The Cossacks: A Tale of 1852

  Chapter XXVIII

  The bethrothal was taking place in the cornet's hut. Lukashka hadreturned to the village, but had not been to see Olenin, and Olenin hadnot gone to the betrothal though he had been invited. He was sad as hehad never been since he settled in this Cossack village. He had seenLukashka earlier in the evening and was worried by the question whyLukashka was so cold towards him. Olenin shut himself up in his hut andbegan writing in his diary as follows:

  'Many things have I pondered over lately and much have I changed,'wrote he, 'and I have come back to the copybook maxim: The one way tobe happy is to love, to love self-denyingly, to love everybody andeverything; to spread a web of love on all sides and to take all whocome into it. In this way I caught Vanyusha, Daddy Eroshka, Lukashka,and Maryanka.'

  As Olenin was finishing this sentence Daddy Eroshka entered the room.

  Eroshka was in the happiest frame of mind. A few evenings before this,Olenin had gone to see him and had found him with a proud and happyface deftly skinning the carcass of a boar with a small knife in theyard. The dogs (Lyam his pet among them) were lying close by watchingwhat he was doing and gently wagging their tails. The little boys wererespectfully looking at him through the fence and not even teasing himas was their wont. His women neighbours, who were as a rule not toogracious towards him, greeted him and brought him, one a jug ofchikhir, another some clotted cream, and a third a little flour. Thenext day Eroshka sat in his store-room all covered with blood, anddistributed pounds of boar-flesh, taking in payment money from some andwine from others. His face clearly expressed, 'God has sent me luck. Ihave killed a boar, so now I am wanted.' Consequently, he naturallybegan to drink, and had gone on for four days never leaving thevillage. Besides which he had had something to drink at the betrothal.

  He came to Olenin quite drunk: his face red, his beard tangled, butwearing a new beshmet trimmed with gold braid; and he brought with hima balalayka which he had obtained beyond the river. He had longpromised Olenin this treat, and felt in the mood for it, so that he wassorry to find Olenin writing.

  'Write on, write on, my lad,' he whispered, as if he thought that aspirit sat between him and the paper and must not be frightened away,and he softly and silently sat down on the floor. When Daddy Eroshkawas drunk his favourite position was on the floor. Olenin looked round,ordered some wine to be brought, and continued to write. Eroshka foundit dull to drink by himself and he wished to talk.

  'I've been to the betrothal at the cornet's. But there! They'reshwine!--Don't want them!--Have come to you.'

  'And where did you get your balalayka asked Olenin, still writing.

  'I've been beyond the river and got it there, brother mine,' heanswered, also very quietly. 'I'm a master at it. Tartar or Cossack,squire or soldiers' songs, any kind you please.'

  Olenin looked at him again, smiled, and went on writing.

  That smile emboldened the old man.

  'Come, leave off, my lad, leave off!' he said with sudden firmness.

  'Well, perhaps I will.'

  'Come, people have injured you but leave them alone, spit at them!Come, what's the use of writing and writing, what's the good?'

  And he tried to mimic Olenin by tapping the floor with his thickfingers, and then twisted his big face to express contempt.

  'What's the good of writing quibbles. Better have a spree and showyou're a man!'

  No other conception of writing found place in his head except that oflegal chicanery.

  Olenin burst out laughing and so did Eroshka. Then, jumping up from thefloor, the latter began to show off his skill on the balalayka and tosing Tartar songs.

  'Why write, my good fellow! You'd better listen to what I'll sing toyou. When you're dead you won't hear any more songs. Make merry now!'

  First he sang a song of his own composing accompanied by a dance:

  'Ah, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dim, Say where did they last see him? Ina booth, at the fair, He was selling pins, there.'

  Then he sang a song he had learnt from his former sergeant-major:

  'Deep I fell in love on Monday, Tuesday nothing did but sigh, WednesdayI popped the question, Thursday waited her reply. Friday, late, it cameat last, Then all hope for me was past! Saturday my life to take Idetermined like a man, But for my salvation's sake Sunday morningchanged my plan!'

  Then he sang again:

  'Oh dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dim, Say where did they last see him?'

  And after that, winking, twitching his shoulders, and footing it to thetune, he sang:

  'I will kiss you and embrace, Ribbons red twine round you; And I'llcall you little Grace. Oh, you little Grace now do Tell me, do you loveme true?'

  And he became so excited that with a sudden dashing movement he starteddancing around the room accompanying himself the while.

  Songs like 'Dee, dee, dee'--'gentlemen's songs'--he sang for Olenin'sbenefit, but after drinking three more tumblers of chikhir heremembered old times and began singing real Cossack and Tartar songs.In the midst of one of his favourite songs his voice suddenly trembledand he ceased singing, and only continued strumming on the balalayka.

  'Oh, my dear friend!' he said.

  The peculiar sound of his voice made Olenin look round.

  The old man was weeping. Tears stood in his eyes and one tear wasrunning down his cheek.

  'You are gone, my young days, and will never come back!' he said,blubbering and halting. 'Drink, why don't you drink!' he suddenlyshouted with a deafening roar, without wiping away his tears.

  There was one Tartar song that specially moved him. It had few words,but its charm lay in the sad refrain. 'Ay day, dalalay!' Eroshkatranslated the words of the song: 'A youth drove his sheep from theaoul to the mountains: the Russians came and burnt the aoul, theykilled all the men and took all the women into bondage. The youthreturned from the mountains. Where the aoul had stood was an emptyspace; his mother not there, nor his brothers, nor his house; one treealone was left standing. The youth sat beneath the tree and wept."Alone like thee, alone am I left,'" and Eroshka began singing: 'Ayday, dalalay!' and the old man repeated several times this wailing,heart-rending refrain.

  When he had finished the refrain Eroshka suddenly seized a gun thathung on the wall, rushed hurriedly out into the yard and fired off bothbarrels into the air. Then again he began, more dolefully, his 'Ay day,dalalay--ah, ah,' and ceased.

  Olenin followed him into the porch and looked up into the starry sky inthe direction where the shots had flashed. In the cornet's house therewere lights and the sound of voices. In the yard girls were crowdinground the porch and the windows, and running backwards and forwardsbetween the hut and the outhouse. Some Cossacks rushed out of the hutand could not refrain from shouting, re-echoing the refrain of DaddyEroshka's song and his shots.

  'Why are you not at the betrothal?' asked Olenin.

  'Never mind them! Never mind them!' muttered the old man, who hadevidently been offended by something there. 'Don't like them, I don't.Oh, those people! Come back into the hut! Let them make merry bythemselves and we'll make merry by ourselves.'

  Olenin went in.

  'And Lukashka, is he happy? Won't he come to see me?' he asked.

  'What, Lukashka? They've lied to him and said I am getting his girl foryou,' whispered the old man. 'But what's the girl? She will be ours ifwe want her. Give enough money--and she's ours. I'll fix it up for you.Really!'

  'No, Daddy, money can do nothing if she does not love me. You'd betternot talk like that!'

  'We are not loved, you and I. We are forlorn,' said Daddy Eroshkasuddenly, and again he began to cry.

  Listening to the old man's talk Olenin had drunk more than usual. 'Sonow my Lukashka is happy,' thought he; yet he felt sad. The old man haddrunk so much that evening that he fell down on the floor and Vanyushahad to call soldiers in to help, and spat as they dragged the old manout. He was so angry with the old man for his bad behaviour that he didnot even say a single French word.