Leo Tolstoy Archive
Written: 1856
Source: Text from TheAnarchistLibrary.org
Transcription/Markup: Andy Carloff
Online Source: RevoltLib.com; 2021
The air was still hot though the sun was setting when the squadron entered Morozovka. In front of them along the dusty village street trotted a brindled cow separated from its herd, looking around and now and then stopping and lowing, but never suspecting that all she had to do was to turn aside. The peasants — old men, women, and children — the servants from the manor-house, crowded on both sides of the street and eagerly watched the hussars as the latter rode through a thick cloud of dust, curbing their horses which occasionally stamped and snorted. On the right of the squadron were two officers who sat their fine black horses carelessly. One was Count Turbin, the commander, the other a very young man recently promoted from cadet, whose name was Polozov.
An hussar in a white linen jacket came out of the best of the huts, raised his cap, and went up to the officers.
“Where are the quarters assigned us?”
“For your Excellency?” answered the quartermaster-sergeant, with a start of his whole body. “The village elder’s hut has been cleaned out. I wanted to get quarters at the manor-house, but they say there is no room there. The proprietress is such a vixen.”
“All right!” said the count, dismounting and stretching his legs as he reached the village elder’s hut. “And has my phaeton arrived?”
“It has deigned to arrive, your Excellency!” answered the quartermaster-sergeant, pointing with his cap to the leather body of a carriage visible through the gateway and rushing forward to the entrance of the hut, which was thronged with members of the peasant family collected to look at the officer. He even pushed one old woman over as he briskly opened the door of the freshly cleaned hut and stepped aside to let the count pass.
The hut was fairly large and roomy but not very clean. The German valet, dressed like a gentleman, stood inside sorting the linen in a portmanteau after having set up an iron bedstead and made the bed.
“Faugh, what filthy lodgings!” said the count with vexation. “Couldn’t you have found anything better at some gentleman’s house, Dyadenko?”
“If your Excellency desires it I will try at the manor-house,” answered the quartermaster-sergeant, “but it isn’t up to much — doesn’t look much better than a hut.”
“Never mind now. Go away.”
And the count lay down on the bed and threw his arms behind his head.
“Johann!” he called to his valet. “You’ve made a lump in the middle again! How is it you can’t make a bed properly?”
Johann came up to put it right.
“No, never mind now. But where is my dressing-gown?” said the count in a dissatisfied tone.
The valet handed him the dressing-gown. Before putting it on the count examined the front.
“I thought so, that spot is not cleaned off. Could anyone be a worse servant than you?” he added, pulling the dressing-gown out of the valet’s hands and putting it on. “Tell me, do you do it on purpose? ... Is the tea ready?”
“I have not had time,” said Johann.
“Fool!”
After that the count took up the French novel placed ready for him and read for some time in silence: Johann went out into the passage to prepare the samovar. The count was obviously in a bad temper, probably caused by fatigue, a dusty face, tight clothing, and an empty stomach.
“Johann!” he cried again, “bring me the account for those ten rubles. What did you buy in the town?”
He looked over the account handed him, and made some dissatisfied remarks about the dearness of the things purchased.
“Serve rum with my tea.”
“I didn’t buy any rum,” said Johann.
“That’s good! ... How many times have I told you to have rum?”
“I hadn’t enough money.”
“Then why didn’t Polozov buy some? You should have got some from his man.”
“Cornet Polozov? I don’t know. He bought the tea and the sugar.”
“Idiot! ... Get out! ... You are the only man who knows how to make me lose my patience.... You know that on a march I always have rum with my tea.”
“Here are two letters for you from the staff,” said the valet.
The count opened his letters and began reading them without rising. The cornet, having quartered the squadron, came in with a merry face.
“Well, how is it, Turbin? It seems very nice here. But I must confess I’m tired. It was hot.”
“Very nice! ... A filthy stinking hut, and thanks to your lordship no rum; your blockhead didn’t buy any, nor did this one. You might at least have mentioned it.”
And he continued to read his letter. When he had finished he rolled it into a ball and threw it on the floor.
In the passage the cornet was meanwhile saying to his orderly in a whisper: “Why didn’t you buy any rum? You had money enough, you know.”
“But why should we buy everything? As it is I pay for everything, while his German does nothing but smoke his pipe.”
It was evident that the count’s second letter was not unpleasant, for he smiled as he read it.
“Who is it from?” asked Polozov, returning to the room and beginning to arrange a sleeping-place for himself on some boards by the oven.
“From Mina,” answered the count gaily, handing him the letter, “Do you want to see it? What a delightful woman she is! ... Really she’s much better than our young ladies.... Just see how much feeling and wit there is in that letter. Only one thing is bad — she’s asking for money.”
“Yes, that’s bad,” said the cornet.
“It’s true I promised her some, but then this campaign came on, and besides... However if I remain in command of the squadron another three months I’ll send her some. It’s worth it, really; such a charming creature, eh?” said he, watching the expression on Polozov’s face as he read the letter.
“Dreadfully ungrammatical, but very nice, and it seems as if she really loves you,” said the cornet.
“H’m ... I should think so! It’s only women of that kind who love sincerely when once they do love.”
“And who was the other letter from?” asked the cornet, handing back the one he had read.
“Oh, that ... there’s a man, a nasty beast who won from me at cards, and he’s reminding me of it for the third time.... I can’t let him have it at present.... A stupid letter!” said the count, evidently vexed at the recollection.
After this both officers were silent for a while. The cornet, who was evidently under the count’s influence, glanced now and then at the handsome though clouded countenance of Turbin — who was looking fixedly through the window — and drank his tea in silence, not venturing to start a conversation.
“But d’you know, it may turn out capitally,” said the count, suddenly turning to Polozov with a shake of his head. “Supposing we get promotions by seniority this year and take part in an action besides, I may get ahead of my own captains in the Guards.”
The conversation was still on the same topic and they were drinking their second tumblers of tea when old Daniel entered and delivered Anna Fedorovna’s message.
“And I was also to inquire if you are not Count Fedor Ivanych Turbin’s son?” added Daniel on his own account, having learned the count’s name and remembering the deceased count’s sojourn in the town of K--. “Our mistress, Anna Fedorovna, was very well acquainted with him.”
“He was my father. And tell your mistress I am very much obliged to her. We want nothing but say we told you to ask whether we could not have a cleaner room somewhere — in the manor-house or anywhere.”
“Now, why did you do that?” asked Polozov when Daniel had gone. “What does it matter? Just for one night — what does it matter? And they will be inconveniencing themselves.”
“What an idea! I think we’ve had our share of smoky huts! ... It’s easy to see you’re not a practical man. Why not seize the opportunity when we can, and live like human beings for at least one night? And on the contrary they will be very pleased to have us.... The worst of it is, if this lady really knew my father ... “ continued the count with a smile which displayed his glistening white teeth. “I always have to feel ashamed of my departed papa. There is always some scandalous story or other, or some debt he has left. That’s why I hate meeting these acquaintances of my father’s. However, that was the way in those days,” he added, growing serious.
“Did I ever tell you,” said Polozov, “I once met an uhlan brigade- commander, Ilyin? He was very anxious to meet you. He is awfully fond of your father.”
“That Ilyin is an awful good-for-nothing, I believe. But the worst of it is that these good people, who assure me that they knew my father in order to make my acquaintance, while pretending to be very pleasant, relate such tales about my father as make me ashamed to listen. It is true — I don’t deceive myself, but look at things dispassionately — that he had too ardent a nature and sometimes did things that were not nice. However, that was the way in those times. In our days he might have turned out a very successful man, for to do him justice he had extraordinary capacities.”
A quarter of an hour later the servant came back with a request from the proprietress that they would be so good as to spend the night at her house.