The Cossacks | Page 6

the young man's
every thought of the future--the vision of a woman.
And there, among the mountains, she appeared to his imagination as a
Circassian slave, a fine figure with a long plait of hair and deep
submissive eyes. He pictured a lonely hut in the mountains, and on the
threshold she stands awaiting him when, tired and covered with dust,
blood, and fame, he returns to her. He is conscious of her kisses, her
shoulders, her sweet voice, and her submissiveness. She is enchanting,
but uneducated, wild, and rough. In the long winter evenings he begins
her education. She is clever and gifted and quickly acquires all the
knowledge essential. Why not? She can quite easily learn foreign
languages, read the French masterpieces and understand them: Notre
Dame de Paris, for instance, is sure to please her. She can also speak
French. In a drawing-room she can show more innate dignity than a
lady of the highest society. She can sing, simply, powerfully, and
passionately.... 'Oh, what nonsense!' said he to himself. But here they
reached a post-station and he had to change into another sledge and
give some tips. But his fancy again began searching for the 'nonsense'
he had relinquished, and again fair Circassians, glory, and his return to
Russia with an appointment as aide-de- camp and a lovely wife rose
before his imagination. 'But there's no such thing as love,' said he to
himself. 'Fame is all rubbish. But the six hundred and seventy-eight
rubles? ... And the conquered land that will bring me more wealth than
I need for a lifetime? It will not be right though to keep all that wealth
for myself. I shall have to distribute it. But to whom? Well, six hundred

and seventy-eight rubles to Cappele and then we'll see.' ... Quite vague
visions now cloud his mind, and only Vanyusha's voice and the
interrupted motion of the sledge break his healthy youthful slumber.
Scarcely conscious, he changes into another sledge at the next stage
and continues his journey.
Next morning everything goes on just the same: the same kind of
post-stations and tea-drinking, the same moving horses' cruppers, the
same short talks with Vanyusha, the same vague dreams and
drowsiness, and the same tired, healthy, youthful sleep at night.


Chapter III
The farther Olenin travelled from Central Russia the farther he left his
memories behind, and the nearer he drew to the Caucasus the lighter his
heart became. "I'll stay away for good and never return to show myself
in society," was a thought that sometimes occurred to him. "These
people whom I see here are NOT people. None of them know me and
none of them can ever enter the Moscow society I was in or find out
about my past. And no one in that society will ever know what I am
doing, living among these people." And quite a new feeling of freedom
from his whole past came over him among the rough beings he met on
the road whom he did not consider to be PEOPLE in the sense that his
Moscow acquaintances were. The rougher the people and the fewer the
signs of civilization the freer he felt. Stavropol, through which he had
to pass, irked him. The signboards, some of them even in French, ladies
in carriages, cabs in the marketplace, and a gentleman wearing a fur
cloak and tall hat who was walking along the boulevard and staring at
the passersby, quite upset him. "Perhaps these people know some of my
acquaintances," he thought; and the club, his tailor, cards, society ...
came back to his mind. But after Stavropol everything was
satisfactory--wild and also beautiful and warlike, and Olenin felt
happier and happier. All the Cossacks, post-boys, and post-station
masters seemed to him simple folk with whom he could jest and

converse simply, without having to consider to what class they
belonged. They all belonged to the human race which, without his
thinking about it, all appeared dear to Olenin, and they all treated him
in a friendly way.
Already in the province of the Don Cossacks his sledge had been
exchanged for a cart, and beyond Stavropol it became so warm that
Olenin travelled without wearing his fur coat. It was already spring--an
unexpected joyous spring for Olenin. At night he was no longer
allowed to leave the Cossack villages, and they said it was dangerous to
travel in the evening. Vanyusha began to be uneasy, and they carried a
loaded gun in the cart. Olenin became still happier. At one of the
post-stations the post-master told of a terrible murder that had been
committed recently on the high road. They began to meet armed men.
"So this is where it begins!" thought Olenin, and kept expecting to see
the