The Cossacks | Page 5

quite
know. Next came a thought that made him wince and mutter
incoherently. It was the recollection of M. Cappele the tailor, and the
six hundred and seventy-eight rubles he still owed him, and he recalled
the words in which he had begged him to wait another year, and the
look of perplexity and resignation which had appeared on the tailor's
face. 'Oh, my God, my God!' he repeated, wincing and trying to drive
away the intolerable thought. 'All the same and in spite of everything
she loved me,' thought he of the girl they had talked about at the
farewell supper. 'Yes, had I married her I should not now be owing
anything, and as it is I am in debt to Vasilyev.' Then he remembered the
last night he had played with Vasilyev at the club (just after leaving
her), and he recalled his humiliating requests for another game and the
other's cold refusal. 'A year's economizing and they will all be paid, and
the devil take them!'... But despite this assurance he again began
calculating his outstanding debts, their dates, and when he could hope
to pay them off. 'And I owe something to Morell as well as to
Chevalier,' thought he, recalling the night when he had run up so large
a debt. It was at a carousel at the gipsies arranged by some fellows from
Petersburg: Sashka B---, an aide-de-camp to the Tsar, Prince D---, and
that pompous old----. 'How is it those gentlemen are so self-satisfied?'

thought he, 'and by what right do they form a clique to which they think
others must be highly flattered to be admitted? Can it be because they
are on the Emperor's staff? Why, it's awful what fools and scoundrels
they consider other people to be! But I showed them that I at any rate,
on the contrary, do not at all want their intimacy. All the same, I fancy
Andrew, the steward, would be amazed to know that I am on familiar
terms with a man like Sashka B---, a colonel and an aide-de-camp to
the Tsar! Yes, and no one drank more than I did that evening, and I
taught the gipsies a new song and everyone listened to it. Though I
have done many foolish things, all the same I am a very good fellow,'
thought he.
Morning found him at the third post-stage. He drank tea, and himself
helped Vanyusha to move his bundles and trunks and sat down among
them, sensible, erect, and precise, knowing where all his belongings
were, how much money he had and where it was, where he had put his
passport and the post-horse requisition and toll- gate papers, and it all
seemed to him so well arranged that he grew quite cheerful and the
long journey before him seemed an extended pleasure-trip.
All that morning and noon he was deep in calculations of how many
versts he had travelled, how many remained to the next stage, how
many to the next town, to the place where he would dine, to the place
where he would drink tea, and to Stavropol, and what fraction of the
whole journey was already accomplished. He also calculated how much
money he had with him, how much would be left over, how much
would pay off all his debts, and what proportion of his income he
would spend each month. Towards evening, after tea, he calculated that
to Stavropol there still remained seven- elevenths of the whole journey,
that his debts would require seven months' economy and one-eighth of
his whole fortune; and then, tranquillized, he wrapped himself up, lay
down in the sledge, and again dozed off. His imagination was now
turned to the future: to the Caucasus. All his dreams of the future were
mingled with pictures of Amalat-Beks, Circassian women, mountains,
precipices, terrible torrents, and perils. All these things were vague and
dim, but the love of fame and the danger of death furnished the interest
of that future. Now, with unprecedented courage and a strength that

amazed everyone, he slew and subdued an innumerable host of
hillsmen; now he was himself a hillsman and with them was
maintaining their independence against the Russians. As soon as he
pictured anything definite, familiar Moscow figures always appeared
on the scene. Sashka B---fights with the Russians or the hillsmen
against him. Even the tailor Cappele in some strange way takes part in
the conqueror's triumph. Amid all this he remembered his former
humiliations, weaknesses, and mistakes, and the recollection was not
disagreeable. It was clear that there among the mountains, waterfalls,
fair Circassians, and dangers, such mistakes could not recur. Having
once made full confession to himself there was an end of it all. One
other vision, the sweetest of them all, mingled with