Hadji Murád, Leo Tolstoy [romantic books to read txt] 📗

his long arms, and the power, flexibility, and agility of all his movements had always rejoiced Hadji Murád, who admired his son.

“Thou hadst better stay. Thou wilt be alone at home now. Take care of thy mother and thy grandmother,” said Hadji Murád. And he remembered the spirited and proud look and the flush of pleasure with which Yusúf had replied that as long as he lived no one should injure his mother or grandmother. All the same Yusúf had mounted and accompanied his father as far as the stream. There he turned back, and since then Hadji Murád had not seen his wife, his mother, or his son. And it was this son whose eyes Shamil wished to put out! Of what would be done to his wife, Hadji Murád did not wish to think.

These thoughts so excited him that he could not sit still any longer. He jumped up and went limping quickly to the door, opened it, and called Eldár. The sun had not yet risen, but it was already quite light. The nightingales were still singing.

“Go and tell the officer that I want to go out riding; and saddle the horses,” said he.

XXIV

Butler’s only consolation all this time was the poetry of warfare, to which he gave himself up not only during his hours of service, but also in private life. Dressed in his Circassian costume he rode and swaggered about, and twice went into ambush with Bogdanóvich, though neither time did they discover or kill anyone. This closeness to and friendship with Bogdanóvich, famed for his courage, seemed pleasant and warlike to Butler. He had paid his debt, having borrowed the money of a Jew at an enormous rate of interest⁠—that is to say, he had postponed his difficulties without solving them. He tried not to think of his position, and to find oblivion not only in the poetry of warfare, but also in wine. He drank more and more every day, and day by day grew morally weaker. He was now no longer the chaste Joseph he had been towards Márya Dmítrievna, but on the contrary began courting her grossly, but to his surprise, met with a strong and decided repulse which put him to shame.

At the end of April there arrived at the fort a detachment with which Baryátinsky intended to effect an advance right through Chechnya, which had till then been considered impassable. In that detachment were two companies of the Kabardá regiment, and according to Caucasian custom these were treated as guests by the Kurín companies. The soldiers were lodged in the barracks, and were treated not only to supper, consisting of buckwheat porridge and beef, but also to vodka. The officers shared the quarters of the Kurín officers, and as usual those in residence gave the newcomers a dinner, at which the regimental singers performed, and which ended up with a drinking bout. Major Petróv, very drunk and no longer red but ashy pale, sat astride a chair, and drawing his sword, hacked at imaginary foes, alternately swearing and laughing, now embracing someone and now dancing to the tune of his favorite song.

Shamil, he began to riot
In the days gone by;
Try, ry, rataty,
In the years gone by!

Butler was there, too. He tried to see the poetry of warfare in this also; but in the depth of his soul he was sorry for the Major. To stop him, however, was quite impossible; and Butler, feeling that the fumes were mounting to his own head, quietly left the room and went home.

The moon lit up the white houses and the stones on the road. It was so light that every pebble, every straw, every little heap of dust was visible. As he approached the house, Butler met Márya Dmítrievna with a shawl over her head and neck. After the rebuff she had given him, Butler had avoided her, feeling rather ashamed; but now, in the moonlight and after the wine he had drunk, he was pleased to meet her, and wished to make up to her again.

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

“Why, to see after my old man,” she answered pleasantly. Her rejection of Butler’s advances was quite sincere and decided, but she did not like his avoiding her as he had done lately.

“Why bother about him? He’ll soon come back.”

“But will he?”

“If he doesn’t, they’ll bring him.”

“Just so.⁠ ⁠… That’s not right, you know!⁠ ⁠… But you think I’d better not go?”

“Yes, I do. We’d better go home.”

Márya Dmítrievna turned back and walked beside him. The moon shone so brightly that round the shadows of their heads a halo seemed to move along the road. Butler was looking at this halo and making up his mind to tell her that he liked her as much as ever, but he did not know how to begin. She waited to hear what he would say. So they walked on in silence almost to the house, when some horsemen appeared from round the corner. These were an officer with an escort.

“Who’s that coming now?” said Márya Dmítrievna, stepping aside. The moon was behind the rider, so that she did not recognize him until he had almost come up to Butler and herself. It was Peter Nikoláevich Kámenev, an officer who had formerly served with the Major, and whom Márya Dmítrievna therefore knew.

“Is that you, Peter Nikoláevich?” said she, addressing him.

“It’s me,” said Kámenev. “ah, Butler, how d’you do?⁠ ⁠… Not asleep yet? Having a walk with Márya Dmítrievna! You’d better look out or the Major will give it you.⁠ ⁠… Where is he?”

“Why, there.⁠ ⁠… Listen!” replied Márya Dmítrievna pointing in the direction whence came the sounds of a tulumbas44 and of songs. “They’re on the spree.”

“Why? Are your people having a spree on their own?”

“No; some officers have come from Hasav-Yurt, and they are being entertained.”

“Ah, that’s good! I shall be in time.⁠ ⁠… I just want the Major for a moment.”

“On business?” asked Butler.

“Yes, just