't anything to cover himself with except a fishing net? When the cold started creeping round guts, he wakes up, pushes his finger through a loop in the net and mother: 'So draught's coming from. I thought it was chilly.' " "I fear we'll have some slippery days soon." "Better the oxen shod." "I've been cutting the willows down in Devil's gully. Good stuff there." "Button your fly, Zakhar. If you frost- bite, your woman'll turn you out of the house," I hear about you the common bulls, Avdeyich?" "I decided not Parasha going to take care of it. I'm a widow, she says, the more the merrier. All right, I says, it may give you an addition family, 235

Old Matvei Kashulin leaned across the rick- ety ash at Tomilin, croaked furiously. "The hay can wait! It's for the community to Ye're agin everybody else. Ye're fool, my lad! And that's that!" got no brains to boast . ." one-armed Alexei joined in, his disfig- ured cheek twitching. been quarreling with old Kashulin over a strip of land. Alexei man every spring, strip Kashulin had grabbed was not big enough to swing a cat in anyway. "Shut jelly-face!" "Pity you're out of my reach, or I'd bloody your nose for you," Alexei threatened, "Why, you one-armed twitcher. . .!" bickering. "Go outside if you want to try your strength." "Chuck it, Alexei, look how the old fellow's bristling up, he'll lose his hat in a minute." "Put 'em in the cooler if they won't behave." The table groaned as the ataman brought his heavy fist down on it with a crash. the watchman silence." When order was restored, he added: "Wood-cutting will begin on Thurs- day at dawn." 237

unageing face everlastingly blushing like a ruddy winter apple, stood Avdeyich Sinilin, Avdeyich had served in the Ataman's Life- guards, and nick- name "Braggart." He had been one of the first in the village to be assigned to the Ataman's Reg- iment. He been a queer the head, but on active service something very strange had happened him. From the very first day of his return he had begun to tell as- tonishing stories of service at the court and his extraordinary adventures Petersburg. His astounded listeners believed drinking it all in with gaping mouths, but then they discovered that Avdeyich was the biggest liar the village had ever produced, openly laughed at him. But he was not abashed (although he was always so red in the face you could never if he was blushing), and did not give up his lying. As he grew older he began to get annoyed when caught out in a lie, and would resort to his fists; but if his teners only laughed and said nothing he grew more and more expansive in his story-telling. As far as his farming was concerned he was a practical and hard-working Cossack, in every- thing he acted sensibly, sometimes cunningly, but when subject 239

the Lifeguards-everyone simply threw up their hands and doubled up with of the room, rocking on heels. Glancing round sembled Cossacks, he observed in his ponder- ous, bass voice: "Speaking of service, these days the Cossacks aren't were. shrimps, no size at all. You could crack any one of 'em in half just by sneezing at him. But .'' contemptuously, "I saw once! Ah! They were sacks in those days!" dig up, Av- deyich?" smooth-faced nudging his neighbour. "Don't start telling any of your lies, Avdey- ich, with the Holy Day so near," Pantelei said, wrinkling up his nose and tugging his ear-ring. He did not like Avdeyich's bragging habits. "It isn't in my nature to lie, brother," Avdey- ich firmly, and stared in astonishment at Anikushka, who was shaking as though with fever. "I saw when we were building a house for my brother-in-law. As we digging foundation grave. next the church there must have been a cemetery in the old days," 240

about the skeletons?" asked impatiently, getting ready to go, "Arms-that long." Avdeyich extending both his rake-like arms. "Head as big as a caul- dron-true as I live!" "You'd the youngsters caught a robber in St. Petersburg," Miron sug- gested, as he rose from the window-sill. "There's nothing really to tell," Avdeyich re- plied, affected by a sudden attack of modesty us, Avdeyich!" this," cleared his throat and drew his tobacco pouch out his trouser pocket. He replaced the two copper coins pouch, poured a pinch of tobacco on to his palm, and ran a beaming eye over his audience. "Some vil- lain had escaped from prison. They looked for all over the place, but do you think they could find him? They just couldn't. All the au- thorities were beaten. "Well, one night the officer of the guard calls me to him: 'Go into imperial palace,' says. 'His Imperial Majesty wants to see you.' So in I went. I stood to attention, but he claps me on the shoulder and says: 'Listen!' he says, 'Ivan Avdeyich, the biggest villain in our king- dom has done a bunk. Find him, even have to stand on your head to do it. And don't 16—1933 241

let me see you till you have!' 'Very good. Your Imperial Majesty!' I says. Yes, lads, that was a facer. ... So I took three of the best horses the tsar's stables and set out." Lighting a cigarette, Avdeyich surveyed the bowed heads of his listeners and, warming his subject, boomed out of the cloud of smoke enveloping face: "I rode all day, and I rode all night, until on the third day I came up with the villain near Moscow. I clapped the bird into my coach, and hauled him back to St. Petersburg. I arrived at midnight, mud, to His Imperial Majesty sorts of counts and princes tried to stop me, but I marched. Hm. I knocks door. 'May I come in. Your Imperial Majesty?' 'Who it?' 'It's me,' I says, 'Ivan Avdeyich Si- nilin.' I heard a noise the room, and heard His Majesty himself cry out: 'Maria Fyodo- rovna, Maria Fyodorovna! Get up quick samovar going. arrived.' " a roar of laughter from the Cos- sacks at the back of the crowd. The clerk, who a notice stray cattle, sentence, and ataman stretched out his neck like a goose and stared hard at the guffawing crowd. 242

Avdeyich's clouded and eyes wan- dered uncertainly over the faces before him. "Wait a bit!" "Ha-ha-ha!" he'll be the death of us!" " 'Get a samovar going! rived!' Ha-ha-ha!" The assembly began to break up. A constant steady creaking rose from the frozen the administration house. On the trampled snow long- slianked the owner the windmill, were wrestling to get themselves warm. gathered round ad- vice. "Throw him, the heathen!" "Knock the stuffing out of him, Stepan!" "Don't grab him there! Think you're clever!" old Kashulin hopping sparrow; and in his excitement he failed to no- tice a large bright dewdrop hanging shyly from tip of his bluish nose, When Pantelei returned from the meeting he went at once to the room which he and his wife occupied. Ilyinichna had been unwell for some days, and her puffy face reflected her weariness 16* 243

and pain. She lay propped up high on a plump feather bed with a pillow at her back. At footsteps head; her eyes rested on his breath-dampened and matted whiskers severity that had become a habit with her, and her nostrils twitched. But the old man smelled frost and sour sheepskin. "Sober day," thought, and contentedly laid down her knitting-needles. "Well, what about the wood-cutting?" "They've decided Thursday." stroked moustache. "Thursday morning," he added, sitting down on a chest at the side of the bed. "Well, feeling any better?" "Just the same. Shooting pains joints." "I told you not to go into the water, you fool. And in autumn too ! You knew what would hap- pen," Pantelei fumed, tracing broad circles on the floor with his stick. "There were plenty other women ret that hemp, curse the stuff . curse all!" couldn't the hemp be wasted. There weren't any women. Grisha was out ploughing his. Pyotr and Darya had gone off some- where." The old man blew into his cupped hands and bent towards the bed. 244

a move on!" Pyotr nagged coughing as he don't go and wake that Natalya up! Am I to tear myself in two?" Darya grumbled crossly, still only half-awake. "Go and wake her up yourself," Pyotr advised the advice was unnecessary, for Na- talya was Pulling on her blouse, she went out to get fuel for the "Fetch some kindling," her sister-in-law com- manded. "Tell Dunya you hear?" called hoarsely, moving about the kitchen with difficulty. The kitchen smelled of fresh hops, harness, and the warmth of human bodies. Darya shuf- fled about felt boots, rattling pots; under her pink shift her small breasts quivered. Married life had soured or withered Tall and slender, supple as a willow switch, she looked like a girl. She walked with a twisting movement of the shoulders; she laughed at the shouts of her hus- band; firm close-set showed under the rim shrewish ought fuel- bricks in overnight. They would have dried in stove," Ilyinichna grumbled. 247

of snow. But beyond the middle where springs flowed from the Black Bank, a gap in the yawned sombre and menacing roded whiteness. The water was freckled with the wild duck that were wintering Pantelei drove off first with the old bullocks, his sons to follow later. On the river-crossing Pyotr and Grigory caught up with Anikushka. axe handle sticking out of his sledge, and wearing a broad green sash he was walking at the side of his bullocks, while his wife, a stunted sickly woman, held the reins. "Hullo, neighbour, surely you're not taking your woman with you?" Pyotr shouted to him. Anikushka, hopping up and warm, grinned and went over I am, to keep me warm." "You'll get no warmth lean." true; and I feed her with oats, still she doesn't fatten!" "Shall we be cutting in the same strip?" Gri- gory asked, jumping off the sledge. if you'll give me a smoke." "You've always been a scrounger, Anikushka." "The sweetest things life are begged and stolen," chuckled, wrinkling hairless womanish face in a smile. 249

The three drove on together. The forest was laced with rime, and of a virgin whiteness. Ani- kushka rode in front, lashing his whip against the branches overhead. The needle-sharp snow crystals showered down on "Don't play about, you devil!" she shouted at she shook "Drop her into the snow head first," advised to get his whip under the bul- lock's belly to speed its pace. At a turn of the road they met Stepan Asta- khov driving two yoked bullocks back towards village. The soles felt boots squeaked on the snow as he strode along. His curly forelock hung below fur cap bunch of white grapes. Stepan, lost your way?" as he passed. "Lost my way be damned! We swung over, and the sledge snapped its runner on a stump. So I've got to go back," Stepan cursed obscene- ly and his fierce light eyes narrowed insolently as he passed Pyotr. "Left your sledge behind?" Anikushka asked, turning round. Ignoring remark, that were heading away the track and gave Grigory a long hard stare as he passed on. A farther on 250

group came to a sledge abandoned in the middle of the road. Aksinya was standing by it. Hold- ing down of her sheepskin with her left hand, she was gazing along road their direction. "Out of the way or I'll run you over. Oho, you're the wife for me!" Anikushka roared. Ak- sinya stepped aside with a smile, and sat down on the overturned sledge. "You've got your own wife with you." "Yes, she sticks to me like a burr on a pig's tail, otherwise I'd give you a lift." "Thank you kindly." Pyotr came to her he gave glance back uncertainly, anxiety and expectation expressed in all his movements. "Good health to you, neighbour," Pyotr greet- her, touching his cap with his mitten. "Praise be." sledge broken?" Pyotr asked. it is," she replied slowly without look- "Grigory Panteleyevich, word with you," came up. Asking Pyotr to look his bullocks laughed suggestively, and drove on. 251

The two stood silently regarding each other. glanced cautiously around, then turned liquid face. Shame and joy flamed in her cheeks and dried her lips. Her breath came in sharp gasps. At a in the road Anikushka and Pyotr disappeared behind the brown oak trunks. into Aksinya's and saw in them a spark of stubborn reckless- ness. Grisha, do as you please, but live without you," she said firmly, and pressed her lips together waiting for his answer. Grigory made no reply. The forest was locked in silence. A glassy emptiness rang in his ears. surface polished smooth by sledge-runners, the grey rag of sky, the forest, dumb, deathly drowsy. ... A sudden raven near by seemed to rouse Grigory from his momentary lethargy. He and watched bird winging away flight. He was surprised when he heard him- self say: "It's going to be warm. He's making for the warm." He seemed to shake himself and laughed hoarsely. "Well. intoxi- cated eyes furtively on Aksinya, and suddenly snatched her to him. 252

evenings of villagers gathered in Stockman's room at Lu- keshka's house. There Knave from the a greasy draped over his shoulders, the ever-smiling David (now three months loafer), engineman, Kotlyarov, sometimes Filka cobbler, and always Misha Koshevoi, Cossack who had not yet done his regular army service. first the group played cards. Then Stock- man casually brought out a book of Nekrasov's poetry. They began to read the volume aloud, and liked it. Then they went on to Nikitin, and Christmas-time Stockman dog-eared, unbound booklet. Koshevoi, who had been to the church school and could read aloud, glanced contemptuously at the greasy pages. noodles greasy," disgust. laughter; dazzlingly. the merriment die away, and then Misha. interesting. 253

Bending spelt out laboriously: "A Short History oi the Don Cossacks," and then glanced around expectantly. "Read it!" Kotlyarov said. laboured the book evenings, reading about free past, about Pugachov, Stenka Razin and Kon- draty Bulavin. Finally they came down cent times. The unknown author poured scorn miserable existence; scoffed authorities system, Cossackry itself had hired itself the monarchs henchmen. The listeners grew excited and be- gan quarrel among themselves. his head touching the roof-beam, spoke up his booming voice. Stockman pipe, smiling. right! true!" Christonya burst "It's not our fault such shame was brought upon the Cossacks." Koshevoi spread his arms in perplexity and puckered up his handsome He was thick-set, broad in the shoulders and hips, almost square. From the cast-iron founda- tion of his body rose a firm brick-red neck on his small, gracefully 254

strange, with its effeminately soft cheeks, small obstinate golden slab of curly hair. The engineman Kotlyarov, tall thin Cos- sack, was steeped the bone in Cossack tra- ditions, and his round protruding eyes flashed vigorously defended Cossacks: "You're a muzhik, Christonya, you've only got a drop of Cossack blood in you to a bucketful of water. Your mother was mated with a mu- zhik from Voronezh." brother!" Christonya boomed. "I stand for the truth." Lifeguards," Kotlyarov slyly. fools are some pretty cases of the army "Shut up, muzhik!" "And aren't the muzhiks just as much men as you?" "They're muzhiks, they're made of bast and stuffed brushwood." I was serving in Petersburg, brother, things," southern accent coming out strongly. "Once happened that we were on guard palace, inside and outside. We used horseback, this way and two that. When we met we used to ask: 255

came running round the corner. Thick they were! As soon as they saw us they roared: Hah!' and then again: 'Hah!' And before we knew where we were they had surrounded 'What Cossacks?' they asked. And said: 'We're keeping guard, and you let go those reins, young fella' ' and clapped my hands on my sword. 'Don't get me wrong, Cossack, I'm from Kamenskaya Dis- trict myself, and I'm studying in the uniservity, or the univorsity, or whatever you it, one said. We make to ride on, and one fellow with a big nose pulls out a ten-ruble piece and says: 'Drink the health of my dead father,' And pulls 'Look, that's my father,' he 'take it as keepsake.' Well, we took it, we couldn't refuse. And they went off again. Just then a lieutenant comes gates palace with a troop of men. 'What's happened?' shouts. And tell him students had come and begun us, and we had wanted to sabre them according to instructions, but as they had set us free we had ridden off. When we went duty later, we we'd earned rubles and wanted to the memory of the old man, showing picture. the evening brought some vodka, and we had a good time 17—1933 257

for a couple of days. But afterwards we found out what the trick was. It turned out that bastard, biggest trouble-maker many. I had hung over my bed; grey beard and looked decent sort of chap. lieutenant saw 'Where from, you gun?' and he began swearing at me and punching me face: 'Do you know who that is? He's their ataman Karl. .' Drat name. Now, . ?" "Karl Marx?" suggested with broad smile. it, Karl Mars," Christonya exclaimed joyfully. "He got me trouble Why, sometimes tsarevich tutors used into the guardroom. They might have seen it. What would have happened then?" "And you keep praising the muzhiks. What trick played you," Kotlyarov chuckled. "But we drank the rubles. bearded Karl we drank but we drank the same!" deserves to," smiled, playing cigarette-holder. 258

do?" queried. the holder between fingers, and ejected the dead cigarette-end with a slap from the other hand. After long sifting and testing, a little group meet regularly Stockman's workshop. Stockman was the heart and soul of the group and he worked straight a goal that only he fully understood. ate understandings conceptions a worm into wood, instilling repugnance hatred existing system. At confronted with the cold distrust, but he was not to be repulsed. Even that could be worn away. On the sandy slope left bank lies Vyeshenskaya stanitsa, the most cient upper Don. Originally Chigonaki, site sacked during reign Peter First, and renamed Vyeshenskaya, formerly important link great water-way Voronezh to Azov. Opposite Vyeshenskaya the Don bends 17* 259

a Tatar bow, turns right, and Bazki majestically straightens carries greenish-blue waters over the chalky base of the hills on the west bank, then, with thickly-clustered villages stanitsas left, down to the sea, to the blue Sea of Azov. At Ust-Khoperskaya joins tribu- tary Khoper, Ust-Medveditskaya, with the Medveditsa, and then it flows on deep full-watered amid riotous growth populous villages and stanitsas. of Vyeshenskaya stands among yellow sand-drifts. is a bald cheerless place without orchards. In the square stands an church, grey with age, and streets run out the square parallel with the Don bends towards Bazki, lake, as wide the dry season, branches off into a thicket of poplars. The far end of Vyeshenskaya slopes down this lake, and in a smaller square, overgrown with golden thorn, a second church, with cupolas and green roof, matching the green of the poplars on the other side of the lake. Beyond the north stretches a saffron waste of sands, a stunted pine planta- tion, and creeks whose water is pink from the red-clay soil. 260

wilderness are rare oases of villages, meadow- land, and a rusty scrub of willows. One Sunday in December a dense crowd five hundred young Cossacks from lages assembled square outside the old church. Mass ended, the senior sergeant, gallant long-service decorations, order, the youngsters drew up in two long straggling ranks. Sergeants rushed to and fro to get them dressed "Ranks!" sergeant boomed and making a vague gesture with his hand, snapped: "Form fours." The ataman entered the churchyard, dressed according to form and wearing a new spurs jingling, and followed by military policeman, Grigory Melekhov who was standing next to Mitka Korshunov heard him whisper: "My boot pinches like hell." "Stick they'll man." be going inside soon." if to confirm this, the senior sergeant fell back a pace or two, turned sharply on his heels and shouted: "Right turn. Forward march!" column filed wide-open 261

gate, and the church dome rang with the sound tramping attention the words the oath of allegiance being read by the priest. stood Mitka contorted with the pain of his tight new boots. Grigory's upraised arm grew numb, an aching jumble thoughts was mind. As he came up to the crucifix and kissed silver, damp with the moisture of Aksinya, and With the suddenness of a flash of forked light- ning he had a vision its brown trunks and branches fluffed with white down, the humid gleam of Aksinya's black eyes under her kerchief. the ceremony ended marched and were drawn ranks. Blowing stealthily wiping lining the sergeant addressed them: not boys longer Cossacks. You've taken the oath and you ought to understand what. You've grown up guard your honour, obey your fathers and mothers and rest of it. You were boys once, you've had your fun and games-used to play tipcat in the I expect-but now you must think about 262

your future service. In a year's time they'll be you up army. sergeant blew again, shook clean and, drawing on his rabbit's down gloves, ended: "And fathers mothers must think about getting you your equipment. They fit you out with an army horse, and in general. . And now, home you go and God be with you, my lads." Grigory and Mitka joined up with of the lads from their village, and they for home. They walked back along the Don. The smoke cottage stoves hung in wisps over the village of Bazki, and bells were ringing faintly. Mitka limped along behind leaning on knotty stake that he had broken out of a fence. "Take your boot off," one of the lads advised. "I'll get my foot frost-bitten," Mitka replied hesitantly. "You can keep sock on." Mitka sat down on the snow and tugged his boot. Then he walked on, stepping heavily on his stockinged foot. The thick knitted stock- ing made a sharp imprint in the crisp snow. road take?" stumpy shock-headed Beshnyak "Along Don," 263

jostling another off the road. Each of them was pulled over by the others, who piled on top Between Bazki and Gromkovsky Mitka was the first to spot a wolf crossing the Don. a wolf!" The young Cossacks catcalling and the wolf loped off, then sideways, far from opposite "Catch him!" "Yah!" "It's you he's looking at, Mitka, walking your sock." fat neck got!" there he goes!" The grey form as though carved granite, then leap and slunk away into the willows girding It was dusk when they reached Grigory made his way along the ice to the path that led up to his home. A disused sledge stood yard; in a heap brushwood piled near the fence the sparrows twittering. habitation, charred soot, and the steamy odour of the stables. Grigory went up the steps of the house and the window. The hanging lamp 264

shed dim glow light with the window. Grigory brushed besom entered the kitchen amid a flurry of steam. "Well, I'm back." quick. You frozen, pect," Pyotr replied in an anxious and hurried tone. sitting with his head bowed in his hands, his elbows on his knees. Darya was spinning at the droning spinning-wheel. lya was standing at the table with her back to Grigory, and did not turn round on entry. hastily around his eyes on Pyotr. agitat- edly expectant face amiss. "Taken the oath?" Grigory took off his outdoor clothes slowly, playing for time, and turning over in his mind possibilities which might have this chilly and silent welcome. Ilyinichna came best room, her face expressing her "It's Natalya!" down on the bench beside ''Get him some supper," his mother said 265

indicating Darya stopped of her spinning- song, and went to the stove, her girlish figure swaying from waist. The kitchen was gulfed silence broken only by the heavy breathing of a goat and its newly-born kid. sipped Natalya. But he could not see her face. She was knitting-needles. be provoked into speech by the general silence. Coughing artificially, he is talking about going back parents." pressed some bread-crumbs ball, and said nothing. why's lower lip quivering: first sign of a coming outburst of frenzy. don't know," Grigory replied and crossed "But I know!" his father raised his voice. "Don't shout, shout!" posed. there's no cause shouting." moved from the window "It's up to her. If she wants to stay, she stay; if she doesn't, well . God be with 266

off. As for Natalya, I'm not stopping her. She can go to her father, if she wants "You clear out yourself." "I will!" "I'm going. I'm going, don't be in a hurry." Grigory reached for the sleeve of his short fur coat lying on the bed, nostrils dilated, whole body quivering with a boiling anger that father's. The same mingled flowed veins, and at that moment their resemblance to each other was extraordinary. "Where are you going?" Ilyinichna groaned, seizing Grigory' s arm. But he pushed her away forcibly and snatched up his fur cap. "Let him sinful Let him go, curse him! Go on, go! Clear out!" the old man thundered throwing the door wide open. Grigory ran out on to the steps, and the last sound he heard was Natalya's loud uncontrol- lable weeping. The frosty night held the village grip, prickly snow was falling from the black the cracking ice on the Don resounded like cannon shots. Grigory ran panting out gate. At the barking discordantly, of light shone through haze. 268

He walked aimlessly blackness the Astakhovs' windows gleamed with the brilliance of a diamond. yearning "You go hell!" Grigory grated and hastened "Grisha, come back!" He stumbled drunkenly cross- lane, and last time heard her distant, anguished cry: darling. swiftly square and stopped fork wondering spend the night. He decided on Misha Koshe- voi. Misha mother, sister and lonely straw-thatched right by Grigory entered yard and knocked at the tiny window. "Is Misha there?" "Yes, who it wants him?" "It's me, Grigory Melekhov." After a moment, Misha, awakened from his first sleep, opened the door. "You, Grisha?" "Me." "What do you want of night?" "Let me in, we'll talk inside," 269

passage, Misha's elbow and cursing himself for being unable find the right spend the night with you. fallen out with my people. Have you got room for me? Any- where will do." "We'll fix you up somewhere. What's the row about?" later. Where's here? I can't see They made Grigory a bed on the bench. He lay thinking, his head tucked under his sheep- whispering Misha's mother, who slept in the same bed as daughter. What was happening at home now, he wondered. Would Natalya go back her father or not? Well, life had taken a new turn. go? And the answer swiftly. He would for Aksinya morrow, and go with Kuban, away from here far, far away. Rolling steppeland, villages, stanitsas, known, unloved, eyes. And beyond hills, yond the long grey road lay a welcoming land of blue skies, fairy-tale land with Aksinya's love, in all its rebellious late-flowering strength, it the more attractive. 270

sleep was troubled by approaching unknown. Before he finally dozed off he to recall what that oppressed him. drowsy thoughts would easily and smoothly, a boat going down- stream, then suddenly a sandbank. He wrestled with the baffl- ing obstacle. What was it that lay in his path? the morning he awoke membered what it was-his army service! How could he go away with Aksinya? In the spring there was the training camp, and in the autumn the army draft. He had some breakfast, out into the passage. "Misha, go Astakhovs you?" he "Tell Aksinya windmill dark." "But what about Stepan?" Misha hesi- tantly. "Say other." "Tell her to be sure to come." In the evening Grigory went to the mill and there smoking, hiding cuff. Beyond the mill the wind was stumbling 271

maize stalks. A canvas flapped on the chained and motionless sail. It sounded like a great bird flapping round mill, unable fly away. Aksinya did not appear. The sun had set in the west a fad- ing, gilded lilac, from the east the wind began to blow freshly; darkness was overtaking moon stranded among the willows. Above the windmill ruddy, blue-streaked deathly dark; sounds busy hovered over the He smoked cigarettes succession, thrust the last end into the trodden snow, and gazed round in anxious irritation. Half-thawed cart-tracks from the mill to the village showed darkly in the snow. There was no one in sight. He rose, stretched himself, and moved towards twinkling invitingly Misha's window. He was approaching the yard, whis- tling through his teeth, when he stumbled into Aksinya. She had evidently been running: she of breath, faint winter wind, or perhaps of fresh came from her fresh cold mouth. "I waited and waited, I thought you weren't coming." "I had rid of Stepan." "You've made me frozen, you wretch!" 272

find work somewhere, and somehow." "They can put me shafts as long as I'm with Grisha. Anything They stood close together, each warming the other. Grigory did not want stir; he stood facing into the wind, his nostrils quivering, his closed. Aksinya, her face pressed his armpit, breathed familiar, intoxicat- ing scent of his sweat; and on her shamelessly avid lips, hidden from Grigory's eyes, trembled a joyous of happiness fulfilled. "Tomorrow I'll go and see Mokhov. He may be able to give me work," Grigory said, shift- ing his grip wrist, perspiration fingers. Aksinya did speak, raise her head. The smile slipped like a dying wind from her face, and the anxiety and fear lurking in her dilated eyes gave them the look of a frightened animal. not?" she thought, as she remembered that she was pregnant. "I must tell him," she but immediately, trembling with fear, she drove away the terrible thought. With a woman's stinct she sensed that this was not the moment tell him; realized she might ever; and uncertain whether 274

child leaping beneath her heart was Stepan's, deceived her conscience, and did not tell him. "Why are you trembling? Are cold?" Grigory asked, wrapping his coat about her. "I am a little. ... go, Grisha. Stepan will come back and find me away." "Where's he gone?" "To Anikei's to play cards." They parted. The agitating scent of her remained lips; wind, perhaps faint, faraway that comes from the hay after a shower in the steppe. Aksinya turned into a by-way; bending low, she almost ran. By a well, where the cattle had churned up the autumn mud, she stumbled awk- wardly, her foot slipping on a frozen clod; and feeling a lacerating pain in her belly she caught fence. The pain died away, but side something living, moving, beat angrily and strongly time and again. Next morning Grigory went to see Mokhov. Mokhov had just returned from the shop and sitting with Atyopin dining-room its rich oak-coloured wall-paper, sipping 18* 275

strong, claret-coloured tea. Grigory left his cap in the hall and went in, "I'd like to have a word with you, Sergei Pla- tonovich," "Ah, Pantelei Melekhov's son, isn't it? What do you want?" "I've come to ask whether you could give me a job." As Grigory spoke the door creaked, and a young officer in a khaki tunic with a lieutenant's epaulettes entered. Grigory recognized him Listnitsky whom Mitka Korshunov had outraced summer. chair up officer, and turned back to Grigory. "Has your father come down the world, is putting his son out to work?" he quired, "I'm not living with him any more," "Left him?" I'd gladly take you I know your family to be a hard-working lot, but I'm afraid I haven't any work for you to do." matter?" inquired, pulling his chair up "This lad is looking for work." "Can you look after horses? Can you drive a team?" the officer asked as he stirred his tea. 276

can. care of our own horses." "I want a coachman. What are your terms?" "I'm not asking for much." "In that case come to my father at our estate tomorrow. You know the house? At Yagodnoye, about twelve versts from here." I know it." "Then come tomorrow morning and we shall settle the matter." Grigory went to the door. As he turned the handle he hesitated, and said: "I'd like to have a word with you in private. Your Honour." Listnitsky followed Grigory out into the semi- passage. A rosy filtered dimly through the Venetian of the door leading to the balcony. "I'm not alone. Grigory flushed darkly. a woman with me. Perhaps you can find something for her to do?" "Your wife?" Listnitsky inquired, smiling and raising his eyebrows. "Someone else's." I see. All right, we'll fix her up as cook for the servants. But where is her husband?" "Here in the village." "So you've stolen another man's wife?" "She wanted to come." 277

boots, and Listnitsky was lying on a bed next to the window. On the eider-down was a box containing tobacco and smoking utensils. officer made himself a cigarette, buttoned up the collar of his white shirt, and remarked: in good time. Wait, my father will be here in a minute." Grigory stood by the door. Presently he heard the sound of footsteps in the ante-room, and a deep bass voice asked through the door: "Are you asleep, Yevgeny?" "Come in." An old man wearing Caucasian gave him glance. He was immediately struck by the thin crooked nose and the white arch of his mous- tache, stained yellow by tobacco under the nose. Old Listnitsky was tall and broad-shouldered, gaunt. He wore camel-hair tunac loosely, encircling brown wrinkled neck a noose. His faded eyes were set close to the bridge of his nose. "Papa, the coachman I spoke to you about. The lad's from a decent family." "Whose son is he?" the old man asked in a booming voice. "Melekhov's." "Which Melekhov's?" "Pantelei Melekhov's." 279

nitsky asked father, lowering feet on carpet. "We started a fox out of the gully at Gremya- chy and chased as far as the woods, but was an old one and fooled the dogs." "Is Kazbek still limping?" "He must have sprained foot. Hurry up, Yevgeny, breakfast is getting cold." The old man turned to Grigory and snapped his bony fingers. "Quick march! Be here at eight." Grigory went out. On the far side of the bam the borzois were sunning themselves on a patch of ground bare of snow. The old bitch with the rheumy eyes trotted up to Grigory, sniffed him from behind and followed him a drooping mournfully, Aksinya had finished her cooking early. She banked the fire, washed dishes, glanced out the window looking on Stepan was standing by the wood-pile close to the fence bordering on the Melekhovs' yard. A half-smoked cigarette hung from the corner of his firm lips. The left-hand corner of the shed was tumbling down, and he was select- ing posts suitable for its repair. 281

Aksinya had arisen rosy blushes in her cheeks and a youthful glitter in her eyes. Stepan noticed the change, and as he was hav- ing breakfast forbear "What's happened to you?" "What's happened?" echoed flushing. "Your face is shining smeared yourself with oil." "It's the heat of the fire." And turning away she glanced stealthily out of the window to see whether Misha Koshevoi's sister was coming. But the girl did not arrive afternoon. Tormented waiting, started up: "Do you want me, Mashutka?" "Come out for a moment." Stepan was standing before a scrap of mirror fixed into the whitewashed stove, combing his forelock and chestnut moustache with a stumpy ox-horn comb. Aksinya looked at him nervously. aren't going out, are you?" He did not answer immediately, but put the comb into his trouser pocket, and picked up a pack of cards and his tobacco pouch which were lying on the ledge. Then he said: "I'm going along to Anikushka's for a while." "And when are you ever at home? You spend every night cards. And all night, 282

side lanes to the Koshevois' hut, clutching her bundle, her strength ebbed and her feet dragged leadenly, the gate. He took the bundle and silently led the way into the steppe. Beyond the threshing-floor slowed her pace and caught at Grigory's sleeve. "Wait a moment," she said. "What for? The moon will be late tonight, we must hurry." "Wait, Grisha!" She halted, doubled up with "What's the matter?" Grigory turned back to "Something , inside me. I must have lifted heavy." licked screwing up her eyes in pain till she saw pin- fire, and clutched stood a moment, bowed miserable, then, poking her hair under her kerchief, set off "I'm all right now, come along." asked where I'm taking I might be leading you to the nearest cliff to push over," Grigory said smiling in the darkness. "It's all the same to me now. I can't go back." Her voice trembled with an unhappy laugh. That night Stepan returned at midnight 285

usual. He went stable, threw the scattered hay back the manger, removed the horse's halter, then went to the house. "She evening," thought, as he unfastened the chain. He entered the kitchen, closed the door fast, and struck a match. He had been in winning vein evening, and so was quiet and drowsy. He the lamp, and gaped at the disorder of the kitch- en, not guessing the reason, A aston- ished, he went into chest yawned blackly. On the floor lay an old jacket which Aksinya had forgotten in her hur- ry. Stepan tore off his sheepskin and ran back to the kitchen for the light. He stared around best room, and last he understood. He dropped the lamp, and, scarcely aware of what doing, his sabre wall, gripped the until the veins swelled in his fingers, raised Aksinya's blue and yellow jacket its point, threw the jacket up in the air and short swing of the sabre slashed it in two as Grey, savage in his wolfish grief, he threw the pieces of the old jacket up to the ceiling again and again; the whistled it cut them in their flight. Then, off the sword-knot, he threw the sabre into a corner, went into the kitchen, 286

His head bowed, with trembling iron fingers he sat stroking the unwashed table-top. Troubles never come singly. after Grigory left home, carelessness Miron Korshunov's pedigree bull gored throat finest mare. Het-Baba came running into the house, white, distracted and trembling: "Trouble, master! The bull, damned bull. "Well, what about the bull?" Miron asked in alarm. "He's done the mare in. Gored her. half-dressed the well Mitka was beating the red five-year- old bull with a stake. The bull, his head down and dewlap dragging churning up the snow with his hoofs and scat- tering a silvery powder around his tail. Instead of yielding before drubbing, he bellowed huskily and stamped hind-feet charge. Mitka beat him on his nose sides, cursing the while paying heed to Mikhei, who was to drag him back by his belt, 287

Lord's sake. He'll gore you! Master, why him?" Miron ran to the well. The mare was stand- ing by the fence, her head drooping sadly. Her dark heaving flanks were wet with sweat, and blood was running down her chest. Her bay back and sides quivering, causing great shivers in her groin, Miron ran to look at her front. A rose-col- oured wound, big enough to take a man's hand, and revealing the windpipe, gaped in her neck. Miron seized her by the forelock and raised her head. The mare fixed her glittering violet eyes on her master as though mutely asking: "What next?" And as if in answer to the question Mi- ron shouted: "Run and tell someone scald some oak bark. Hurry!" Het-Baba, his Adam's apple trembling in his dirty neck, ran to strip some bark from a tree, and Mitka came father, one eye fixed on the bull circling and bellowing about the yard. "Hold the mare by her forelock," his father ordered. "Someone run for some twine. Quick! Or do you want a box on the ears?" They tied the string tightly round the mare's velvety, slightly hairy upper lip should not feel the pain. 288

Old Grishaka came hobbling up. An infu- sion, the colour of acorns, was brought out a painted bowl. "Cool it down," croaked. hot, isn't it? Miron, do you hear me?" "Go inside. Dad. You'll catch cold out here." "I tell you to cool it down. Do you want to kill the mare?" The wound was bathed. With freezing gers Miron threaded raw twine through a darn- ing needle and sewed up the edges, making a neat seam. He had hardly turned away back to the house when his wife came running kitchen, alarm written large on her flabby cheeks. She called her husband aside: "Natalya's here, Miron. .! Oh, my God!" "Now what's the matter?" Miron demanded, his face paling. left home!" Lukinichna out her arms like a rook preparing flight, clapped her hands against her skirt, and into a wail: "Disgraced before the whole village! Lord, what a blow! Oh. . ,!" Miron found a shawl and short winter coat kitchen. Two tears welled in her eyes, and her cheeks were deeply flushed. 19-1933 289

was hopelessly ruined. turned to the house only when Het-Baba hurried stables harnessing them as he ran. Mitka and Het-Baba drove to the Melekhovs' possessions. abstraction Het-Baba sent a young pig in the road flying. "Mebbe the master forget mare now," he was thinking, and rejoiced, let- ting the reins hang loose. such an he'll never forget," and sneering himself, Het-Baba the whip lash under the tenderest part of the horse's belly. a commission lieutenant in the Ataman's Lifeguards Regiment. Having had a tumble during the officers' hurdle races and broken his left arm, he took furlough when he came out of hospital and went to stay with his father for six weeks. at Yagodnoye. He had lost his wife while driving in the sub- urbs of Warsaw 1880's. Shots fired the Cossack general had missed him, but rid- dled carriage, his wife and coach- man. Listnitsky was left with his two-year-old Yevgeny. Soon event gen- 19* 291

eral retired, abandoned an estate of ten thou- sand acres in the Saratov Province which had been granted to his great-grandfather in recog- nition of his services during the war of 1812, and moved to Yagodnoye, where he lived an austere and rigorous He sent his son Yevgeny to the cadets' corps as soon as lad was old enough, oc- cupied himself farming. purchased blood stock from the imperial stables, crossed them with the finest mares from England and from the famous Provalsky stables, and reared breed. He cattle and livestock own, and bought land, sowed (with hired labour), hunted with his borzois in the autumn and winter, and occasionally locked dining hall weeks on end. He was troubled with a stomach complaint, his doctor had strictly forbid- den him to swallow solid; extract the goodness from all his food by mastication, residue silver tray by his personal servant Venyamin. Venyamin was a half-witted, swarthy young peasant, with a shock thick black hair. He six years. first had wait on sick watch the 202

food. used to The other inhabitants of the estate were the cook Lukerya, ancient stableman and the shepherd Tikhon. From the very the flabby pock-marked Lukerya, who with her huge bottom looked like a yellow lump of un- risen dough, would not allow Aksinya near the "You can cook when the master takes on ex- tra workers in the summer. Now I can manage by myself," to work washing the floors the house three times a week, innumerable fowls, and keeping the fowl-house clean. She worked with a will, trying to please everyone, even cook. Grigory spent much spacious log-built stables with Sashka the stableman. The old man was one mass of grey hair, but everybody miliarly him "Sashka." Probably old Listnitsky, for whom he had worked more than twenty years, had forgotten his surname. youth Sashka had been the coachman, as he grew old and feeble and fail he was made stableman. Stocky, covered with greenish-grey hair (even the hair on his hands was grey), with a nose been flattened by a club in his youth, he wore 293

an everlasting childish smile and gazed out on apostolic expression of his face was marred by his broken nose and his hanging scarred derlip. In his army days Sashka had once got drunk and taken by mistake swill aqua regia instead of vodka. The fiery liquid had welded lower lip chin, crooked glowing pink scar. Sashka was fond of vodka, and when he was his cups he would strut Stamping feet, he would stand under bedroom loudly sternly: "Mikolai 'Lexeyevich! Mikolai Xexeyevich!" If old Listnitsky happened to be in his bed- room he would come good-for-nothing!" he would thunder. Sashka would hitch trousers, and wink and smile danced diagonally face, from the pink scar trailing his mouth; it was a crooked smile but a pleasant one. "Mikolai 'Lexeyevich, Excellency, know you!" he would wag his lean, dirty finger threateningly. 294

master would ask with a smile, knowing what was coming. "Oh, you lousy devil! You son of a swine!" Sashka would turn livid, and his voice would crack with anger. "Sashka forget to water the horses? Eh? Even I was dead I'd still crawl thinks. The old man would march off fuming at the undeserved reproach, cursing and shaking his Everything he did forgiven, drinking and familiarity with indispensable stableman. Winter and summer he slept in the stables, in an empty stall. He was stableman and horse-doctor; he gathered herbs for the horses spring, and dug up medicinal roots in the steppe and valleys. Bunches dried herbs high up on the walls: milfoil cure heaves, snake-eye grass as an antidote for ad- der-bite, blackleaf feet, a small herb that grows at the root of the willow treat sores, and many other little-known rem- edies various ailments eases of horses. Winter and summer, a subtle throat-tickling aroma hung fine-spun web stall slept. Hay packed 296

a board, a horse-cloth, smelling of horse sweat, as mattress and bedding to his plank-bed. The coat and sheepskin were old man's worldly goods. Tikhon, huge, dull-witted with Lukerya, and secretly nursed a quite need- jealousy of her and Sashka, Once month he would take the old man by the but- ton of his greasy shirt and lead him round the back of the house. "Old man, set your at my woman," "That depends . ." Sashka would wink sig- nificantly. "Keep off her!" Tikhon begged. like 'em pock-marked, lad. don't need vodka pock-marked wench. The pock-marked they fonder they are of us menfolk, the hussies." ashamed your age, . And you a doctor, too; you look after the horses, you know secrets." "I can do kinds doctoring," Sashka persisted. off her, grandad. It's wrong," "I'll get that Lukerya one of these days, lad, I'll have her, my lad. You say good-bye to Lukerya, I'll be taking her away from you. 297

She's like a currant pie, only with the currants picked the kind for me!" catch you or I'll kill Tikhon would say, sighing and drawing some copper coins out of his pocket. And so it went on month after month. Life mouldered away a sleepy torpor Yagodnoye, The estate lay in a valley remote from all frequented roads, and from the autumn onward communication neigh- bouring broken. nights the wolf packs emerged from their for- lairs the horses with howling. Tikhon used to go to the meadow to frighten them master's double- barrelled gun, Lukerya, ample bottom rough blanket, would wait in suspense for the sound of the shots, her little eyes disappearing into her greasy pock- marked cheeks. At such times her imagination transformed the ugly bald-headed Tikhon a handsome and reckless youth, and when the slammed Tikhon entered in a cloud of steam, she made for him on the bed and, cooing affec- tionately, warmly embraced her frozen mate. In summer-time Yagodnoye hummed till late at night with the voices of labourers. The mas- ter sowed some forty dessiatines with various 298

crops, and hired labourers harvest Occasionally Yevgeny came home, and would stroll through the orchard and over the mead- ow, bored. mornings fishing in the pond. Plump^chested and of me- dium height, he wore a forelock Cossack fash- ion on the right side of his head. His tunic fitted him snugly. During the first days of Grigory's life on the estate he was frequently in the young master's company. day Venyamin and, bowing fuzzy head, announced: "The young master wants you, Grigory." on many occasions, went to Yevgeny's room and stood at the door. The master pointed to a chair. Grigory seated him- self on the very edge. "How do you like our horses?" "They're good horses. The grey fine." "Give him plenty of exercise, but don't gal- lop him." "So Grandad Sashka told me." "What about Sturdy?" "The bay? He's fine horse. Shoe's loose though, I'll have to get him reshod." Screwing piercing young master said: "You have training camp in May, don't you?" 299

dirt-caked walls, scrubbed the window-frames, and scoured the floor with broken brick. There a feminine warmth cosiness cheerful empty short, fashionably-out shoulders, chose times for his visits when Gri- gory was occupied with the horses. He would first go kitchen, joking Lukerya for a minute or two, then pass farther room. He would sit stool, hunching his shoulders, and fix a shame- lessly embarrassed by his presence, and the knitting- needles trembled in her fingers. "Well, Aksinya, how getting on?" he would ask, puffing at his cigarette until the room was filled with blue smoke. "Very raise and meeting lieutenant's transparent gaze, telling of desire, she turned crimson. That naked stare was unpleasant and annoying. She replied connectedly to his questions, avoiding his eyes and seeking an opportunity to leave the room. "I must go and feed the ducks now," "There's no hurry. The ducks can wait," he smiled, and his legs trembled his tight rid- ing breeches, and he continued to ply her with questions concerning her past life, using 301

deep tones of his voice, which was like his fa- ther's and pleading lewdly with crystal- clear eyes. When Grigory came fire would die out of Yevgeny's eyes and he would offer him cigarette, leaving soon after. he want?" not looking I know?" Remembering look, Aksinya would laugh forcedly. "He came in and sat there this, Gri- sha," (she showed him how Yevgeny had with hunched back) sat and sick of him." "Did you ask him in?" Grigory's eyes would angrily, "What do I need him for?" "You watch I'll kick him down steps one day." Aksinya would gaze at Grigory with a smile lips, and not be sure whether he speaking in jest or earnest. The winter broke up during the fourth week of Lent. Open water began to fringe the edges of the Don; the ice, melting from the top, turned grey and spongily. 302

a low murmur came from the hills, indicating frost according time-honoured saying, but in reality the thaw was already on its way. In the morning tingled with frost, but by noon earth was patches, nostrils was March, of the frozen bark, of cherry-trees, and rotting straw. Miron Korshunov took time preparing for the ploughing season, spending the length- ening shed sharpening the harrows and repairing cartwheels. Grishaka usually fasted in the fourth week of Lent, He would come home from church, blue cold, and complain daughter-in- law Lukinichna: "That priest makes me sick. He's good. He's as slow with the service as a carter with a load of eggs." "You'd have been wiser to have fasted dur- ing Passion Week, it's warmer by then." "Call Natalya," he get her make me a pair of warmer stockings." still lived in the belief that Grigory would return her; her heart longed for him, and would warning whisper sober reason. the nights in weary yearning, tossing bed, crushed by her undeserved and unexpect- 303

ed shame. Another woe was now added to the first, and she awaited its sequel in cold terror, maiden wounded lapwing in a forest glade. From earliest days of her return home her brother Mitka had begun to give her odd glances, and catching her the porch, he asked frankly "Still hankering after Grisha?" it got to do with you?" "I want to cheer you Natalya glanced into his eyes and was terri- fied by what she saw there. Mitka's green cat's glittered and their slits gleamed greasily in the dim light of the porch. Natalya slammed room, where the wild beating of her heart. The next day Mitka came the yard. He had been tui^ning over fresh hay for the cattle, and green stalks grass hung from hair and fur cap, Natalya was chasing the dogs pigs' trough. fret yourself, Natalya. Father," cried, protect "You're an idiot!" "Keep away, you beast!" "What are you shouting for?" 304

Mitka! once and Father. How dare you look at me that? Have you no shame! a wonder the doesn't open and swallow you doesn't, Mitka stamped confirm statement edged up to her. "Don't come near me, Mitka!" won't now, I'll come night. I'll come!" Trembling, she made her bed on took her younger sister to sleep with her. night she tossed and turned, her burning eyes pierce the darkness, alert slightest sound, ready scream house down. But the silence was broken the snores of Grishaka sleeping in the next room, and an occasional grunt from her sister. of days unwound stant inconsolable grief that only women know. Mitka had not got over the shame of his re- cent attempt at marriage, and he went morose and ill-tempered. He went evening and rarely arrived home again before dawn. He carried on with women who liked amuse husbands were soldiering and went to Stepan Astakhov's cards stakes. 20—1933 305

behaviour, being. Easter, shop. to her: "Wait a moment!" She halted. Her heart felt a pang of yearn- she saw father-in-law's motely reminding her of Grigory. "Why don't you come and see us old folks, sometimes?" the old man asked her, giving her look, as though he himself had been guilty of some offence "The wife misses you. . Well, how are you getting on?" Natalya recovered from her embarrassment. "Thank you . ." she said, and after a moment's hesitation (she wanted "Father!"), added: "Pantelei Prokofyevich, I've been very busy at home." "Our Grisha . ah!" the old man shook his head bitterly. "He's let us down, the scoundrel. And we were getting on so well together." "Oh well. Father," Natalya answered shrilly with a catch in her voice. "I suppose it wasn't to be." fidgeted embarrassment saw Natalya's eyes fill. Her lips twisted in an effort to hold back her "Good-bye, my dear," he said, "Don't grieve 306

the son a bitch! He's not worth the nail on your little finger. Maybe he'll come see him. Natalya walked away with her head sunk on her breast. Pantelei stood shifting from foot to foot as though about break into run. As the comer back; old man was limping across square, leaning heavily on his stick. As spring approached, the meetings in Stock- workshop frequently. villagers preparing work, and only Ivan engine- man and Knave came from mill, bringing David with them. On Maundy Thursday gathered at the workshop in the early evening. filing a silver ring made from a fifty-kopeck piece. A sheaf of rays sun through the window, forming a square of dusty yellowish-pink light on floor. The engine- man picked up pincers and them over in his hand. "I had to go to the master the other day to ask about a piston." he remarked, "It will have 20* S07

Millerovo, can't mend crack long." Alexeyevich measured length "There's a works at Millerovo, isn't there?" silver dust as filed the coin. "A steel foundry. to spend a few days "Many workers?" "I should say four hundred or thereabouts." are they like?" Stockman's tone deliberate. none pioletariat, they're muck." asked Knave, who was ting Stockman, stubby clasped under his knees. David, the mill-hand, his hair grey with flour padded workshop, to the dry rustle of the shavings stirred up with his boots. He he were walking along a ravine deep in fallen scarlet leaves with the leaves giving easily and turf springing youthfully underfoot. "Because too well Each has little house, wife, and every comfort. And a good half of them are Baptists into the bargain. The master himself their preacher, 308

and they suck one another's noses, and the dirt on them is so thick you couldn't scrape a hoe." "Ivan Alexeyevich, what are these Baptists?" asked David, pouncing on the unfamiliar word. "Baptists? They worship God their own fashion. A kind of sect, like the Old Believers." "Every fool goes crazy his own fashion," added Knave. "As saying, see Sergei Pla- tonovich," continued story, "and Atyopin was so he to wait outside. waited and heard them talking through the door. Mokhov was saying there- was going a war with the Germans very soon; he had read it in a book. Atyopin couldn't between Germany and Russia." so cleverly imitated Atyo- pin's lisp that David let out a short laugh, but, seeing Knave's sarcastic expression, immediate- ly shut up. " 'There Germany Germany's grain,' " continued to report the con- versation he had overheard. "Then a third voice: I found out afterwards it was the son. 'There war,' he 'between Germany and France, 309

the vineyards, has nothing with us.' What do you think, Osip Davydovich?" Ivan asked, turning to Stockman. prophecies," staring fixedly the ring out- stretched hand. "Once they do we'll have too. Like it or not, they'll drag us there by the hair," Knave declared. this, boys," Stockman said, gently pincers engineman's hands. He spoke seriously, evidently intending to explain the matter thoroughly. Knave seated himself comfortably on the bench, and David's lips shaped into an "O," concise vivid way outlined the struggle of the capitalist states for markets and colonies. Ivan Alexeyevich asked indignantly: "Yes, but where do we come in?" ache orgies of others," Stockman smiled. kid," Knave sarcas- tically. "You know the saying: 'When masters quarrel, the peasants' forelocks shake.' " "Humph," frowned unyielding lump 310

daughter, eh?" David "The Korshunov brat already," Knave interposed maliciously. "Ivan Alexeyevich, can't you hear? What's that officer nosing for?" David repeated. if he had been struck behind the knees with a whiplash. "Eh? What were you saying?" nap! about Listnitsky." "He was on his way to the station. Yes, and here's some more news. When the house I saw . who do you think? Grigory Melekhov! his hand. 'What are you Grigory?' I says. 'Taking Lieutenant Listnitsky to Millerovo Station.' " coachman," plained. "Picking crumbs table." "You're like a dog on a chain. Knave, you'd snarl at anyone," The conversation flagged. rose to go. "Hurrying off to service?" Knave got in g last dig. 9U

room, people benches, Men were sitting on the rickety steps, smok- ing and weather winter crops. will your fields?" "Should moving Thomas' reckon." your way is sandy." "Some of of the gully there's salt marsh." earth'll of moisture "When we year was like gristle, hard and sticky all the way over." "Dunya, high-pitched voice called from the steps of the lodge. churchyard a rough voice could be heard blustering: "A fine place kissing, . Get dirty young brats. What an idea!" "Can't you partner for yourself? Go kiss yard," wobbly young voice retorted from the darkness. "Bitch?! I'll learn A squelchy patter of running feet, a rustle of skirts. 31^

Water dripped from tinkle; and again slow voice, clinging the muddy black earth: "Been to buy a plough off Prokhor, offered him twelve rubles but he won't take wouldn't cheap, From the Don came a smooth swishing, rus- tling and crunching, as though a buxom wench, dressed-up and tall as a poplar, were passing by, rustling. midnight, horse bareback, darkness up church. He tied the bridle rein to the horse's mane, and gave her a smack steaming flanks. squelch of the hoofs for a moment, then, adjust- belt, he went churchyard. the porch he removed cap, bent devoutly, thrusting aside women, altar. in a black mass left; right was a motley throng women. found his father in the front row, and gripping elbow, ear: "Father, come outside for a moment." As he pushed the dense curtain of mingled odours, nostrils quivered. He was overwhelmed

by the vapour of burning wax, odour of women's sweating bodies, the sepulchral stench of clothes brought out Christmas and Easter time, and the smell of damp leather, moth balls, and the windiness of fast-hungered bellies. In the porch Mitka put his mouth his father's ear and said: "Natalya's dying." returned on Palm Sunday from journey with Yevgeny to the station. He found the thaw had eaten away the snow; had broken up within a couple of days. twenty-five versts from horses as he was crossing evening. During the previous night the ice had broken up and started moving, and the stream, swollen and foaming with muddy brown water, threat- ened streets. inn stopped to feed the horses on the way out lay the farther side the stream. might easily rise still higher during the night, and Grigory decided to cross. He drove to the point where he had crossed the ice on the outward journey, and found the

stream had overflowed banks. A fencing and a cartwheel were eddying the middle. There were fresh traces oi runners on the bare sand at the edge. He halt- foam-flecked jumped down to look at the marks more closely. At the water's edge the tracks turned a little to left and disappeared measured the distance side with eyes: fifty paces at the most. the horses to check harness. that mo- aged towards him from the nearest hut. here?" asked him, waving brown flood. "Some folk crossed there this morning." it deep?" "No. But it might splash into your sleigh." gathered up reins, and holding his knout ready, urged curt, imperative command. They moved unwill- ingly, snorting and snuffing at the water. his whip and bay suddenly pulled on the traces. Grigory glanced feet; the water was swirling over the front of the sledge. At first the horses were '316

wading up their knees, stream rose their breasts. tried to turn them back, but they refused to answer the rein and began to swim for it. The sledge was swung current, and the horses' forced upstream. The water flowed waves their backs, and rocked strongly. "Hey! Hey! To right!" shouted, running along the bank and waving his fur cap. wild fury kept shouting and urging water foamed in eddies behind the dragging sledge. The runners struck against a jutting pile, the remains of the bridge swept over- sledge turned over with extra- ordinary ease. With a gasp Grigory plunged in first, but he did not lose his grip reins. While he was tossed about by the rock- sledge, the water dragged legs and the skirts sheepskin with gentle insist- ence. succeeded runner, hauled swingle-tree. He was about seize shod end of the swingle-tree when the bay, its struggle against the current, lashed out with 317

its hindleg and struck him on the knee. Chok- ing, Grigory threw out his hands and caught at the traces. He felt himself being dragged away from the horses, his grip weakened. Every fibre in his body tingling with the cold, he managed to reach the horse's head, and the animal fixed maddened, mortally bloodshot eyes straight into his dilated pupils. Again and again he grasped the slippery eluded Somehow he managed seize Abruptly scraped along Dragging himself to the edge the water, he stumbled forward and was knocked off his feet in the shallows by a horse's breast. Trampling horses tugged the sledge violently out of the water and, exhaust- ed, a few paces away, shuddering and steaming. Unconscious jumped to his feet; the cold enveloped him as unbearably dough. trembling even more than the horses, and as weak on his legs unweaned infant. Slowly he gathered wits, and turning the sledge on its runners, drove at a gallop to get them warm. He flew into the attacking an enemy, and turned without slackening his pace. 318

host hospitable Ukrainian; he sent attend horses and himself helped Grigory to undress. In a tone that brooked no refusal he ordered While clothes were drying Grigory stretched himself out on top of the stove host's supper meatless cabbage went to off again long before dawn. A good thirty-five versts' minute was precious. The untracked confusion of the flooded spring hand; melting snow had turned every little ravine or gully into a roar- ing torrent. bare road exhausted the horses. Over hard surface created morning frost he reached a village off his route, cross- road. The horses steaming sweat; gleaming track runners in the ground. abandoned the sledge and again, riding one horse bareback and leading other by reins. He arrived at Yagodnoye Palm Sunday. attentively story of the journey, and went to look 319

horses. Sashka was leading them up and down the yard, angrily eyeing their sunken flanks. they?" haven't been overdriven, have they?" "No. The bay's got a sore on his chest where his collar rubbed, but it's nothing," Sashka an- swered without stopping "Go and get some rest," Listnitsky motioned to Grigory with his hand. Grigory went to his but he had night's rest. The next morning Venyamin came into the room in sateen face beaming, and to him: "Grigory, the master wants you. At once." The general was shuffling about the hall slippers. Only after Grigory had coughed twice did he look up. sent for me." "Ah, yes! Go and saddle the stallion and my Lukerya feed dogs. They're going hunting." master stopped him with a shout: "D'you hear? And you're going with me." Aksinya thrust cake pocket Grigory's coat and hissed: "He won't even a man eat, devil take him. Put scarf least, 320

Grigory led the saddled horses to the and whistled to the dogs. Listnitsky came attired in a jerkin cloth and girdled ornamental belt. A nickel- plated flask in a cork case slung back; the whip hanging from his arm trailed behind him like a snake. bridle mount Grigory was astonished at the ease with which old Listnitsky hoisted his bony body into the saddle. "Keep close behind me," the gener- al curtly ordered, as he lovingly gathered reins in his gloved hand. stallion. Its were not shod, and as it trod on the shards of it slipped and sat on its hind quarters. The old general sat hunched but firm in the saddle. The horses moved good pace. The stallion strained at the bit and arched its short neck, squinting round at its rider and trying to bite his knees. When they reached the top rise, Listnitsky horse into fast trot. The chain of hounds followed Grigory; the old black bitch ran with her muzzle touching the end of the stallion's tail. The horse tried to reach her by falling back on its hind quarters, plaintively, like an old woman, at Grigory he glanced round. 21—1933 321

They reached their objective, the Olshansky ravine, in half an hour. Listnitsky rode through the undergrowth along the brow Grigory dropped rain-washed ravine, cautiously avoiding the numerous pot- holes. From time to time steely-blue naked elder grove he saw Listnitsky's clean-cut figure. As the old man leaned forward and rose stirrups, belted coat wrinkled at the back. Behind him the hounds were run- ning in a bunch along the undulating ridge. As steep watercourse Grigory leaned back in the "I could do with a smoke," he thought, let go of the reins and get my pouch." Pulling glove, Grigory fumbled his pocket for some cigarette paper. shout came like pistol shot from the other side of the ridge. Grigory looked up sharply, smd saw Listni- tsky galloping upraised Slipping a moulting dirty-brown wolf was run- ning swiftly across the marshy rush and reedy- grown bottom of the ravine. Leaping, a gully, stopped and turned quickly, catching 322

the dogs. They were coming after it spread out in horseshoe formation, wood at the end of the ravine. With a springy stride the wolf leaped on small hillock and headed for the wood. The old bitch cutting husbanding her strength in short strides, another hound, one of the best and fiercest pack, was coming behind. wolf hesitated Grigory rode up ravine he lost sight of it. When next he had a good view from the hillock the wolf was away in the steppe, making for a neighbouring ravine. Grigory the hounds undergrowth behind Listnitsky riding slightly to the side, belabour- ing his horse with the butt of his whip. As the wolf reached the ravine the hounds began overtake it, and one, the grizzled hound known as Hawk, seemed hang like whitish rag from the wolf's loins. the shout was wafted back Grigory put gallop, vainly happening ahead of eyes were streaming with ears were stuffed whistling wind. He was suddenly fired by the excitement of the hunt. Bending over his horse's neck, he 21* 323

flew along at a mad gallop. When he reached the ravine neither wolf seen. A moment or two Listnitsky over- Reining "Which way did they go?" "Into the ravine, I think." "You overtake them on the left. After them!" The old man dug flanks and rode off to the right. Grigory dropped hollow, whip and shout rode his horse hard for a verst and a half. The damp, sticky earth striking ravine curved the right and branched three. Grigory crossed the first fork, and then caught sight of the dark chain of hounds chasing the wolf across the steppe. headed off from the heart of the ravine, which was densely overgrown with oaks and alders, and was now making for a dry brush and this- tle-covered dell. Rising stirrups, and wiping wind-lashed sleeve, Grigory watched Glancing momentarily to the left, he realized that he was in the steppe his native Near irregular square of land which he and Natalya the autumn. He deliberately 324

guided the ploughed land, moments animal was sliding clods the zest for the hunt died to ashes within He now calmly urged heavily- Listnitsky was looking, dropped an easy Some distance away he could see the desert- ed camping quarters of the ploughmen; a off three of bullocks were drag- ging a plough fresh, velvety soil. From our village, surely. Whose land is that? not Anikushka, it? Grigory screwed up his eyes trying to recognize the man follow- ing the plough. He saw two Cossacks drop the plough and run to head wolf near-by ravine. One, in a peaked, red-banded cap, strap under his chin, was waving an iron bar. Suddenly wolf squatted down furrow. The foremost hound flew right over fell with its forelegs doubled under it; the stop, the cloddy, ground; but unable to halt in time, she tumbled against the wolf. The hunted animal shook head violently, and the bitch ricochetted off Now the mass of hounds fastened on the wolf, 325

and they all dragged for some paces over the ploughed land. Grigory was off his horse half minute knees, drawing back his hunting knife. "There! In the throat!" the Cossack with the iron bar cried in a voice which Grigory knew well. Panting side, and dragging away the hound hunted belly, gripped the wolf's forelegs in one hand. Grigory felt under the animal's shaggy fur for its windpipe, and drew the knife across "The dogs! The dogs! Drive them croaked managed away the dogs, then glanced towards his mas- ter. Standing a off was Stepan Asta- khov. His face working strangely, he was turn- iron bar over and his hands. are you from, my man?" to Stepan. "From Tatarsky," after a momentary hesitation, and took a step in Gri- direction, "What's your name?" Listnitsky asked. "Astakhov." are you going home, my lad?" "Tonight." 326

Listnitsky pointed to the wolf with his foot. The animal's jaws were snapping feebly in death agony hindlegs, with brownish tuft . of fur sticking it, was raised. "Bring us that carcass," pay whatever it costs." He wiped sweat from his purple face with scarf, and slipped the flask off his back. stallion. As he set foot Trembling uncontrollably, great, heavy fists pressed On Good Friday night the women gathered in the house Korshunov's neighbour, Pela- geya Maidannikova, talk. Her husband Gavrila had written Lodz trying to get furlough for Easter. Pelageya had whitewashed walls and tidied up the hut the Monday Easter, from Thursday onward she waited expectantly, to the gate and standing at the fence, bare-headed gaunt, signs pregnancy showing Shading her eyes with her palm she stared down the road to coming. Gavrila 327

returned from his regiment the previous year, bringing his wife a present of Polish chintz. He nights and on the fifth day had got drunk, cursed in Polish and German, eyes had singing an old Cossack song about Poland that dated from 1831. His friends and brothers had drinking vodka They said of Poland, it's a very rich land. But we found out it's as poor as the damned. And in this said Poland there stands an inn, A Polish inn, belongs to the Polish king. And at this said inn three lads had a drink, Prussian, Pole, Russian. The Prussian, he drinks vodka, and pays his score. Pole, he drinks vodka, and pays some more. drinks-and inn's poor as before. Then he walks around with clinking spur And the barmaid sees his eye is on her. "Oh, mistress, dear, come live with me, "Come live with me, on the quiet Don, "The folk on the Don, they don't live your 328

husband. She was bored pany, Friday she invited her women friends to come and spend the evening unfinished stocking knitting, when spring Grandad the cold more. She was unnaturally of high spirits, and laughed more than necessary at the others' jokes, to hide her yearning for her hus- band from them. Pelageya sitting on the bare, violet-veined dan- gling, and bantering the young shrewish Frosya. d'you Frosya?" "Don't you know how? On the back, on the head, and wherever I could lay my hands on mean I meant how happen." just happened," Frosya answered unwill- ingly. "If you were husband with another woman would you keep your tongue quiet?" a tall gaunt woman asked deliberately. "Tell us all about Frosya." "There's nothing to tell. "Oh, come on, we're all friends here." Spitting husk a sunflower seed her hand, Frosya smiled: 330

his goings-on a long he'd hussy across the Don. I went out and found them by mill." "Any news of your husband, Natalya?" gaunt woman interrupted, Yagodnoye," whisper. "Do you think of living with him or not?" "She might think of it, but he doesn't," their hostess intervened. Natalya the hot blood bent her head stocking brows at the women. Realizing that she could hide of shame from deliberately, everybody ball of wool rolling from her knees, and then groped the cold "Spit on him, woman! So long as you have a neck, you'll always a yoke it," one advised her with unconcealed her voice. Natalya's affected liveliness died away like a spark wind. The women's turned to the latest scandal, tittle-tattle and gossip. Natalya She forced sit on until the party broke up, and 331

then went home, with a half-formed decision in her mind. Shame uncertain situation (for would not that Grigory had gone ever, and was ready forgive him and take him back) step. resolved secretly to him, in order learn whether he had gone for good or whether he might change his mind. When she reached home little room reading an old, greasy leather-bound copy of the Gospels. Her father was in the kitchen mending a fish- ing-net and story Mikhei telling him about a recent murder. Her mother had put the bed and asleep over the ledge above stove, the blackened soles facing Natalya took and wandered aimlessly about rooms. In one corner front room there was a pile of hempreed and the mice could be scampering and squeaking. She stopped for a moment grandfa- ther's room, staring dully at the stack of devo- tional books under the icons. "Grandad, have you any paper?" sort paper?" puckering his forehead into a frown. "Paper to write on." The old man fumbled in a psalter, and drew 332

crumpled sheet paper strongly of incense. "And a pencil?" "Ask your Go away, my don't bother She obtained stump father, and sitting down at the table, struggled again with the thoughts that had tortured her evoked numb, gnawing pain in her heart. She wrote: Grigory Panteleyevich, Tell me how live, and whether my lite is quite lost or not. You leit home and you didn't say a single word to me. I haven't done you any wrong, and I've waited lor you to un- tie my hands, to say you've gone for good, but you've gone away and are as silent as the grave. I thought you had gone oft in the heat of the moment, and waited for you to come hack, hut to come between you. Better one should he trodden the ground than two. Have write. Then know what to think, but now middle of the road. Don't be angry with me, Grisha, for the love of Christ. 333

Next morning she promised vodka Het- Baba persuaded to Yagodnoye. Moody in expectation his drinking spell, Het-Baba led a horse and without informing went jogging off to Yagodnoye. On his horse awkward, stranger among Cossack riders does; his ragged elbows jerked trotted. children playing in the street sent him off with jeering cries. "Dirty Ukrainian!" "Mind you off!" a dog on a fence!" He returned the afternoon. with him a piece of blue sugar-bag paper, and as he drew it out his pocket he winked "The road was terrible. I got such shak- it near brought my liver up." the note, and her face turned grey. The four words scribbled on the paper rending weave. Live alone. -Grigory Melekhou. Hurriedly, trusting strength, Natalya went into the house and lay down on her bed. Her mother was lighting the 334

stove for the night, in order to have the place tidy early on Easter Sunday morning and get the Easter cake ready time. "Natalya, come and give me hand," called to her daughter. "I've got a headache. Mamma, lie down for a bit." Her mother "Drink some pickle juice, it'll put you right no time." licked her cold tongue and made no reply. She lay until evening, her head covered with a warm woollen shawl, a light tremor shaking her huddled body. Miron and Grishaka were about to go off to church when she got up and the kitchen. Beads perspiration shone temples smoothly- combed hair, and her eyes were dim with an unhealthy, oily film. fly-buttons, glanced at his daughter: "A fine time sick. Daughter. Come along with us service." I'll come along later." "In time to go home again, I expect?" I'll come when dressed." The men went Lukinichna and Natalya were left in the kitchen. Natalya went listlessly 335

backward and forward from bed, stared with unseeing eyes at the jumbled heap of clothing in the chest, her lips whisper- ing, the same agonizing thoughts in her mind. Lukinichna decided she could not make up her mind which clothes to wear, and with motherly kindness she suggested: "Wear my fit Shall you ?" Natalya had had no new clothes made Easter, and Lukinichna, suddenly remembering how before loved to wear her dark-blue hobble skirt, pressed to take wor- ried about what to wear, in this!" Natalya carefully drew out her green skirt, and suddenly remembered that she had it when future bridegroom, when he had shamed her with fleet- kiss by barn. Shaking with sobs, fell forward against the raised lid of the chest. "Natalya, what the matter?" her mother exclaimed, clapping her hands. Natalya choked down her desire to scream and, mastering herself, gave a rasping, wooden laugh. "I don't know what's come over me today." "Oh, Natalya, I've noticed. 336

noticed. Mamma?" unexpected irri- tation, crumpling gers. "You can't go on like this; what you need a husband." "One was enough for me!" She went to her room, and quickly returned kitchen, dressed, girlishly slender, bluish mournful flush in her pallid cheeks. "You go on, I'm not ready yet," her mother Pushing a handkerchief into her sleeve, Na- talya went out. The rumble of the floating the bracing tang of thaw dampness wafted to her on the wind. Holding up her skirt left hand, picking her way pearly-blue puddles, she reached On the way she attempted to recover her form- er comparatively tranquil mind, thinking of the holiday, of everything vaguely snatches. stubbornly of blue paper hidden at her breast, to Grigory and the happy wom- an who was now complacently laughing at her, perhaps even pitying her. churchyard barred her way. She passed round them, and heard the whisper: 22—1933 337

is she? Did you see?" "Natalya Korshunova." ruptured, That's why left her." "That's not true. She got playing about with father-in-law, lame Pantelei." so that's it! And that why Grigory ran away from home?" "That's right. And she's Stumbling over the uneven stones, followed by the shameful, filthy whispering, she reached porch. The porch giggled and made Swaying drunkenly, she ran home. At the gate of the yard she took entered, over the hem biting her came. Through the open doorway of the shed yawned blackly. With fierce determination she gathered her last strength, ran the door and hastily threshold. The shed was cold, and smelled of leather harness and musty straw. Gropingly, without thought feeling, in a sombre yearning clawed shamed and despairing soul, she made her way a comer. There she picked up a scythe by the handle, removed the blade (her movements deliberately assured precise); andi, 338

throwing back her head, a sudden joyous resolution slashed her throat with point. She fell as though struck down by burning, savage pain, and vaguely aware she had not completely carried out her inten- tion, she struggled on all fours, then on to her knees. Hurriedly (she was terrified by the blood pouring over her chest), with trembling off the buttons of her jacket, then with one hand she drew aside her taut, un- yielding breast, and with the other she guided scythe. crawled knees to the wall, thrust the blunt end of scythe her arms behind her head, pressed her chest firmly ward, forward. clearly heard and the revolting cabbage-like scrunch of the rend- ing flesh; a rising wave of intense pain flowed over her breast to her throat, and pressed ring- ing needles into her The kitchen door scraped. Lukinichna groped her way down the steps. From the belfry came the measured tolling of the church bell. With an incessant grinding roar the giant upreared floes were floating down the Don. The joyous, full-flowing, liberated river was icy fetters away down to the Sea of Azov. 22* 339

Stepan walked up to Grigory seizing stirrup, sweating flank. "Well, how are you, Grigory?" "Praise be!" "What are you thinking about? Huh?" "What should I be thinking about?" off another man's Having your will of her?" "Let go stirrup." "Don't be scared! I won't hit you." afraid. flushed and raised his voice. "I shan't fight you today. But mark my words, Grigory, sooner kill you." " 'We'll see,' the blind man said!" "Mark my words well. You've wronged me. You've gelded my hog's. You , ." he stretched out his hands with their grimy palms upward. "I'm ploughing, and the Lord knows what for. Do I need it for myself? I could shift around a bit and get through the that way. only the loneliness all that gets me down. You've done me a great wrong, Grigory." 340

leather strap of his military cap. His dirty face, marked with white runnels of sweat, was sad and strangely unfamiliar. As he looked Grigory felt that he might well be gazing from a hill- at the distant steppe veiled in a rainy mist. A grey weariness and emptiness ashened pan's features. He dropped behind without farewell. Grigory rode on at a walk. "Wait a bit. And how . how Aksi- nya?" Knocking a lump of earth off his boot with whip, Stepan was standing with his feet planted wide apart, chewing a stalk between his a moment Grigory suddenly felt unaccountably for him, jealousy uppermost. Turning saddle, he shouted: "She doesn't miss you, don't worry!" so?" and galloped away without replying. Aksinya confessed her pregnancy to Grigory only during the sixth month, when she was no longer able conceal 342

silent so long because she was afraid he would not believe it was his child she was rying. During first months of anxious pectation she had sometimes been sick without Grigory noticing guessing the reason why. Wrought up, she told him one evening, anx- iously scanning the while expression. But he turned away to the window and coughed with vexation. "Why didn't you tell me before?" "I was afraid to, Grisha. I thought you might throw me Drumming his fingers on the back of the bed, he asked: to be soon?" "The beginning of August, I think." it Stepan's?" it's yours!" "So you say." "Reckon up for yourself. From the day of the wood-cutting it's. "Don't make up, Aksinya! Even Stepan's, what could you do an honest answer." Weeping angry tears, Aksinya the bench and broke into a fierce whisper. "I lived with him so many years and noth- ever happened! Think yourself! 343

ailing Woman. ... I must have from you. . And you. Grigory talked no more about the matter. A new thread of wary aloofness mocking pity was woven Aksinya. She withdrew into herself, asking for favours. During the summer good looks, but pregnancy hardly affected her shapely figure; her general fullness concealed her condition, and although her face was thin- ner it gained a new beauty from her warmly- glowing eyes. She easily managed her work cook, especially year fewer labourers were employed on estate. Old Sashka grew fond of Aksinya, with the capricious fondness of old age. Perhaps because she treated him with daughterly care: washed his linen, mended his shirts, gave him softer bits horses old Sashka would come into the kitchen, fetch water, mash potatoes for the pigs, do kinds of odd jobs, and hopping about round her, expose the bare gums of his mouth as" he "You're good to me, and I'll repay you. for you, I'd have done for without a woman's care. The lice were eating me up. If you ever want anything, ask me." 344

Yevgeny had arranged his coachman freed from training camp, Grigory worked the mowing, drove old Listnitsky to the district centre, and the time hunting after bustards. The easy-going, comfortable spoil him. He grew lazy and stout, and looked older than his years. The only thing that worried him was the thought of his forth- coming army service. He had neither horse nor equipment, and he could hope for nothing from his father. He saved the wages he received for himself and Aksinya, and even stinted him- self on tobacco, hoping able to buy a without having to beg from Old Listnitsky also promised to help him. Gri- gory's presentiment that his father would him nothing was quickly confirmed. At the end of July Pyotr brother, and mentioned father was as angry with him as ever, and had declared that he wouldn't help him get a horse. "Let him go to the local command for one," he had said. "He needn't worry, to do my service on my own horse," Grigory declared, stressing "my own." "How'll you Dance asked, chewing his moustache. 345

which we got from Christonya has foaled. A a good one too. Long in the legs, sound pasterns, and a strong chest on him. It'll be a good horse." "I miss Pyotr," "I miss the Don. You never see run- ning water here. a dreary hole!" "Come and us," hoisted his body on to the mare's bony spine. "Some day." good-bye." "A good journey." Pyotr had ridden out the yard when, membering who was still standing on the steps: thing. hovering vulture-like farm carried the end of the sentence away from Pyotr and the horse were en- veloped in velvety dust, and Grigory shrugged his shoulders and went off to the stables. The summer was bone-dry. Little and the corn ripened early. As soon as the rye was garnered the barley was ripe and yellow. The four day-labourers and Grigory went out to reap Aksinya had finished work and she asked to take her with him. 347

Despite his attempt to dissuade her, she quick- ly threw a kerchief over her head, ran out, and caught up with in which the men were riding. The event which Aksinya anticipated yearning and joyous impatience, and Grigory with vague apprehension, happened during the harvesting. Feeling the symptoms, down the rake and lay under a stook. Her trav- ail came quickly. Biting her blackened tongue, she lay flat on the ground. The labour- ers machine shouted. One festering sore on nose and numerous folds in his yellow face that looked it has been carved of wood, to her: "Hey, you! Get up, or you'll melt!" Grigory got one of the men to take his place at the machine and went across to her. the matter?" writhing uncontrollably, hoarsely: in labour. told you not to come, you devil's bitch! Now what are we to do?" "Don't be angry with me, Grisha. .! Oh. .! Grisha, harness to the wag- get home. . How could 348

. with the Cossacks . ." she moaned, as the pain gripped her like an iron band. Grigory ran for the horse. It was grazing in a hollow a off, and by the time he up, Aksinya struggled fours, thrust her head into a pile of dusty bar- ley, and was spitting out the prickly ears she had chewed in her pain. She fixed her dilated vacantly on Grigory, and into her crumpled apron to prevent the labour- ers from hearing her horrible, rending cry. Grigory lifted her into the wagon and drove the horse fast towards the estate. "Oh! Don't hurry. . Oh, death! You're . me . ." Aksinya screamed as her head knocked on the bottom of the wagon. silently plied the whip and swung reins around Pressing her cheeks staring, frenzied wildly, Aksinya bounced about in the wagon as it swung from side over the bumpy, little-used Grigory kept the horse at a gallop; the shaft- bow bobbed up and down before his eyes, ob- scuring a dazzling white cloud that hung polished crystal in the sky. For a moment Ak- sinya ceased her shrieking howls. The wheels rattled, and her head thudded heavily against 349

the bottom-board. At first her did not impress itself on Grigory, but then he glanced back. Aksinya was lying with a horribly torted face, her cheek pressed hard against the the wagon, her jaws working fish flung ashore. The sweat was pouring from her brow sockets his crumpled cap under at him, she said firmly: die, Grisha. And shuddered; toes. He sought for words couragement, comfort, twisted harshly and out: "Don't talk nonsense, you fool!" Then he head, and leaning over backwards, foot: "Aksinya, pigeon. The pain died away and left Aksinya redoubled force. rending arched her body and terrifying, rising scream. Grigory fran- tically whipped up the horse. Then above the rattle of the wheels Grigory heard her feeble 350

He reined in the horse and turned his head. Aksinya lay in a pool of blood, her arms flung out. Between her legs living thing was stir- ring and squealing. Grigory frenziedly jumped down from stumbled back. Staring into panting, burning mouth, he guessed rather than heard the words "Bite through cord tie cot- ton . from your fingers he strands threads from the sleeve of his cotton shirt, and screwing up his eyes it hurt, he bit through the navel cord and carefully tied up the bleed- ing end with cotton. The estate of Yagodnoye clung to the side of the broad dry valley like a growth. The wind blew changeably from north south; sun floated in the bluish whiteness of the sky; rustled in on summer, winter clamped down with its frost and snow, but Yagodnoye remained sunk wooden torpor. So the days passed one after the other, alike twins, and always estate was off from the rest of the world. The black whisperer-ducks rings spectacles roimd still waddled 351

farmyard; guinea-fowls scattered about like beady rain; gawdy-feath- ered peacocks miaowed throatily like cats from roof. The old general was fond all kinds birds, and even kept maimed crane. November, when faint of the wild cranes to the south, wrung the heart-strings with its copper-tongued yearning. fly, one wing uselessly side. As at the window and watched the bird stretching its neck and jumping, flut- tering the ground, he laughed opening big mouth under the grey awning of his mous- tache, and the deep tones of his laughter rocked through the empty white-walled hall. Venyamin carried his fuzzy head as high as ever, and spent whole days alone in the ante- room, playing cards with himself. Tikhon was as jealous as ever of his pock-marked mistress day-labourers, master and even the crane to whom Lukerya was devoting the tenderness which overflowed her widowed Every now and Sashka would get drunk and beg for twenty- kopeck pieces under Listnitsky's window. the time of Grigory's stay events disturbed the mildewed torpor sleepy, monotonous life of Yagodnoye: the 352

of Aksinya's loss gander. inhabitants of Yagodnoye quickly grew accustomed to the baby girl, and finding some gander's feathers meadow, concluded that a fox had carried him settled down again peaceful existence. In the morning, when he awoke, the master in Venyamin. "Did you dream of anything last night?" "Why, of course, I had a wonderful dream." me," curtly, rolling himself a And Venyamin would relate If the dream uninteresting frightening, Listnitsky would get dolt! fool foolish dreams." Venyamin started to invent gay and amusing dreams. But it was difficult for him. He started invent his gay dreams several days ad- vance, sitting on his trunk and shuffling cards-puffy and oily player. His eyes staring fixedly, he exerted his brain until he reached a point where he stopped dreams altogether. he woke in the morning, he would strain memory, trying to recall what he had dreamed, lay behind him, black darkness. 23—1933 353

He had dreamed nothing, not even seen a face in his sleep. Venyamin's store inventions was exhausted, when he caught him repeating himself. "You told me that dream about a horse Thursday, damn you!" "I dreamed Nikolai Alexeyevich! Honest to God, I dreamed it again!" Venyamin lied calmly. In December Grigory was summoned to the district administration at Vyeshenskaya. There he was given a hundred rubles to buy a horse, instructed report two Christmas of Mankovo army draft. to Yagodnoye agitation. Christmas was approaching, and he had nothing ready. With the money he had re- ceived from authorities plus sav- ings he bought a horse for a hundred and forty rubles. He took Sashka with him and they pur- chased presentable enough animal, six- year-old bay with hidden blemish. Sashka combed his beard with his fingers and "You won't get one cheaper, and the author- ities flaw! enough gumption!" 354

Grigory rode the horse back to Yagodnoye, it through paces. A week Christmas at Yagodnoye. He into the yard, but tied up his horse and basket sledge at the gate, and limped towards the serv- ants' quarters, rubbing icicles beard that hung like a black log over the lar coat. Grigory happened to be look- out of the window and saw his father ap- proaching. "Well I'm For some reason Aksinya ran cradle and wrapped up child. stumped into the room, bringing a breath with him. He removed his fur cap and crossed facing icon, around the room. "Good health!" "Good-morning, rising from the bench and striding the cen- tre of the room, Pantelei offered Grigory an icy hand, and sat down on the edge of the bench, wrapping sheepskin around him. He scarcely glanced Aksinya, who stood very still by the cradle. "Getting ready for your service?" "Of course." 2:^^^ 355

silent, long and ques- tioningly at Grigory. "Take your Father, you must be frozen." "It doesn't matter." "We'll get the samovar going." "Thank you." The old man scraped an spot of mud coat with finger-nail, and added: "I've brought your kit; two coats, saddle, and there in the sledge." Grigory went out and removed the two sacks of equipment from sledge. When turned his father rose from the bench. "When are you going off?" he asked his son. "The day after Christmas. You aren't going already, "I want to get back early." He took leave of Grigory, and still avoiding eyes, went towards the door. As he lifted the latch he turned his eyes in the direc- cradle, and said: "Your mother sends her greetings. bed with trouble in her legs." After a momen- tary pause, he said heavily: shall ride with to Mankovo. Be ready when I come." He went out thrusting his hands into warm, knitted gloves. Aksinya, pale with the humilia- suffered, nothing. 356

paced the room, glancing sideways at Aksinya as he passed her, and constantly stepping on a creaking board. On Christmas Day Grigory drove his master Vyeshenskaya. attended breakfast with cousin, local land- owner, ordered sleigh ready for the return journey. Grigory had not finished his bowl of rich pork and cabbage soup, but he at once, went to stable, and harnessed dapple-grey trotting-horse light sleigh. The wind was sifting the fine, tingling snow- flakes; a silvery froth hissed through the yard; a soft fringe of hoar-frost hung from the trees beyond the fence. The wind shook it down, and fell and scattered, it reflected a rainbow- variety colours from sun. On the smoking chimney chilly jackdaws' were chattering loudly. Startled footsteps, dove-coloured snow- flakes, then clearly outlined against the violet morning sky. ready," to the maid that came to the steps of Listnitsky came out and sleigh, his whiskers buried in the collar of his 357

raccoon coat. Grigory wrapped up his legs and adjusted velvet-lined wolf-skin. "Warm him up," Listnitsky said glancing at the horse. Leaning back in his seat, his hands tense on the quivering reins, Grigory watched the ruts, anxiously remembering feeble box on the ears the master had given him for handling the sleigh awkwardly one day in winter. As they drove down to the Don Gri- gory released his grip on the reins and rubbed his wind-seared cheeks with glove. Yagodnoye hours. Listnitsky had been throughout the drive, occasionally tapping Grigory on the back with his finger as a signal stop while he rolled and lit a cigarette. Only as they were descending the hill to the house did he "Early tomorrow morning?" 'seat, frozen difficulty. His tongue, stiff with cold, seemed to swell and stick to the back of his teeth. "Yes," he managed "Got all your money?" "Don't worry about she'll be right with us. Be a good soldier,- your grand- father was Cossack, And mind," 358

nitsky's voice grew muffled as he hid his face from the wind coat, "and mind you conduct yourself in a manner worthy of ,your grandfather and father. Your trick Imperial Review, didn't he?" "Well then!" the old man ended with a stern note his voice, as though admonishing Gri- gory, and buried his face once more in his fur coat. At the yard Grigory handed over the horse Sashka, and turned quarters, "Your father's arrived," Sashka shouted after Grigory found eating meat jelly. "Tight!" soldier?" frozen," answered, clapping his hands together. Turning to Aksinya, he add- ed: "Untie my hood, my fingers are too stiff." "You must have had the wind against you," father grunted, chewing steadily. This time his father was in a kindlier mood, and ordered Aksinya about as if he were in his own home. "Don't be so stingy with the bread, cut some more," he told 359

When he had finished he rose from the table and went towards the door to have a smoke in the yard. As he passed the cradle he rocked twice, pretending that the action was accidental, and asked: "A Cossack?" girl," Aksinya for Grigory; and catching the expression dissatisfaction over the old man's she hurriedly added: "She's the image of Grisha!" attentively examined the dark head sticking out of the clothes, and declared, not without a touch of pride: I never!" come. "With the mare and Pyotr's horse." "You need only have used one, and we could have harnessed mine for the journey to Man- kovo." "Let him go light. He's not a bad horse, you know." both thought, but they talked of various trivial mat- ters. Aksinya took no part in the conversation, sat on bed. Her full breasts tightly under her blouse. She had grown notice- ably stouter birth child, and had a new, confidently happy late when they went to bed. As 360

nestled close side, Aksinya mois- tened shirt with tears and over- abundant milk seeping from her breasts. shall pine away. What shall I do without "You'll be all right," Grigory murmured. "The long nights awake. Just think, Grisha! Four years!" old days lasted twenty-five years, "What do I care about the old days?" "Come now, enough of that!" "Curse your army service, shall come home on furlough." furlough!" moaned, sobbing and wiping her nose on her shift. "A water will go down the Don before then." "Not so much whimpering! You're in autumn, always drizzling." "You should be in my shoes." fell asleep a little before dawn. Ak- sinya got up and fed the child, then lay down Leaning on her elbows she gazed blinkingly into Grigory's face, and took a long farewell the night when she had tried to persuade him to go away with the Kuban; now, except that there had been a moon flood- the yard outside the window with its white ^6f

light. The same, same, yet not the same. Behind them both lay a long track trodden out by the passing days. He turned over, muttered Olshansky village, and then was silent. Aksi- nya tried sleep, but her thoughts drove sleep away, like wind haycock. Until daybreak she lay thinking over his connected phrase, seeking its meaning. Pantelei awoke as soon daylight began to foam on the frosty windows. "Grigory, get up, it's getting light." Kneeling on the bed, Aksinya pulled on her skirt and with sigh started looking for matches. breakfasted packed, dawn had fully come. The black stakes fence clearly outlined roof loomed darkly misty Pantelei went to harness horses while Grigory himself away from desperately passionate kisses to say good-bye to Sashka and the other servants. Wrapping warmly, took her out with her to take a last farewell. lightly touched daughter's little forehead with lips, and went 362

sledge," called, he touched up his horses. ride my horse." deliberate slowness saddle-girths, touched the stirrup with her hand and kept peating: wait. . ." And puckering her brow, trembling and bewildered, she tried to remem- ber what it was. "Well, good-bye. . Look after the child. I must be off; see how far Father's got already." "Wait, dearest!" With her left hand Aksinya icy stirrup; pressed the baby to her breast; and she had no free hand with which to wipe away the streaming from her wide Venyamin came to the steps of the house. "Grigory, master wants Grigory cursed, waved his whip, and dashed yard. Aksinya ran after him, stum- bling in the drifted snow. He overtook his father at the top of the hill. With an effort will, he turned and looked crimson shawl in the wind. 56.9

alongside sledge. a few moments turned his back to his horses and asked: "So you're not thinking of living with your wife?" "That old story again? We've had already. "So you're not." "No, I'm not!" "You haven't heard that she laid hands herself?" I've heard. I happened to meet a man from the village." of God?" "Why, Father, after it's no use crying over spilt milk." "Don't use that devil's talk to me. What I'm saying to you, I'm saying for your own good," flared up. "I've a child back there. What's the use talking? You can't push now. rearing man's child?" Grigory turned pale; his father had touched a sore spot. Ever since the child was born he tormentedly nursed suspicion mind, while concealing from Aksinya 364

asleep, cradle features swarthily rosy bed uncertain dark-chest- nut, he, how was to know whose blood flowed veins? At times he thought the child resembled him, at other times she was painfully pan. Grigory had no feeling for her, except per- haps hostility the moments he had lived through when he had driven Aksinya back from the steppes in the throes of child- birth. Once when Aksinya was busy kitchen, he had had to change the child's wet napkin. As he did so he had felt a sharp, burn- ing emotion. He had stealthily over cradle and pressed the baby's pink stiff toe be- tween his His father probed mercilessly at the wound, and Grigory, his palm resting on the saddle- bow, numbly "Whoever it belongs child." Pantelei waved his whip at the horses with- out turning round: "Natalya's spoilt her good looks. She carries her head on one side like a paralytic. It seems she cut a tendon." He lapsed into 365

The runners creaked as they cut through the snow; the hoofs of Grigory's horse clicked they knocked together. now?" studiously picking a burr mane. "She got over it somehow or other. She was laid up seven months. On Trinity Sunday she all but gone. Father Pankraty came to say prayers. And then she began to pick up. She'd tried to stab herself with a scythe but her hand shook and she just missed her heart. It would have been the end of her otherwise. "Quicker hill!" stirrups and using whip; the horse leaped forward, sending a shower of snow from its hoofs over the sledge, and broke "We're taking Natalya in," Pantelei shouted, want to live with her own folk. I saw her the other day and told her to come Grigory made no reply. They drove as far as without exchanging word, father made no reference the subject. That day they covered seventy versts. at Mankovo the following evening 366

dusk was falling, and allotted cruits. Next morning district ataman Vyeshenskaya recruits before the medical com- mission. in with tall bay horse equipped v;ith a new and gaily-ornamented saddle and harness, door of quarters, but had gone by without a word of greeting. The men undressed in turn in the cold room local civil administration. Military clerks bustled around, and the adjutant provincial ataman hurried past in short patent- boots. From an inner room came doctors' orders, and snatches talk. "Sixty-nine." "Pavel Ivanovich, pass me an indelible pen- cil," croaked drink-sodden "Chest measurement. ..." "Yes, obviously hereditary. "Put down syphilis." "Take your hand away. You're not a "Fine physique." 3&7

. Infects the whole village. Special meas- ures must taken. I have already reported the matter to His Excellency." "Pavel Ivanovich, look fellow's phy- sique." "Oho!" undressed red- haired lad from another village. A clerk came straightening his tunic creased at the back, curtly called Gri- gory and lad gasped red-head, blushing and pulling off a sock. goose-flesh with the cold. His swarthy body was the colour oak. He felt embarrassed down at his hairy legs. In the corner a square- limbed lad was standing naked on the scales. Someone, evidently doctor's assistant, flicked the weights fro, figure and told him to get down. humiliating procedure medical irritated in a white coat sounded him with aid of a stethoscope. A younger doctor turned up his eyelids and looked at his tongue. Behind him a third in horn-rimmed spectacles bustled about, rubbing his hands. 368

the scales!" officer ordered. Grigory stepped on to the cold platform, "Five poods six and a half pounds." "Wha-a-at! He's not particulcirly tall, either," the grey-haired doctor exclaimed, turning Gri- gory round by arm. "Astonishing!" the younger man coughed. "How much?" an at the table asked in surprise. "Five poods, six and pounds," grey-haired doctor replied. "How about Lifeguards for him?" military commissary asked, bending a black sleek head towards his neighbour "He has the face of a brigand. . Very sav- age-looking. round! What's back?" an officer wearing colonel's epaulettes shouted, impatiently tapping his finger on the doctor mumbled some- restrain of his body, turned his back to the table and replied: "I caught cold in the spring. It's a boil." By the end of the examination the officers at the table had decided that Grigory would have to be drafted into an ordinary regiment. 24—1933 369

in a long line against the church wall. Officers bustled to and fro; a veterinary sur- geon and his assistant passed down animals. running from scales of the square, where the results of the examination were being recorded. A milita- ry police officer went by, deep in conversation with a young captain. came, Grigory led scales. The surgeon assistant measured every part of the animal's body, then weighed it could be led from platform the surgeon had deftly taken it by the upper lip, muscles its body, like a spider, reached its legs. He the knee joints, tapped tendons, the bone above the fetlocks. When he had ished his examination he passed on, apron flapping in the wind and scattering the scent of carbolic acid. Grigory's horse was rejected. Sashka's hopes had proved unjustified, experienced surgeon had been shrewd enough discover secret blemish of which old man had spoken. Grigory at once held an agitated con- sultation with father, and before hour had elapsed he led Pyotr's horse on 24* 371

scales. The surgeon passed it almost with- out examination, Grigory led the horse a off, found a comparatively dry spot, and spread out saddle-cloth on the ground. His father held his horse, talking to another old man who was also seeing off his son. Past them strode a tall, grey- haired general in a light-grey cloak and a silver astrakhan cap, followed by a group of provincial ataman," whispered, nudging Grigory from behind. "Looks like a general," "Major-General Makeyev. strict A crowd officers from various regiments and batteries followed in the wake of the man. An artillery major, broad in the hips and shoulders, was loudly to a hand- some Guards Ataman's Regi- ment: ", . What ! Such an amazing trast, know! An Estonian majority the people blonde, and such a contrast! And she wasn't the only one! We had all sorts of guesses about it, and then we learned that twenty years ago. , ," The ficers walked past the spot where Grigory was arranging equipment saddle-cloth and the wind brought him the final words amid 372

a burst of laughter from the officers: "...Ap- parently a squadron of your Guards used to be stationed in the village." clerk ran past buttoning ink-stained assistant chief of police bellowed after him: "I told you three copies. Confound you!" curiously officers and officials. An adjutant a bored gaze on him, and turned away as he met Grigory's attentive eyes. An old cap- tain went by almost at a run, looking agitated by something and biting his upper lip with his a vein beating over the captain's ginger eyebrow. his new saddle-cloth out his saddle, with its green pommel and sad- dle-bags at back and front; two army coats, two pairs of trousers, a tunic, two pairs of top- a pound and a half of biscuit, a tin corned beef, groats, and other food in the reg- ulation quantities. saddle-bags were four horseshoes, shoe-nails wrapped greasy rag, a soldier's hussif with a couple of needles and thread, and towels. He gave accoutre- ments, and squatted down to rub some mud off packstrings sleeve. 373

mission slowly passed along the rows of Cos- sacks drawn up behind their saddle-cloths. The officers and the ataman examined the equip- closely, holding up edges light-coloured greatcoats stooped rummage saddle-bags, hussifs, and weighed the bags of biscuits in their hands, "Look at that tall one over there, lads," said a young Cossack pointing towards provincial mili- tary police, "scratching like a dog after a pole- cat." "Just look devil. Turning the bag side out!" "Something wrong there, or he wouldn't do "Surely he isn't counting the shoe-nails." "Just like a dog!" gradually died away mission approached. Only a few more men and it would be Grigory's turn. The provincial ata- man was carrying a glove in his left hand and swinging his right, keeping the elbow straight. father coughed. The wind carried the smell of piss and melted snow over square. The sun looked unhappy, drinking bout. 374

the man to Grigory, then came on to him one by "Your surname. Christian name?" "Melekhov, Grigory." The police officer picked up the greatcoat by belt, smelled lining, counted fastenings; officer, wear- ing a cornet's epaulettes, felt the good cloth of the trousers between his fingers. A third stopped rummaged saddle-bags, stoop- ing so low that the wind threw the skirts of his greatcoat on to his back. With his thumb and forefinger cautiously poked rag containing shoe-nails it might be hot, and counted the nails in a whisper. twenty-three nails? is this?" he angrily pulled at the corner of the rag. all. Your Honour. Twenty-four." "What, am I blind?" Grigory hastily turned back a folded corner, revealing the twenty-fourth nail. As he did so his rough swarthy fingers lightly touched officer's sugar-white hand. The officer snatched his hand away as though struck, rubbed frowning fastidi- ously, and drew on his glove. 375

Grigory noticed action and straightened up with a bitter smile. Their eyes met, and the officer flushed and raised his voice, this, what's Cossack? Why aren't your packstrings order? Why aren't your snaffles right? And what does this mean? Are muzhik? Where's your father?" rein stepped forward a pace, clicking his lame "Don't you know the Cossack regulations?" officer, who was ill-tempered at cards that morning, poured out wrath upon him. The provincial ataman came up, and the ficer subsided. The ataman thrust the toe of his boot into the padding of the saddle, hiccupped and passed on to the next man. The draft ficer to which been drafted politely turned out all his belong- ings down hussif, passed on all, walking backwards shield a match from the wind as he lit a ciga- rette. A day trucks loaded with forage for Voronezh. In one Past the open door crawled an unfamiliar, landscape; a blue and tender thread of forest 376

whirled by distance. horses were munching hay and stepping from hoof to hoof as they felt the unsteady floor be- neath them. The wagon smelled of wormwood, sweat, and the spring thaw; forest lurked the horizon, pensive, and as inaccessible as the faintly-shin- ing evening-star.

PART THREE t a warm cheerful March, 1914 lya returned father-in-law's house. Pan- telei was mending the broken wattle fence with fluffy dove-coloured twigs. The silvery icicles hanging from the roofs were dripping, and the traces of former runnels showed like black tar stains under the eaves. A ruddier, warmer sun caressed the melting hills, and the swelling; malachite on bare chalky headlands bulged from the hill beyond the Don. thinner much changed, proached father-in-law bowed her scarred, slightly crooked neck: "Good health. Father!" "Natalyushka! Welcome, wel- 378

come!" Pantelei exclaimed fussing twigs dropped haven't you been see us? Come in. Mother will be right glad to see you." "Father, I've come. . ." Natalya stretched out her hand uncertainly, and turned away. "If you don't drive me away, I'd like to stay with you always," she added. "And why shouldn't you. my dear? Are you a ,stranger to us? Look, Grigory has written about you about you." They went into the kitchen. Pantelei limped about in joyful wept she embraced "You want child," whispered. would win him. Sit down. get you pancakes, shall I?" Dunya, smiling, the kitchen and embraced Natalya round the knees. "You shameless thing! You forgot all about us!" she reproached her. "Now then, you madcap!" her father shouted at her with feigned severity. "How you've grown!" murmured, pulling Dunya's arms apart and looking her eyes. talked together, interrupting Ilyinichna, supporting her cheek S79

her palm, grieved as she looked at Natalya, so changed from what she had been. good?" clasping Natalya's hands. "Who knows "Why, where else should my own daughter- in-law live? stay with us," as she pushed platter of pancakes Natalya had come to her husband's parents after long vacillation. first her father would not let her go. He shouted at her in in- dignation at- tempted to persuade her against such step. to look her people in the face; since her attempted suicide felt that with her own family she was most a stranger. For his part, after he had seen off to the army Pantelei was continu- ally wheedling her to come, for he was deter- mined to have her back and to reconcile Gri- gory to her. From that day in March Natalya lived with the Melekhovs. Pyotr was friendly and broth- erly; Darya gave little outward sign of her dis- satisfaction, glances were more than compensated by Du- nya's attachment and parental the old people. 330

The very after Nataiya came ttiem ordered Dunya write Grigory: Greetings, our own Panteleye- vich! We send you a deep bow, and horn my fatherly heart, with your Vasilisa llyinichna, a parental blessing. brother Pyotr Panteleyevich and his wife Darya Mat- veyeuna greet you and wish you health well-being; also your sister Dunya and home greet you. We received your letter, sent in February, fifth day, and heartily thank you for it. And as you wrote that the horse is legs smear him with some lard, you know how, and don't shoe his hind hoofs so long as there is no slipperiness or bare about. Your wife Nataiya Mironovna is living us and is well comfortable. mother sends you some dried cherries and of woollen socks, and some bacon other things. We are alive Darya's baby has died. The other day I roofed the shed, and he orders you look after the horse and keep it well. The cows have calved, the old mare seems to be in foal, we put a stallion from the district stables her. We are glad to hear about your that your officers are pleased 381

§erue as you should. Service for the Tsar will not be in vain. And Natalya will live with now, and you think that over. And one trouble, just before Lent a wolf sheep. Now, keep well, and in Cod's keeping. Don't forget your is my you. She is a good woman and your legal wife. Don't break furrow, and Your father. Senior Sergeant Pantelei Melekhov. Grigory's regiment was stationed Radzivillovo Russo-Austrian frontier. rarely wrote home. To the letter informing him Natalya was living with he wrote cautiously worded reply, father to greet her in his name. All his letters were non-com.mittal and obscure in their mean- Pantelei made Dunya or Pyotr read them pondering thought concealed between lines. Easter he wrote and asked Grigory defi- nitely whether on his return from the army he live with or with Aksinya Grigory delayed Only after Trin- ity Sunday did they receive a brief letter from 382

him. Dunya quickly, swallowing ends of her words, and Pantelei had in grasping essential thought among numerous greetings and inquiries. At of the letter Grigory dealt with the question of You asked me say whether with Natalya or not, but I tell you. Father, once thing's been cut oft, you again. And how shall I make it up with Nata- lya, when you know yourseli that child. And 1 can't promise anything, it is pain- ful for me to talk about it. The other day a fel- low was caught smuggling goods frontier and we happened to see him. He said there would be war with the Austrians soon, tsar has come to the frontier to see where to begin the war from and which land to grab tor himself. If war begins maybe I shan't alive, and nothing pan be iorehand. Natalya worked foster-parents in continual hope turn. She never wrote to Grigory, but nobody in the family yearned with more pain and de- sire to receive a letter from him. Life in the village continued in its inviolable order, Cossacks who had served their term in 383

the army returned home, workdays labour imperceptibly consumed Sunday mornings village poured in family droves into the church: the Cossacks in tunics and holiday the women oured that swept dust, and embroi- dered blouses with puff sleeves. wagons, shafts high in the air, horses whinnied and kinds of people went to and fro; by the fireshed the Bulgar settlers traded in vegetables set out in long rows; behind them in bands and stared at the unharnessed camels superciliously surveying market square. Everywhere were crowds of men wear- ing red-banded caps, and women bright kerchiefs. The camels, their eyes glazed with a torpid green, cud from their constant toil on the water-wheels. In the evening streets groaned with the tramp feet, with song, and dancing accordions; last voices die away on outskirts Natalya, who never gatherings, gladly Dunya's artless stories. Imperceptibly Dunya was grow- ing into a shapely and, in her way, good-look- ing girl. She matured early, like an early apple. 384

year her girl-friends forgot adolescence and took her into circle. Dunya was like dark and sturdy. girlish and angular. was an artless, almost pitiful mixture of child- hood and blossoming youth; her small breasts blouse; and her black eyes in their long, rather slanting sockets, sparkled bashfully mischievously. She would come back after an evening out and tell only Natalya her innocent secrets. "Natalya, tell you something. tell on!" "Yesterday Misha evening with me on the stump by the granaries." are you blushing?" "Oh, I'm not!" glass; flame." "Well, you made me." "All right, go on, I won't say a thing." Dunya rubbed her burning cheeks with her pressed her fingers to her tem- ples, and laughter tinkled youthfully and without cause. "He said I was like a little azure flower." 25—1933 385

go on!" Natalya encouraged joicing another's joy, forgetting past and downtrodden happiness. I said: 'Don't lies, Misha!' And he true." Shaking her head, Dunya sent her laughter pealing through plaits of her hair slipped like lizards over her shoulders and back. "What else did he say?" "He asked me to give him my hanky keepsake." did you?" wouldn't. 'Go and woman,' I told him. He's been seen with Yero- feyev's daughter-in-law, and she's a bad wom- an, plays about with the men." "You'd better keep away from him." "I'm going to!" Dunya continued her story, trying to hide the smile that came to her "And then, as the three of us, two other girls Grandpa Mikhei came 'Kiss me, my dears, and I'll pay you two kopecks apiece,' he shouted. And Nyura hit him on the face with a twig and we ran away." The summer was dry. By the village the Don shallow, and where current had run swiftly a ford was made, and bullocks 386

could cross to the other bank without wetting their backs. At night a sultry stuffiness flowed the village from the range hills, and the wind filled the air with the spicy scent scorched growth steppe was afire, and sickly-smelling haze the Don-side slopes. At clouds deepened river and ominous peals of thunder were heard; but no rain came refresh pardhed lightning rent the sky into jagged, frag- ments. Night after night an owl screeched from the belfry. The cries surged terrifyingly village, and the owl flew from the belfry to the cemetery and moaned over the brownish grassy mounds of the graves. "There's trouble brewing," the old men proph- esied, the owl screeching from the cemetery. "There's war coming. An owl called just like that before the Turkish campaign." "Perhaps there will be cholera again." "Expect church to the dead." For two nights Martin Shamil, close to the cemetery, lay in wait by the ceme- tery fence for the accursed owl, but the invis- ible, mysterious noiselessly 25* 387

alighted on a cross the other end cemetery, and its alarming cries over sleepy indecently, shot black, hanging and went home. return timorous, ailing woman as fertile as a doe rab- bit, greated him with reproaches. de- clared. interfere does it? What if God should punish you? Here in my last month and suppose I don't birth because of you." "Shut woman!" ordered fear! What's shivers? It's calling down woe on us, the dev- il! If war breaks they'll take me off, and litter you've given me!" He waved at the corner where the children were sleeping. Talking old men market place, Pantelei solemnly announced: "Our Grigory \mtes that the Austrian has come to the frontier, and has given orders collect place and march on Moscow and Petersburg." old men remembered wars, shared apprehensions with one "But there won't be any war," one objected. "Look at the harvest." 38S

lected witnesses, cross-eyed Lukeshka's along the path on the sunlit side of the ahead cockerel. The inspector, his dusty boots stamp- ing on the blobs sunlight, questioned him: "Is Stockman at home?" "Yes, Your Honour." "What does he do for a living?" craftsman. Works plane. suspicious about him?" "Not at all." hand, he squeezed a pimple on the bridge of his nose and panted in his thick uniform. The little officer picked his black teeth with a straw and his red-rimmed eyes. "Does he ever have visitors?" the inspector asked, pulling the ataman back. "Yes, they play cards sometimes." "Chiefly labourers from the mill." exactly?" "The engineman, scalesman, roller- man David, and sometimes some sacks." The inspector halted and waited 390

ficer, who had lagged behind. He some- a button on tunic, beckoned ataman. ran up on tiptoe, holding breath. Knotted veins throbbed and quivered in his neck. "Take two of those on duty and arrest men you mentioned. Bring them to the admin- istration, we'll be minute or two. Do you understand?" The ataman himself up veins bulged collar, uttered kind of grunt and turned away to execute instructions. Stockman, vest unbuttoned, cutting ply- wood pattern with a fret-saw. "Kindly stand up; you're under arrest." "You occupy two rooms?" shall search them." officer caught his spur on the doormat, table and a frown picked up the first book that came to hand. "I want the key of that trunk." "To what do I owe visit?" "There'll be time to talk to you afterwards." Stockman's door- way from the other room and drew back. The 391

inspector and clerk followed her other room. quietly, holding up a book in a yellow cover. "A book," Stockman replied with shrug. "You can keep your witticisms a more suitable occasion. Answer question prop- erly." Suppressing wry Stockman leaned his back against the stove. The district chief of the book, and then turned to Stockman: studying interested subject," drily, parting his black beard into two equal strands with a small comb. "I see!" officer glanced through the pages of the book and threw it back on the table. He looked through a second, put it aside, and having read cover third, "Where do you keep the rest of this type of literature?" screwed up taking aim, and replied: "You see I have." lying," retorted, waving the book at him. 392

Stockman was the last of the prisoners to be examined. Alexeyevich, with hands oily, the smiling David, Knave with his over his shoulders, and Misha Koshevoi, had already been questioned, were herded gether in the ante-room, guarded by Cossacks. Rummaging portfolio questioned Stockman: I examined regard manslaughter at the mill why did you conceal the fact that you are a member of the Russian Social-Democratic Labour Party?" silently over the investiga- tor's head. "That much is established. You will receive a suitable reward for your work," the inspector shouted, annoyed by the prisoner's silence. "Please begin your examination," said in a bored tone, and glancing stool, he asked for permission sit down. The spector did not reply, but glared as Stockman calmly seated did you come here?" "Last the instructions organization?" "Without any instructions." "How long have you been a member of your party?" "What are you talking about?" 394

expect sharpened pearl-handled penknife, and pursed his lips: "Are you in correspondence with any mem- bers of your party?" "Then discovered during the search?" is from a friend who has no connec- tion whatever with any revolutionary organ- ization." "Have received any Rostov?" "What did the labourers at the mill gather in your rooms for?" Stockman shrugged his shoulders as though astonished at the stupidity of the question. "They used evenings, pass time away. We played cards. "And read books prohibited by law?" inspector suggested. Everyone of them was illiter- ate." "Nonetheless the engineman from and the others also do not deny this fact." untrue." "It seems to me you 396

mentary understanding , ." inspector, forgetting what he had been going say, concluded: "You simply have no sense. persist denials that are to your own disadvantage. that you've been sent here your party carry on demoralizing activities among the Cossacks, in order to turn the government. fail to under- stand why playing this game tence. diminish your offence. "Those all quesses on your part. May smoke? Thank you. And they are guesses tirely without foundation." "Did you read this book to the workers who visited your rooms?" hand on a small book and covered title. Above the name "Plekhanov" visible. poetry," puffed at his cigarette, gripping the bone holder tightly between his fingers. The next morning the postal tarantass drove out of the village with Stockman dozing on the seat, his beard buried in his coat On each side of him a Cossack armed with sabre was squeezed on the seat. One of them, a curly-headed pock-marked fellow, gripped Stock- man's elbow firmly in his knotty, dirty fingers, 397

casting timorous sidelong glances at him, and keeping other hand on battered scab- bard. tarantass rattled briskly down street. By farmyard woman wrapped in a shawl stood waiting it, her back against the wattle The tarantass sped pressing her hands to her breast, flung herself "Osip! Osip Davydovich! Oh, what do. attempted to wave but the pock-marked Cossack jumped up and clutched his arm, and in a hoarse, savage "Sit down, cut you down!" For the his simple had seen a man who dared act against the road from Mankovo Radzivillovo somewhere behind intangible mist. to recall the road, but could only dimly remember buildings, wheels clattering beneath the scent horses and hay, endless threads of railway line flowing under them, the smoke 398

that billowed from the engine, and the bearded of a gendarme platform either at Voronezh or at Kiev, he was not sure which. detrained crowds officers, and clean-shaven men overcoats, a language not understand. time for -the horses to be unloaded, but when this had been accomplished the assistant echelon commander led three veterinary hospital. A long procedure nection with allotment troops. N.C.O.'s bustling about. The First Troop was formed brown horses, the Second of bay and dun, the of dark-brown. allotted the Fourth, consisted plain and golden horses. Fifth composed entirely of sorrel, and the Sixth of black horses. The troops were put under command of sergeants-major, who various cavalry squadrons stationed at villages estates in the neighbourhood. The debonair pop-eyed sergeant-major wear- ing long-service badges rode past Grigory and stanitsa are you from?" "Vyeshenskaya." 399

sergeant-major! Making us wash the horses' hoofs!" "They're making the pancakes at home now . today is Shrove-Tuesday." "I could just do with a spot of necking." "I had a dream I dreamed that Father and me were mowing hay meadow and the village folk were all scattered daisies on threshing-floor," Prokhor Zykov, a quiet lad calf- eyes. "And we just went on mowing and mowing. . Made me feel right cheerful!" bet my wife saying: 'I wonder what my Nikolai doing?' " "Ho-ho-ho! She'll be belly-rubbing with your father most likely!" "There isn't a woman in the world who won't try another man when her husband's away." "Why worry? A woman's not a jug of milk. There'll be enough us when we Yegor Zharkov, gayest, lewdest man the company, who had respect one and still less shame, broke into the conver- sation, winking and suggestively: thing: father won't your wife alone. He's a fine he-dog. I'll tell you 402

a story," he added, sweeping his listeners with his glittering glance. "One old grumble daughter-in-law, gave her no rest, but his was always in the way. So what man do? At night he went into the yard and gate. And So he says son: "What have you done, you lazy so-and-so? Why didn't you shut the gate? Look, cattle have wandered Go and drive them back.' You see, he thought when his son had gone he'd have time to get daughter-in-law. son was and whispered to his wife: 'You go and drive them back.' So she went out, and he lay there, listening. slipped down stove and crawled over on his hands and knees towards the bed. But his son was no fool. He rolling-pin from shelf and As soon father crawled up the bed and put on him, he gave him such a whack with pin bold 'Go away,' he shouted, 'don't you chew blanket, curse you.' "You see, they had a calf in the house which had a habit of chewing things, so the son pre- tended he had struck calf. managed crawl back stove and there, tenderly fingering the bump which was as 26* 403

big as a goose egg. 'Ivan/ says he at last, 'who did you strike just now?' 'Only the calf/ Ivan answers. 'What make/ says the old man almost in tears, 'if you knock the cattle about like that?' " "You're a mighty good liar!" "What's this, the market-place? Break it up!" sergeant-major, them. The Cossacks went to their horses, laugh- ing and joking. exercise occasionally interven- ing. As Grigory glanced at the polished, well- groomed officers in their handsome grey great- coats and closely-fitting uniforms, he impassable between them and himself. Their very different, comfortable, well-ordered existence, unlike Cossacks, flowed on peacefully, untroubled by mud, lice, or fear of the sergeant-major's An incident which occurred on the third day after their arrival at Radzivillovo made a pain- ful impression on and indeed on the young Cossacks. They were being instructed in cavalry drill, and the horse ridden by Pro- khor Zykov, the lad with gentle eyes, who ten dreamed faraway Cossack wild, spirited animal and happened kick sergeant-major's mount it passed, 404

struck Prokhor face with his whip, and riding straight at him, "Why the hell don't you look where you're going, you son of a bitch? I'll show you. You'll spend the next three days on duty!" The squadron commander happened wit- ness the scene, but he turned his back, finger- ing the sword-knot sabre and yawning boredom. trembling, rubbed streak swollen Pulling line, at the officers, but they continued their conver- sation untoward had occurred. Five days later Grigory dropped a bucket into the well. The sergeant-major swooped on him like a hawk, and raised fist, "Don't you touch me," Grigory said huskily, looking into the rippling water below. "What? Climb down and get it, you bastard! I'll smash your face in for this!" touch me," said slowly, without raising If there had been any Cossacks at the well, undoubtedly beaten 405

their horses fence and what was proached sacks, bulging insane hissed: "Who do you think you are? How dare you speak to your superior this way?" "Don't look trouble, Semyon Yegorov." "Are you threatening me? I'll. "Look here," said, raising from the well. "If you strike me-I'll kill you. Understand?" sergeant-major's carp-like mouth gaped in amazement but no answer came. The moment for punishment had been missed. greyish face boded good. nonplussed. away from the well, slipping in the mud, and when some distance away, turned and shook his huge "I'll report you to the squadron commander," he shouted. "Yes, I'll report you." However, for some unknown reason, he did not report Grigory. But for about a fortnight afterwards finding fault him and appointing him for sentry duty out of turn. dreary, monotonous existence crushed the spirit out of the young

Until sundown they were foot and exercises, the horses had to be groomed and fed. At ten o'clock, after roll call and stationing of guards, they were drawn up for prayers, and geant-major, his eyes wandering over the ranks before him, intoned the Lord's prayer. routine again, and the days were as like one another peas. estate there were only two women: the old wife of the steward, and steward's pretty young housemaid, Pol- ish Franya. often ran from kitchen where old, army cook was charge. Winking and heav- ing exaggeratedly loud sighs, drill- ing on the parade ground watched every move- ment of the girl's grey skirt as she ran across the yard. Feeling the gaze of Cossacks and offi- cers fixed upon her, she bathed in the streams of lasciviousness that came from three hundred and swung hips provoca- tively as she ran backward and forward between in turn, and at the officers in particular. Although all fought for her attentions, rumour it that only the squadron commander had won them, 407

duty in the stables. He spent most of his time at one end, where the officers' horses were ex- cited by the presence a mare. He had just given the squadron commander's horse a taste the whip own. With a sidelong glance its master the horse on champing hind- off the ground. As he adjusted halter, a muffled cry coming from the dark ner far end stable. Startled by unusual noise, stalls. blinded as someone slammed the stable door, and he heard a sup- pressed voice calling: "Hurry up, boys!" Grigory hastened steps, and called out: "Who's there?" The next moment he bumped into one of the sergeants, who groping door. "That you, Melekhov?" the sergeant whis- pered, putting his hand on Grigory's shoulder. "Stop! What's up?" The sergeant burst into a guilty snigger and seized Grigory's sleeve. "We. . Hey, where're going?" Tearing ran and threw open the the deserted draggle-tailed hen, unaware 408

cook already had designs on her for the stew- ard's soup the next day, was scratching some dung search of a place lay her egg. light momentarily blinded Grigory; shaded round, hearing the noise in the dark corner of the stable growing louder. He ran towards the sound, and was met by Zharkov, buttoning up his trousers. "What the . what are you doing here?" up!" Zharkov whispered, wonder- ful. laid her out!" snigger suddenly sent him the log wall of the stable. Grigory's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and there was fear in them noise. corner, Grigory found a crowd of Cossacks of Troop. He silently pushed through them, and saw motion- less on the her head wrapped horse- cloths, her torn and pulled back above breasts, legs, darkness, flung out shamelessly and horribly. A Cossack risen from her; grinning sheepishly, stepping back to make way next, his way back crowd and ran 409

sergeant-major. after him and caught him door. They his mouth. He tore one man's tunic from hem collar and gave another a kick in the stom- ach, pinned him they had done to Franya, they wound a horse- cloth round his head and tied his hands behind him, then, keeping quiet so that he should not recognize their voices, threw him into an empty manger. Choking in the stinking horse-cloth, he tried to shout, and kicked furiously at the par- tition. He heard whispering in the corner, and the door creaking as the Cossacks went in and out. He was set free some twenty minutes later. The sergeant-major and two Cossacks from an- other troop were standing at the door. just keep your mouth shut!" geant-major winking "Don't blab tear Dubok, a Cossack from another troop, said with a grin. The two Cossacks went in and lifted up the motionless bundle that was (her were parted stiffly under her skirt), and climb- ing on a manger, hole left in the wall by a lose plank. The wall bor- dered orchard. Above §tall was 410

tiny, grimy window. Some clambered stall partitions to watch Franya would do, hastened stables. too, was seized by bestial curiosity, gripping cross-beam, he drew himself up to one of the windows and looked down. Dozens stared through the dirty windows girl lying under the wall. on her back, and uncrossing scissor blades, her scrabbling the snow by wall. could not see her face but he heard the sup- pressed breathing of other Cossacks at the win- dows, and the soft and pleasant crunch of hay under their feet. She lay there a long time, and at last strug- gled on to her hands and knees. Her arms trem- bled, hardly able to bear her. Grigory saw that clearly. Swaying, scrambled and, dishevelled, unfamiliar, hostile, she passed long, slow stare over the win- dows. Then she staggered away, one hand clinging to the woodbine bushes, the other groping along the wall. Grigory jumped down from the partition and rubbed throat, that he was to choke. At the door someone, afterwards he 411

could not even remember who, said to him distinct and unequivocal tones: "Breathe . and Christ, kill you!" On the parade ground the troop commander noticed that a button had been torn from greatcoat, and "Who have you been wrestling with? What style d'you Grigory glanced down hole left by the missing button; overwhelmed by the memory, in years he crying. A sultry, sunny July haze lay over the steppe. ripe unharvested floods of wheat smoked with yellow metal reapers too hot touch. painful flaming, bluish-yellow the wheat ended, a saffron sweep of clover be- gan. entire village had moved rye. The choked heat and the pungent and were res- tive as they dragged the reapers. Now and then a wave air from fringe of dust over the steppe, and the sun was veloped tingling haze. 412

Since Pyotr, who fork- reaper platform, had drunk half a bucketful of water. Within a min- ute his drinking the warm, unpleasant liq- uid throat was dry wet through, the sweat streamed from his face, there was a continual trilling ring in his ears. Darya, her head and face wrapped in her ker- chief, shirt unbuttoned, was gathering the corn into stooks. Big grey beads of sweat ran down between her dusky breasts. Natalya was leading horses. Her were burned colour beetroot, glaring sun brought tears to her eyes. Pantelei was walking up and down the swaths of corn, his wet shirt scalding his body. stream melting cart-grease over his sweat?" from a passing cart. "Wet through!" stumped wip- belly with "Pyotr!" Darya called. stop." "Wait a bit; we'll finish this row." "Let's wait cooler. I've had enough." Natalya halted the horses; her chest was heav- ing as though it were she who had been pull- reaper. Darya went to them, 413

picking her way carefully over corn on her dark blistered feet. "Pyotr, it's not far from the pond here." far! Only three versts or so!" "What wouldn't for a dip!" "While you're getting there and back Natalya began with a sigh. should we walk! We'll harness the horses and ride." Pyotr glanced uneasily at his father tying up a sheaf, and shrugged. "All right, unharness the horses." unfastened agilely on to the mare's back. Natalya, smiling with cracked led her horse to the reaper and tried to mount from the driver's seat. Pyotr to her aid and gave her a leg up on horse. They off. Darya, fashion, trotted skirt tucked up above her bare knees, her ker- chief pushed on to the back of the head. "Mind you don't get sore!" Pyotr could not help needn't worry!" Darya shouted back carelessly. As they crossed the field track Pyotr glanced to his left and noticed a tiny cloud of dust mov- ing swiftly along the distant highroad from the 414

ure, croup, wet and glittering like steel, remained impressed in his memory. Still not the nature misfor- tune that had come upon stupidly the foam steppe. From sides the Cossacks were running over the yel- low strips of stubble towards the village; across steppe, as the distant upland, little clouds of dust indicating horsemen were seen, A long trail of dust moved along the road to the village. The Cossacks who were on the active service list abandoned their work, took their horses out of the shafts and galloped off to the village. Pyotr saw Christonya unhar- ness his Guards charger from a wagon and ride all about?" Natalya half groaned, with a frightened look at Pyotr. Her gaze, the gaze of a trapped hare, startled him to action. He galloped back to the reaper, jumped off his hustled off while working, and waving his hand to his father, tore to add one more those which had already blossomed over the sultry steppe. 416

He found a dense grey crowd assembled on square. Many were already wearing army uniform and equipment. The mili- tary caps of the men belonging to the Ataman's Regiment rose a head higher than the rest, like Dutch ganders among the small fry of the farm- village tavern was closed. The military police officer had a gloomy and care-worn look. women, holiday clothes, lined fences streets. One word was on everybody's lips: "Mobilization." In- toxicated, excited faces. The general anxiety had been communicated were kicking and plunging and snorting angri- ly. The square was strewn with empty bottles and wrappers from cheap sweets. A dust hung low in the air. saddled horse by rem. to the church fence a big swarthy Cos- the Ataman's Regiment button- ing up his blue sharovari, with his mouth gap- white-toothed little woman, his wife sweetheart, stormed at him. "I'll give it you for going with that hussy!" little woman promised. 27—1933 417

She was drunk, her dishevelled hair was scat- tered with husks seed, her flowered kerchief hung loose. The guardsman tightened his belt and, grinning widely, dropped haunches, room for year-old calf to pass under the voluminous folds of his sharouari. off, Mashka." "You great shameless brute! Woman-chaser!" "What about "I'll give it you!" Near him a red-bearded sergeant-major was arguing with an artilleryman. "Nothing will come fear!" assuring "We'll be mobilized few days, and then back home again." "But suppose there's a war?" "Pah, my friend! What country could stand up to us?" In a neighbouring group a handsome, elder- ly Cossack was arguing heatedly. "It's nothing Let their own fighting, we haven't got our corn in yet." shame! Here we and on a day like this we could harvest enough for a whole year." cattle will get among the stooks!" "And we'd just begun to reap the barley!" 418

the Austrian mur- dered." "No, his heir." the ataman us up just in case." "We're in for it now, lads." "Another twelve months and I'd have been of reserves," Cossack said regretfully. "What do they want you for. Grandad?" "Don't you worry, as soon as they start kill- ing the men they'll be taking the old ones, "The tavern's closed!" "What about going to Marfutka's? She'd us a barrel!" The inspection started. Three Cossacks led a fourth, blood-stained the village administration. He threw him- self back, open, and eyes, shouted: "I'll show the muzhiks! I'll have their blood! They'll know the Don Cossack!" circle around him laughed approvingly. "That's right, give it to them!" "What have they grabbed him for?" "He went for some muzhik!" "Well, they deserve "We'll give them some more!" 27* 419

Hoofs trotted out the village on the highway. From a neigh- bouring First and Fifth squadrons could be riding towards A day the regiment was detrained a station some thirty-five versts from the Aus- trian frontier. Dawn was breaking behind birch-trees. morning promised fine. The engine fussed and rumbled tracks. The glittered under a varnish of dew. The Cossacks the Fourth Squadron led their horses by the bridles out of the wag- ons and over the level-crossing, mounted, and column formation. sounded eerily in the crumbling, lilac darkness. Faces and the contours of horses emerged un- certainly out of the gloom. "What squadron you? Where've "I'll show you who am! How dare speak to an officer in that way?" "Sorry, Your Honour, didn't recognize you." "Ride on! Ride on!" "What are you dawdling about for? Get mov- ing." Troop, sergeant-ma- jor?" "Squadron, bring up rear!" </2J

Muttered whispers in the column: "Bring up rear, blast him, when haven't slept for two nights." "Give me puff, Syomka, smoke yesterday." bitten saddle-strap, devil." "Mine's a hoof in front." little farther on the Fourth Squadron was held up while by first, which had detrained before it. Against the bluish grey of the sky the silhouettes of the horsemen ahead stood out clearly, as though drawn with Indian ink. Their lances stalks. Occasionally a stirrup jingled or a saddle creaked. Prokhor Zykov was riding at Grigory's Prokhor stared face and whispered: "Melekhov, you're not afraid, are you?" is there to be afraid of?" "We may be in action today." "Well, what of "But I'm afraid," Prokhor admitted, gers playing nervously with the dewy reins. didn't sleep a wink all night." Once more advanced; horses moved at a measured lances swayed flowed rhythmically. Dropping 425

dozed. And seemed to him that it was not the horse that put its legs forward springily, rocking him but he himself who was walking along a warm, road, and walking unusual ease, joy. chattered away mingled saddle and clatter and did not disturb his thoughtless doze. by-road. silence rang in their ears. Ripe oats hung over the wayside, their tops smoking with dew. The horses tried to reach the low ears and dragged their riders' hands. The gra- cious daylight crept under Grigory's puffy eye- lids. He his head and heard Prokhor' monotonous cart- wheel. He was abruptly aroused by a heavy, rum- bling roar that billowed oatfields. "Gun-fire!" fright clouded his calf-like eyes. Grigory head. In front of him the troop-sergeant's grey greatcoat rose and in time with back; on each unreaped corn; a skylark danced in the sky at the height of a telegraph pole. The entire squad- ron was aroused, firing ran it like an electric current. Lashed into 426

activity. Junior Captain Polkovnikov squadron into a fast trot. Beyond a cross-road, a deserted tavern stood, they began meet with carts refugees. A squadron smart-looking dragoons went by. Their captain, riding a sorrel thoroughbred, stared at the Cos- sacks ironically and spurred on his horse. They came upon a howitzer battery stranded muddy and swampy hollow. The riders were gunners struggled carriage wheels. A great, pock-marked artilleryman armful of boards probably torn from the fence of the tavern. little farther on they overtook an infantry regiment. The soldiers were marching fast, their greatcoats rolled on their backs. The sun tered on their polished mess-tins and streamed from their bayonets. A lively little corporal in the last company threw a lump of mud at Gri- gory: "Here, catch! Chuck it at the Austrians!" grasshopper!" replied, and cut the lump of mud in his whip. "Say hullo to 'em from us, Cossacks!" "You'll have a chance yourselves." At the head of the column someone up a bawdy song; a soldier with fat womanish 427

buttocks marched the column slapping his stumpy calves. The laughed. keen sense of approaching danger had brought closer to the men and made them more tolerant. From now column was regiments crawling caterpil- lars, batteries, baggage-wagons. Red Cross wag- ons. deathly breath hand was in the A little later, as it was entering a village, the Fourth Squadron was overtaken mander of the regiment, Lieutenant-Colonel Ka- ledin, accompanied by his second in command. passed, Grigory heard latter agitatedly toKaledin: "This village isn't marked map, Vasily Maximovich! We may find ourselves in an awkward position." Grigory did not catch colonel's The adjutant galloped past overtaking them. His horse was stepping heavily on its left hind- foot. Grigory mechanically noted its fine points. The regiment changing pace, and the horses began to sweat. The cot- tages slope appeared distance. On side of the village was a wood, its green tree- tops piercing the azure dome of the sky. From the wood splashes gunfire mingled 428

with the frequent rattle of rifle-shots. The horses pricked ears. The smoke of burst- ing shrapnel hovered in the sky a long way off ; rifle-fire moved company, dying away, now growing louder. Grigory listened tensely to every sound, nerves tautened into little bundles of sensation. Prokhor Zykov fidgeted saddle, talking incessantly: "Grigory, shots boys rattling sticks along railings, don't they?" "Shut up, magpie!" Soldiers were milling about yards. The inhabit- ants cottages, alarm and confusion writ- ten on their faces, were packing their belongings flee. As Grigory passed he noticed that sol- diers were firing owner, a tall, grey-haired Byelorussian, crushed sudden misfortune, without paying the slightest attention. Grigory saw the man's family loading a cart with red- covered pillows and ramshackle furniture, and the man himself was carefully carrying a bro- ken wheel-rim, which was of no value to any- body, and had probably lain years. amazed stupidity of the women, who were piling carts with 429

flower pots and icons and were leaving neces- sary and valuable articles behind in their houses. Down feathers feath- er-bed blew miniature snow-storm and there was a pungent smell of burning soot and musty cellars At the end of the village they met a Jew run- ning them. The slit mouth was cry! "Mister Mister Cossack! Oh, my God!" short, round-headed Cossack rode ahead of him at a trot, waving his whip and ignoring him completely, "Stop!" junior Second Squadron shouted the pommel saddle and galloped into a side "Stop, you scoundrel. What you 2" The Cossack's round head pressed closer neck. He galloped madly towards reared and took jump neatly. "The Ninth Regiment is stationed here. Your Honour, That's where he's from," said the ser- geant. "Let him go devil," junior cap- tain frowned, and turned to the Jew who was 430

stirrup. from you?" "Mister Officer . my watch. Mister Offi- cer." The Jew blinked, his handsome face towards the approaching The junior captain, freeing the stirrup with foot, started forward. "The Germans would have taken it anyhow, came," moustache. The Jew stood confusedly in the road. His face twitched. way, master Sheeny," squadron commander sternly, raising his whip. The Fourth Squadron rode by, hoofs clatter- ing, saddles creaking. The jeered the disconcerted Jew, and spoke among them- selves: "The likes of us can't help stealing." "Everything sticks to a Cossack's hand." careful things!" "A nimble fellow, "The way he took that fence, like a borzoi." Sergeant-Major Kargin dropped behind squadron, and to the accompaniment of laugh- ter from the Cossacks lowered lance and "Run, Sheeny, before 431

The Jew gasped and ran. The sergeant-major overtook him and struck him with the Jew stumble covering face with sergeant- major. Through his thin fingers the blood was trickling. "What for?" he sobbed. sergeant-major, button-like eyes smiling greasily as he rode away, shouted: "Don't go barefoot, you Beyond the village a group of engineers was completing a broad trestle bridge across a hol- overgrown sedge and yellow water- lilies. Close by a motor car stood rattling and humming chauffeur fussing Spanish beard and baggy cheeks was half-sitting, lying on the back seat. Lieutenant-Colonel Ka- ledin and the commander of the engineers' bat- talion stood at attention by the car. The gener- al, strap map case, bawled furiously at the engineer: "You were ordered to finish this work yester- Silence! You should arranged supply materials beforehand. Silence!" roared again, although the officer had made no attempt to open lips. "How do you expect me to cross over? Answer me. Cap- tain, how am I to cross?" 432

A young black-moustached general ting in the car smoked a cigar and smiled. The engineer captain bent forward and pointed one side of the bridge. At the bridge the squadron rode down the hollow. The horses sank into the brownish- black mud up to their knees, and feathery white shavings bridge. The squadron crossed Austrian at noon. The horses leaped the broken black- and-white pole post. From right came the rumble gunfire. In tance the red-tiled roofs of a farm showed up in the perpendicular lays of sun. A bitter- tasting cloud of dust thickly on every- thing. The issued ders advance patrols detached and sent ahead. The Third Troop under Lieutenant Semyonov was sent out from the Fourth Squad- ron. The split squadrons, left behind a grey haze. A detachment of some twenty the farm along the rutted road. The lieutenant led the reconnaissance patrol versts, map. The a group smoke. Grigory dismounted to ease his saddle- girth, but the sergeant-major 28—1933 433

open cellar door evoked a feeling of loneliness a sickening shudder down the back. All eyes were drawn as though by magnets the fences and ditches. They rode in like beasts of prey, like wolves approaching human habi- tations in the blue winter night-but the streets were empty. The silence was stupefying. From the open window of one house came the inno- cent clock striking. chimes rang out like pistol shots, and Grigory saw the officer tremble flash volver. There was not a soul in the village. The pa- trol forded water reached horses' bellies, they entered willingly and tried drink, riders and urged thirstily down at turbid water, inaccessi- ble; irresistibly. Had possible would have jumped out of his saddle lain undressing with the stream murmuring over him until chest and back were shivering cold. rise beyond they saw a distant town: square blocks of houses, brick buildings, gardens, and church spires. The cer rode to his eyes. 28* 435

Grigory dismounted and went legs feeling like stone after the long The officer handed him a folded paper. the best Deliver regimental commander. At gallop!" Grigory put the paper breast-pocket and went back to his horse, slipping his chin- strap under chin went. The mounted, wrist-watch. The regiment had nearly reached the village of Korolyovka when Grigory rode up with the report. order to adjutant, who galloped off First Squadron. The Fourth Squadron streamed through Ko- rolyovka and, as quickly as though on the pa- rade ground, spread out in formation over the fields beyond. Lieutenant Semyonov men. The their heads to shake off the horse-flies, continual jingle bridles. The Squadron sounded heavily in the midday Junior Captain Polkovnikov rode on his pranc- ing horse to the front of the ranks. Gathering in one hand, he dropped the sword-knot. awaited command. 437

There was a rumble of hoofs on the left flank as the First Squadron got into position. wrenched sheath; the blade gleamed like blue light. "Squadron!" He swung his sabre to the right, then to the left, and finally lowered it in front of him, holding poised ears. Grigory tried to think what the next order be. "Lances ready! Sabres Into gallop!" snapped, and gave his horse the rein. The earth groaned dully under the crushing impact of a thousand hoofs. Grigory, who was in the front ranks, had hardly brought his lance the ready when his horse, carried away by flood horses, broke gallop and went speed. Ahead him the figure of the commanding officer bobbed background field. A black wedge of ploughed land sped irresistibly towards him. The First Squad- ron raised shout, Fourth Squadron took it up. The ground streaked straining bel- lies. Through whistle Grigory caught the sound of distant firing. The first bullet whined high above them, furrowing vault the hot shaft of his lance against his side until 433

it hurt him and his palm sweated. The whistle of flying bullets made him duck his head down to the wet neck of his horse, and the pungent scent of the animal's sweat penetrated his nos- trils. misty binoculars he saw the brown ridges of trenches, and men in grey running back to the town. A machine-gun hurled a fan of whistling bullets tirelessly at the Cossacks; in front of them and woolly spurts of dust. part of Grigory had sent the blood coursing faster through his veins now turned to stone within him; he except the ears and pain in the toes of his foot. His thoughts, emasculated by fear, congealed in a heavy mass in his head. Cornet Lyakhovsky was the first to drop from glanced back, and a fragment of what he saw was impressed on his memory as though cut with a diamond on glass. As Prokhor's horse leaped cornet, it bared teeth and stumbled. Prokhor was catapulted saddle and, falling headlong, was crushed un- der gory heard cry, but from Prokhor's distorted mouth and calf-like eyes 439

bulging sockets, he realized he must be screaming inhumanly. Others fell, both horses and Cossacks. Through the film of tears caused by the wind eyes Grigory ahead at the Austrians fleeing from trenches. The squadron, which had torn away from the village in an orderly stream, now scattered and into fragments. Those front, Grigory among them, had nearly reached the trenches, others were lagging behind. white-eyebrowed Austrian, his cap drawn over his eyes, fired almost point-blank at Grigory. The heat of the bullet scorched his cheek. He struck with lance, time pulling on the reins with all his strength. The blow was so powerful that it plunged for shaft length Austrian's body. Grigory was not quick enough to withdraw the lance. He convulsion and saw Austrian, right back so that only the point of his unshaven chin was visible, shaft and clawing with his nails. Grigory dropped the lance and felt with numbed sabre-hilt. Austrians fled streets town. Cossack horses reared up over the grey clots of their uniforms. first moment after dropping his lance 440

knowing why, horse and saw the sergeant-major gallop lips parted in a snarl. Grigory struck at his horse with the flat of his sabre; arching its neck, it carried him away down the An Austrian was running along by the rail- ings a garden, swaying, without a rifle, cap clutched in his hand. Grigory saw the back his head and the damp tunic. He overtook him and, lashed on by the frenzy the moment, whirled head. The Austrian was running railings on the left-hand side, and it was awk- ward for Grigory to hew him down. But, lean- ing over saddle, holding aslant, struck at the man's temple. Without a cry Austrian the wound and spun around with his back to the railings. Grigory rode past reining in his horse, turned round, and rode back at a trot. The square fear- contorted of the Austrian cast iron. His arms hung at his sides, his ashen lips were quivering. The sabre had struck him glancing blow on the temple, and the flesh was hanging over his cheek like a crimson rag. uniform. gory's eyes met the terror-stricken eyes Austrian. The man was sagging the knees; a gurgling groan came from his throat. Screw- 441

ing up his eyes, Grigory swept his sabre down. The blow split the cranium two. The man flung out his arms and fell; his shattered skull knocked heavily against the stone of the road. At the sound Grigory's horse reared and, snort- ing, carried him into the middle Ragged firing sounded in the streets. A foam- ing horse a dead gory. One foot was caught in the stirrup, and horse was bruised and bat- tered body over the stones. Grigory saw only stripe trousers and green tunic drawn in a bundle over the head. felt a leaden heaviness in his head. He slipped from his horse and shook his head vigorously. Cossacks of the Third Squadron gal- loped by. A wounded man was carried past on a greatcoat. A crowd of Austrian prisoners were driven past at a trot. The men ran in a huddled herd, iron-shod clattering joylessly on stones. Grigory saw them as jellied blob, the colour of clay. He dropped his horse's reins and went to the Aus- trian soldier he had cut down. The man where he had fallen, by the fanciful wrought- iron work of the railings, his dirty brown palm begging. glanced at his small, childlike, despite the hanging moustache and the 442

tortured expression (was physical suf- fering or a joyless past?) harsh, torted mouth. "Hey, you!" a strange Cossack officer shout- ed as he rode down the middle of the Grigory looked up and stumbled horse. His steps were heavy and tottering, he were unbearable weight back. Loathing bewilder- ment crushed his spirit. He took the stirrup his hand, but for a long time could not lift his heavy foot into The first reserve Cossacks from Tatarsky and the neighbouring night after their departure from home in a little village. The men from lower end of Ta- tarsky drew into a separate group from those of the upper end, so Pyotr Melekhov, Anikush- ka, Christonya, Stepan Astakhov, Ivan Tomilin and others were all billeted in one house. The lain down sleep, spreading out their blankets in the kitchen and the front room, and were having last smoke night. The master of the house, a tall, decrepit old man who had served in the Turkish war, sat talking with them. 443

fear wrong to any woman. That's second. And then you must know certain prayers." sat up, and all spoke at once: "More likely to lose our own stuff than get other people's!" "And why mustn't we touch a woman? You can't make her, but suppose willing?" "It's hard to be without a woman." "You bet!" "What about the prayer?" The old man fixed sternly on them and answered: "You must touch a woman. Never! restrain yourselves heads, you'll be wounded. You'll be after, but then it will be too late. the prayers. right through the Turkish war, death at my heels a saddle-bag, I came through alive because of these prayers." He went room, rummaged under the icon and brought back a crumbling, faded scrap of paper. "Get up now and write them down !" he com- manded. "You'll be off again before cock-crow tomorrow, won't you?" He spread the paper out on the table and left it. Anikushka was the first to get up; the shad- ows cast by the flickering light played on his 445

smooth, womanish All except Stepan and wrote prayers. Anikushka rolled up the paper he had used and fastened it to the string of the crucifix at his breast. Ste- pan jeered at him: "That's a nice nest you've made for the lice, wasn't the cross cosy enough?" "Young man, if you don't believe, hold your the old man interrupted him sternly. "Don't be a stumbling block to others and don't laugh at faith. It's a sin." Stepan grinned, but he lapsed into silence. The prayers which the Cossacks wrote down were three, one could take one's choice. THE PRAYER AGAINST ARMS God bless us. On the mountain there lies a white stone horse. As water enters not stone, so may not arrow enter comrades, nor my horse. As the hammer flies back anvil, so may fly back from me. As millstones turn, so may the arrow turn and not touch me. the sun and moon bright, so may God, be strong. Behind this mountain there fortress, shall lock fortress, and throw the key sea. it under Altor which can be seen by neither sorcerers nor witches, by neither monks nuns. Even waters not from ocean and the yellow grains of sand cannot be counted, so may of God, suffer no harm. In the name the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen. 446

THE PRAYER IN BATTLE great ocean, and great ocean there stone, Altor. On of mighty stature. Cover me, of God, and comrades, stone from east west, from Protect me sword; bear-spear; dagger tempered untempered; knife axe, and from cannon-fire; lead weapons; from arrows feathered with the feathers of eagles, swans, geese, cranes, or ravens; from battles with Turks, Crimeans, Austri- ans, Tatars, Lithuanians, Kalmyks. Holy Fathers Heavenly Powers, protect God. Amen. THE PRAYER IN TIME OF ATTACK Supreme Ruler, Holy Mother of God Jesus Christ. Bless, Lord, thy servant entering battle, and my comrades who are with me. Wrap them in cloud, with thy heavenly, stony hail protect them. Holy Dmitry of Sa- lonica, defend me, the slave of God, and my comrades on all four sides; suffer not evil men to shoot, nor with spear pierce, nor with pole-axe strike, nor with butt-end of axe to sm.ite, axe to hew nor with sword cut down pierce, nor with knife stab cut; young, black; neither heretic nor sorcerer, nor any magic-worker. is before me now, the slave of God, orphaned and judged. sea, in the ocean, on the island of Buyan stands an post; on the post is an iron man resting on an iron staff, and he biddeth iron, steel, lead, zinc and all manner of bolt: "Go, iron, into your mother-earth away from the of God and past my comrades and my horse. The 447

arrow-shafts into the forest, and the feather to its mother- bird, and the glue fish." Defend me, buckler from steel and from bullet, from cannon-fire and ball, from spear and knife. May my stronger armour. Amen. concealed prayers shirts, tying them little icons with their mothers had blessed them, and bundles earth. But death came upon all alike, upon those who did not carry prayers and upon did. Their bodies rotted on the fields of Galicia and East Prussia, in the Carpathians and Rumania, wherever the ruddy flames of war flickered and the hoof-marks of Cossack horses were imprint- ed on the earth. It was usual for the Cossacks of the upper stanitsas of the Don, including Vyeshenskaya, to be drafted the Eleventh Twelfth regiments Ataman's Life- guards. But for some reason part of the enrol- of 1914 was assigned to the Third Don Cossack Regiment, which was composed main- Ust-Medveditskaya stanitsa. Among drafted was Mitka Korshunov. 448

The Third Don Cossack Regiment was tioned at Vilno, together with certain units the Third Cavalry Division. One day in June the various squadrons rode city to take up country quarters. day was but warm. clouds herded together in the sky and concealed sun. The marching umn route. The regimental band blared the head of the column, and the officers in their light summer caps and drill uniforms rode a bunch at the back, a cloud of cigarette smoke rising above On each the road the peasants and their gaily-dressed womenfolk were cutting the stopping to gaze at the columns of Cos- passed. The sweated heat, a yellowish foam appeared between legs, and the light breeze blowing from south-east did not cool, but rather intensi- fied the steaming swelter. They had gone about half way and were not far from a small village when year- ling trotted out from behind a fence and, seeing the great mass of horses, whinnied and came prancing up in front of the Fifth Squad- ron. Its bushy young tail waved dust from shapely hoofs on the trampled grass. It pranced up to the First 29—1933 449

Troop and poked its muzzle stupidly groin of the sergeant-major's stallion. The stal- lion jibbed but took pity on the youngster and did not kick. "Out the way, daft-head!" the sergeant- major shouted, waving his whip. friendly and homely that the Cossacks laughed. Then something unexpected happened. The colt cheekily pushed its way in the ranks and platoon broke up its neat formation. The horses jibbed and refused to obey their riders. Squeezing be- tween them, the colt tried to bite the horse next Up galloped the squadron commander: "What's going on here?" horses were snorting and casting side- long glances scatter-brained young grinning whips. The troop was in com- plete disorder with others pressing up from be- hind, and the furious troop officer could be seen galloping up from the rear of the column. "What's all this?" boomed the squadron com- mander, steering his horse into the thick of the mob. "It's a colt. "He's got between "You can't get rid of him, the devil!" 450

Mitka Korshunov was rank the leading troop with Mikhail Ivan- kov and Kozma Kruchkov, both from stanitsas on the Don. Ivankov, broad face, kept silent, and Kruchkov, a slightly pock-marked, round-shouldered Cossack, known "the camel," constantly fault Mitka. "old" a Cossack last year service, according unwritten rules regiment, shared with all other "old" Cossacks the right of chasing up the youngsters, order- ing them about and giving them "stripes" petty offence. The established punish- ment for a Cossack of the 1913 draft was thir- teen "stripes" drafted 1914, fourteen "stripes." The sergeants officers encouraged this system on the ground it imbued a Cossack with respect not only for rank but for age as well. Kruchkov, who had recently corporal, sat hunched in his saddle like a bird. He screwed up his eyes at a paunchy grey cloud and, imitating the accent of the squadron com- mander Captain Popov, asked Mitka: "Ah te-e-11 me, Korshunov, what do we ca-a-all our squadron comma-a-ander?" Mitka, who had frequently had a taste of the 452

strap obstinacy and dislike obedi- ence, put on a respectful expression. "Captain Popov, corporal!" "Captain Popov, corporal!" "That's not what to know. You me what we, Cossacks, call him 'mongst our- selves." Ivankov gave Mitka a cautioning wink and grinned widely. Mitka glanced round and sav. the captain riding up behind. answer called Captain Popov, corporal." "Fourteen stripes you. Answer me, you young bastard!" "I don't know, corporal." camp," speaking in his normal voice. "I'll belt the hide off you. Answer my question!" "I don't know." "Don't you know the nickname we've got for rat-face?" Mitka heard the furtive tread cap- tain's horse behind them and remained "Well?" Kruchkov scowled A restrained titter ranks. Not at him, Kruchkov snarled: 4S3

bald head with his handkerchief, and went with the sergeant-major to point out the next section of hay to be cut. At midday the field-kitchen arrived. The Cos- sacks washed and went to their food. They ate silence, rest period after dinner made up for their lack of conver- sation. "Rotten stuff, the grass here. Don't compare with the steppe." "Not much quitch though." mowing home." "Will be finished soon. New moon yesterday, there'll be rain." "That Pole's a mean old beggar. Might have stood us for our pains." "Ho-ho! He'd rob altar himself." "See, lads, what do you make of that? The more a man's got, the more he wants, eh?" "Ask the tsar about that." master's daughter?" "What about her?" a wench of meat "Aye. "Don't know how true but they she's had proposals from the royal family," 456

know, bullock, with humps their backs, eat thistles. What are they called?" "Camels." "Haw-haw-haw \" Kruchkov got up lazily and walked towards guilty recruit, hunching camel-like shoulders and stretching out his saffron-swarthy neck with its big Adam's apple. "Bend over!" he commanded, taking In the hot dusk of the June evening the Cos- sacks sang around the camp-fires: A Cossack went to a distant land. Riding his horse o'er the plain; village he for aye; silvery tenor sobbed mournfully, while the basses expressed deep, velvety sorrow: He'll n'er come hack again. Now the tenor rose to a higher pitch of grief: In vain did his youthful Cossack bride Gaze northwards every morn and eve; Waiting in hope that her Cossack dear Would return from the land he ne'er will leave. Many voices tended song, and it grew and heady like home-brewed beer; 458

But beyond hills lies deep. ice-fields crack and the tempests blow. Where grimly how the pines and firs The Cossack's hones lie beneath the snow. The voices told their simple tale of Cossack life and the tenor supported them with its quiv- ering notes, like skylark soaring above the thawed earth of April: lay dying pleaded and begged That above him a mound piled on grave. giielder-tree from Its blossoms bright should for ever wave. At another camp-fire, the group was smaller and the song was in a different strain: From the stormy Azov Sea, The ships are sailing up the Don, For back his own country A young ataman has come. squadron's story-teller, coughing from the smoke, was spinning tales. unflagging atten- tion. Only occasionally, when the hero story cleverly escaped from a plot laid 459

spirit, someone's gleam white fire-light as it was slapped against the leg boot, or a thick smoky voice gasp delighted approval. Then the flow- ing, unbroken tones story-teller would continue. A week or so after the regiment's arrival country quarters squadron commander sent for the smith and the sergeant-major. "What condition are the horses in?" bad. Your Honour, pretty good shape." The captain twisted the black moustache that had earned him his nickname and rasping regimental commander has issued structions for all stirrups and bits to be tinned. to be an imperial review of the ment. Let everything be polished until it gleams, saddles equipment. The Cossacks must be to gladden eye. When can you be ready?" The sergeant-major looked at the smith; smith looked at the sergeant-major. Then both of them looked captain. The sergeant- major suggested: Sunday, Your Honour?" respectfully touched tobacco- mouldered moustache with 460

Sunday!" added threateningly and dismissed them both. review in hand the same day. Ivankov, son of the squad- ron blacksmith smith helped tin stirrups and bits. The Cos- sacks groomed their horses, cleaned bri- dles, and rubbed snaffles and other metal parts of the horses' equipment with bath-brick. By the end of the week the regiment was shin- ing like a new twenty-kopeck piece. Everything glittered with polishing, from the horses' hoofs faces. On Saturday regimental commander inspected and thanked the officers and Cossacks for their zealous splendid appear- ance. azure of July days reeled The Cossack horses were in perfect condition; only the Cossacks themselves were uneasy and troubled with the maggot of uncertainty. Not a whisper was to be heard of the imperial re- view. The week passed in unending talk, tinual preparation. Then bolt from the blue came an order for the regiment to return to Vilno. They were back city by evening. A second order was at once issued to the squad- rons. The Cossacks' boxes were to be collected 461

and stored in the warehouse, and preparations a possible further removal. "Your Honour, what's it all about?" the Cos- sacks implored their troop officers for the truth. shrugged themselves would have given a lot to know "I don't know." there be manoeuvres presence of His Majesty?" "No one has any idea yet." of August commander's orderly managed to whisper to a friend: "It's war, my boy!" "You're lying!" "God's truth! a word anyone!" Next morning regiment was drawn up in squadrons outside the barracks, awaiting the commander. At the head of the Sixth Squadron rode Cap- tain Popov on a fine mount. His left hand, im- maculately gloved, held the bridle. The horse, arching its neck, rubbed its muzzle on the cord- ed muscles The colonel came round a corner of the bar- rack buildings and, riding his horse to the front sideways. adjutant, elegantly extending his ger, wipe 462

nose, but had no time to accomplish the oper- ation. The colonel threw his voice into the tense silence: "Cossacks!" coming!" everyone tension held them spring. Mitka Korshunov's horse was stepping from hoof to hoof, and he irritatedly brought his heel its flank. Beside motionlessly, hare-lipped open, exposing a dark of uneven teeth. Kruchkov was behind him, hunching his frowning, Lapin twitched his gristly ears like a while be- hind him could be seen the jagged Shchegolkov's clean-shaven Adam's apple. "Germany declared war on Along the ranks ran a whisper as though puff of wind had rippled across a field of ripe, heavy-eared oats. neigh slashed it. Round gaping mouths First Squadron where the animal had dared to neigh. said much more. He chose words carefully, seeking to arouse a feeling of national pride. But the picture that rose before the thousand Cossacks was not of silken foreign banners falling rustling at their feet, but of their everyday confusion, 463

their wives, children, sweethearts, of ungath- ered grain, and orphaned villages in distress. "In two hours we entrain . ." was the only thought that penetrated all minds. officers' wives, who were a bunch not far away, wept into their handker- chiefs. Lieutenant Khoprov had almost to carry his arms his blonde pregnant Polish The regiment rode singing to the station. The band, lapsed into confused silence. The officers' wives drozhkis, colourful crowd foamed the pavements, his own and others' sorrow, shoulder-strap hectically, the leading singer struck up a bawdy Cossack song. Deliberately running the words into one the accompaniment of newly shod song the red trucks station. The adjutant, his face purple with laughter and embarrassment, galloped up to the singers. One of the Cossacks winked cynically of women see- sweat but a brew wormwood his bronzed black tips of his mouth. 464

On the track the engine gave a warning bel- got up steam. Trains. Trains. . Trains innumerable. Along country's arteries, rail- the western frontier, seething, distracted Russia was pumping its grey-coated At a little town on the line the regiment was broken up into its respective squadrons. On the Sixth Squadron was put at the disposal of the Third Army Infantry Corps, and proceeded to Pelika- liye. The border was guarded troops. New infantry and cavalry units being moved up. On July 27th the squadron commander sent for the sergeant-major and Cossack named Astakhov, from the First Troop. Astakhov returned to the troop af- ternoon, just as Mitka Korshunov was bringing his horse back after watering. that you, Astakhov?" he called. Where's lads?" "Over there, in the hut." Astakhov, a massive, swarthy Cossack, came into the hut screwing up his eyes as if he could 30—1933 465

see. At the table Shchegolkov was mend- ing a broken rein by the light of a wick-lamp. Kruchkov was standing by the stove with hands behind him, winking the owner of the hut, a Pole, who lay on his bed, swollen with dropsy. A joke had just passed between them, and Ivankov's cheek was still twitching with laugh- ter. "Tomorrow, lads, we go out at daybreak to an outpost at Lyubov." "Who's going?" Mitka inquired, entering at that moment and pitcher down the door. "Shchegolkov, Kruchkov, Rvachev, Popov and Ivankov." "And what about me?" stay here, Mitka." then the devil take the of you!" Kruchkov wrenched himself away from the stretching bones cracked, asked the host: "How far it to this place?" "Four versts." "It's quite near," said Astakhov and, down on boot. "Where could I hang up a foot-cloth to di-y?" set out at dawn. At the end of the 466

lage a bare-footed girl was drawing water from a well. Kruchkov reined in his horse. "Give us a drink, lass!" Holding homespun splashed through a puddle with her bare Her grey eyes smiling from under their thick lashes, bucket. drank, gripping the heavy bucket by the rim, his hand trembling with the weight dripped and splashed on to stripes of his trousers. "Christ save you, grey eyes!" "The Lord be praised." She took the bucket and stepped away, glanc- ing round and smiling. "What are you grinning at? Come for a ride!" Kruchkov shifted in his saddle as if to make room for her. moving!" Rvachev grinned at Kruchkov: "Can't take your eyes off her, eh?" "Her legs are pink as a pigeon's," Kruchkov said with a laugh, and they all looked round, if by word of command. The girl bent over the well, showing the cleft her bottom under her pink calves of her parted "If only we could marry," Popov sighed. 30* 467

comer beside a plough and till evening. sunset Kruchkov came a pinch of skin on Ivankov's neck between his gently: "Sleeping well on army grub, you hog! Get up and go and keep watch on the Germans!" "Stop fooling, Kozma!" "Up you get!" will you! I'm just getting He scrambled red and puffy, worked side on the stumpy neck that held it firmly to his broad sniffed (he lying on the damp earth), adjusted his cartridge belt and went out of the rifle by its sling. He relieved Shchegolkov, who had been on duty all the afternoon, and adjust- ing the binoculars, stared the north-west, towards the wood. He could see the snowy stretch of grain wav- ing in the wind, and a ruddy flood of sunlight bathing the green headland fir wood. Chil- dren were splashing and shouting in the stream that lay in a fine blue curve beyond the village. contralto called: "Stassya, Stassya! Come here!" lit a cigarette, and remarked as he went back to the shed: "Look the glow of that sunset! We'll be having some wind." 469

About midnight, while Ivankov was on guard, heard the horses along the vil- lage street. He crawled out of the ditch to look, the moon was swathed impenetrable darkness. He went and awoke Kruchkov, who was sleeping at the door. "Kozma! Horsemen coming! Get up!" "Where from?" "They're riding into the village." They went out. The clatter hoofs came clearly yards "Let's go into the garden. We can hear better They ran past the hut into the tiny front gar- den, and dropped down by the fence. The jin- gle of stirrups and creak of saddles came near- er. Now they could see the dim outline of the horsemen riding four abreast. "Who goes there?" "And what do you want?" a voice answered in Russian from the leading rank. there? fire!" Kruchkov rattled the bolt of his rifle. riders it towards "We're frontier guard," said. "Are you an outpost?" 472

apron of cloud from the moon, and over the the gardens, the steep roof of the hut guards up the fell a flood of deathly yellow light. Next morning Rvachev squadron with report. During the night the horses had saddled. The Cossacks were alarmed by were now confront the enemy. They had experi- enced no feeling of isolation and loneliness long as they knew the frontier guard was ahead of them, but the news frontier was open had had a marked effect upon them. Astakhov had a talk with the Polish farmer, and for a small sum the man agreed to let them cut clover for their horses. The Pole's meadow lay not far from the shed. Astakhov sent Ivan- kov and mow. mowed while Ivankov raked dank, heavy grass together and tied it into bundles. As they were thus occupied, Astakhov, who gazing through road leading to the frontier, noticed a boy run- ning across the fields from the south-west. The lad ran down the hill like a brown hare; when still some off he shouted and waved the long sleeve of his coat. He ran up to Asta- khov, gasping for breath and and panted: 474

Standing with looped fired. reared at the shot and sent him headlong. As he fell he saw one of the Germans first lean to then, throwing out his arms, sudden- ly tumble from his saddle. The others did not stop or even unsling their carbines from shoulders, but rode on at a gallop in open for- mation. The pennants on their lances fluttered the wind. Astakhov mount plied whips. The Germans swung to the left, and the dragoon. Beyond, an undulating stretch of country was intersected with shallow ravines. As the Germans farther side each ravine the Cossacks dismounted and shots after them. A German went down. "Our Cossacks should be coming from farm in a minute. the second outpost," Astakhov muttered, thrusting cartridge clip into the magazine of his rifle with his tobacco- stained finger. The Germans broke into a steady trot. As the Cossacks rode past the farm they glanced towards deserted. sun licked greedily at the tiled roof. Afterwards learned outpost had withdrawn the previous night, having discovered that the 478

telegraph wires verst away had cut. sent another shot after the Ger- mans, firing from the saddle, and one who had been lagging slightly behind shook his head and spurred on his horse. "We'll drive them along to the first outpost," Astakhov shouted, turning round to the others behind him. As he did so, Ivankov noticed that Astakhov's peeling and skin was hanging from his nostril. defend them- selves?" anxiously, adjusting rifle on his back. "Wait and see," grunted Shchegolkov, pant- like a broken-winded The Germans ravine disappeared. On the farther side was ploughed land. On scrub and an bush. horse, pushed back his cap, and wiped the beads of sweat away with the back of his hand. He looked at others, spat and said: "Ivankov, see where they've got Ivankov, red in the face, his back damp with sweat, licked his crusted lips thirstily and rode 479

of a freckled elderly German, who tried to get sword. sword would not reach, and dropping German tore his carbine from its yellow saddle- holster, his blinking on Ivankov's face. He did not succeed in freeing his carbine, for Kruchkov reached at him across lance. The German, away from groaning in fear and astonishment. Eight dragoons surrounded Kruchkov, trying to capture him alive. But causing his horse rear, he fought until they succeeded in knock- ing the sabre his hand. He snatched lance from a German and wielded it as though the parade ground. Beaten mans hacked swords. They bunched together small patch dismal, clayey ploughed land, seething and rock- struggle as though shaken by wind. Maddened with terror, the Cossacks and Ger- mans thrust and hacked at whatever came their way: backs, and weapons. horses jostled and kicked against one another frenzy fear. Regaining measure of self-command, Ivankov tried sever- al times to strike at the head of a long-faced, flaxen-haired German who had fastened on him, 482

helmet slipped off. Astakhov broke through the ring and galloped free, streaming with blood. The German officer chased him. Tearing rifle shoulder, Astakhov fired and killed him almost at point-blank range. This proved to be the turn- ing-point in the struggle. Having commander, the Germans, all of them wounded with clumsy blows, dispersed retreated. did not pursue them. They fire after them. They rode straight back their squadron at Pelikaliye, while the Germans picked up a wounded comrade and fled towards frontier. perhaps verst Ivankov swayed in his saddle. "I'm. ... drop horse. But Astakhov pulled at his reins, crying: "Come on!" Kruchkov smeared the blood and felt his chest. Crimson spots were showing damply on his shirt. Beyond the farm where the second outpost had been stationed the party dis- agreed as to the way. "To right!" Astakhov wards the green, swampy ground of an alder wood. "No, to the left!" Kruchkov insisted. 31* 483

They separated. Astakhov and rived at the regimental headquarters after Kruch- kov and Shchegolkov. They found the Cossacks awaiting swayed and fell. They had difficulty in freeing sabre-hilt from Within an hour entire squadron rode out to where the German lay. The Cossacks removed his boots, clothing and weap- ons and crowded around to look at the young, frowning, yellow face of the dead man. One of them managed to capture with a silver face-guard, and sold it on the spot to his troop sergeant. In a wallet they found a few bank-notes, lock of flaxen hair and a photograph of a girl with a proud, smiling mouth. Afterwards this incident was transformed into a heroic exploit. Kruchkov, favourite squadron commander, received the Cross of George. His comrades remained in shadow. The hero was sent to the divisional staff headquart- ers, where he lived in clover until the end of the war, receiving three more crosses because influ- ential ladies and officers came from Petersburg and Moscow to look at him. The ladies "ah-ed" 484

and "oh-ed," and regaled the Don Cossack with cigarettes and chocolates. At first he cursed them by devils, but afterwards, benevolent influence toadies in officers' uniform, he made a remunera- tive business of it. He told the story of his "ex- ploit," laying the colours on thick without a twinge of conscience, while the ladies went into raptures, and stared admiringly at the pock-marked, brigand face of the Cossack hero. Everyone was pleased and happy. The tsar visited headquarters, and Kruchkov was taken to be shown to him. The sleepy emper- or looked Kruchkov over as if he were a horse, blinked eyelids, patted Cossack on the shoulder. lad!" suite, Seltzer water. Kruchkov's forelock figured constantly in the newspapers and magazines. There were Kruch- kov brands cigarettes. merchants Nizhny-Novgorod presented him with gold- mounted sabre. The uniform taken from the German Astakhov had killed was mailed to a plywood board and General von Rennenkampf put his car with Ivankov and his adjutant to hold and drove before parading troops about 485

customary fiery speeches in the official jargon. And what had really happened? Men, who had not yet acquired the knack of killing their kind, had clashed on the field of death, and terror that embraced them, had charged, and struck, and battered blindly at each other, mutilating one another and their horses; then they had turned and fled, frightened by a shot which had killed one of their number. They had ridden away morally crippled. it was called a heroic exploit. The front was not yet the huge unyielding vi- per that to become. Cavalry skirmishes and battles flared up along the frontier. In the days immediately following the declaration war the German command put out feelers in the shape detachments caused alarm among frontier posts and spy- disposition and numbers forces. The Russian Eighth Army was screened 12th Cavalry Division under mand of General Kaledin. On left flank the 11th Cavalry Division had advanced across the Austrian frontier, but having captured Leshnuv 486

and Brodi, was brought to a halt when the Aus- trians were reinforced Hungarian caval- ry. The Hungarian cavalry hurled itself at the units them back towards Brodi. Since first battle Grigory Melekhov had been tormented by a dreary inward pain. He grew noticeably thinner and frequently, whether the march resting, sleeping or waking, he saw the features and form of the Austrian whom he had killed by the railings. In his sleep he lived again and battle, and even felt the shuddering convulsion of his right hand clutching the lance. He would awaken and drive dream violently, shading painfully screwed-up The cavalry trampled down the ripened corn and scarred the fields with hoofprints, was as though a pounding hailstorm had swept Galicia. The heavy soldiers' boots tramped the roads, scratched the macadam, churned up the August mud. The gloomy face of the earth was pock-marked with shells; fragments of iron and steel rusted there, yearning for human At night ruddy flickerings lit up the horizon: trees, villages, towns blazed like summer light- ning. In August-when fruits ripen and com 487

ready for harvest-the sky was unsmilingly grey, the rare fine days were oppressive and sultry, August was drawing close. The leaves turned yellow in the orchards, and a mournful purple spread from stalks. tance it looked as though the trees were gashed with wounds and bleeding to death. studied with interest changes that occurred his comrades. Prokhor Zykov returned from hospital with the marks of a horse- shoe on his cheek, and pain and bewilderment lurking corners calfish eyes blinked more than ever. Yegor Zharkov lost no opportunity curse and swear, was even bawdier than riled against every- thing under the sun. Yemelyan Groshev, a seri- ous and efficient Cossack from Grigory's own village, seemed char; face turned dark, awkwardly morosely. Changes were observed face; each was inwardly nursing rearing seeds of grief implanted by the war. regiment was withdrawn from for a three-day rest, and complement made up by reinforcements from the Don. The of Grigory's squadron were about go for a dip in a neighbouring lake, when a con- siderable force of cavalry rode into the village from the station some three versts away. By the 488

time the men had reached the dam of the lake the force was riding down the hill. Prokhor Zy- kov was pulling off his shirt when, looking up, he stared and exclaimed: "They're Cossacks, Don Cossacks!" Grigory gazed after the colimin crawling into the estate where the Fourth Squadron was quar- tered. "Reserves, most likely." "Look boys; surely that's Stepan Astakhov? third rank from the front," Gro- shev exclaimed, and gave a short grating laugh. "And there's Anikushka." "Grisha! Melekhov! D'you see him?" Narrowing his eyes, Grigory stared, trying to recognize riding. "Must have bought a new one!" he thought, turning his to his brother's face. Deeply tanned, with moustache clipped and brows bleeched by the summer sun, it was strangely altered since their last meeting. Grigory went to meet him, taking off his cap and waving mechanically. After him poured the half-dressed Cossacks, trampling underfoot the brittle undergrowth of angelica and burdock. Led by an elderly, wooden hardness in his authorita- tive clean-shaven mouth, the detachment swung 489

round the orchard into the estate. "A sticker!" Grigory thought, as he smiled at his brother and at the same time ran his eye over the captain's sturdy hook-nosed mount, evidently of an Eastern strain. "Hullo, Brother!" he shouted. "Glory be! together. How're things?" alive?" "So far." "Regards from the family." "How are they all?" Pyotr rested his palm on the croup of his stur- dy reddish horse and, turning his whole body in surveyed Grigory smilingly. Then he rode on, and was hidden by the oncoming ranks Cossacks, familiar and unfa- miliar. "Hullo, Melekhov! Regards from the village." "So you're joining us?" Grigory grinned, rec- ognizing Mikhail Koshevoi by the golden slab of his forelock. right. Like chickens after corn." "Mind you don't get pecked yourself." "We'll see about that!" Yegor Zharkov came from lake dressed hopping 490

to thrust the other into his sharovari as he ran. Zharkov!" shout from the ranks. "Hullo, stallion! Have they had to hobble you then?" "How's my mother?" "Still alive. She sent her love, but we wouldn't take any presents. We had enough to carry as it was." Yegor listened with an unusually serious ex- pression to the reply, and then sat down bare- bottomed in the grass, hiding his disappointed ineffectually trembling leg into his trousers. Half-dressed Cossacks stood behind the blue- fence; reserve squadron from the Don flowed along the chest- nut-lined road into the yard. "That you, Alexander?" it's me." "Andreyan! Why, you lop-eared you know me?" "Love from the wife. So this is life in the ar- my, eh!" "Christ save you." "Where's Boris Belov?" "What squadron was he in?" "The Fourth, I think." 491

A small brown Morocco notebook. The cor- ners were frayed and broken; it must have spent a long time in its owner's pages elaborate sloping handwriting. . For some time now felt this need for putting pen to paper. I want to keep a sort of "college diary," February (I don't remember the date) I got to know her through a neighbour hers, stu- dent called Boyaryshkin. I ran into them outside a cinema. When Boyaryshkin introduced her, he "Liza comes from the Vyeshenskaya nitsa. Be nice to her, Timofei. She's an excellent I remember uttering some incoherent re- mark and taking her soft sweaty hand in mine. That was how Yelizaveta Mokhova. realized at once that she had been spoiled. Wom- like her have something their eyes tells you too much. The impression she created on me, I admit, was not very favourable. It must that clammy hand hers. never met anyone perspired much; then those eyes, very beautiful eyes actu- ally, with a glorious hazel tint in them, and yet unpleasant. 32* 499

Vasya, friend, find myself consciously touching up my style, even resorting to image- ry, for when this "diary" reaches you in Semi- palatinsk (I'm thinking sending this affair I have started with Yelizaveta Mokhova is over; it may amuse you) I want you to have a clear idea of what happened. I shall describe things in chronological order. Well, as I have said, I was introduced three of us went in to see some sentimental cin- ema rubbish. Boyaryshkin kept quiet (he had toothache, "molar-ache," as he called it) and conversation. We turned out to be from the same neighbourhood, that is, from neighbouring stanitsas, but after we had shared a few reminiscences about the beauty of steppe scenery and so on, our talk petered I preserved an unconstrained silence, so to speak, and she suffered the lack of conversation without the slightest discomfort. I learned from her that she was a second-year medical student, that she came of a merchant family, and she was fond of strong tea and Asmolov's snuff. Extremely scanty information, as you can imag- ine, for getting to know a girl with hazel eyes. When we said good-bye (we saw her off to the tramstop), she asked me to call on her. I made a note of her address. I think I shall drop in on April 28th. 500

April 29th Called on her today, she gave me tea and halvah. As a matter of fact, there is something in her. Sharp tongue, moderately clever, she's got hold of that Artsibashev do-as-you- please theory, you can smell it a verst off. Came late. Made myself cigarettes and thought of things unconnected mainly money. My suit is in an appalling state, I have no "capital." On the whole, things are rotten. May 1st Today was marked by an event of some im- portance. While passing the time quite harmless- ly in Sokolniki Park, we got involved in an in- cident. The police and a detachment of Cossacks, about twenty of them, were dispersing a work- ers' May Day meeting. A drunk hit one of the Cossack's horses with a stick and brought his whip into play. (I don't know why, but some people persist in switch. It has its own glorious title-why not use it?) I went up and decided to intervene impelled by the most noble feelings, I assure you. I told the Cossack he was a lout, and one or two other things besides. He was going to take a swing at me with his whip, but I told him pretty firmly I was a Cossack of Kamenskaya 501

myself and could knock hell out of him any day of the week. The Cossack good-natured fellow, young; hadn't been in the army long enough to get sour. He replied that he was from of Ust-Khoperskaya and a useful man with his fists. We parted peace- fully. If he had there would have been a fight; and something rather worse would have happened to my own person. My intervention to be explained by the fact that Liza was with us and when in her presence I am carried away by a purely childish to do something heroic. actually see myself turning into a young cock- erel and feel an invisible red comb sprouting under my cap. . What am I coming to! May 3rd The only thing to do in my present mood get drunk. On top of everything I have no mon- ey. My trousers are hopelessly split just where it matters most (in the crutch, to put it bluntly), like an overripe water-melon down on the Don, and the chances of my darn holding out are re- mote indeed. Might as well try to sew up a wa- ter-melon. Volodka Strezhnev has been round, Tomorrow I shall attend lectures.

May 7th Money from Father. Rather a grumpy but I don't feel a scrap of shame. What if Dad knew his son's moral supports are rotting like this. . Have bought a suit. My new tie attracts the attention even of the cabmen. After a shave at the best hairdresser's in town, came out as fresh as a draper's shop assistant. At the corner of the boulevard a policeman smiled at me. The old scoundrel! But what is past is past. ... I saw Liza quite by chance through the window of a tram. She waved her glove and smiled. How do like that! May 8th "To love all ages are submissive. ..." still see the mouth of Tatyana's husband gaping up at me like a gun barrel. From my seat in the gallery I had an spit it. Whenever I think of that phrase, particularly the "sub-miss-ive" end, my jaw aches to yawn. Probably a nervous tick. But the point is that I, at my age, am in love. Though it makes my hair stand on end to write Called on Liza. Began with a very long and high-flown introduction. She pretended not to understand and tried to change subject. it toQ early yet? Devil take it, this new suit 503

has mixed everything up. When I look at my- self in the mirror I feel I am irresistible. Now is think! Actually, straightforward accounting that wins the day. I don't propose now, in two months' time it will be too late; my trousers will be worn out and I won't be able to propose anyhow. As I write I overflow self-admiration. brilliant combination I am of all the best qual- ities of the best people of our time. Here you gentle yet fiery passion "voice of reason firm." A Russian salad of the virtues, not to mention a host of other ad- mirable qualities. I got no further with her than my pre- liminary introduction. We were interrupted by her landlady, who called her out into the cor- ridor and asked her for a loan. She refused though she had the money. I knew that fact and I pictured her face as she refused that truthful voice of hers and with such sin- cerity in those hazel eyes. I didn't want to talk about love after May 13th I am well and truly in love. There can be no doubt about it. Everything tells me so. Tomor- I shall propose. worked Qut my part. 504

May 14th The thing came about in a most unexpected fashion. raining, nice warm shower. were walking the Mokhovaya, wind was sweeping rain across the pavement. I talked and she was quiet, with her head down if she were thinking. A trickle of rain ran off the brim of her hat on to her cheek, and she beautiful. I quote our conversation: "Yelizaveta Sergeyevna, feel, now it is up to you." "I doubt the sincerity of your feelings." I shrugged my shoulders in an idiotic fash- ion and said icily that I was ready to take an oath, or something of the kind. She said: "Look here, you are talking like a character out of Turgenev. Can't you make simpler?" "Nothing could be simpler. I love you." "And now what?" it's up to you." "You want me to say I love you too?" "I want you to say something." see, Timofei Ivanovich. . How I put it? like you just a bit. . You're very tall," "I'll get taller," I promised. "But we know each other iso little, we. ," 605

wear disgusting state. But the money, the money. . We are spending mine and there isn't much left. Shall have to find work. May 24th Today I decided to buy some new underwear but Liza put me to unexpected expense. suddenly had an irresistible desire to dine at a good restaurant and buy herself a pair of silk stockings. We have dined and bought, but I am despair. No underwear for me! May 27th sucking me dry. physically more than a bare sunflower stalk. Not a wom- an but a smouldering fire! June 2nd We woke up today nine. My accursed habit of wriggling my toes led to the following results. pulled back bed-clothes subjected prolonged exami- nation. Then she summed up her observations thus: "You have a foot like a horse's hoof. Worse! that hair on your toes-ugh!" She jerked her shoulders a kind feverish disgust, bed-clothes turned away to the wall. 607

I was confused. I tucked my feet out of sight and touched her on the shoulder. "Liza!" "Leave me alone!" "Liza, this won't do at I can't change the shape of my feet, they weren't made to order, you know. And as for the vegetation, you nev- er know where hair will grow next. It grows everywhere. medical ought to know the laws of nature." She turned over. There was a nasty glint her hazel goodness sake buy deodorant powder. Your feet stink like a corpse." I remarked judiciously that her hands were always clammy. She remained silent and, to put it in lofty terms, a murky cloud descended on my soul. June 4th Today we went for a boat trip down the river Moskva. Recalled the Don countryside. conduct is unworthy of her. She keeps making cutting remarks at my expense, and sometimes they are very rude. To pay her back in her own coin would mean the breaking-off of our rela- tions, and that. In spite of every- thing, I am getting more and more attached to her. She is simply spoiled. But I fear my influ- 508

6nce will not be strong enough to produce any radical character. A lovable, spoiled girl. A girl, moreover, who has seen things I know of only by hear- say. On the way home she dragged me into a chemist's and, with a smile on her face, bought talcum powder and some other rubbish. "This'll keep the smell down." I made a gallant bow and thanked her. Absurd, but there June 7th really very intellect, knows all the other things. Every night before going to bed I wash my in hot water, pour eau-de-Cologne them and powder them with some gusting stuff. June 16th Every day she becomes 2Tiore and more intol- erable. Yesterday she had an attack of hyster- ics. is very hard to live with such a woman. June 18th We have absolutely nothing in common! We are not even talking the same language. morning she went to my pocket money before going the baker's, and came little book. She looked at 509

June 24th all came out at once. We had a heart-to- heart talk today and she could not satisfy her physically. The break is not yet of- ficial, in a few days probably. June 26th What she needs is a stallion! A real one! June 28th It is very difficult for me to give her up. She drags me down like mud. Today we took a ride out to the Vorobyovy Hills. She sat by the hotel window and the sun filtered under the carved roof on to her curls. Her hair is the colour of pure gold. And poetry you! July 4th I have left my work. Liza has left me. Today I drank beer Strezhnev. vodka. Liza and parted educated people should, in a practical manner. No non- sense. Today Dmitrov Street with a young man in jockey boots. She acknowl- edged my greeting with restraint. is about I stopped writing these notes-the source has run dry. .5/7

July 30th I am quite unexpectedly impelled to take up the pen again. War. An explosion of bestial en- thusiasm. Every top-hat stinks like a dead dog patriotism. fellows dignant, but I am gratified. I am eaten up with for my . "paradise lost." Last night I had a quiet little dream about Liza. She has left a deep mark of yearning. I should be glad of some diversion. 1st I'm fed up with this noise and fuss. The old feeling of longing has returned. I suck it as child sucks a dummy. August 3rd A way shall go the war. Foolish? Very. Shameful? But what else can I do? Oh taste something different! Yet there was no such feel- ing of satiety two years ago. Surely getting old? August 7th I am writing in train. We have Voronezh. Tomorrow shall be home. made up my mind, I shall fight for "the Faith, the Tsar, and the Fatherland." 512

12th What a send-off they gave me. The ataman a drink or two and made an impassioned speech. Afterwards I told him in a whisper that he was a fool. He was flabbergasted and so fended his cheeks turned green. Then he hissed spitefully: "And you call yourself educated! You wouldn't be one of those we gave the lash 1905, would you?" I replied that, to my regret, I was not "one of those." My father wept and tried to kiss me with a dewdrop dangling from the tip of his nose. Poor dear father! He ought in my shoes. I suggested jokingly he should come with me, and he exclaimed in alarm: "But what about the farm?" Tomorrow I leave August 13th Here and there unharvested corn-fields. Sleak marmots on the hillocks. They bear a striking resemblance picture-postcard see impaled on Kozma Kruchkov's lance. Once upon a time when student mathematics and other exact sciences, little did I should live to become "jin- goist." When I get into a regiment I shall have a talk with the Cossacks. 33—1933 513

August 22nd At one stations along the first group of prisoners. A fine-looking Aus- trian officer with a sportsman's bearing was be- ing taken under guard station building. Two young ladies strolling along the platform at him. He managed a very neat bow without stopping and blew them a kiss. Even as a prisoner he was clean-shaven, gal- lant, his brown boots glistened. I watched him as he walked away. A young handsome fellow, a pleasant friendly face. If you met him in bat- tle, your arm would not strike. August 24th Refugees, refugees, refugees. Every is crowded with trains of refugees and troops. The first hospital train has just passed. When face was bandaged. We got talking. been wounded grape-shot. Awfully he probably won't have to do any more vice; eye was damaged. He was actually laughing. August 27th in my regiment. The regimental com- mander is a very fine old man. A Cossack from the lower Don. One can feel the smell of blood 514

round here. There are rumours that we shall be in the front line the day after tomorrow. Mine is the Third Troop Squadron- Cossacks from Konstantinovskaya stanitsa. A lot. Only one wag and songster. August 28th We are going up. Today there. Sounds like thunder rumbling in the distance. I even sniffed the air for rain. But the sky is like blue satin. Yesterday my horse went lame, leg on the wheel of a field-kitchen. Everything is new and strange. I don't know what to start on, what to write about. August 30th there was no time write. Now I am writing saddle. The jolting makes perform monstrous antics. There are three of us riding with a forage train for grass. Now the lads are tying down the load and am lying on my stomach making a belated re- cord of what happened yesterday. Sergeant Tolokonnikov (he addresses me temptuously "student." "Hi can't you see your horse has got a shoe coming off?") sent six of us out on reconnaissance. We 33* 515

drove through some burnt-out village or other. It was very hot. The horses were sweating and so were we. Cossacks should not have to wear serge in summer. ditch I saw my first corpse. A German, Lying on his back with ditch. One arm twisted under him, rifle magazine clasped other. No rifle anywhere near. A ghastly sight. A cold shiver runs down my spine . He looked as had been sitting with his legs in the ditch, and had then lain back rest. Grey uniform and helmet. You could see the leather lining. so dazed by experience remember face. Only ants crawling over the yellow forehead and glassy half-closed them- selves as they rode past. I looked at the small spot of blood on the right side of his uniform. bullet had hit him side and gone straight through. As I rode past I noticed that where the bullet had come out, the stain on the uniform and clot ground were much bigger and the uniform was torn raggedly. I rode past shuddering. So happens. senior sergeant, nickname "Teaser," tried to restore our spirits by telling 516

a dirty story, but his own lips were trem- bling. verst on from village we came to a gutted factory, just brick walls black- ened with smoke at the top. We were afraid to straight along the road because it lay past this heap of ashes, so we decided to go round it. As soon as we struck off the road somebody started firing factory. sound of that shot, ashamed though admit nearly toppled me I grabbed the pommel and instinctively ducked down and tugged the reins. We galloped ditch where dead German lay, and did not recover our wits until the village was behind us. Then we turned round and dism.ounted. We left two men with the horses and the other four of us made our way back to that ditch. We crouched down go along it. From a distance I saw the legs of dead German in short yellow boots dan- gling over the edge. When I passed him I held my breath, as if he were asleep and I were af- raid of waking him. The grass under him was moist and green. We lay down in the ditch and a few minutes later nine German uhlans rode out from behind the ruins of the gutted factory. I could tell they were uhlans by uniforms. One 517

evidently an gutteral voice and the whole detachment rode in our direction. The lads are calling for me to come and help them load the grass. I must go. August 30th finish describing how shot at man for the first time. The German uhlans rode down on us and lizard- uniforms, glistening bell-shapes their helmets, their lances with the flags flutter- ing at the tips. They were mounted on dark bay horses. For some reason let my glance wander bank of the ditch and noticed a small emerald- green beetle. It grew larger and larger before it seemed enormous. Brushing aside blades of grass like a giant, it lum- bered towards my elbow that I had propped on the dry crumbling clay of the bank; it climbed the sleeve of my tunic and crawled quickly on rifle, then from the rifle, on to the sling. still watching its journey when heard the Teaser's voice bawling: "Fire, what's the matter with you?!" settled my elbow more firmly, screwed up left eye and felt my heart swelling was as huge as that emerald beetle. My sights trembled against a background grey-green 5/6

uniform. trigger moaning of my bullet. Next Teaser fired. sights bullet ricochet- ted off a tussock and kicked up a spurt of dust. It was the first shot I had ever fired at a man. I emptied the magazine without aiming. And was only when I pulled the trigger and got no response a look Germans. They were galloping back in the same good or- der as before, with the officer bringing up the rear. There were nine of them and I could see the dark bay croupe of the officer's horse and metal plate on the top of his uhlan's helmet. September 2nd In War and Peace Tolstoi has a passage which he speaks line between opposing armies, the line of the unknown that seems to divide the living from the dead. The squadron in which Nikolai Rostov serving attack and Rostov sees mind's eye. I remember passage particu- larly vividly today, because today at dawn we attacked a unit of Germ.an hussars. Ever since early morning troops, excellent tillery support, had been harrassing our infan- try. I saw some of our men-the 241st and 273rd 5i9

regiments, think-fleeing panic. They had been literally demoralized after be- ing thrown into an attack with no artillery sup- port. Enemy fire had accounted nearly third of their number and they were being pur- sued by German hussars. Then our regiment, which had been standing in reserve in a forest clearing, was thrown action. This is how I remember the affair. left the village of Tishvichi between two and three in the morning. Dawn it was very dark. The air was heavy with oats pine needles. proceeded squadrons. We off the road and struck across fields. The horses snorted as they sprinkled the heavy dew oats with their hoofs. It was chilly even in a greatcoat. They kept the regiment tracking long time and an hour passed before an officer rode up and handed an order to the regimental commander. Our old man passed on the order dissatisfied tone and the regiment turned angles the woods. Our columns bunched closely path. Fighting was going on somewhere left. Judging by the noise a large number of German batteries were in action. The sound of the gun- fire vibrated in the air and all that 520

scented pinewood was on fire above Until sunrise we could only listen. A cheer went up, a limp, ragged sort of cheer, and then-stillness threaded with the clean hammering of machine- guns. At that moment my head was in a whirl; the only thing could think of, and that pic- ture* was utterly and painfully clear, were the faces of our infantry as they advanced. In my mind's eye I could see the baggy grey figures in their flat army caps and clumsy sol- dier's top-boots pounding hoarse chuckle the German machine-guns set to work transforming those living sweating human bodies into corpses. The two regiments were mown down and fled, abandoning German hussars charged down on them. We came out on flank yards or less. An order was given. We formed instantly. single cold command. "Forward!" It seemed hold bit, then we were flying ahead. My its head you couldn't have prised them up with your fingers. I glanced round-behind me were commander and two Yes, this was this was the line dividing the 521

living from dead. was, of insanity! hussars wavered and turned Be- fore my eyes our squadron commander Cheme- tsov cut down a German hussar. I saw a Cos- sack of the Sixth Squadron overtake a German and hack madly at his horse's croup. Ribbons of skin streamed from the sabre as it rose and It was inconceivable! There was no name it! On the way back Chernetsov's face, intent and controlledly cheerful-he might at the card table, instead of saddle, having murdered Squadron-Commander Chernetsov far. A capable fellow! September 4th resting. The Fourth Division Second Army Corps is being brought up to the front. We are stationed Kobylino. This morning units of the 11th Cav- alry Division and Urals through the town at a fast pace. Fighting con- tinues in the west. A constant rumble. dinner I went to the field hospital. A wounded arrived. Stretcher-bearers were unloading a big wagon laughing. went up to them. A tall ginger-haired had just climbed down with the help of an 522

derly, "What do you think Cossack," said, addressing me. given me load of peas the behind. of grape- shot." The orderly asked him if the shell had burst behind "Behind me damned, was advancing behind-first myself." A nurse came out of one of the cottages. I glanced her and suddenly so weak to lean against a cart. Her resemblance to Liza was ex- traordinary. The same eyes, the same oval face, nose, hair. Even her voice was similar. Or was I imagining things? Now, I suppose, I shall see a resemblance to her in every woman I meet. September 5th The horses have had a day's stalls and we are off to the front again. Physi- cally I am a wreck. The bugler is playing the to mount. a man I should love to put a bullet through! The squadron commander had sent Grigory Melekhov with a message to regimental head- quarters. As he rode through the district where the recent fighting had taken place Grigory no- ticed a dead Cossack lying highway. He lay with his fair curly head close hoof-pitted road. Grigory dismounted (the dead man already

reeked of decay), searched body. trousers pocket he found this notebook, a stub mdelible pencil and purse. He removed the cartridge belt and glanced at the pale, moist face that was already beginning to decompose. temples and the bridge of the nose were turning black, on the forehead a slantwise fur- in mortal concentration was grimed with dust. Grigory covered cambric that he found in the dead man's pocket and rode on headquarters, pausing now and then to glance round. He handed the notebook headquarters clerks, who gathered round to read it and laugh over other man's brief life and its earthly desires. 11th Cavalry Division took town after town by storm, and by the end the month they were deployed around Kamenka-Strumilovo. the army; infantry units massed on im- portant strategic sectors, units and bag- gage trains the railway junctions. stretched from Baltic death-dealing whiplash. headquarters offensive was being planned; generals 524

pored their maps, dispatch riders dashed fro battle orders, hundreds thousands of soldiers marched to their death. The reconnaissance patrols reported that con- siderable forces of enemy proaching town. wooids along roads skirmishes were fought between Cossack detachments and the enemy advance guards. Ever since seeing Grigory Me- lekhov had sought to put an end to his painful thoughts, and to recover his former tranquillity spirit. But it was no use. Among reinforcements from the second of reserv- ists a Cossack, Alexei Uryupin, had been draft- ed into Grigoiy's troop. Uryupin was tall, rath- er round-shouldered with aggressive lower jaw and drooping Kalmyk whiskers. His mer- ry, fearless eyes were always smiling, and he was bald, with only scanty ruddy hair around the edges of his angular scull. On the very first day of his arrival he was nicknamed "Tufty." Brodi had a day's respite. Grigory and Uryupin were quartered in the same hut. They soon "You know, Melekhov, you must be moult- or something." mean-moulting?" asked with a frown. 525

limp, ill," Uryupiii explained. They had been feeding their horses and they stood smoking with their backs against a ricke- ty moss-grown fence. Hussars were riding four abreast down the road; dead bodies were ly- ing about by the fences, fighting in the streets when the Austrians with- drew; a charred smell rose from the ruins of a gutted synagogue. In the rich colours of early evening the town was one immense picture destruction and repelling emptiness. "I'm all right," Grigory spat out, not looking "You're lying! I've got eyes to see!" "Well, and what can you see?" "You're scared! Is it death you're scared of?" "You're a fool!" Grigory said contemptuous- ly, staring narrowly at his finger-nails. "Tell me, have you killed anyone?" Uryupin went on with his probing. "Yes. What of it?" it weigh on your mind?" "Weigh on my mind?" Grigory smiled bitter- sabre from scabbard. "Would you like me to slash your head off?" "And then?" "I'll kill you without a sigh of regret. 526

pity." Uryupin's smiling, but by his voice and the rapacious quiver of his nostrils Grigory realized that he meant what he queer-you're savage," gory, studying Uryupin's intently. "Bah, your heart's made water. Do know this stroke? Watch!" Uryupin selected an old birch-tree in the hedge and it, measuring His long, sinewy arms with their unusu- ally broad wrists hung motionless. "Watch!" He slowly raised it slantwise with terrible force. Complete- severed feet from birch toppled over, its branches scraping at the window and clawing the walls of the hut. "Did you see that? Learn it. There was an called Baklanov, ever heard him? sabre was with quick silver. It was heavy lift, a horse in two with it. Like that!" It took a long time to master difficult technique of the new stroke. strong, but you're a fool with your sabre. This is the way!" Uryupin instructed him, wielding slantwise with terrific force. "Cut man down boldly! Man is as soft as dough." A smile came 527

the why and wherefore. You're a Cossack, and it's your business to cut down without asking questions. To kill your enemy in battle is a ho- ly work. For every man you kill G'od will wipe out one of your sins, just as he does for killing serpent. You mustn't kill an animal unless it's necessary, but destroy man! He's a heathen, unclean; he poisons earth, he lives toadstool !" objections frowned and lapsed obstinate Grigory noticed with surprise that all horses of Uryupin. When he went near them they would prick up their ears and bunch as though an animal were approach- ing, and not a man. On one occasion the squad- ron had attack on foot over a wooded and swampy district. The horses were led aside into dell. Uryupin was among those assigned take charge of the horses, but he flatly refused. "Uryupin, why the devil don't you lead away your horses?" the troop sergeant barked at him. "They're afraid of me. God's truth, they are!" he replied with the usual twinkle his eyes. He never took his turn at minding the horses. He was kind his own mount, observed that whenever he went shiver fidgeted uneasily. 528

changing lazy remarks. From somewhere to the right came the incessant roar of gunfire. A few paces away field of ungathered rye, its ears emptied of grain, was waving in the wind. Gri- gory crawled rye, selected some ears, husked them, and chewed the grain. A group of horsemen rode out of a plantation surveying country, then the direction the Cossacks. "They must be Austrians," claimed under his "breath. let them get closer and send them a volley. Have your rifles ready, boys," he added feverishly. The riders steadily drew closer. They were six Hungarian hussars, in handsome tunics namented with white braid piping. leader, on a big horse, held his carbine in his hands and was quietly laughing. "Fire!" the sergeant ordered. The volley went echoing through the trees. "What's up?" Koshevoi's startled shout came from behind the pines. "Whoa, you devil! Keep still there!" His voice sounded prosaically loud. The hussars galloped single file grain. One of them, the leader, fired into the air. The last hussar dropped behind, clinging to his horse's neck and holding his cap on with left hand. S30

Uryupin was the first to leap to his feet. He sped stumbling through rye, holding his rifle at the trail. Some hundred yards away he found a fallen horse kicking and struggling, and a Hungarian hussar standing close by, rub- bing his knee, which he had hurt in fall. He shouted something and raised in token of surrender, his retreating comrades. hardly had time to take in what was occurring before Uryupin had brought back his prisoner. "Off Hungarian, roughly hussar's sword. prisoner apprehensively fumbled with his belt, only too willing to hand over his sword. But his hands trembled, and he could not manage to unfasten the clasp. Grigo- ry cautiously assisted him, and the hussar, young, fat-cheeked boy with a tiny mole in the corner of his shaven upper lip, thanked with a smile and a nod of the head. He seemed to be deprived of the weapon and, fum- bling in his pocket, pulled out a leather pouch and muttered something, offering the Cossacks tobacco. treating us!" the sergeant smiled, and felt for his papers. 34* 531

from his torn Talking incessantly, he dabbed it with his handkerchief. He had left cap by horse, and he asked permission go and fetch it and his blanket and notebook, in which were photographs of his family. The understand wanted but last waved his hand in despair: "Off with him!" Uryupin took his horse and mounted it. Ad- justing his rifle across his back, he motioned to prisoner. Encouraged Hungarian also smiled and set off at the horse's side. With an attempt at familiarity he patted Uryupin's knee, but the Cossack harshly flung off his hand and pulled on the reins. "Get along. None of your tricks!" prisoner guiltily drew away horse and strode along with a serious face, fre- quently His fair hair stuck up gaily on the crown of his head. So he remained in Grigory's memory: his flaxen tuft hair, and confident, debonair walk. "Melekhov, go and unsaddle his horse!" sergeant ordered, regretfully cigarette, which he had smoked it burned his fingers. Grigory went to the fall- animal, removed undefined reason picked up ly- 533

ing close by. He smelled the lining and caught scent of cheap soap and sweat. He carried the horse's equipment back to the trees, holding the hussar's Squatting on their haunches, the Cossacks rum- maged in the saddle-bags and examined the un- familiar design of the "That tobacco he had was good; we should have asked him for some more," the sergeant sighed at the memory and swallowed down his spittle. Not many minutes had passed when a horse's head appeared through the pines, and Uryupin rode up. "Why, where's the Austrian? You haven't let him go?" the sergeant exclaimed, jumping up in alarm. Uryupin rode up waving his whip, dis- mounted and stretched his shoulders. "What have you done the Austrian?" the sergeant asked again, going up to him. "He tried to run away," Uryupin snarled. "And so you let him?" "We came to an open glade, and he. ... I cut him down." liar!" killed him for nothing." "What are you shouting about? What's it to do with you?" Uryupin fixed icy eyes on 534

hussar lying in the path. He rode up in front reining stared down. The man flung out over the velvety moss, his face down- ward, like autumn turned upward and open. A terrible blow from behind had cloven him in two from the shoul- der to the "Cut him in two . ." the sergeant muttered as he rode past glancing in alarm at the dead man's flaxen tuft of hair sticking up lop-sidedly from the twisted head. The Cossacks rode past the body and on to the squadron headquarters in silence. The eve- ning shadows deepened. A breeze was driving up a black, feathery cloud from the west. From a swamp near by came stagnant marshgrass, of rusty dampness and rot. A bit- tern boomed. The drowsy silence was broken by the jingle of the horses' equipment, and the clank stirrup, scrunch of pine cones under the horses' hoofs. Through glade the dark ruddy gleam the departed sun streamed over the pine trunks. Uryupin smoked incessantly, spark lit up thick their blackened nails firmly gripping the 5^6

The cloud floated over the forest, emphasiz- and deepening fading, inexpressibly mournful hues of the evening shadows on The following morning an assault was begun on the town. Flanked by cavalry and with cav- alry units in reserve, the infantry was to have advanced from forest at dawn. But some- where, someone blundered; the two infantry reg- iments did not arrive in time; the 211th Rifle Regiment was ordered to cross over to the flank, and during the encircling movement itiated by another regiment it was raked with fire from its own batteries. The fusion upset the plans, and threat- ened to end in failure, if not disaster. While the infantry was thus being shuffled about and the artillery hauled its guns bog it had been sent on someone's instruc- tions, order came for the Eleventh Caval- ry Division to advance. The wooded and marshy in which they had been held in readiness did not permit of an extended frontal attack, and in some cases the Cossacks had to advance in troops. The Fourth and Fifth squadrons of the Twelfth Regiment were in reserve forest, and within a few minutes of the general 597

advance the roaring, rending sound of the battle reached their ears. There was a long quivering cheer. Now and then a Cossack spoke: ours." started." a row that machine-gun's making." "Giving our chaps what for," "They're not cheering now, are they?" "Not there yet," "We'll be at it in a minute." The two squadrons drawn glade. The stout pine trunks hemmed them and prevented them from following the course battle. A company of infantry went by almost trot. A brisk, smart-looking N.C.O. back to the rear ranks and shouted hoarsely: "Order in the ranks!" The company tramped past with their equip- jangling and disappeared alder thicket. Far away now, faintly through the trees came that quivering cheer, suddenly breaking off. A deep silence "They've got there now." other." §38

strained ears, hear nothing more; on the right flank the Aus- trian artillery thundered away at the attacking forces; the roar was interspersed with the rattle of machine-guns. Grigory glanced around his troop. The sacks were fidgeting nervously, and the horses restive as though troubled gadflies. Uryupin had hung his cap on saddle-bow wiping head; Grigory' side Misha Koshevoi puffed fiercely at his home- tobacco. objects around were distinct and exaggeratedly real, as they appear after a night of wakefulness. The squadrons were held in reserve for three hours. The firing now died, now rose to a still high- er pitch. An aeroplane roared overhead. circling a few times height, it flew eastward, gaining altitude. Milky puffs of burst- ing shells dotted the blue as anti-aircraft guns stocks of tobacco exhausted and the men were pining in expectation, when just before noon an orderly galloped up with instructions. The Fourth Squadron immediately his men side. To Grigory it seemed that they were treating rather than advancing. His own squad- 539

ron rode for some twenty minutes through the battle drawing nearer and nearer. Not far behind them a battery was firing rapidly; the shells tore through the resist- air with a shrieking roar. The narrow paths broke up squadron's formation, they emerged disorder. About half a verst away Hungarian hussars were sabring the crew of a Russian battery. "Squadron, form!" The Cossacks had not completely carried out the order when the further command came: "Squadron, draw sabres; into the attack, for- ward!" lightening flash blades. swift trot the Cossacks broke into a gallop. Six Hungarian hussars were busily occupied with the horses of the field-gun on the extreme battery. One was dragging bits of the excited artillery horses, another was beating them with flat of his sword, while others were tugging pulling spokes of the carriage wheels. An officer on dock-tailed chocolate mare was giving orders. At the sight of the Cossacks the hussars leapt to their horses. "Closer, closer," counted rhythm of his galloping horse. As galloped, foot momentarily lost its stirrup, and feeling 5^

himself insecure inward alarm he bent over and fished with his toe for the dangling iron. When he had recovered his foothold he looked up and saw the six horses the field-gun of him. The outrider on the foremost in a blood- and brain-spattered shirt, was lying over the animal's neck, embrac- Grigory's horse brought its hoof down sickening scrunch on the body of dead gunner. Two more were lying by an over- shells. A fourth was face downward over the gun-carriage. Silantyev was just in front of Grigory. The Hungarian of- ficer fired at almost point-blank range and the fell, clutching and embrac- pulled on tried to approach the officer from the left, the better to use his sabre; through his manoeuvre and fired under his arm at him. Having discharged the contents revolver, he drew his sword. He parried three smashing blows with the skill of a trained fenc- er. Grigory gritted his teeth and lunged at him yet a fourth time, standing in his stirrups. Their horses were now galloping almost side by side, and he noticed the ashy clean-shaven cheek of the Hungarian and the regimental number sewn collar. With feint he diverted the ficer's attention, and changing the direction of 541

his stroke, thrust the point of his sabre between Hungarian's shoulder-blades. He aimed second blow at the neck, just at the top of the spine. The officer dropped his sword and reins his hands, and arched had been bitten, then toppled over his saddle- bow. relief, at his head, and saw the sabre smash into the bone above A terrible blow on the head from behind tore consciousness away from burning, salty taste of blood in his mouth, and realized that he was falling; from one side the stubbled earth came whirling and flying up him. The heavy crash of his body ground brought him momentarily back to real- ity. He opened his eyes; them. A trample past ears, and the heavy breathing of horses. For the last time he opened his eyes and saw the pink dilated nostrils horse, and someone's stirrup. end!" the comforting thought crawled through his mind like a snake. A roar, and then black emptiness. In the middle of August Yevgeny Listnitsky decided to apply for a transfer from the Ata- Lifeauard Regiment 542

sack regular army regiments. He made his for- mal application, and within weeks ceived the appointment he desired. Before leav- St. Petersburg he wrote to his father: applied tor transfer from the Ataman's Regiment to the regular army. received my appointment today, and am leav- ing for the front to report of the Second Corps. You will probably be sur- prised at my decision, hut explain my reasons. I am sick of my surroundings. Pa- rades, escorts, sentry duty-all this palace vice sets my teeth on edge. I am fed up with I want live work and-if wish-heroic deeds. I suppose it's my Listnitsky blood that is beginning to tell, the honourable blood of those who ever the War of 1812 added laurels to the glory of Russian arms. I am leav- ing for the front. Please give me your blessing. Last week I saw the Emperor before he headquarters. worship the man. standing guard inside the palace, he smiled as he passed me and said in English to Rodzyanko, who was with him: 'My glorious Guard. beat Wilhelm's it' worship him like a schoolgirl. I am not ashamed to confess it, although I am over twenty-eight now. terribly upset by the palace gossip, besmirch- 543

ing the Emperor's glorious name. I don't believe it, I can't I nearly shot Captain Gromov for uttering disrespectful words about Her Imperial Majesty in my pres- ence. vile, people who had the blood serfs flowing their veins could stoop to such filthy slander. incident officers. I was beside myself, I drew my revolv- er and was about to waste a bullet on the cad, but my comrades disarmed me. My comes more miserable with each day spent in this cesspool. In the guards' regiments-among officers, in particular-there is no genuine patriotism, and-one utter there is even no love for the dynasty. This isn't nobility, the rabble. explanation of my break with the regiment. cannot associate with people don't respect. that's about all. Please forgive my in- coherence, in a hurry, I must pack my things and leave. Keep well, Papa. I shall write you a long letter from the Your Yevgeny. for Warsaw Petrograd* 8 p.m. Listnitsky took a drozhki and drove to the * Petersburg renamed Petrograd 1914. 544

Behind him Petrograd a dove blue twinkle of lights. noisy troops. The porter brought in Listnitsky's suit- case and, on receiving a few coins, wished the young gentleman journey. removed his swordbelt and coat, and spread a flowery silk Caucasian eiderdown on the By the window sat a priest with the lean face of an ascetic, his provisions from home laid out on a small table. Brushing the crumbs from his hemp-like beard, he offered some curd-cake a slim dark girl in school uniform sitting in the seat opposite him. "Try something, my dear." "No, thank you." don't be shy, with your com- plexion needs "Try some curd-cake then. Perhaps sir?" Listnitsky glanced down. "Are you addressing me?" "Yes, indeed." The priest's sombre eyes stared piercingly and der his thin drooping moustache. "No, thank you. I don't feel like food now." "You are making a mistake. is no sin to eat. Are you in the army?" 35—1933 545

the destination of the hospital from the doctor in charge, and learned that it had been trans- ferred from the south-western front to the sec- tor in which his own regiment was engaged. The doctor spoke very unfavourably of his im- mediate superiors, and, tugging his beard, his eyes glow- ing behind his pince-nez, poured his jaundiced anger into the ears of his chance acquaintance. "Can you take me to Bereznyagi?" Listnitsky interrupted him. trap. Lieutenant," agreed, and familiarly the button on Listnitsky's coat, rumbled on with his complaints. "Just imagine it. Lieutenant. We've travelled two hundred versts in cattle trucks only to loaf about here, with nothing to do at a time when a bloody battle has been going on for two days which my transferred. There were hundreds of wounded there who needed our help badly!" The doctor repeated the words "bloody bat- tle" with spiteful relish. "How do explain absurdity?" the lieutenant asked out of politeness. "How?" The doctor raised his eyebrows iron- ically pince-nez and roared: "Disor- der, chaos, stupidity the commanding -that's the reason why. Scoundrels occupy high 35* 547

posts and mix Inefficient, lacking even common sense. Do you remember Vere- sayev's memoirs Russo-Japanese war? the same thing twice as bad." Listnitsky saluted him and went to the carts. The angry doctor, his puffy trem- bling, was croaking behind him: "We'll lose the war. Lieutenant. We lost one to the Japanese but didn't grow any the wiser. brag, all." And he went rails, stepping puddles filmed with rainbow spangles of oil, and shak- ing his head despairingly. Dusk was proached Bereznyagi. The wind ruffled the yel- low stubble. Clouds were massing in the west. At their height they were a deep violet black, but below shaded tender, smoky lilac. the middle the formless piled ice-floes against a river dam, was drawn aside. Through breach poured an orange flood of sunset rays, spreading spurtling fan of light and weaving a Bacchanalian spec- trum of colours below. A dead horse lay by the roadside ditch. On one of its hoofs, flung weirdly upward, the horse- shoe gleamed. As the trap jogged nitsky carcass. The orderly with 548

whom he was riding spat and explained: "Been guzzling eating much grain . ." he corrected himself; he was spit again politeness' sake swallowed his spittle and wiped his mouth with sleeve. "There lies, and no one troubles to bury Russians. The different." "What do you know about it?" Yevgeny asked with unreasoning anger. At that filled with hatred for the orderly's phleg- matic face with its suggestion of superiority and contempt. The man was grey and dreary a stubble field in September; he was in no way different from the thousands of peasant soldiers whom Yevgeny had seen on his way to the front. all seemed faded and drooping, dullness green or any colour, and they strongly reminded him of ancient, well-worn copper coins. "I lived in Germany for three years before the war," unhurriedly. voice was shade superiority and contempt that showed in his face. "I worked cigar factory in Konigsberg," order- ly continued lazily, flicking the horse with the knotted rein. "Hold your Listnitsky commanded 549

sternly, head with its forelock tousled over its eyes and its bare sun-yellowed row of One leg was raised and bent in an arch; the hoof was slightly cracked but the hollow had a smooth grey-blue gleam about the lieu- tenant could tell by the leg and by the finely chiselled pastern that the horse was young and a good breed. They drove on the bumpy road. The colours faded in the west, a wind sprang up and scattered the clouds. Behind them the leg of the dead horse stuck up like a broken wayside cross. As Yevgeny stared back at it, a sheaf of rays fell suddenly on the horse, and in their orange light the leg with its sorrel hair blossomed unexpect- edly like some marvellous leafless branch legend. hospital drove into Bereznyagi it passed a transport of wounded soldiers. An elderly Byelorussian, the owner of the first wag- strode along his horse's head, the hem- pen reins gathered in his hands. On the wagon bandaged head. He was his elbow, but his eyes were wearily as he chewed bread and spat out the black mess. At his side a soldier was stretched out; buttocks his torn horribly shrivelled taut congealed 550

blood. He was cursing savagely, lift- ing his head. Listnitsky was horrified as he tened to the intonation of the man's voice, for it sounded exactly like a believer fervently mut- tering prayers. On the second Vv^agon five or six soldiers were lying side by side. One of them, possessed of a feverish gaiety, his eyes unnatu- rally bright and inflamed, was telling a story: . It seems an ambassador from that em.per- or of theirs came here and made an offer about having peace. The was an honest man who told me. I'm hoping he wasn't spinning a yarn." "I expect he was," one of the others rejoined doubtfully, his round head that bore scars of a recent attack scrofula. "But perhaps he really come here," sponded a third man who was sitting with his Volga country brogue. On the fifth wagon three Cossacks were com- fortably seated. at him, their harsh dusty showing no sign of respect for an officer. "Good-day, Cossacks!" the lieutenant greeted "Good-day, Your Honour," the handsome sil- ver-moustached Cossack sitting nearest the driv- er replied indifferently. 551

Listnitsky emptied on to the man's broad brown palm and asked: "Many wounded in your regiment?" "A couple of dozen." "Heavy losses?" "A lot of us have been killed. Light a match for me. Your Honour. Thank you kindly." The Cossack took light and as he dropped hind he shouted: "Three Cossacks from Tatarsky, estate, killed. done in a lot of us Cossacks." He waved his sound hand and went to catch up with the wagon. The wind flapped through his unbelted tunic. The commander of Listnitsky's new regiment his headquarters in the house of a priest. On the square Listnitsky took leave of the doc- tor, who had kindly offered him seat in the trap, and went find regimental headquarters, brushing the dust off his uniform as he walked. A vividly red-bearded sergeant- major, busy changing the guard, marched past him with a sentry. He saluted smartly and, question, pointed out the house. The place was very quiet and slack, like staff headquarters situated away from line. Clerks were bent over table; captain was the mouth- field-telephone. droned 553

around the windows, and distant telephone bells buzzed like mosquitoes. An orderly conducted Yevgeny to the regimental commander's private room. They were met on the threshold by a tall colonel with a scar on his chin, him coldly, and with a gesture invited him into the room. As he closed the door passed his hand over his hair with a gesture of ineffable weariness, and said in a soft, monoto- nous voice: "The brigade staff informed me yesterday that you were on your way. Sit down." questioned Yevgeny service, asked for the latest news from the cap- ital, inquired about his journey, all their brief conversation did he raise his weary eyes to Listnitsky's "He must have had a hard time at the front; he looks mortally tired," Yevgeny thought sym- pathetically. As though deliberately disillu- sion the bridge his nose with his sword-hilt and remarked: Lieutenant, m.ust ac- quaintance of your brother officers. You must ex- cuse me, I haven't been to bed for three nights running. In this dead hole there's nothing to do except play cards and get drunk." saluted hiding his contempt with a smile. He went out 554

reflecting unfavourably meeting his commanding ironically amused at the respect which the colonel's tired appearance scar on chin had stilled in him. The division was allotted the task of forcing the river Styr and taking the enemy in the rear. In a few days Listnitsky got used to the cers regiment and was quickly drawn into the atmosphere of battle, which drove out ease and complacency crept into his soul. The operations to force the ried through brilliantly. The division shattered a concentration of enemy forces on their left flank, and came out in the rear of the main forces. The Austrians attempted initi- ate a counter-offensive with the aid of Magyar cavalry, but batteries swept them away with shrapnel, and the Magyar squadrons in disorder, cut to pieces by flanking fire and pursued by the Cossacks. Listnitsky went the counter-attack with his regiment. The troop he commanded lost one Cossack, and four were wounded. One of them, a young, hook-nosed man was crushed under his dead horse. Outwardly calm, the lieutenant 555

rode past trying not to hear the Cossack's low hoarse groaning. He was wounded in the shoul- der and kept beseeching past: "Brothers, don't leave me. Get me free of the His low, tortured voice could be heard call- faintly, but there was no spark of pity the surging hearts of the other Cossacks, or there was, it was crushed by the will that drove them on relentlessly, forbidding mount. The troop rode on for five minutes at a trot, letting the horses recover their wind. Half a verst away scattered Magyar squadrons were in full retreat; here and there among them appeared the grey-blue uniforms of the enemy infantry. An Austrian baggage train crawled along the crest of a hill with the farewell smoke of shell bursts hovering above it. From the left a battery was bombarding the train, and its dull thunder echoed The sergeant-major leading the battalion gave the command "canter" and the three squadrons broke into flagging trot. The horses swayed under their riders and foam scattered from their flanks in yellowish pink blossoms. The regiment halted for the night in a small village. The twelve officers were all crowded 556

into one hut. Broken with fatigue and hunger, they lay down to sleep. The field-kitchen arrived only about midnight. Cornet Chubov brought in a pot of soup. The rich smell awakened the offi- cers and within a few minutes, their faces puffy with sleep, they were eating in greedy lence, making up for the two days lost in battle. meal sleepiness passed, and they on their cloaks straw talking and smoking. Junior captain Kalmykov, a tubby ficer whose face as well his name bore the Mongolian origin, gesticulated fiercely as he declared: "This war born centuries late. You know, see the end of the war." "Oh, drop your fortune-telling!" "It's not fortune-telling. It's my predestined end. atavistic, superfluous When we were under fire today I trembled with frenzy; I can't stand not seeing the enemy. The horrible equivalent fear. at you from and you ride a bustard hunted steppe." "I had a look at an Austrian howitzer in Ku- palka. Have any of you seen one, gentlemen?" asked Captain Atamanchukov, licking 557

mains of tinned meat off his ginger moustache, which was clipped in the English style. "A wonderful piece of work! Those sights, the mechanism-sheer perfection," thusiastic reply came from Cornet Chubov, who had by this time emptied a second mess-tin of soup. "I have seen it, but I have nothing to say. am a complete ignoramus where artillery is con- cerned. To me it was just a gun like any other, with a big barrel, that's all." "I envy those who old-tim.e, primitive fashion/' Kalmykov continued, turning Listnitsky. "To at your opponent honourable battle, and to split him in two with your sword-that's the sort of warfare I under- stand. But devil knows what." "In future wars cavalry will play no part. will be abolished." "It simply won't exist." "Well, that I couldn't say." "No doubt about "But you replace machines.- You're going too far." "I'm not referring to men, but to horses. Mo- tor cycles or motor cars will take their place." "I can just imagine a motor squadron!" all nonsense!" Kalmykov interposed excitedly. "An absurd fantasy! Armies will use 555

horses for a long time yet. We don't know what war will be like in two or three centuries' time, but today cavalry. you do the cavalry when there are trenches all along the front? Tell me trenches, across them, and make sorties of the enemy; that will be the cavalry's task." "Nonsense!" "Oh, shut up and let's get some sleep." The argument tailed off, and snores took place. Listnitsky lay on his back, breathing the pungent scent of the musty straw on which he had spread cloak. Kalmykov lay down his side. "You should have talk with the volunteer Bunchuk," he whispered to Yevgeny. your troop. A very interesting fellow!" way?" to Kalmykov. "He's a Russianized Cossack. Lived in Mos- cow. An ordinary worker, but interested in the question of machinery. first-rate ma- chine-gunner, "Let's go to sleep," Listnitsky proposed. "Perhaps we should," Kalmykov agreed, thinking of something else. He frowned sheep- ishly: "You must forgive Lieutenant, 559

the way my smell. You know, changed my socks fortnight, simply rotting with sweat. foul. I must get a pair of foot-cloths from one of the men." all," mumbled dropped asleep. Listnitsky completely forgot Kalmykov's refer- ence to Bunchuk, but the very next day chance brought him into contact with the volunteer. The regimental commander ordered him dawn on reconnaissance patrol, and if possible establish contact with the infantry regiment which was continuing the advance on the flank. Stumbling about the yard in the half-light, and falling over the bodies of sleeping Cossacks, Listnitsky found the troop sergeant and roused him: "I want five men to go on a reconnaissance with me. Have my horse got ready. Quickly!" While he was waiting for the men to assem- ble, a stocky Cossack came to the door of the hut. "Your Honour," the man said, "the sergeant will not let me go with you because it isn't my turn. Will you give me permission to go?" for promotion? Or have you done something wrong?" Listnitsky asked, try- ing to make out the man's face in the darkness. 560

his greenish eyes was harsh and fixed. "I'm terested in the art of war. I want to master military schools established that purpose." "There are." is your reason?" "I want to study it in practice first. I can get the theory afterwards." "What were you before the war broke out?" "A worker." "Where were you working?" Petersburg, Rostov, armament works at Tula. I'm thinking of applying to be transferred a machine-gun detachment." "Do machine- guns?" can handle Bertier, Madsen, Maxim, Hotchkiss, Vickers, Lewis, makes." "Oho! I'll have a word with the regimental commander about it!" "Please do." Listnitsky glanced again at Bunchuk's stocky figure. It reminded him of the Don-side cork- elm. There was nothing remarkable about man. Only the firmly pressed jaws and the direct challenging glance distinguished him from the rank-and-file Cossacks him. He smiled but rarely, with only the corners 562

of his lips; and even then his eyes grew no soft- er, but still retained a faint gleam of aloofness. Coldly restrained, he was exactly like the cork- elm, the tree of a stern, iron hardness that grows on the grey, loose soil of the inhospitable Don- side earth. They rode while. Bunchuk rested his broad palms on his blistered saddle- bow. Listnitsky selected a cigarette, and as he Bunchuk's match he smelled sweet resinous scent of horse's sweat man's hand. The back of his hand was thickly covered with brown hair, and Listnitsky felt an involuntary desire to stroke Swallowing pungent tobacco smoke, he said: "When we get to the wood, you and another Cossack will take the track running off to the left. Do you see it?" "If you don't come across our infantry by time you verst, "Very good." They broke into a At a turn forest stood a clump of maidenly birches. Beyond them the eye was wearied by the joyless yellow of stunt- pines, forest undergrowth 36* 563

and bushes crushed by Austrian baggage trains. On the right the earth trembled with the thun- der artillery, but by birches was inexpressibly quiet. The earth was drink- ing in the heavy dew; the pink-hued grasses were flooded with autumnal colours of the speedy death of colour. Listnitsky halted by the birches and, taking out his binoculars, studied the rise beyond the forest. A bee settled on the honey-coloured hilt of his sabre. "Stupid!" Bunchuk compassionately. is?" Listnitsky turned to him. With his eyes Bunchuk indicated the bee, and Listnitsky smiled: "Its honey will be bitter, don't you think?" It was not Bunchuk that answered him. From distant clump of pines a piercing magpie stutter shattered silence, spurt birches, sending branch crashing on to the neck of Listnitsky's They turned and galloped back towards village, urging on their horses with shout and whip. The Austrian machine-gun flung the rest its ammunition after them. After this first encounter Listnitsky had more than one talk with the volunteer Bunchuk. On each occasion he was struck by inflexible 564

will that gleamed in the man's eyes, and could discover what lay behind the intangible secrecy that veiled the face of one so ordinary- looking. Bunchuk always spoke with compressed his firm lips, and he gave nitsky the impression applying a definite rule to trace a tortuous path. He was transferred detachment. A few days later, while the regiment was resting walking along by burned-out "Ah! Volunteer Bunchuk!" The Cossack turned his head and saluted. are you going?" "To my commander." "Then we're going the same way." For some time they walked along the the ruined People were moving about round the few outbuildings that remained intact, horsemen rode past, a field-kitchen was middle of the street with a long queue of Cos- sacks waiting a cold drizzle learning art of war?" Bun- chuk, who was slightly behind I am," 565

bare-headed departed one: "Oh, my darling, who has taken you me?" The dear heads were laid low on all sides, the Cos- sack blood was shed, and glassy-eyes, unwake- able, they rotted while the artillery thundered its funeral dirge in Austria, in Poland, in Prus- sia. . For the eastern wind did not carry the weeping of their wives and mothers The flower of the Cossackry had left the lages and perished amid the lice and horror of battle-fields. One pleasant September day a milky gossa- mer web, fine and cottony, hung over the lage of Tatarsky. The bloodless sun smiled like one bereft, the stern, virginal blue sky was re- pellently clear and proud. Beyond the forest was a jaundiced yellow, the poplar gleamed pallidly, the oak figured leaves; only the alder remained gaudi- ly green, gladdening the keen eye of the mag- pie with its hardiness. letter from the army on active service. Dunya it back from the post. As the postmas- ter handed to her he bowed, shook his old bald pate, and deprecatingly opened his arms. "Forgive me for the love of God for opening letter. Tell your father I opened I badly 567

to know how the war was going. Forgive me and tell Pantelei Prokofyevich what said." He seemed confused and, unaware the ink-smear on his nose, came out of his of- fice v/ith Dunya, muttering something unintel- ligible. Filled foreboding, home, and fumbled at her breast a long time plucking his beard. As she drew it out she said breathlessly: "The postmaster told me he had read the let- ter and that you mustn't be angry with him." him! it from Grigory?" agitatedly face. "From Grigory? Or from Pyotr?" Father. ... don't know writing." Ilyinichna cried, tottering heavily the bench. Her legs were giving her much trouble days. in from yard and stood by the stove with her head on side, her elbows pressing into her breasts. A smile trembled like sunlight on her lips. She still hoped for a message from Grigory or the slightest reference letters, for her dog-like devotion and fidelity. "Where's Darya?" Ilyinichna whispered. "Shut up!" added to Dunya. 568

arrival of the letter Pantelei seemed wilt. old- er every His memory to go and his mind lost its clarity. He walked about with bowed back, his face an iron hue; and fe- verish gleam in his eyes betrayed his mental stress. He put the letter away under the icon. Sever- al times a day he went into the porch to beckon Dunya. order her to get the letter and it to him, fearfully glancing at the door of the best room his wife was mourning. "Read it quiet- ly, to yourself like," he would say, winking cunningly. Choking would read the first sentence, and then Pantelei, squatting on his heels, would raise huge, hoof-like brown hand: "All right. I know the rest. Take back and put it where you found it. Quietly, or Mother. . ." And he would wink repulsively, his whole face contorted like burnt tree-bark. He began to go grey, and the dazzling grey hairs swiftly patched wove threads into his beard. He grew gluttonous too, and gobbled his food. Nine days after the requiem mass, the Me- Ickhovs invited Father Vissarion and their rela- 570

tions to the repast in memory of the fallen Gri- gory. Pantelei ate fast and ravenously with the noodles hanging from his beard ringlets. Ilyinichna, who had anxiously watching him during the past few days, burst into tears; "Father, what's the matter with you?" "Eh?" the old man said with a start, raising bleary plate. waved her hand and turned away, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes. "Father, you eat as though you had fasted for three days," Darya said angrily, her eyes tering. eat...? won't," plied, overcome embarrassment. glanced around the table, then, pressing his lips together, and sitting with brows, lapsed silence, not even replying to ques- tions. "Have courage, Prokofyevich! What's the good of grieving so much?" Father Vissarion attempt- rally him when meal was ended. "Grigory's death was a holy one; don't offend God, old man. Your son has received a crown of thorns for his tsar and his fatherland. And it's a sin, and God won't pardon you." "That's just it. Father! 'Died the death of the brave.' his commander said." Kissing the priest's hand, the old man leaned 571

door-post, and since the arrival tears, his body shaking violently. that day he regained self-control and recovered a little from the blow. Each licked the wound in his own way. When Natalya heard Dunya scream that Grigory was dead she ran into the yard. kill myself. It's all over for me," the thought drove her on fire. She struggled in Darya's arms, and then with joyful relief she swooned, for at least it postponed the moment when consciousness would return and violently remind her of what had happened. She passed a week in dull ob- livion, and returned reality changed, quieter, gnawed impo- tence. invisible corpse haunted house and the living breathed in its mouldering scent. On the twelfth day after news gory's death the Melekhovs received two letters by the same post from Pyotr. Dunya read them at the post office, and went speeding home like a stalk caught up by the wind, swayed stopped, caused great fluster in the village, and carried 572

indescribable agitation "Grisha's alive! Our dear one's alive!" sobbed and cried when "Pyotr's written. Grisha's wounded, but isn't dead. He's alive, alive!" In his dated 20th, Pyotr had written: Greetings, dear parents, tell you that our Grisha all but gave up the ghost, but now. glory be, he's alive and well, as we wish you in the name oi the Lord God health and well-be- Close to oi Kamenka-Strumilo- vo his regiment was in battle, and in the attack the Cossacks oi his troop saw him cut down by a Hungarian hussar, and Grigory iell irom his horse and aiter that nobody knew anything, and when I asked them they could tell me noth- aiterwards I learned irom that Grigory lay till night-time, but that in the night he crawling away. He crawled along making way by the stars, and came across one oi our oiBcers wounded in the belly by a shell. He picked him up and dragged him ior six versts. And ior this Grigory has been given the Cross oi St. George and has been raised to the rank oi corporal. Think oi that! His wound 573

isn't serious, he only received a skin wound on the scalp, hut he tell iroin his horse, and got stunned. Misha told me he is already hack at excuse writing in the saddle. his second letter Pyotr asked his family to send him some dried cherries from their own orchard, and told them not to forget him but to write more often. In the same letter he upbraid- Grigory because, so he had told, was not looking after his horse properly, Pyotr was angry, the horse was his. He asked to write said he had sent a message to him that did not look after the horse he would give him one on the nose that would draw blood, if he had got the Cross of St. George. The ended with an endless list of greetings and be- tween the crumpled, rain-blotted lines it was not hard to detect a feeling of bitterness and grief. Evidently Pyotr was not having an easy time at the front either. Old Pantelei was see. He was dazed with joy. He seized both letters and went into the village with them, stopping who could read and forcing them to read the letters. It was not vanity but belated joy made him brag all through the village, 574

fed her It's through her foolish- ness that her father has to bear such shame and can't hold up his head in the village." Miron went to Pantelei thrust out his oak-coloured hand: are you?" "Thanks to God. "Been shopping?" Pantelei shook his head. "These are gifts to our hero. Sergei Platonovich read about deed the peapers and has sweets and tobacco. Do you know, the tears came to his eyes," the old man boasted, staring fixed- ly into Miron's face in the attempt to discover what impression his words had made. The shadows gathered under Miron's blond eye-lashes, his face condescending "I see!" he croaked, and turned to cross the Pantelei hurried after him, opening the bag and trembling with anger. "Here, try these chocolates, they're as sweet as honey," he said spitefully. "Try offer them in my son's name. Your is none too sweet, so you can have one; and your son may earn such an honour some day, but then he may not." "Don't pry into my life. ... it's like." 37—1933 577

the bank of a ditch and pulled out his old bacco pouch. "You know, Prokofyevich, devil knows why you went for me like a quarrelsome cock. is, things aren't too good, they? want to know," changed to a hard, rough tone, "how long your son's make a laughing-stock of Natalya. "You must ask him about it, not me." "I've nothing to ask him; you're the head of your house and I'm talking to you." Pantelei squeezed the chocolate he still held in his hand, and the sticky mess oozed through wiped brown clay of the bank and silently began make a cigarette, opening the packet of Turkish tobacco and taking a pinch. Then he offered the packet to Miron. Korshunov took it with- hesitation and made cigarette from tobacco Mokhov had presented so generously. Above them hung a sumptuous foaming white cloud, and tender stretched up it, wavering in the wind. The day came close. The stillness was lulled in peace and inexpressible sweetness. The sky had lost summer gleam, a hazy dove colour. Apple- knows where, 37* 579

scattered the ditch with vivid purple. The road disappeared over the undulating ridge hill; in vain did it beckon towards the unknown regions emerald, dream-vague thread of the horizon. Held down to their huts and their daily round, the people pined in their labour, exhausted their strength on the threshing- floor; and the road, a deserted, yearning track, flowed across the horizon into the unseen. The wind trod along stirring up the dust. "This is weak tobacco, it's like grass," Miron said, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "It's weak, but pleasant," agreed. "Give me an answer, Pantelei," a quieter tone, putting out his ciga- rette. "Grigory never says anything about it in his letters. He's wounded now." I've heard. "What will come after, I don't know. Maybe he'll be killed, and then what?" "But how can it go on blinked distractedly and miserably. "There she is, neither maid nor wife nor honest widow, and it's a disgrace. If I had known it was going to turn out like this I'd never have allowed the match-makers across my threshold. Ah, Pante- 580

lei Pantelei. . Each child. Blood is thicker than water." "How can I help restrained frenzy. "Tell me! Do you think I'm glad my son left home? Was it any gain to me? You people!" "Write him," dictated, trickling from under ditch kept time with words. "Let him say once and for all." child by he'll have a child by this!" Korshunov shouted, turning livid. "Can you treat a human that? Huh? kill herself and is maimed for life. ... Do you to trample into the grave? Huh. heart, his heart . ." Miron hissed, breast with one hand, tugging at Pante- lei's tails with a wolf's heart he's got?" Pantelei wheezed and turned away. "The woman's devoted to him, and no other life for her without him. Is she a serf in your service?" "She's more than a daughter us! Hold your tongue!" shouted, and he rose from the bank. They parted without a word of farewell, and in different directions. 581

When swept its normal channel, scatters into many streams. foresee which it will take in its treacherous and winding course. Where today trickles, like a rivulet over sand-banks, so shallow shoals visible, tomorrow full. Suddenly Natalya came to the decision to go to Aksinya at Yagodnoye, and to ask, to be- seech her to return Grigory her. For some it seemed to Natalya depended on Aksinya, that she had only to ask her and Grigory would return, and with him, her own former happiness. She did not stop to con- sider whether this was possible, or how Aksi- nya would receive her strange request. Driven on by subconscious motives, she sought to act upon her decision as quickly possible. At the end of the month a letter arrived from Grigory. After messages to his father and moth- er he sent his greeting and regards to Natalya. Whatever the reason inciting him to the stimulus Natalya required, and she made ready to go to Yagodnoye the very next Sun- Natalya?" Dunya 582

asked, watching her as she attentively studied features of looking-glass. "I'm going to visit my people," Natalya lied, and blushed she realized for the risking great humiliation, ter- rible moral test. "You might have an evening out with once," suggested. "Come evening, won't you?" "I don't know, but I don't think so." little nun! Our turn only comes when our husbands are away," Darya said with a wink and stooped to examine the embroidered hem of her new pale-blue skirt. Darya had altered considerably departure. Unrest showed eyes, her movements riage. arrayed herself more diligently on Sundays, and came back sombre-eyed temper, complain to Natalya: "It's terrible, really it is! They've taken away all the decent Cossacks, and left only boys and old men in the village!" difference that make there's nobody to lark about with an evening. If only I could go off alone There's no fun to be had with our father-in-law." And with cynical frank- 583

ness Natalya: "How can you bear dear; so long without a Cossack?" "Shame on you! Haven't you any science?" Natalya blushed. "Don't you feel any desire?" "It's clear you do." "Of do!" laughed and the arches of her brows quivered. "Why should I hide it? I'd make even an old hot and bothered very minute! think, it's two months since Pyotr left." laying up sorrow Da- rya." "Shut up, you respectable old woman! know you quiet ones! You would never admit admit." Darya gave her an amused sidelong glance, and bit her lips with her small snappish teeth. other day Timofei Manitsev, man's son, sat down beside me. I could see he begin. Then he his hand under my arm, trembling. I just waited and said nothing, but I was getting angry. If he had been a lad now -but he's only snot. Sixteen years old, not a day more. I sat without speaking, and he pawed and pawed, and whispered: 'Come along to our shed.' Then I gave him something!" 684

She laughed merrily; her brows quivered and laughter spurted from half-closed "What a ticking off I gave him! I jumped up. 'Oh, you this and that! yellow -necked whelp! Do you think you can wheedle me like that? When did you wet the bed last?' I gave him a fine talking to." Natalya had changed late, and their relations had grown simple and friendly. The dislike which the younger woman was gone, two, in every respect, lived together ami- cably. Natalya finished dressing and went out. Da- rya overtook her in the porch. "You'll open the door for me tonight?" "I expect I shall stop the night with my peo- ple." Darya thoughtfully scratched her nose her comb and shook her head: I didn't want to ask Dunya, I shall have to." Natalya told Ilyinichna she was going to vis- it her people, went into street. The wagons were rattling away from the market in the square, and the villagers were coming from church. She turned up a side lane and hurried- ly climbed the hill. At the top she turned and 585

back. The sun- light, little limewashed houses looked daz- zlingly white, and the sun glittered on the steep mill, making sheet-iron ter like molten ore. Yagodnoye also had been plucked menfolk by the war. Venyamin and Tikhon had gone, and the place was even sleepier, drearier and more isolated than before. Aksinya wait- ed on the in Venyamin's place, while fat-bottomed Lukerya took the cook- ing and fed the fowls. Old Sashka tended horses and looked after the orchard. There was only one new face, an old Cossack named Niki- tich who had been taken on as coachman. This year old Listnitsky sowed less, and sup- plied some twenty horses for army remounts, leaving only three or four for the needs of the estate. He passed his time shooting bustards and hunting with the borzois. brief, infrequent let- ters from Grigory, informing her that so far he was well and going through the grind. He had grown stronger, or else he did not want to her of his weakness, for he never slip any complaint that he found active service 586

and dreary. There was a cold note in his let ters, as though he had written them because he felt he had to, and only in one did he write: "All the time at the front, and I'm fed up with fighting and death on my back." every letter he asked after his daughter, telling to write about her. Aksinya seemed to bear the separation brave- All her love for Grigory especially after she became vinced that his. Life gave irrefu- proofs that: girl's chestnut was replaced curly growth; eyes changed to a dark tint, and grew elongated in their slits. With every day she became more and more like her father; even her smile was Grigory's. Now Aksinya could see him beyond doubt child, and her feeling deepened. No longer did she start back from the cradle, she sometimes had before, she discerned in the child's sleeping face some likeness to the hated features of Stepan. the days crawled on, and at the end of each a caustic bitterness in Aksinya's breast. Anxiety beloved pierced her mind like a sharp needle; it left her neither day night. Restrained hours of labour, it burst all dams at night, and she tossed and turned, weeping soundlessly 5S7

biting her hand avoid awakening child with her sobs; she tried to kill her mental anguish physical pain. She wept rest of her tears into the baby's napkins, th.ink- ing in her childish naivete: "It's Grisha's child, he must feel in his heart how I yearn for him." After nights such as this she arose morning as though she had been beaten unmerci- fully. All her body ached, little silver hammers knocked incessantly veins, and sorrow lurked in the corners of her lips. The nights of yearning aged Aksinya. One Sunday she had given her master his breakfast, and was standing on the steps when she saw a woman approaching eyes under the white kerchief seemed strange- ly familiar. The v/oman opened the gate Aksinya turned pale recognized Natalya. slowly went meet her. A heavy layer of dust had settled on Na- talya's shoes. big, toil-rough- ened hands hanging lifelessly sides, and breathed straighten scarred neck and failing, so that it seemed she looked sideways. "I've come see you, Aksi- nya," said, running her dry tongue Aksinya gave a swift glance at the windows of the house and led Natalya into her 58$

Natalya followed her. To straining ears the rustle of Aksinya's skirt seemed unna- turally loud. something wrong my ears, it must be heat," confused thought scratched at her brain with a host others. Aksinya closed the door, and standing in the middle of the room with her hands under her apron, took charge of the situation. stealthily, almost in a whisper, drink," heavily about the room, to speak, with difficulty raising her voice: "You've taken my husband from me. . Give me my Grigory back. You've broken m.y see how. "You want your husband?" Aksinya clenched her teeth, and the words fell steadily like slow raindrops on stone. "You want your husband? Who are you asking? Why come? You've thought of it too late. Too late!" caustically, her whole body sway- ing, Aksinya went close up sneered as she stared in the face of her enemy. she stood, the lawful abandoned wife, humiliated, crushed with misery. She who had come between Aksinya and sep- 589

arating causing a bloody pain in Aksi- nya's heart. And while she had been herself out with mortal longing, this other one, this Natalya, had been caressing no doubt laughing unsuccessful, forsaken mistress. "And you've come ask me up?" Aksinya panted. creeping snake! You took Grisha away from me first! You knew with me. Why did you marry him? I only took back my own. mine. have a child by him, but you. With stormy hatred she stared into Natalya's eyes, and, waving her arms wildly, poured out a boiling torrent of words. "Grisha's mine, and give him up to no one! mine, mine! D'you hear...? Mine! Clear out, you shameless bitch, you're not his wife. You to rob a child its father? And why didn't you come before? Well, why didn't you come before?" Natalya went sideways the bench and down, dropping her head and covering her face with her hands. left your husband. shout "I have no husband but Grisha. No one, no- the whole world." Feeling an anger that could not find vent raging within her, Ak- 590

sinya gazed at the strand of black hair that had slipped from under Natalya's kerchief. "Does he need you?" she demanded, "Look at your neck! And longs for you? He left you when you were well, is he likely to look at a cripple? I won't give Grisha up! That's I have to say. Clear out!" Aksinya grew ferocious in defence nest, in revenge for all the suffering of the past. She could see that, despite the slightly crooked neck, Natalya was good-looking Natalya's cheeks and lips were fresh, untouched webbed with wrinkles, and all because of Natalya. "Do you I had any hope him back by asking?" Natalya raised her eyes, drunk with suffering, "Then why did you come?" Aksinya panted. "My yearning drove me on," Awakened by voices, daugh- ter stirred in the bed and cry. The mother took up the child, with her face to the window. Trembling in ev- ery limb, Natalya gazed infant. A dry spasm clutched her throat. Grigory's eyes stared at her inquisitively from the baby's Weeping swaying, she walked porch. Aksinya 591

A minute or two Sashka came "Who was that woman?" he asked, evidently half-guessing. "Someone from our village." Natalya walked back about three versts, and then lay down under a wild thorn. Crushed by yearning, lay thinking nothing. Grigory's gloomy black eyes staring cut of a face were continually before So vivid it was almost a blinding pain, the night after the battle remained for ever im- printed Grigory's memory. He consciousness time before dawn; stirred among stubble, and he groaned with the pain that With an effort he raised his hand, drew it up brow, and blood-clotted hair. his finger touched the wound it was as if a red-hot ember had been placed there. Then, grinding his teeth, he rolled over. Above him the frost-nipped leaves of a tree rustled mourn- fully with a glassy tinkle. The black branches clearly outlined against background of glittered 592

among them. Grigory gazed unwinkingly, and bluish- fruits hanging from the twigs. Realizing what him, and conscious of an inescapable horror, he crawled fours, grinding teeth. The pain played with him, threw him down head- long. He seemed to be crawling for an eterni- ty. He look back; tree stood out blackly some fifty paces away. Once crawled corpse, bows the dead man's hard, sick with loss of blood, and he wept babe, and chewed the dewy avoid consciousness. By an overturned case of shells he managed to get on to his feet, swaying, to walk. return; stepped out more firmly, and was even able to his bearings by Great Bear, moving in an easterly direction. forest he was halted by a sudden warning shout: "Stop, or fire!" He heard the click of a revolver, and looked in the direction of the sound. A man was lean- pine-tree, are you?" he sound of his voice as though it were another's. 38—1933 593

At eleven o'clock they were picked up by patrol and taken to a dressing slipped away from very next day. Once on the road he bandage from his head, and walked along wav- ing the blood-soaked bandage in his relief. "Where have you come from?" his squadron commander asked him in amazement, when he turned up at regimental headquarters. "I've returned duty. Your Honour." left the squadron commander, Gri- gory saw his troop sergeant. "My horse . the bay, where all right, lad. We caught him as soon as we had with the Austrians. what about you? We were praying to heaven." "You were hurry," a grim extract from regimental orders follows ) saving 9th regiment of dragoons Lieutenant-Colo- nel Gustav Grozberg, Cossack of the 12th Don Cossack Regiment Melekhov pro- moted to the rank of corporal and recommend- ed for the St. George Cross, 4th class." Grigory's squadron had halted in Kamenka- Strumilovo for two days, and were now 38* 595

paring to advance house in which the Cossacks of his troop were quartered, and went horse. His towels and some underlinen were missing from saddle-bags. "Stolen Misha Koshevoi admitted guiltily. "There was a swarm quartered here, and they stole them." "Well, they can keep them, damn them! Only I want to bandage my head." "You can take my towel." Uryupin came into the shed where they were standing. He held out as though the between him and Grigory had occurred. "Hullo, Melekhov! So you're still alive!" "More less." head's bleeding. Wipe yourself." "I will in my own time." "Let's have a look at what they've done • He forced back Grigory's head, and snorted: let them cut your off? What a sight you are! The doctors won't help any. Let me heal you." consent he drew a cartridge out of his cartridge-case, broke 596

the bullet open and pow- der into his hand. "Misha, find me a spider's web." With the point of his sabre Koshevoi scraped a web from a beam and handed to Uryupin. dug up some mixing web and powder, chewed it between his teeth. Then he plastered mess bleeding wound and smiled: "It'll be all right again in three days," he de- clared. "But here I am looking after you, and yet you would have killed me." "Thanks for looking after me, but if I'd killed had one sin on my conscience." "What a simpleton you are, lad." "Maybe. What's my head look like?" "There's a cut half an inch deep. Something to remember them by." shan't forget them." "You couldn't if you wanted to; the Austrians don't sharpen their swords properly have a scar for the rest of your life." "Lucky for you, Grigory, that he got you on the slant, or you'd have been buried on foreign soil," said Koshevoi with a "What shall I do with my cap?" 597

Grigory twisted his hacked and blood-stained cap confusedly in his hands. "Throw it away, the dogs will eat "The grub's arrived, lads. Come and get it!" came a shout from the door of the house. Grigory's bay horse whinnied after him, turning up the whites of his eyes. pined nodded surprised, wouldn't eat, and whinnied all the time." I crawled away I kept calling him," in a thick "I was sure he wouldn't leave me, and I knew it wouldn't be easy for a stranger to catch him." true. We just managed him with a lasso." "He's a good horse. He's my brother Pyotr's." Grigory turned his back to hide his wet eyes. They went the house. Yegor Zharkov asleep on mattress front-room. An indescribable disorder bore witness to the haste with which the owners left the place. Fragments of broken uten- sils, torn paper, books, scraps of material, chil- dren's toys, old scattered flour were tumbled in confusion about the Yemelyan Groshev and Prokhor Zykov had cleared a space in the middle of the room, and 598

were eating their dinner. At the sight of Gri- gory, Prokhor's calf nearly dropped of his head. "Grisha! Where did you spring from?" "From other world!" "Run and get him some grub. Don't stare like that!" Uryupin shouted, "Won't be a minute. The kitchen's just round the comer." Prokhor ran to the door, chewing as he went. Grigory sat down wearily in his place. "I don't remember when ate last," he smiled guiltily. Units of the Third Corps were moving through the town. The narrow streets were choked with infantry, baggage trains and cavalry, the cross- roads were jammed and the noise of the traffic penetrated doors houses. pot of soup and a pan of buckwheat. "What shall I pour the grub into?" Not knowing its purpose, Groshev picked up a chamber-pot, remarking: "Here's a pot with a handle." "Your pot stinks," Prokhor said with a frown. "Never mind. Pour it out and we'll share afterwards." Zykov turned the basket upside down the vessel, and the rich, thick gruel fell out in 599

a mass, with an amber edge fat round ate and talked. battery a highland artillery battalion next door," Prokhor related, dabbing spittle over a grease spot on the stripe horses. Their warrant officer read in the paper the Germans' allies were doing a bunk." "You should've been here this morning, Me- lekhov," Uryupin muttered through a mouth- ful of gruel: "We were thanked by the division commander himself. He reviewed us and thanked for smashing Hungarian hussars saving the battery. 'Cossacks,' he said, 'the tsar the fatherland will forget you.' " As he spoke of a shot outside, and a machine-gun stutter. Dropping their spoons, the Cossacks ran Overhead an aeroplane was circling low with a menacing roar. "Lie down under the fence. They'll be drop- ping a bomb in a minute. There's a battery billet- ed next door to us," Uryupin shouted. "Some- one go and wake Yegor up. He'll get killed on his soft mattress!" "Bring out the rifles." Aiming carefully, fired Soldiers ran along for some rea- 600

ducking heads. From the next yard came the neighing of horses and a curt order. fence; gunners were hurriedly wheeling a gun Screwing up his eyes at the prickly blue of the sky, he roaring, swooping bird. that moment something fell away from and glittered sharply in the sunlight. shattering roar shook the house and Cossacks crouching round the steps; in the next yard a horse neighed in mortal agony. A pungent of powder smoke drifted over the fence. "Lie flat," rushing steps. Grigory sprang after him, and they themselves down palings. wing aeroplane glittered turned. street came irregular shots. Grigory just thrust a clip of cartridges the magazine of his rifle when a shattering ex- plosion threw him six feet away from the fence. A lump struck him heavily filling his eyes with dust. Uryupin lifted him to his feet. A sharp pain left eye prevented Grigory from seeing. With difficulty opening the right eyelid, he saw that half the house was demolished; the bricks lay in a misshapen heap, a pink cloud of dust hovering over them. As he stood staring, Yegor Zharkov crawled 601

from under the steps. His entire face was a cry; bloody tears were raining from had been forced out of their sockets. With his head buried in his shoulders he crawled along, screaming without opening his blackening Behind him one leg, torn away thigh, was dragged along by a shred skin and a strip of scorched trouser; gone completely. He crawled slowly along on his hands, a thin, almost childish scream com- ing from his lips. Then the scream stopped and fell over on his face harsh, unkind, brick- dung-littered earth. No one attempted to go to him. "Pick him up!" Grigory shouted, press- ing his hand to his left eye. Infantrymen yard; two- wheeled cart with telephone operators stopped at the gate. "Keep moving!" an officer shouted at them gaping!" Two women, and long black coat came up. Zharkov was quickly surrounded by a little crowd. Pressing through them, Grigory saw that he was still breathing, whimpering violently trembling. Great beads of sweat stood out on his deathly yellow brow. "Pick him up! What are you, men or devils?" 602

howling about?" fantryman snapped. "Pick pick him up! But where are we to take him to? Can't you see he's dying?" "Both legs gone!" "Look at the blood!" stretcher-bearers?" "What good could they do!" conscious." from behind. "Don't move him," he whispered. "Come round the other side and look." He drew Grigory along by sleeve, and glance, then hunched his shoulders and turned away to the gate. Under Zharkov's belly the pink and blue intestines were steaming. The tangled mass lay on the sand, stirring and swelling. Be- it the dying man's hand scrabbled "Cover his face," someone proposed. Zharkov hung between shoulder-blades, a hoarse, inhuman voice: "Brothers, kill me. . Brothers ! What are you standing looking for . ,? Oh. . Oh ... Brothers, kill me!" 603

The railway carriage rocked gently and wheels was lullingly drowsy. A yellow band lan- tern. It was good length, with freedom, feel no responsibility oneself, to know that no danger threatened one's life, and that death was so far away. It was espe- cially pleasant listen to the varying chatter of the wheels, for with their every turn, with every tug of the engine, the front was off. And listening, wriggling the toes of his bare feet, all his body rejoicing fresh, linen. He though he had thrown skin, and, spotlessly clean, was entering a new quiet, tranquil jojy was disturbed by the pain in his left eye. It died away occa- sionally, then would suddenly return, burning the eye and forcing involuntary tears under the bandage. In field hospital a young Jewish doctor had examined his eye and had told him: "You'll have to go back. Your eye in a very unsatisfactory state." it, doctor?" should you smiled, catching the unconcealed alarm in Gri- 604

cab, staring inquisitively at the crowded streets, it was strange for him to feel the agitating warmth of a woman's body at his side. Autumn had arrived in Moscow. Along the boulevards the leaves trees gleamed yellow lamplight, night breathed wintry chill, pavements were shining, above him the stars were autumnally clear and cold. From the centre of the town they turned into a desert- ed side-street. The horse's hoofs clattered over cobbles; driver his long swayed on his high seat and waved the ends of the reins at his mare. Railway engines whis- tled in the distance. "Perhaps a train just off to the Don," Grigory thought, pricked with yearn- "Feeling sleepy?" shall soon be The waters of a pond gleamed oilily behind an iron railing, Grigory caught a glimpse railed-off landing stage with a boat tied There was a smell of dampness in the bars like our Don vaguely. Leaves rustled under the rubber tyres of the cab. They stopped outside three-storied Grigory jumped 606

thoroughly, then gave him a towel, linen, house- shoes, and a grey, belted dressing-gown. "What about my clothes?" Grigory asked in amazement. "You'll wear these while here. Your clothes to you when discharged from the hospital." As Grigory passed a wall mirror he did not recognize Tall, patches of crimson on his cheeks and a growth of moustache and beard, dressing-gown, his black hair pressed down under a bandage, he bore only a distant resemblance mer young- er," he thought, smiling wanly to himself. "Ward six, right," attendant told him. As Grigory entered the large white room a priest in a hospital gown and dark glasses half rose. neighbour? Glad you, we shall keep each other company. Zaraisk," he announced sociably, offering Gri- gory a chair. A few minutes later a corpulent nurse with a large, plain face opened the door. "Melekhov, we want to have a look at your eye," she said in a low, chesty voice, and stood aside to let him pass. 608

XXII The army command decided on a big cav- alry south-west view to breaking through the enemy lines, des- troying their communications disorganiz- ing their forces with sudden assaults from the rear. The command set great store by the plan, and large forces of cavalry were concentrated area, among them. The attack was to have begun on August 28th, but a rain storm caused postponed until the following day. Early division was de- ployed over a huge area in preparation for the offensive. About eight versts away the infantry on the flank made demonstrative draw the enemy. Also sections division dispatched misleading direction. Listnitsky's regiment no sign whatever of the enemy. About a verst trenches, and behind them rye fields billowing in a wind-driven, bluish early morning mist. The enemy must have learned of the attack in prep- aration, for during the night they had retired 39—1933 609

versts, nests to harass the attackers. Behind heavy rainclouds the sun was rising. entire valley was flooded with a creamy mist. The order came offensive to begin, and the regiments advanced. Thou- sands of horses' hoofs set up a rumbling roar that sounded as though it came from under the Listnitsky reined vent it from breaking into a gallop. A verst was covered, and the level lines of attacking forces drew near to the fields of grain. The rye, higher than a man's waist and entangled with twining plants and grasses, rendered the cavalry's prog- ress extremely difficult. Before them still waved ruddy of rye, it lay crushed and trampled down by hoofs. four versts of such riding the horses began stumble and sweat, but still there was no sign of the enemy. Listnitsky glanced at his squad- ron commander; captain's wore expression of utter despair. Six terribly heavy going took horses; some dropped under their riders, even the strongest stumbled, exerting moving. Now Austrian machine-guns gan to work, spraying hail bullets. The rifle fire came volleys. The murderous 610

mowed down the leading ranks. A regiment of lancers was the first to falter and turn; a Cos- broke. A of machine-gun panic-stricken flight. Owing criminal negligence of the High Command, this extraordinarily extensive attack was overwhelmed with complete defeat. Some of the regiments lost half their complement of men and Four hundred Cossacks and sixteen officers were and wounded Listnitsky's regiment alone. Listnitsky's own horse was killed under him, and he himself was wounded in the head and the leg. A sergeant-major leaped from his horse picked him flung him sad- dle-bow and galloped back with him. The chief of staff of the division. Staff Colonel Golovachev, snap-shots attack, afterwards showed them to some officers. A wounded lieutenant struck him the face with his fist and burst into tears. Then Cossacks ran up and tore Golovachev to pieces, made game corpse, and finally threw into the mud of a roadside ditch. So ended this brilliantly inglorious offensive. From a hospital in Warsaw Yevgeny informed and was coming down to Yagodnoye. The man shut himself up in his room, and came out 39* 611

again only the next day. He ordered Nikitich, the coachman, to harness trotting horse to drozhki, breakfast, Vyeshenskaya. telegraphed hundred rubles to his son and sent him a short I am very glad, my dear boy, that you have received your baptism of Bre. The nobleman's is out there, not the palace. You are much too honest and clever to be able to cringe peaceful conscience. Nobody family has ever done that. For that reason, your grandfather lost favour and died in Yagodnoye, neither hoping for nor awaiting grace from the Emperor. Take care of yourself, Yevgeny, and get well. Remember, you are I have in the world. Your aunt sends her love. She is well. myself, I have nothing write. You know how live. How can things at the front be as they are? Is it possible that we have no people with common sense"? I don't believe the newspaper reports. They are all lies, as I know from past years. possible, Yevgeny, we shall lose the campaign? I am impatiently awaiting you at home. True, to write about. It dragged 612

without variation; only the cost of labour rose, and there was a shortage of liquor. The master drank more frequently, and grew more irritable fault-finding. summoned to him and complained: duties. Why was the breakfast cold yesterday? Why wasn't the glass properly cleaned? If it happens again I shall discharge you. I can't stand slovenliness. D'you hear?" Aksinya pressed her lips together and burst into tears. "Nikolai Alexeyevich! My daughter is ill. Let me have time attend can't leave her." the matter with the child?" "She seems to be choking." "What? Scarlet fever? Why didn't you speak before, you fool? Run and tell Nikitich to drive to Vyeshenskaya for the doctor. Hurry!" bombarding her the while, with his deep bass voice: "You fool of a woman, fool!" Nikitich doctor back morning. He examined the unconscious, feverish without replying treaties went man received him in the ante-room. 613

wrong child?" acknowledging doctor's greeting with a careless nod. "Scarlet fever. Your Excellency!" it get better? Any hope?" "Very little. It's dying. Think of its age." "You fool!" The old man turned livid. "What medicine Cure her!" He slammed the door in the doctor's face and paced up and down the hall. Aksinya knocked and wants horses to take him to Vyeshenskaya." old man turned on heel. "Tell him he's a blockhead! Tell him he doesn't leave this place until the child is well. Give him a room feed him content. won't go away," he shouted, shaking his bony fist. He strode the window, drummed with his fingers for a minute, and then, turning to a photograph a baby nurse's paces stared hard at it, as though unable to recognize the child. As soon as her child had ill Aksinya decided that God was punishing taunting Crushed fear child's life, she lost control of herself, wandered aimlessly about, and could not work. "Surely Cod won't take her!" the feverish thought beat 614

incessantly brain, believing, all her might trying not believe, the child would die, she prayed frantically to God for his last mercy, life might be spared. But the fever was choking the life. The girl lay flat on her back, the breath coming in little hoarse gasps from her swollen throat. The attended her four stood of an evening smoking on the steps of the servants' quarters, gazing up at the cold sprin- kling of autumn stars. All night Aksinya remained on her knees by the bed. The child's gurgling rattle wrung her "Mama parched one, my daughter," groaned; "my flower, don't go Tanya. Look, my pretty one, open back. My dark-eyed darling! Why, oh Occasionally inflamed lids, and the bloodshot eyes gave her a waver- glance. The mother greedily. It seemed to be withdrawn into itself, yearning, resigned. She died in her mother's arms. For the time the little mouth gaped, and the body was 615

racked a convulsion. The tiny head back on its mother's arm, and little Mele- khov eyes gazed with an astonished, sombre stare. Old Sashka dug a small grave under an old poplar by the lake, carried the coffin grave and with unwonted haste covered patiently Aksinya to rise from the clayey mound. When he could wait no longer, he blew his nose vio- lently and went off to stables. He drew a bottle of eau-de-Cologne and a little flagon denatured alcohol out of a manger, mixed the spirits in a bottle, and muttered as he held the concoction up to the light: memory! May heavenly kingdom gates one! The angel dead." He drank and shook his head wildly as bit into a soft pickled tomato; then staring tenderly bottle, he "Don't forget me, dear, and I'll never forget you!" and burst into Three weeks later Yevgeny Listnitsky sent a telegram saying he was on his way home. A troika of horses was sent to meet him station, and everybody on estate was tiptoe with expectation. Turkeys and geese were killed, and old Sashka flayed a sheep. The prep- arations were elaborate enough grand 616

ball. The night. A freezing rain was falling, and the lamps flung fugitive beams the puddles. The horses drew up at the steps, their bells jan- gling. Throwing his warm cloak Yevgeny, limping slightly and agitated, hastened meet him, sending the chairs flying in his prog- ress. supper dining-room, to summon them table. Looking through the keyhole, she saw the old man em- bracing and kissing son on shoulder; the loose flesh of the old man's neck was quiv- ering. Waiting a few minutes, time Yevgeny was on great map puffing of smoke pipe, was knocking his knuckles on the arm of a chair and roaring indignantly: "Alexeyev? can't be! quietly, persuasively run- ning his fingers over the map. steady commander-in-chief the wrong. Complete lack vision. Look, Yevgeny, I'll give you a similar instance Russo-Japanese campaign. Let me! Let me!" 617

Aksinya knocked. The animated gay, with glittering youthfully. With his son he drank a bottle of wine of 1879 vintage. As Aksinya waited on observed cheerful faces, felt her own loneliness all the more keenly. An unwept yearning tortured her. After the death of the child she had wanted to weep, but tears would not come. A cry came to her throat, but her eyes were dry, and so the stony grief op- doubly. She slept a great deal, relief drowsy oblivion, but the sleep. She imagined the infant was asleep at her side, and she turned over and groped about the bed, hear- "Mama, mama." darling," she would answer with icy lips. Even in the oppressive day she sometimes imagined that the child was at her knee, and reaching her hand stroke the curly head. The third day after his arrival Yevgeny evening with the stables, listening to his artless stories of the free the Don Cossacks had in bygone days. He left him at nine o'clock. A sharp wind blowing yard; mud squelched slushily underfoot. A young, yellow- whiskered moon pranced among the clouds. By 618

light Yevgeny watch, and quarters. stopped by the steps to light a cigarette, stood shrugging resolutely steps. He cautiously lifted the latch and opened the door, passed through into Aksinya's room, and struck a match. there?" blanket around her. "It's only me." "I'll be dressed in a minute." "Don't trouble. I shall only stop for a moment or two." He threw his overcoat and the edge of the bed. "So your girl died. exclaimed echoingly. "You've changed considerably. guess what the loss of the child meant to you. But torturing uselessly; you can't bring her back, and still young enough to have children. Take yourself in hand and be reconciled loss. all, you All your before you." He pressed her hand and stroked her caress- ingly authoritatively, playing on the low 619

tones of his voice. He dropped whisper and, hearing Aksinya's stifled weeping, began to kiss her wet cheeks and eyes. Woman's susceptible kindness. Burdened despair, realizing what she was doing, Aksinya yielded herself to him strong, dor- mant passion. But as the devastating, madden- ing wave of delight abated she came senses and cried out sharply; sense of reason or shame she ran out half-naked, in only her shift, on to the steps. Yevgeny hastily followed her leaving the door open, pull- ing on his overcoat as he went. As he mounted the steps to the terrace of the house he smiled joyfully and contentedly. Lying in bed, rubbing soft plump chest, he thought: "From the point of view of an honest man, what I have done is shameful, immoral. Grigory, ... I have robbed my neigh- bour; risked my If the bullet had been a little more it would have gone through my head and I should have been feeding the worms now. These days one has live passionately for each moment as it comes. I am allowed to anything." He was momentarily horrified by his own thoughts; but his imagination again conjured up the terrible moment of attack, and 620

how he had raised himself from his dead horse shot down by bullets. As he dropped decided: "Time enough for this tom.orrow, but now to rest." Next morning, finding Aksinya in dining-room, he went towards her, a guilty smile on his face. But she pressed against the wall and stretched out her hands, scorching him with her frenzied whisper: "Keep away, you devil!" Life dictates its own unwritten laws to man. Within days Yevgeny Aksinya at night, and she did not refuse him. XXIII garden hospital. There are many such clipped, uninvit- ing gardens on the outskirts of Moscow, where the eye finds stony, heavy dreariness city, and looks the memory recalls and painfully the wild freedom of the Autumn reigned garden. The paths were covered with leaves of orange and bronze, a morning frost crumpled flowers and flooded the patches of grass with a watery green. On wandered paths, the church bells 621

of pious Moscow. When the weather was bad (and such days were frequent that year) wandered from room to room or lay beds, boring The civilian patients were in the majority hospital, and wounded soldiers were accommodated in one room. There were five of them: Jan Vareikis, ruddy-faced, blue- eyed Latvian; Vrublevsky, young dragoon from the Vladimir Province; Siberian rifleman named Kosykh; restless little yellow soldier called Burdin, and Grigory. At the end of September another was added to the number. While they were drinking their evening tea heard a long ring bell. looked out into the corridor. Three people had entered the hall, a nurse and a man in a long Caucasian coat holding a third man under the armpits. The man's soldier's blood-stains on chest indicated he had only just arrived from station. He operated evening. A minutes after he had been taken into the operat- ing theatre, the other patients heard the muffled sound of singing. While he was under chloro- form and the surgeon was removing mains of one eye, which had been shattered by 622

shell splinter, he sang uttered unintel- ligible curses. operation brought into the ward. When the effects of the chloroform passed, informed been wounded the German his name was Garanzha, machine-gunner, a Ukrainian Chernigov Province. particvilar friend of Grigory, whose bed was his, inspection they would talk a long time in undertones. Cossack, how "Rotten." "Going to lose your eye?" "I'm having injections." "How many have you had?" "Eighteen so far." it hurt?" I enjoy "Ask them to cut the eye right out." for? Not everybody one- eyed." jaundiced, venomous neighbour discontented with everything. He government, war, lot, hospital food, the cook, the doctors, everything he could 623

we, you and I, go that's what I want to know?" "For the same reason everybody else did." "Hah! You're fool! I've got to chew it all over for you! It's the bourgeoisie we're fighting for, don't you see? What are the bourgeoisie? birds among fruit-trees." He explained the difficult words to Grigory, peppering speech invective. talk so fast. I can't understand your Ukrainian lingo. Speak slower," Grigory would interrupt "I'm not so quick that, my boy. You think you're fighting for the tsar, but what tsar? grabber, and tsaritsa's a whore, and they're both a weight on our backs. Don't you see? The factory-owner drinks vodka, while kills lice. The factory-owner takes the profit, the worker bare. the system we've got. Serve serve on! earn cross, a good one, made of oak." He spoke in Ukrainian, but on rare oc- casions when he grew excited, he would break into pure Russian generously sprinkled invective. Day after day he revealed truths hitherto unknown explaining real causes of war, and jesting bitterly at the auto- 624

cratic government. Grigory tried to raise objec- tions, but Garanzha silenced him with simple, murderously questions, to agree. Most terrible all, Grigory began to think Garanzha was right, and that he was impotent to oppose him. He realized with horror that the intelligent and bitter Ukrainian was gradually surely destroying former ideas tsar, country, military duty as a Cossack. Within a month Ukrainian's system life had based was ruin. It had rotten, eaten up with canker monstrous absurdity of the war, and it needed only a jolt. jolt given, and straightforward mind awoke. He tossed about a way a solution predica- ment, gladly Garanzha's answers. Late night Grigory his bed and awoke Garanzha. He sat on the edge of the Ukrainian's bed. greenish September moon streamed through the window. Garanzha's cheeks were furrows, the black sockets of his eyes gleamed humidly. yawned wrapped blanket. 40—1933 625

great wave rise and sweep them away." "So you everything has upside down?" "Yes! The government must be thrown aside like an old rag. The lords must be stripped of fleece, murdering people too long already." will you do with the war when government? We'll go on scrapping, and don't, will. How are you going root out war, when men have fought for ages?" true, war has gone on since the begin- ning of time, and will go on so long as we don't $weep away government. workers' they won't fight any more. That's what's got to be done. And shall be done, may bury them! It shall be. And when the Germans, the French and others have got a workers' peasants' government, shall we have to fight about then? Away with frontiers, away with anger! One beautiful all over the world. Ah. !" Garanzha sighed, and, twisting the ends of his whiskers, his one glittering, dreamily. I'd pour out my blood drop by drop to live to see that day." 40* 627

They talked on until the dawn came. shadows the morning they were awakened by crying. Vrublevsky was face downwards on the bed sobbing, while round him stood the nurse, Jan Vareikis and Kosykh. he howling Burdin poking bed- clothes. eye. He was it out of the glass and it dropped on the floor," Kosykh malice sympathy. Russified German, seller false had been moved by patriotic feelings to supply the army with his products free of charge. The before, Vrublevsky had fitted with a glass eye made so skilfully that it looked just as blue and handsome as the real one. The work was perfect that even close examina- distinguish imitation from genuine. Vrublevsky and happy as a child over "I'll go home," he his broad Volga accent, like. married, then I'll confess that my eye's a glass one." 628

will, too, chuckled Burdin. And now an accident had happened and the handsome young man would return lage a one-eyed cripple. howl/', Grigory consoled him. Vrublevsky raised his tear-stained face from the pillow, the empty socket. "No, they won't. That eye cost three hundred rubles. They'll never give me one." "And what an eye it was! Every was there!" Kosykh gloated. After breakfast Vrublevsky the German's shop and man gave him a new eye, Russians!" Vrublevsky exclaimed, joy. "A merchant wouldn't kopeck, gives me a new eye without a murmur." September passed. The days dragged by terminably, deadly boredom. at nine o'clock the patients were tea-two miserable, transparent slices of French bread, and a knob of butter the size finger-nail. dinner hungry. tea sipping monotony. The military 629

changed. Siberian went, Latvian. of October discharged. surgeon examined eyes and pronounced satisfactory. But he was transferred to another hospital, the wound in his head had unexpectedly opened and was suppurating slightly. As he said good- bye to Garanzha, Grigory remarked; "Shall we be meeting again?" "Two mountains never meet, but. khokhol, opening see now, and I'm not good know." "When you to your regiment the Cossacks what I've told you." will." if you ever happen to be in Chernigov District, Gorokhovka, smith Andrei Garanzha, long, boy." They embraced. The picture of the Ukrainian, his one eye, and pleasant his sandy cheeks, mained long in Grigory's memory. hospital. He nursed unformulated decisions his mind. The jaundice of Garanzha's teaching was working within him. He talked but 630

with his neighbours in the ward, and a certain confusion and alarm was manifest movements. restless fellow," was appraisal his non-Russian face during the first examina- tion. For the first few days Grigory was feverish, his bed the ringing his ears. Then an incident occurred. A high personage, one of the imperial family, to pay hospital. Informed of this in the morning, the staff of the hospital scurried about like mice in a burning granary. They redressed the wounded, changed the bed- clothes appointed, and instruct the men the personage conduct in conversation with The anxiety was communicated to the patients also, whispers visit. At noon a motor horn sounded accompanied usual number of officials and officers, the personage passed through the portals. wounded, a gay fellow and joker, assured fellow afterwards 63

distinguished visitors' entry Red flag hanging the hospital suddenly began flutter furiously, although the weather was unusually fine and still, while on street the dandy with elegant curls portrayed hairdresser's signboard actually made low bow. The distinguished personage went the round wards, asking usual absurd ques- tions befitting one of his position and circum- stances. The wounded, their eyes staring out of their heads, replied in accordance with structions of the junior surgeon. "Just so. Your Highness," Imperial Highness." The chief surgeon supplied commentaries their answers, squirming a grass-snake by a fork; sight even afar. The regal per- sonage distributed icons soldiers. The throng of brilliant uniforms and the heavy perfumes Grigory. He stood by his bed, unshaven, gaunt, feverish slight tremor skin over angular cheek-bones vealed his agitation. are!" thinking. the people who get pleasure driv- ing us from our native villages and flinging us 632

death. Ah! The Curse them! There are the lice on our backs. Was it for them we trampled other people's grain with our horses killed strangers? And I crawled over the stubble shouted? And fear? dragged us away from our families, starved us in barracks." The burning thoughts choked his brain. quivered with fury. their fat shining faces! I'd send you out there, curse you. Put you on a horse, with a rifle on load you lice, feed rotten bread and maggoty meat!" bored sleek-faced retinue, marsupial cheeks of the royal personage. "A Don St. George," chief surgeon smirked as he pointed to Grigory, and from the tone he who had won cross. "From district?" personage quired, holding an icon ready, "Vyeshenskaya, Highness." "How did you win the cross?" Boredom and satiety lurked clear, royal personage. His eyebrow was artificially raised, a manner intended greater expression. For a moment Grigory cold, and a queer 41—1933 633

chopping sensation went on inside him. He had felt a similar sensation when going into attack. twisted and quivered irresistibly. "Excuse me. ... I badly . Your Imperial. . Just a little need." Grigory swayed his back were broken, and pointed under the bed. personage's eyebrow higher. The hand holding the icon half-extend- froze stiffly. flabby gaping astonishment, the personage turned to a grey-haired general at his side and English. A hardly perceptible embarrassment the mem- bers of his suite. A officer with epaulettes his white gloved hand; a second bowed his head; third glanced quiringly neighbour. The respectfully English Highness, and Highness pleased icon bestow on him the highest of honours, a touch on the departed dropped on to his bed and, burying his face in his pillow, lay for some minutes, his shoulders shaking. It was impossible to tell whether he crying or laughing. Certain 634

immediately summoned to the room of the chief surgeon. common lout!" began, crushing mousy-coloured "I'm not a lout, you snake!" Grigory replied, striding towards the doctor. "I never saw you at the front." Then, recovering his self-control, he said quietly: "Send me home." writing saying more gently: you! You can go lips trembling with a smile, his eyes glaring. For his monstrous, un- pardonable behaviour the presence royal personage he was deprived his food for three days. But his comrades in the ward, and the cook, a soft-hearted man who suffered from rupture, kept him supplied, XXIV It was evening of November the fourth when Grigory on his way from the station arrived at first village in his own district. Yagodnoye only a few distant. As he passed street children were song under the river willows: shining swords 41* 635

As he listened familiar words a hardened Avidly sniffing in the scent of the smoke com- ing from the chimneys, he strode through the village, the song following him. I used to sing that song, but now my is gone and life has broken off the song. Here am I going to stay another man's wife, no comer of my own, no wolf," he thought, walking along at a steady, pace, and bitterly queerly twisted life. He the top look back. The yellow light of a hanging-lamp shone the window last house, and in its light he saw an elderly woman sitting at a spinning-wheel. on, walking damp, frosty grass side of the road. He spent the night in a village, and set out again dawning. Yagodnoye in the evening. Jumping across the fence, he went past the stables. The sound Sashka's coughing arrested him. "Grandad Sashka, you asleep?" "Wait, who that? I know the voice. Who "Holy fathers. 636

Grisha! embraced. Gazing up smoke." "No, not now. I will tomorrow. tell you." unwillingly in, and sat down on the wooden bunk the old man recovered from a fit of coughing. "Well, Grandad, alive. walking the earth?" "Ah, I'm flint. There'll no wear with me." "And how's Aksinya?" "Aksinya? Praise be, she's coughed violently. guessed it was a pretence to hide his embarrass- ment, "Where did you bury Tanya?" "In the orchard under a poplar." tell me all the news." cough's troubling lot, "We're all alive and well. The master drinks all sense, the fool." "How's Aksinya?" 637

makes up to anyone who strokes you trust them, don't give them your trust." Grigory's hand. "Smoke!" pulls cigarette, then stubbed it out with his He went out without a word. He stopped by the window of the quarters, panting heavily, and raised knock. But each time his hand struck away. When did knock he tapped at first with his finger; but then, losing patience, he threw and beat at the window furiously with his The frame rang with the blows, and the blue, nocturnal light shimmered on the pane. face appeared window for an instant, door and gave scream. He embraced her, peering into her eyes. "You knocked so hard you expecting you. My frozen." Aksinya felt his big body shivering violently feverishly hot. She fussed unnecessarily, lighted the lamp and ran about the room, a downy shawl around her plump, white Finally fire in the stove. 639

expecting so long you wrote. I thought you'd never come. Did you get my last letter? I was going to send you a parcel, but then I thought I'd wait to see I received a cast sidelong glances Grigory, her red lips frozen in a smile. Grigory sat down on the bench without tak- greatcoat. unshaven burned, and heavily shadowed by the cowl coat. He began to unfasten cowl, but suddenly turned fidget with tobacco pouch, and searched his pockets for paper. With measureless yearn- ing he ran his eyes over Aksinya's devilishly improved absence, beautiful head was new, authoritative poise, only her eyes and the large, fluffy ringlets her hair were the same. But destructive, fiery beauty did not belong to him. How could it, when she was mistress of the master's son! housemaid, more like a housekeeper." She gave him a startled look, and laughed forcedly. Dragging his pack behind him, Grigory went 640

In bed, he quickly fell asleep. Aksinya went out to the shift. She stood there in the cold, piercing wind, with her arms round the damp pillar, listening to the funeral dirge of the northern blast, and did not change her position until dawn came. In the morning Grigory threw his greatcoat the house. dressed in a fur jacket and a yellow Astrakhan cap. "Why, there he is, the Cavalier of St. George! man, my friend!" He saluted "Staying long?" "Two weeks. Your Excellency," daughter. A Grigory was silent. Yevgeny came on to the steps, drawing on his gloves. it's Grigory. Where have you arrived Grigory's eyes darkened, but he smiled, "Back on leave, from Moscow." "You were wounded in the eye, weren't you? I heard about it. What a lad he's grown, hasn't he. Papa?" He nodded Grigory and turned towards the stables, calling to the coachman: 642

not! How could he?" He leaned back seat and lit a cigarette. "Don't be long," old Listnitsky called Needle-sharp snow dust flew from under the wheels. Grigory pulled with the reins at the horse's mouth and urged it to its topmost speed. Within fifteen minutes they had crossed the rise, and the house was sight. dell they came to, Grigory jumped down and pulled the knout from under the "What's the matter?" the lieutenant frowned. "I'll show you!" Grigory swung knout down with terrible force across the lieutenant's face. Then, seizing it by the lash, he beat the officer with butt on giving him no time get up. A fragment of pince-nez above the brow, and stream of blood flowed into his eyes. At first he covered his face blows frequent. He jumped disfigured with blood and fury, and attempted to defend himself; but Grigory fell back and paralyzed his arm with a blow on the wrist. Aksinya! me! Aksinya! Another for Aksinya! For me!" 644

knout whistled, blows slapped softly. At last Grigory threw Yevgeny down on the hard ruts of the road and rolled him on the kicking him savagely shod boots. When to do more he got on to the drozhki seat, and sawing at the horse's mouth, galloped it back. He left the droshki by the seizing the knout, stumbling over the flaps his open greatcoat, he rushed into the servants' quarters. As the door crashed open, Aksinya glanced round. "You snake! You bitch!" The knout whistled and curled around her face. Gasping breath, Grigory yard, and heedless Sashka's questionings, left the estate. When he had covered a verst he was overtaken by Aksinya. Panting violently, she walked along silently at his side, occasion- ally pulling at his sleeve. At a fork in the road, wayside cross, forgive me!" He bared his teeth, and hunching his shoul- ders, turned up greatcoat. cross. He did not look once, and did not see her hand stretched out to him, 645

At the crest above Tatarsky he noticed in astonishment that he was still carry- the knout; he threw it away, then strode village. Faces were pressed windows, amazed 'women he bowed low ,he passed. the gate of his own yard a slim, black- eyed beauty ran to meet him, flung around his neck and buried breast. Pressing her cheeks with his hands, he raised her head and recognized Dunya. limped weeping aloud in the house. With his left hand he embraced father; kissing his right hand. painfully familiar creak of the ageing mother ran to him light-footed as a girl, wetted lapels greatcoat tears, and embraced her son closely, muttering something disconnected own mother- language that could not be words; while by the door, clinging to it to save herself falling, tortured pale Cut hurried, distracted glance, she dropped 646

in bed, Pantelei gave dig in the ribs and whispered: see whether they're together or not." "I made up their bed on the bedstead." "But go on and look, look!" Ilyinichna got up and peeped through a crack in the door leading to the best room. "They're together." "Well, God be praised! God be praised!" the old man whimpered, elbow and crossing himself.

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